The air in the ruins of the Limana High Council chamber, now the makeshift command center for the Pact of Obsidian, was thick with the scent of ozone and failure. Dartivus Vaderius stood by the window, his obsidian armor pulsing with a rhythmic, angry light.
"The Eastern Flank is silent," Dartivus rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "The boy with the blue fire... he achieved a secondary awakening. And the teleporter—the one they call Wan—has thinned our front lines by thirty percent."
Veynar Umbros didn't look up from the map of Gonaya. His fingers, long and skeletal, traced the ley lines of the Ukyo border. Suddenly, he slammed his palm onto the table, shattering the wood into splinters.
"Enough," Veynar hissed, his eyes glowing with a malevolent, purple intensity. "The 'Phantom Tourist' has overextended. I've watched him. Every blink, every teleport—it drains his core. He is a candle flickering in a storm, trying to be everywhere at once. I will go. I will handle this Saint Commander myself."
"He is fast, Veynar," Noctis warned from the shadows. "And he is unpredictable."
"Speed is nothing to one who controls the gravity of the soul," Veynar replied, his body beginning to dissolve into a swarm of black, lightning-streaked crows. "I will beat the soul out of him before he can even reach for his next photo. I don't care for my own life—I care only for the silence that follows his death!"
With a crack like a thunderbolt, Veynar vanished, a streak of violet lightning tearing across the sky toward the front lines.
THE CLASH AT THE EDGE OF REALITY
On the battlefield, Wan Harrison Fenris-Valkyr leaned against a shattered Maiju skull, his breathing ragged. His midnight-blue mantle was heavy with grime, and his eyes—usually sparking with mischief—were dull.
"Man... I really should have packed more snacks," Wan wheezed, reaching for a photo in his scrapbook. "One more jump... just one more to the supply—"
BOOM.
A bolt of purple lightning struck the earth ten feet away, throwing Wan back. From the crater, Veynar Umbros emerged like a wraith. He didn't wait. He didn't monologue. He lunged with the ferocity of a starving wolf.
"WHERE IS YOUR SMILE NOW, GHOST?!" Veynar screamed.
Veynar's hands were wreathed in Null-Matter, a dark sorcery that didn't just strike; it erased the mana it touched. Wan tried to blink, but his core sputtered. He moved manually, dodging a decapitating strike by an inch, but Veynar was relentless. Veynar struck with a barrage of punches and kicks, his movements jagged and erratic, showing a total disregard for his own safety.
Wan was caught in a defensive loop. Every time he tried to activate Void Mantle, Veynar's aura would disrupt it. A heavy blow caught Wan in the ribs, sending him tumbling through a pile of rubble.
"You're empty!" Veynar laughed, his voice high-pitched and manic. "Your 'Saint' title is a lie! You're just a man playing with camera tricks!"
Wan tried to stand, but his legs gave out. His mana was gone. The "pop" of his teleportation was now just a pathetic sizzle. As Veynar raised a hand to deliver the final, soul-crushing blow, the world slowed down.
FLASHBACK: THE BLOOD OF FENRIS-VALKYR
Ten years ago. The Valkyr Estate.
Young Wan stood before his father, Lord Alaric Fenris-Valkyr, the most feared mercenary captain in the history of Gonaya. The room was filled with gold, trophies, and weapons.
"You want to be a 'Knight'?" Alaric's voice was like a mountain falling. "You want to wear the Emperor's leash and play hero for a pittance? You are a Fenris-Valkyr! We don't serve crowns; we take them!"
"I don't want your gold, Father," Wan said, his voice quiet but steady. "I want to protect the things that gold can't buy."
Alaric stepped forward, his presence suffocating. He looked at his son, and for a moment, the hardness softened into a terrifying pride.
"Then listen well, boy. If you choose the path of the sword over the path of the purse, you must never look for an exit. A Fenris-Valkyr does not look for a way out; he creates the way! Don't lose to anyone—not to men, not to gods, and certainly not to your own exhaustion! Anything is possible with the strength of our blood! Note this and stick it in your head: You are the successor of the Valkyr. You are the one who walks where the light cannot reach!"
Alaric gripped Wan's shoulder, his eyes burning. "If you are to be a ghost, be the one that haunts the darkness itself. Do not yield until the world knows your name!"
THE GRAND TOUR OF DESTRUCTION
Back on the battlefield, Wan's eyes snapped open. A cold, ancient power—not mana, but the raw, ancestral Will of the Valkyr—surged through his veins.
Veynar's hand was inches from his face. Wan didn't teleport. He grabbed Veynar's wrist.
"Note this, Veynar," Wan rasped, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "I'm not a ghost because I'm hiding. I'm a ghost because I'm the only thing you'll never see coming."
Wan's aura exploded, not in a flash of light, but in a localized distortion of space. He forced his body into Omnipresent Funhouse using the very last of his life force.
"You want a tour?" Wan yelled, slamming a "Postcard" sticker onto Veynar's chest. "I hope you like the view from the bottom!"
THE ULTIMATE FINISHER: THE GRAND TOUR – SCENIC ROUTE TO NOWHERE.
Veynar screamed as the world around him shattered.
First Frame: The crushing, lightless pressure of the Gabriela Trench.
Second Frame: The absolute zero of the Stratosphere.
Third Frame: The molten, sulfurous heat of the Mount Vulcan Core.
Wan moved with him, flickering like a glitch, striking Veynar a thousand times in the span of three seconds as they cycled through a hundred lethal locations. Veynar, in his madness, tried to strike back, but Wan was "Non-Newtonian"—the attacks passed through him as they tumbled through space and time.
The Final Frame: They reappeared in the Gonaya courtyard.
The accumulated kinetic energy of a hundred teleports hit Veynar all at once. The impact created a crater fifty yards wide. Veynar lay in the center, his robes shredded, his skin blackened by frostbite and heat-scoring.
Wan stood over him for a second, his heart hammering against his ribs. He coughed up blood, his vision blurring. He had used it all. Every drop of mana, every ounce of will.
"It... it is what... it is," Wan whispered, his knees buckling.
Veynar, somehow still breathing through sheer spite, tried to crawl toward him. "I'll... I'll kill... you..."
A massive, six-armed Maiju Servant erupted from the shadows, scooping up Veynar's broken body. The beast let out a protective roar, shielding its master as it retreated into the dark fog of the Rumbling.
Wan didn't have the strength to chase. He reached for one last photo—a blurry image of his own bedroom.
Pop.
Wan vanished, teleporting back to the palace just as he lost consciousness. The duel of the shadows had ended in a stalemate of blood, but the message was clear: The St. Command would not break, and the Pact of Obsidian was no longer untouchable.
[TO BE CONTINUED]