The roar of the military helicopters and the hiss of water crashing onto burning trees became the new rhythm of the jungle. With Bobby gone, whisked away on a military chopper with a new, sober purpose in his eyes—to learn the family business, to become a man of substance who could support his friend's impossible war from the outside—a strange quiet settled over Charlie. The "Jungle Bros" phenomenon was over. The real work had just begun.
He didn't leave. He stayed. He became the warden of this wounded, burning hell. For three days, he was an instrument of the Brazilian military's will, a super-soldier ghost they pointed in the direction of the greatest danger. Mihai had left him with a gift: a sleek, black satellite phone, nigh-indestructible, with a direct, encrypted line to one person. Or rather, one thing.
"Varia," Charlie would say, his voice a low rumble. "Where are they?"
"Scanning," the AI's calm, synthesized voice would reply from the phone's speaker. "I have a cluster of three demonic heat signatures in grid 7-Bravo. They are attempting to flank Colonel Alves's position."
And Charlie would go. He moved through the smoldering, smoke-choked jungle like a phantom, his Stealth Package making him all but invisible. He hunted the remaining imps with a cold, terrifying efficiency. They were no match for him. He was a force of nature, a one-man army.
His fighting style evolved beyond the rigid forms of his training. It was a fluid, brutal dance. He would use his Primal Roar to scatter and disorient a pack, then flow amongst them. His Iron Form flickered on and off in an instant—a normal, agile dodge, then an iron-hardened fist to shatter a skull, then back to normal to leap onto a branch. He used the imps' own suicidal tenacity against them, letting them claw at his resilient form to rack up his Unbreakable Body count while he dispatched them with single, precise, overwhelming blows.
He would sidestep a clumsy swipe from an imp, his hand flashing out to grab its horned head. With a flick of his wrist, its neck would snap. He'd leap over another, bringing his iron-hardened heel down on its spine, shattering it. He was a whirlwind of controlled violence, a predator culling an invasive species.
With each kill, the System chimed, a small, satisfying ping of progress.
By the end of the third day, every single one of his martial arts skills had leveled up to 4 Stars. The imps were gone, hunted to extinction by Charlie's brutal efficiency and the military's determined advance. The fires, thanks to VARIA's logistical coordination of the water-dropping helicopters, were finally contained, leaving behind vast, black scars on the once-verdant landscape.
An eerie quiet descended. Charlie stood on a high ridge overlooking a valley of ash and charcoal, the satellite phone in his hand. He had spent his days hunting, his nights in the dream-ring, pushing himself against new, more powerful phantoms the System conjured, honing his skills, inching his Battle Instinct closer to its second star.
He dialed a familiar number. "Elliot," he said when the call connected.
"Charlie," Elliot's voice replied, a mixture of relief and weary exhaustion. "I'm glad you called. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Charlie said, his gaze sweeping over the devastation. "I heard Mihai gave a press conference."
"He did," Elliot confirmed. "He, alongside the Brazilian government, showed the world the footage. Not yours, or Bobby's, but the military's—clear shots of the imps, the behemoth, the fires. He framed it as an ancient war, a fight against 'infernals'. He painted himself as a reluctant guardian, his kind as a long-suffering shield against a greater darkness. It was a masterful piece of public relations. He's turned himself from a monster into a savior in the eyes of many. He's in China now, looking for Ji-Yeon."
"Ji-Yeon?" Charlie asked. The name was unfamiliar.
"Another one of us," Elliot explained briefly. "She went dark. It's… a situation."
A beat of silence passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the sheer, insane complexity of the new world they inhabited.
"My parents?" Charlie asked, his voice softer now. "Bobby's parents?"
"They're here," Elliot said, and Charlie could hear the smile in his voice. "In a secure facility not five miles from where I'm standing. A different building, for safety. Your mother is currently trying to teach my private chef how to make her 'famous' meatloaf. Bobby's father has already offered me a business proposition."
Charlie let out a small, rare laugh. It sounded rusty. "The demon… Javier… he won't get to them, right?"
"Not a chance," Elliot said, his voice hardening into steel. "He would have to get through the Aegis armor and me to even get close. They are the safest people on this planet, Charlie. I promise you."
