The storm had begun to ease, though thunder still rolled far across the horizon.
At the gates of the estate, Eryndor, Ziraiah, Maloi, and Mr. Baby stood beneath the overhang, watching as the Mother Waver lifted into the sky—its engines rumbling like the breath of a god.
Its blue lights pulsed through the clouds, vanishing into the heavens until only the rain remained.
Eryndor’s voice cut through the drizzle.
“Make your preparations. We depart within ten minutes.”
No one argued. They scattered to their rooms.
---
A Few minutes ago,
The sky above Heful groaned, the deep-throated hum of a colossal engine pressing down on the ruined city. Juvian and Isabela looked up, their faces illuminated by the descending lights of the Mother Waver. Its sheer scale was staggering, a floating fortress that blotted out the stars.
"Is that a Waver?" Juvian breathed, his usual composure broken by sheer awe. "Damn. It's… massive."
They watched in silence as the ship completed its landing, a testament to a level of power and technology that dwarfed their royal upbringing. Moments later, they saw it ascend once more, a dark silhouette climbing into the cloud-choked heavens, carrying Pungence away on his warpath.
Their path, however, led them to his doorstep.
At the Pungence estate, Maloi was checking the straps on a travel pack when a firm knock echoed through the quiet hall. She opened the heavy door to find the two royal heirs standing on the threshold, their clothes still dusted with the grit of their shattered city.
Juvian’s eyes immediately went to the pack in her hand, then to the determined set of her shoulders. "Oh," Maloi said, her surprise fleeting. "What are you two doing here?"
Juvian’s gaze was sharp, analytical. "Looks like you're about to go somewhere."
Maloi didn't see the point in lying. "Yes," she confirmed, her voice steady. "We're about to go rescue Lerius, Eliana, and your little brother."
A look of grim satisfaction passed over Juvian’s face. He turned to his sister. "Told you so."
Isabela met his look, her own expression hardening with resolve. They had come to the right place. The hunt was beginning.
---
Eryndor stood in his room, the storm whispering outside. His old clothes lay folded on the bed—formal, polished, belonging to someone he no longer was. He didn’t look at them twice.
He pulled on the sleeveless black combat vest, the fabric settling against him with a weight that felt honest. The tight charcoal undershirt followed, simple and functional. He wrapped his left forearm in dark bandages, then fastened the leather bracer onto his right, the runic lines catching a faint glint.
The iron-gray combat pants fit snugly, reinforced along the seams. He strapped on his boots, each buckle clicking into place with quiet finality. His hair he tied back loosely, letting a few strands fall where they wanted.
When he faced the mirror, he saw no trace of the elegant, distant man he used to be. The change was complete — in his clothes, his stance, his eyes.
On a nearby shelf sat a framed photo of Mercy. He looked at it for a long moment, his fingers brushing the glass before reaching for the small pendant lying beside it—a green pendant, carved with Synelee script. Each of his siblings had one.
He placed it around his neck and walked out if the room.
---
In another room, Ziraiah finished her preparations. She laced her boots tight, adjusted the fit of her combat coat, and fastened a protective pendant around her throat—a final, personal ritual before stepping into the storm.
When she emerged, the others were already gathering at the door. Her eyes immediately landed on the two new figures.
“Juvian? Isabela?” she asked, her tone a mix of surprise and concern. “What are you guys doing here?”
Juvian stood his ground, his expression resolute. “We’re going with you.”
Ziraiah’s gaze hardened. “Do you have any idea where we’re even going?”
“Maloi just filled us in,” Isabela replied, her voice steady.
Ziraiah walked towards them, her eyes searching theirs. “And you still want to go?”
“Yes,” Juvian said, the single word leaving no room for doubt.
“Juvian,” Ziraiah said, her voice dropping to a serious, almost pleading tone. “We’re not going on a diplomatic mission. We’re going to a very dangerous place. The heart of enemy territory.”
“We know,” Juvian countered, his jaw set.
“No, you don’t!” Ziraiah’s composure cracked slightly. “It’s too dangerous. I can’t let you come.”
