ARRRRRRM! ARRRRRRM!
Emergency alarms shattered the selince at the Solar Knights Headquarters. Red lights pulsed across the command center, casting long shadows down the walls.
The war room stretched vast before them—dozens of officers at curved stations, each wearing midnight-blue uniforms with silver threading. Golden phoenix emblems marked their shoulders.
At the room's center stood the Grand Mirrornet—a massive crystalline screen dominating the far wall. Floating orbs of light danced around its edges, each one pulsing with magical energy.
"What's the situation report?"
Lady Lylia Astralwind strode into the command center. Her Phoenix armor gleamed gold, each piece etched with protective runes. Her purple hair cascaded over one shoulder while her red eyes burned with barely contained fury.
"Lady Lylia!" A communications officer spun in his chair, sweat beading on his brow. "We've lost contact with Captain Derrick's twelve-man squadron. They were escorting the Class-A prisoners—the Fearscar Twins."
Lylia's fingers drummed against her sword hilt. "Elaborate."
"The twins—Bronn and Havoc—were captured after attacking THE NOBLE LUXURY BOUTIQUE. Stopped by Lady Elsa Liana and her companion..."
"Lorenzo," a strange name, not from here.
Lylia's eyebrows arched. "Elsa? I wasn't aware she'd returned to the kingdom."
"Yes, ma'am. But Captain Derrick's communication went dark thirty-seven minutes ago. Complete silence."
The command center fell quiet except for the persistent alarms. Lylia's jaw tightened. "Derrick doesn't abandon protocol. Something's gone wrong." She turned toward the tactical station. "Have we deployed reconnaissance?"
"Griffin Squadron launched fifteen minutes ago."
"And?"
"Still waiting for—"
DRIIIIING! DRIIIIING!
The Grand Mirrornet erupted in light, urgent communication runes blazing across its surface.
"Incoming transmission from Griffin Leader," the officer announced.
"Put it through."
VWOOM!
The screen cleared to reveal Lieutenant Commander Thane—wind whipping his graying hair, his face grim.
"HQ, this is Griffin Leader. We've reached Captain Derrick's position and..." His voice cracked. "Lady Lylia, you need to see this. It's a slaughterhouse."
Ice formed in Lylia's veins. "What's Captain Derrick's status?"
"Lylia, ma'am. Entire squadron eliminated. No survivors."
Officers gasped. Some rose from their stations. Lylia's knuckles went white around her sword grip.
"That's impossible. Derrick was one of our finest. What force could—"
"Ma'am, requesting permission to switch to tactical overlay."
Lylia's throat felt dry. "Granted, but prepare the room. If it's as bad as you suggest..."
"Fair warning—this isn't for the faint of heart."
SHIMMER!
The view shifted. The command center erupted in horrified gasps.
The battlefield spread before them. Earth scorched black, split by massive craters still smoldering. Ancient tress lay splintered, their trunks snapped. The air shimmered with lingering magical energy.
The bodies made hardened soldiers turn away.
Solar Knights lay scattered. Some burned to ash remains, others torn apart with surgical precision. Blood had soaked so deeply into the earth that the ground wept crimson.
"Show me Derrick."
The view panned to a massive tree, its trunk split down the middle. There, crumpled at its base, lay what remained of Captain Derrick .
A gaping hole punched through his chest. His head lay several feet away, still wearing his terrified face, dead eyes staring at nothing. His Echoform was nowhere to be seen.
Lylia pressed her hand to her mouth, fighting every instinct to vomit around the command center, officers looked away, some openly weeping.
"There's more, ma'am," Thane's voice was hollow. "The prison transport is breached. We found Bronn the Cleaver inside, but something's wrong."
"What?"
"He's death..."
The view shifted to the overturned containment cart, its steel ceiling blast open. Inside, Bronn lay motionless.
His skin had turned corpse-pale, almost translucent. Dark veins showed beneath. His eyes were open but completely white—no pupils, no iris, just empty sockets.
"He's been drained," Lylia whispered.
"Drained of what?" an officer asked.
Lylia's face went ashen. "His essence. His life force. His Echoform. Someone performed a Soul Pact—forcibly extracting and binding another person's Echoform to themselves."
Murmurs of horror rippled through the room.
"We've also found tracking evidence," Thane's voice crackled. "Footprints leading away from the scene."
"Show me."
Massive imprints in the scorched earth—easily three times human size, with claw marks gouged deep into the soil.
"Those aren't human," Lylia stated.
