The air inside the control room was tense, thick with the weight of anticipation. A series of red warning signals flashed across multiple screens, illuminating the dim space with harsh, blinking lights.
A soldier rushed forward, nearly stumbling in his haste. "Commander Rosamund, there is an intense rise in energy levels in the Undergrowth Prison! I think something's wrong."
Commander Rosamund Quansha turned her sharp gaze toward the monitor. She was a striking woman, her rich brown skin illuminated by the crimson glow of the alarms. Her jet-black eyes, deep and unreadable, held an intensity that few could match. Long rasta braids cascaded down her back, neatly woven with golden threads that shimmered under the dim light. Her posture was rigid, disciplined—this was a woman who had seen countless battles, and she did not flinch in the face of danger.
Without hesitation, Rosamund closed her eyes, summoning her ability.
A faint shimmer flickered around her as her mind stretched beyond the present, into the unseen. Foresight.
Her vision blurred. Time fractured.
In a sudden flash, she saw it—the prison in chaos. The reinforced doors were blasted apart. Bodies flying. Saponu, his Copyeyes ablaze, tearing through the facility with monstrous power. The three other prisoners were by his side, each radiating overwhelming energy.
Rosamund gasped, staggering back as the vision faded. Her fingers curled into fists.
"Alert the Council! "Alert the Council immediately!" she barked.
The soldier flinched. "What should we tell them?"
Her voice was sharp as a blade. "Tell them Saponu has regained his abilities and is trying to escape—with three others." She turned toward the control panel, slamming a hand onto the emergency broadcast system.
"All available combatants—deploy now! Send everyone capable of fighting. They must be stopped."
Deep in the prison's core, Saponu's body pulsed with raw, unchecked power. His Copyeyes glowed, absorbing the surrounding abilities. He could feel the immense potential surging through his veins.
But they needed something bigger. Something stronger.
He turned to Randy. "Let's combine our abilities and make a bigger boom."
Randy's grin widened. "Now that sounds fun."
Peter and David instinctively braced themselves, sensing what was about to happen.
Saponu took a step forward, his eyes flickering with controlled precision. His hands extended, and within seconds, a translucent barrier erupted around them—thick, impenetrable, shielding them from the destruction about to unfold.
Then—
BOOM!
The sonic explosion detonated with a force that shook the entire facility.
The very walls trembled as the shockwave tore through metal and stone, obliterating everything in its path. A violent rush of energy surged outward, sending guards hurtling through the air like ragdolls.
A massive piece of debris—a solid steel door—ripped off its hinges and spiraled through the air, smashing into a nearby structure with an earth-shattering crash. Sparks and dust erupted in all directions.
Another guard was flung against the corridor wall with a sickening crack! His weapon clattered uselessly to the ground as he slumped unconscious.
Alarms blared louder, the entire structure now teetering under the force of the explosion.
Through the haze of dust and chaos, Saponu lowered his hands, his barrier dissipating. He surveyed the devastation with a smirk. "That should do it."
David coughed, waving the dust away. "Understatement of the year."
Before they could move—
A new presence filled the space.
The distant sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the debris-littered corridor. Slow. Deliberate. Controlled.
A tall, shadowed figure emerged from the smoke, the emergency lights casting long, eerie silhouettes behind them.
Then—
A voice, sharp and unwavering.
"That was impressive."
The dust settled just enough for them to see her.
Commander Rosamund Quansha.
Her rasta braids swayed slightly as she strode forward, her piercing black eyes locking onto Saponu. Behind her, an army of elite enforcers stepped into formation, weapons drawn, ready to engage.
Saponu's smirk didn't fade.
"Well, well," he muttered. "Didn't think they'd send the big guns so soon."
Rosamund's lips curled into a smirk of her own.
"You're not leaving this place," she said coldly.
In the heart of Nyankosor stood an awe-inspiring structure known as the Ancestral Spire, a towering edifice that pierced the heavens like a divine monument. Built from an otherworldly stone that shimmered in the sunlight, its surface reflected shifting colors—deep blues, silvers, and hints of gold, as though imbued with the very essence of the ancestors. Mystical symbols, pulsating with a soft glow, adorned its exterior, inscribed by the first ancestors who laid its foundation. The base of the spire was massive, wider than any temple or palace, with enormous staircases leading to grand archways that stood as high as mountains.
At the entrance, twin statues of long-forgotten ancestral guardians loomed over those who approached, their eyes glowing faintly, as if watching and judging every soul that passed beneath them. The air around the spire carried a strange weight—silent yet heavy with power, as though time itself slowed near its sacred walls.
Inside, the Grand Hall stretched endlessly, its ceiling lost in a swirling mist of spectral light. Massive, luminescent pillars lined the chamber, each engraved with the names of the greatest ancestors to ever walk the world. The floor, made of polished onyx, reflected the figures above like a mirror, creating an illusion of infinite depth. At the center of the hall, a colossal circular table—woven from light and energy itself—floated inches above the ground. Around it sat the Ancestral Council, the most powerful and revered spirits of the afterlife, their very presence exuding authority and wisdom.
Beyond the Grand Hall, spiraling corridors led to smaller chambers, where knowledge of past worlds and secrets unknown to mortals were stored. Ancient tomes, glowing scrolls, and relics of unimaginable power were kept in levitating shelves, guarded by spectral sentinels.
At the very peak of the spire, the Celestial Watch, a chamber open to the sky, allowed the ancestors to gaze into the realms below, their eyes forever watching over the living and the dead. From here, they could sense disturbances in the balance of power, foreseeing dangers before they arose.
It was within these hallowed walls that the fate of both the ancestral world and the mortal realm was often decided.
Fourteen ancestors sat around a grand, circular table, their ethereal forms bathed in the shifting glow of the floating structure. Each bore the presence of a bygone era, their garments woven from threads of light and time itself. Some leaned forward, their expressions stern with concern, while others sat with arms crossed, their gazes sharp and unyielding. The surrounding air crackled with ancient power, a silent testament to the weight of their gathered wisdom. Though their voices clashed in heated debate, the table remained steady—an unshakable foundation amid the storm of their discord.