Before either royal could protest, a powerful force gripped them. They floated into the air, frozen in an invisible vise.
Then, Eryndor’s voice cut through the tension, calm and absolute. “I cannot allow that. You are going home and I will ensure you remain there.”
The front door swung open, and the two siblings were propelled out into the driving rain. As they floated higher, Isabela found her voice, shouting into the downpour. “Eryndor, wait! Please! Don’t you want to get your brother back? We want to get ours back just as much as you!”
They rose higher, the estate shrinking below them.
“WHAT WOULD YOU DO?” Juvian’s roar tore through the storm, raw and desperate. He twisted in the air to glare back at the doorway where Eryndor stood, impassive. “What would you do if you were denied the chance to save your brother? What would you do knowing that someone stopped you from doing everything in your power to protect your family?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, his voice cracking with emotion. “Yes, you see us as weak! You think we wouldn’t be able to help you. But we are powerful in our own right! You can’t be everywhere, Eryndor. You can’t do everything. So you need help. And the more, the better!”
The rain plastered his hair to his forehead and streamed down his face. “I just lost my father,” he vowed, his voice trembling not with fear, but with an oath. “I won’t lose my brother, too. I will get him back. I give you my word, Eryndor. Will you make me break my word?”
For a long moment, Eryndor simply looked at him, his emerald eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, Juvian and Isabela began to float back down to the sodden earth.
Eryndor gave a single, curt nod. “Very well,” he conceded, his voice a low murmur that still carried over the rain. “I will allow you to accompany us.”
---
The downpour continued, a silver curtain drenching the world in a cold, miserable shroud.
Eryndor raised a hand, his gaze critical as he assessed the sky, as if the weather itself was a personal inconvenience.
Then, without any fanfare, Ziraiah inhaled a deep, cavernous breath and exhaled with explosive force.
A cannonade of compressed air erupted from her lips, shooting upward. It didn't just part the clouds; it shattered them. The storm scattered into nothing, leaving behind a clear, tranquil sky as if the rain had never been.
Eryndor turned his head toward her, his expression utterly flat and unimpressed.
Ziraiah blinked. “What?”
He offered no reply, merely shaking his head in silent, profound disappointment before turning to lead the way.
Maloi raised an eyebrow, glancing at Ziraiah as they fell into step behind him. “What was that?”
A faint, slightly embarrassed smirk touched Ziraiah’s lips. “Just… something I can do.”
From behind them, Juvian whispered to his sister, “Did she just use magic?”
Isabela, her own mind reeling from the display of raw, un-magic-like power, shook her head slowly. “No,” she murmured. “That wasn’t magic.” It was something else entirely.
---
The Waver waited at the launch platform.
Its hull gleamed beneath the now-clear light.
They boarded quickly. Inside, the metal floor vibrated with the pulse of the engines.
Eryndor took the pilot’s seat, fastening the helmet with neural cables around his head.
Maloi leaned against the frame of the cockpit, arms crossed.
“Can you even fly this thing?”
Eryndor didn’t look back.
“Yes.”
The control lights flickered blue, and the Waver rose from its berth, engines whining as it glided out of the hangar into open sky.
---
In the cabin behind him, Mr. Baby leaned lazily in his seat, sipping from his ever-present bottle.
“Alright,” he said, voice echoing through the comm channel. “We deh head to Pentagon’s Hole — di deepest pit inna Yilheim. Tink of it like Striker’s Hell…” He paused, grinning faintly, “…except this one’s run by Unbound.”
Ziraiah turned to him, her tone dry. “So… people like you?”
Mr. Baby’s grin widened. “Exactly. People like me.”
The Waver surged forward, breaking through the last veil of clouds.
---
Pentagon’s Hole
Deep within the black veins of Pentagon’s Hole, silence clung to the air like ash.
Inside one of the cells, the sound of shallow, ragged breathing broke the stillness.