The reassurance settled a weight in Charlie's chest he hadn't even realized he was carrying. He could focus. He could stay. He could finish his mission here, both the one the System had given him and the one he had given himself: to heal this wounded land. He ended the call and looked out at the scarred jungle, his new Eyes of the Predator seeing not just ash, but the faint heat signatures of surviving animals, the resilient green shoots already beginning to push through the blackened earth. This place was like him. It was unbreakable.
16 days left.
---
Mihai Cantacuzino walked through the opulent, echoing halls of a government building in Shanghai, a ghost in a black suit and crimson eyes in a world of polished marble and stark, modern design. He had done what was necessary. The high-security prison in the Brazilian highlands now housed several dozen fewer of the world's most despicable criminals. The process had been… distasteful. But the influx of soul points had been substantial. He had funneled them into his own attributes, pushing his strength, speed, and intelligence to new, terrifying heights. The hunger was still there, a constant, gnawing void, but now it was a tamed beast, leashed by a will of pure, unadulterated power. But thanks to Charlie's potion it actually lowered, but it was like drinking a energized drink, it lasted for a day or two, then he needed more.
His press conference had been a global spectacle. He hadn't just used the Brazilian military's footage. VARIA, at his request, had scoured the deep web, finding and verifying dozens of other clips—a terrified tourist's cell phone video from a village near the Argentine border showing a glimpse of a leathery, horned creature before being cut short; a grainy security camera feed from a Mexican gas station capturing a shadowy figure moving with impossible speed. Tech-savvy YouTubers and visual effects professionals, some anonymously funded by Cantacuzino Global, had already posted breakdown videos, confirming the footage was not faked, dissecting the impossible physics of the creatures' movements. The world, primed by a century of fantasy and science fiction, was beginning to believe. The concept of "infernals" was taking root.
He had announced his presence in China with a simple, public statement: "The infernal threat is global. I have come to this great nation to seek out others like myself. Other guardians who stand against the darkness."
It didn't take long. A day after his arrival, a motorcade of sleek, black cars, unmarked but exuding an aura of immense authority, had arrived at his hotel. A quiet man in a perfectly tailored suit, his face an emotionless mask, had simply said, "The Prime Minister wishes to extend an invitation. Please, come with us."
Mihai had followed. They flew on a private jet to Beijing, a silent, tense journey. He was led through a series of checkpoints, each more secure than the last, until he was brought to a place not found on any map: a breathtaking palace complex, its architecture a fusion of ancient dynastic grandeur and hyper-modern security, hidden in the heart of the city.
He was guided into a serene, open-air pavilion overlooking a tranquil koi pond. And there he saw her.
Ji-Yeon Park was alive. She was not in a cell, not being tortured. She was sitting at a low, lacquered table, sipping from a delicate porcelain cup of tea. Her usual tactical gear was gone, replaced by a simple but elegant silk dress. Her expression was calm, her posture relaxed.
Sitting across from her was a man who radiated an aura of such profound, ancient power that it made the hair on Mihai's arms stand up. He was handsome in a chiseled, timeless way, his features sharp and aristocratic. He wore robes of embroidered silk, the color of imperial gold. But it was his eyes that held Mihai transfixed. They were not human. They were the color of molten gold, with slitted, reptilian pupils that seemed to see not just Mihai, but the very fabric of his soul.
"Mihai Cantacuzino," the man said, his voice a low, rumbling thunder that was both beautiful and terrifying. "The Crimson King of the West. I have been expecting you."
Mihai stopped, his every vampiric instinct screaming at him. This was a System user. He sensed him like a creature of immense, primordial power. The energy radiating from him was not demonic, not human, not even vampiric. It was something else.
"You have found your 'guardian', I see," Mihai said, his voice a smooth, cautious counterpoint to the man's resonant thunder. He nodded politely to Ji-Yeon, who gave him a strange smile.
"Indeed," the golden-eyed man smiled, a flash of teeth that were just a little too sharp. "Miss Park and I have been having a most enlightening conversation. She came seeking an ally." He gestured to the empty seat at the table. "Please, join us. We have much to discuss."