Chapter 125: AMBUSH 2
Philip stood atop a crumbling ridge overlooking the broken remains of an ancient temple, the golden sand of the Sahel stretching endlessly around him. The sky was quiet now too quiet. No ripples in space. No pressure of otherworldly gazes. Yet his instincts screamed that this calm was only the eye of the storm.
This was the third site he had visited since the Null Zone.
He had been moving nonstop. Tearing through folds in space. Hopping from sealed zone to sealed zone, avoiding civilization, avoiding detection. But they the NAM operatives weren't letting go. Every location, no matter how obscure, no matter how shielded by the veils of forgotten gods or layered in spatial anchors, ended in the same result:
They found him.
The first site, in the mountains of Sudan, was a collapsed divine vault beneath a buried city. Its walls were lined with sunburst sigils from the Solar Cult of the Third Age. Inside, he found a cracked Staff of the Solar Flame, humming weakly with residual energy, and a box of sealed crystal vials filled with unknown liquids potions, maybe. They pulsed faintly in his hand but didn't react to his aura.
The second site, deep beneath Lake Turkana, was a shattered throne room once divine, now desecrated. A relic sword floated above the remains of a crushed obsidian throne. The blade had no edge. Just a glowing string of runes vibrating in the air. Divine, yes. Emperor-level? No. Another dead end.
Now, here in Niger's desert, in the ruins of a sealed circular gate-temple said to predate the oldest civilizations, he had recovered three more damaged artifacts two of divine origin. But again, no Emperor relics.
Worse still, the instant he retrieved the third piece, the sky had shimmered.
Another breach.
Another arrival.
Another hunt.
Philip didn't wait this time.
He blinked space folding in a ripple of violet and reappeared high in the clouds above the temple, hovering with his body wrapped in dense ambient mana. And just like before… they came.
From a flickering rift above the sands, five figures emerged.
Not Cohort-6 this time.
These were Trackers, faster and more flexible than the extraction squads. Each wore armor woven with liquid metal. They shimmered even when standing still. Their bodies bent ever so slightly in space, as if they were projections through a warped lens.
Philip scowled. "They're escalating."
He raised his palm. With a thought, the space between them collapsed. One of the Trackers shrieked, crushed instantly as the space imploded her position into a point the size of a pinhead. Dust and fractured armor scattered like ash.
The others reacted with trained precision. One of them hurled a disruption bomb, which mana for a hundred meters, canceling teleportation and nullifying portals.
Smart.
Philip responded with force.
He clapped both hands together. Telekinetic shockwaves burst outward in a perfect expanding shell space cracking under the pressure. One Tracker was caught too slow his body bent unnaturally before being folded in half by the collapsing air.
Another locked him with a gravitational spear, meant to clamp into his position and prevent warping.
But Philip didn't dodge.
He stretched the local space making the ground farther away. The spear fell short, clinking uselessly. Then, with a twist, he inverted gravity under the attacker launching him into the sky like a bullet. The body vanished upward, swallowed by the upper atmosphere.
Two remained.
They adapted quickly bouncing in and out of reality using their own dimensional translocators, moving in zigzags and attacking from above. Their weapons hummed with divine-null enchantments.
Philip caught one blade mid-swing with a telekinetic grip, twisting it against its wielder with a flick of his wrist. The impact snapped the operative's arm at the elbow. Philip threw him down like a meteor, then opened the ground under him, as he controlled the earth to swallow him as he crushed the body like a nut.
The last one tried to retreat.
Philip wouldn't let him.
Philip raised his hand, fingers flaring.
Lightning screamed across the sky, striking the fleeing Tracker mid-step. The blast ignited his armor, flames rolling across his body.
Gone.
Philip breathed heavily, his aura dimming slightly.
The desert wind blew.
He reached into his ring, pulled out one of the unknown potions, and stared at it.
Clear green.. The label, was smudged.
It might be useful.
Or dangerous.
He slid it back into the ring's sub-space and made a note to give Dr. Remi a sample. If anyone on Earth could analyze potions, it was him.
He looked up.
He couldn't keep doing this.
Jumping from site to site. Being chased. Harassed. And finding nothing but broken tools of dead gods.
Still, he couldn't stop now.
Philip raised his hand. The air split ripped apart by his will. A swirling portal appeared
Another sealed site awaited.
And with it, another chance.
Philip vanished.
But NAM was coming again.
This time, they'd bring more than Trackers