Valerius lay on the cold floor, his body trembling beneath the weight of pain that refused to fade. The dagger Koby-Ann had left in his chest still remained—buried deep, fused into flesh and bone. His body had tried to heal, sealing the wound around the blade, but the weapon itself would not yield.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The iron door hissed and slid open. Two guards stepped inside—tall and broad. Between them, one dragged a battered human by the leg.
The prisoner fought against their grip, shouting, his voice raw with fury.
“Do you idiots know who I am? Once I get this damned band off—I'll kill every one of you! I’ll erase your entire bloodline! You’ll wish you were never born!”
The guards exchanged amused looks. Then one of them casually swung his arm and hurled the man across the cell.
He hit the wall hard, the impact echoing through the chamber.
The first guard snorted. “What are you going to do, huh?”
He turned to his partner with a grin. “Punch me with those weak little arms?”
Both of them laughed, the sound harsh and cruel.
“You should be thanking us,” one said, leaning closer. “Would you rather we’d left you Earthers out there for the beasts to eat?”
The other chuckled. “Eat? They’re too small for that. More like… snacks.”
Their laughter filled the cell.
Finally, one pointed a finger at the fallen man. “That’s your last warning, rat. Cause one more disturbance, and you’ll regret it.”
They turned and left, the door slamming shut behind them with a metallic clang.
---
The man—Valtos—pushed himself up slowly, his breathing ragged. Blood dripped from a cut on his forehead.
He turned, his eyes narrowing as he noticed three other men watching him from the far side of the room.
“What are you staring at?” he barked. “Want me to gouge your eyes out?”
The three exchanged glances—then rushed him.
Fists flew. The sound of impact echoed off the stone.
A blow to the jaw, another to the ribs—Valtos went down hard.
One of the men spat on him. “That’ll teach you.”
Moments later, the fight was over. The three humans returned to their corner, muttering under their breath.
Valtos sat slumped against the wall, his left eye swollen shut, his body aching.
He glanced to the side—and froze.
Across the cell, lying motionless on the ground, was Valerius.
A faint glimmer of recognition sparked in Valtos’s eye. He squinted, studying the figure.
A Yilheimer. Here?
Then the realization hit him like a blow.
Him.
He's the first to survive my strike.
Valtos stared, his lips curling into a faint smirk.
“So… you refused to join them too, huh?”
He shifted closer, his movements slow and deliberate, until he was sitting a few feet away.
“Hey,” he called.
No response.
“Hey!” he shouted louder this time, his voice echoing through the cell.
Still nothing.
From the corner, one of the other prisoners spoke in a low tone—French, his words flowing like static to Valtos’s ears.
Valtos scowled. “What the hell are you saying?”
A tall, muscular man—dark-skinned, six foot three, with eyes that had long lost their hope—translated in a flat voice.
“He said… he’s been like that for three days. Hasn’t moved once.”
Valtos glared at him. “How dare you speak to me after what you just did?”
The muscular man’s jaw tightened. “If you don’t watch your mouth, we’ll go for round two,” he warned.
Another prisoner, tone flat and sharp, cut in. “What are those bands on your wrists? That Yilheimer’s got one too.”
Valtos let out a slow, ugly smile. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re just a human. In the three years we’ve been here you’ve been playing prisoner in this hole. I’ve been around. I’ve seen what the world’s like out there. I used to run for my life every time I saw a Yilheimer—now they run from me. They fear me because I have power they can’t even dream of. I was unstoppable.”
The muscular man scoffed. “I asked why you’ve got that band, not for your life story. And who are you kidding—Yilheimers fear you? Do you take us for fools?”
A prisoner nearby muttered, “He’s one of those guys who starts explaining the history of math when you ask them what two plus two is.”
Valtos’s grin hardened. “Once I get this band off, I’m going to escape this place—and when I do, I’ll obliterate this whole hole and every one of you.”
They all laughed, hollow and brittle. “Nice dream,” someone said.
For a moment Valtos’s face went still. In his mind a white panel flickered into being—bright lines, a name in bold.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
< EARTHERS GUIDE>
Name: ISAAC BRIGARDE
Age: 18 Years
Species: HUMAN
Seed: HELLSTAR
Threat Level: ?? TWO SKULLS
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The light in the panel warped, the letters melting and reforming. New text flowed across it until the directive blazed into clarity.