"No ma'am. Based on the evidence, we believe Havoc underwent complete transformation. He's become a Soulwretch."
Absolute silence. Even the alarms seemed to quiet.
"Where do the tracks lead?"
Thane paused. "Directly toward the Buzzing District. Straight into the civilian population."
CRASH!
Lylia's fist slammed into the console, denting the metal. "Estimated civilian count?"
"Twelve thousand souls, ma'am. Including market squares, residential quarters, and the Academy for Young Mages."
"This is now classified as an S-Rank threat," Lylia announced. "Send emergency broadcasts to every guild. I want every available S-Rank adventurer mobilized immediately."
The command center exploded into coordinated chaos.
DING! DING! DING!
Responses flooded in:
"Silver Line Guild reports all S-Rank members on escort missions!"
"Moonlit Guilty's S-Ranks are in the Cursed Marshlands—three days minimum!"
"Chronicle Blades Guild investigating the Dragon Sighting near Ember Falls!"
"Dark Fang Guild pursuing the Lich of Howling Peaks!"
Each negative response felt like another nail in the kingdom's coffin.
"How are ALL our elite forces away when we need them the most?" Lylia muttered.
"Ma'am," a young officer raised his hand hesitantly, "we could deploy A, B, and C-Rank adventurers..."
"Against a Soulwretch? That's massacre. We'd be sending them to die for nothing."
Silence again.
Then Lylia's eyes blazed with determination. "Send the mobilization order anyway. Every available adventurer, regardless of rank. And I know people. Individuals who aren't registered adventurers but possess the necessary strength."
"Ma'am, that's against kingdom regulations—"
"Do you have a better suggestion?" Lylia's voice cracked. "Because if you do, I'm listening."
Silence.
"We're facing the extinction of twelve thousand innocent lives. Regulations mean nothing if there's no kingdom left to regulate." She addressed the entire room. "Send those orders. And broadcast emergency warnings to every civilian mirrornet in the Buzzing District. Tell them to barricade themselves indoors."
"Yes, Lady Lylia!" the officers chorused.
"I'll handle recruiting my unofficial assets." Lylia strode toward the exit. "May fortune favor us all."
The doors slammed shut behind her.
---
Meanwhile…
Drake stood over Elsa's wounded form, her torn waist still seeping blood that pooled on the cobblestones. Her breathing was shallow, labored.
Havoc loomed before them, his massive frame backlit by warm shop windows, creating a silhouette from humanity's worst nightmares. His regenerated cannon arm gleamed with residual heat, while his crimson eyes burned.
"Oh yes, I slaughtered every last one of those knights," Havoc continued, satisfaction purring in his voice. "That captain, I think he put up quite the fight. His final attack took my arm clean off." He flexed his regenerated limb. "But in the end, I carved through his chest and took his head as a trophy."
Drake's hands shook as he held the healing flask tightly. *Innocent people. This bastard is talking about how he murdered an entier squadron.*
"The explosion you heard earlier? Some fool in a merchant carriage nearly ran me down while I was tracking your scent. I reduced him and his cargo to smoking debris before he could scream."
*That explains the blast we heard.*
"You're a monster," Drake said through gritted teeth.
"Me? A monster? That's rich coming from someone harboring the real demon!" His massive claw pointed at Elsa's unconscious form. "That ice witch has more blood on her hands than I could spill in a dozen lifetimes. But don't worry—I'll make sure to 'take care' of her thoroughly. As for you..."
The cannon arm began to emit a low hum.
WHIRRRRRRR...
"I'll make your death quick. Consider it professional courtesy for helping me become what I am today."
Drake's mind raced. *He's impossibly strong—I can feel the malevolent energy radiating from him. I need to get Elsa out of here so I can treat her wounds, but there's no way I can outrun him carrying her.*
"This conversation has gone on long enough," Havoc snarled, magical energy crackling around his cannon. "Time to end you both!"
The air began to swirl with gathering power. Dust spiraled upward as arcane forces built to critical mass.
*What can I do? I can't fight him head-on, and I can't run. Is this how it ends?*
Then—
FLASH!
Brilliant light erupted from behind Havoc, so sudden and bright it cast harsh shadows in every direction.
Havoc spun around, his cannon's charge dissipating.
Standing thirty feet away, partially hidden behind a market stall, was a young man barely out of his teens. He had the lean build of someone who spent more time running from danger than confronting it, wearing simple leather armor that marked him as a low-rank adventurer. His sandy brown hair was disheveled, and his wide brown eyes sparkled with excitement rather than fear.