──────────────────────────────
< PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: ESCAPE FROM PENTAGON’S HOLE >
───────────────────────────────
Valtos blinked, the vision evaporating as fast as it had come. How the hell am I going to escape? I can’t use my ability.
He glanced at Valerius—motionless on the floor—and then, impatience burning through him, kicked him repeatedly.
“Hey! Wake up!” he barked.
---
Elsewhere, deep within a dimly lit chamber filled with Unbound, the air buzzed with low conversation, laughter, and the occasional clatter of bottles.
In one corner, Zelion’s cries pierced the noise — a baby’s wail cutting through the darkness. Jeriana sighed, struggling to change his diaper while trying to calm him.
“Would someone shut that little brat up already?” a scarred man barked from across the room. “I’m getting sick of all the noise!”
Jeriana shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel.
“If it bothers you so much,” she said coldly, “then you do it. But be my guest — you’ll just have to explain it to the Supreme Boss afterward.”
The man grunted and turned away.
Sandra, sitting lazily on a crate nearby, smiled faintly. “I like babies,” she said dreamily. “They’re cute.”
Jeriana glanced up, arching a brow. “Cute isn’t the word I’d use right now.”
A wave of murmuring swept through the room. The tone had shifted — whispers, half-laughter, half-awe.
“What’s all this about?” Jeriana asked, setting Zelion down gently.
Sandra grinned and slid a newspaper across the table toward her. “We made history, Jeriana,” she said. “Especially you— the whole damn division’s talking about it.”
Jeriana frowned, then picked up the paper. Her eyes widened.
The front page headline blazed:
PUNGENCE BROUGHT TO HIS KNEES — THE TRUE MAGE, JERIANA.
Below it was a still image of her mid-cast, she floated in the air and below her— Pungence, kneeling in the ruin.
Jeriana’s hands trembled slightly as she whispered, “How?”
A voice called out from across the room.
“Damn, Jeriana! What was that spell?!”
Another Unbound laughed. “I’ve never seen Pungence like that in my life!”
Jeriana turned — nearly everyone had gathered around a Seer in the center of the room, the screen displayed shimmering visions of the battle in Heful. She walked closer, Zelion quiet now, his tiny eyes reflecting the flickering light.
From the device, the voice of The Camera Man echoed:
“Who would have thought Pungence would be brought to his knees like this? But wait — that’s not the only thing happening in Heful tonight.”
The view shifted.
Now, the image showed Ziraiah — mid-fight against Omfry.
The room erupted.
“Daaaaamn!” someone shouted.
Another man clapped Omfry’s shoulder, laughing. “You got your ass handed to you, man!”
A woman whistled. “She burned you to a crisp!”
Omfry’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching.
“Who is that girl?” someone asked.
“She kind of looks like that Elvhein from three days ago,” another replied.
Jeriana leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “I remember her,” she murmured. “That girl… How could she have become that strong in just three years?”
Omfry shoved the man’s hand off his shoulder, growling, “Get your damn hand off me.”
The crowd went silent again as the Seer shifted scenes once more — now showing Valerius and Richard.
The two combatants clashed across the battlefield in a storm of violence and light. Even among the Unbound, the sight drew silence.
Richard — one of the strongest of the Tertius Division — was fighting for his life.
When Lorde appeared beside Valerius, the crowd stirred — awe mixing with confusion.
“What is that?” someone whispered. “Is that… a spirit?”
Few had ever seen an Intelligent Spirit before. None had seen one fight on equal footing with a Division Commander.
The battle built to its brutal crescendo.
And when Richard finally snapped Valerius’s neck — the silence broke.
A roar of cheers filled the room.
“YEEEEEES!”
They leapt to their feet, fists pumping the air, laughter and howls echoing through the dim hall — their victory vicarious, savage, and wild.
In the corner, Jeriana looked away.
Zelion whimpered softly in her arms, and her hand trembled as she held him close.
To Be Continued...