He was holding a mirrornet—a crystalline rectangular one, about the size of his palm, its surface still glowing from the photo it had just captured.
"Perfect!" the young man exclaimed, his voice cracking with adolescent enthusiasm. "I found the Soulwretch before anyone else! The bounty for this intelligence will set me up for months!"
His fingers flew across the mirrornet's runic interface, uploading the image with practiced efficiency.
PING!
The familiar sound of successful transmission echoed in the tense air.
---
Back at Solar Knights Headquarters...
"Urgent intelligence incoming!"
A communications officer's shout cut through the command center's activity. "We just received a field photo from Tonny the Tracker—freelance information broker, C-Rank adventurer!"
The Grand Mirrornet shimmered as the image appeared: a crystal-clear photograph showing Havoc in all his monstrous glory, cannon arm gleaming, standing over two figures near a small shop.
"Sweet goddess," an officer gasped. "Look at the size of that thing!"
"Location data indicates Market District, Silver Quarter—approximately two hundred meters from the Silver Line Guild!"
"Find Lady Lylia immediately!" another officer shouted, already sprinting from the room.
---
Back at the confrontation...
Havoc's crimson gaze fixed on the young adventurer with predatory focus. When he spoke, his voice dropped to a menacing whisper.
"Did you just take a photograph of me?"
Tonny the Tracker felt his excitement transform into liquid terror as the full weight of the Soulwretch's attention fell upon him. The mirrornet suddenly felt impossibly heavy in his trembling hands.
"I... I..." he stammered, every survival instinct screaming at him to run.
"I asked you a question!" Havoc roared, his cannon arm swiveling toward this new target. "Did you take a photo of me?"
"No! Don't shoot!" Tonny screamed, finally finding his voice. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
But his distraction had given Drake exactly what he needed.
*Now's my chance,* Drake thought, carefully gathering Elsa's limp form in his arms. *I've never used this ability in actual combat before, but it's our only shot.*
He took a deep breath, centering himself.
"ECLIPSE," he whispered.
WSSSSSHHHHH!
The air around them rippled. Reality seemed to fold in on itself as darkness began to spread from Drake's position—not natural darkness, but something deeper. Something that swallowed light itself.
ATOOOOSH!
A sphere of absolute shadow erupted outward, engulfing a thirty-foot radius in impenetrable blackness. Within its borders, vision ceased to exist.
Havoc spun back toward where Drake and Elsa had been, his eyes widening as the darkness rushed toward him.
"What—"
The shadow sphere expanded to encompass him as well, cutting off his words and plunging him into a world without sight.
From somewhere within the darkness, Drake's voice echoed:
"Thanks for the distraction, man.
DING!
[SHADOW ARSENAL SYSTEM]
ECLIPES SUCCESFULLY —ACTIVATED."
"No!" Havoc's roar shook the foundations of nearby buildings. "You won't escape me!"
Tonny, still outside the shadow sphere, watched in amazement as the supernatural darkness writhed and pulsed. Then his survival instincts finally kicked in.
"Oh gods! Oh gods! Oh gods!" He turned and sprinted down the street as fast as his legs could carry him, his mirrornet clutched to his chest.
From within the impenetrable blackness came sounds of destruction—the crash of splintering wood, the scrape of claws on stone, and above it all, Havoc's enraged bellowing:
"I won't let you escape! I'll tear this entire district apart stone by stone! Do you hear me, Drake? I'll make you watch as I rip her apart with my bare claws! I'll—"
His threats were suddenly cut short.
The darkness began to dissipate, revealing...
Nothing.
The street stood empty except for pools of Elsa's blood on the cobblestones and the massive claw marks Havoc had gouged into the ground during his blind rage.
Havoc stood alone in the middle of the destruction, his cannon arm smoking with residual energy, his crimson eyes blazing with fury.
"Clever," he snarled. "Very clever, Drake. But you can't run forever."
He tilted his head, his enhanced senses reaching out into the hot afternoon.
"I can still smell her blood. Still taste her fear on the wind." His grin returned, wider and more terrible than before. "The hunt has only just begun."
In the distance, emergency bells began to ring throughout the kingdom as word of the Soulwretch's presence spread.
But Havoc barely noticed. His attention was focused entirely on the lingering scent trail that would lead him to his prey.
"Run, little mice," he whispered. "Run as far and as fast as you can."
"I'll be right behind you."
—TO BE CONTINUED—