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The skyscraper split in half with a sound like the world breaking. The top section hung suspended for a heartbeat, defying gravity, before beginning its inevitable plunge toward the street below.
Russell's blood turned to ice. The massive structure cast a shadow over them like the wing of some colossal bird of prey. "It's too big," he said, his voice cutting through the rising panic. "We're too close. No time to run."
His mind raced through options. They had seconds, maybe less.
"Luffy!" Russell's shout cracked like a whip.
Without hesitation, Luffy sucked in a breath that seemed to drain the air from the entire street. His body expanded like a balloon, rubber skin stretching until he floated above the terrified students like a flesh-colored dome.
"Everyone else!" Russell commanded, his voice carrying the authority of someone who'd stared death in the face too many times. "Hit the debris! Break it down! Give Luffy anything you can!"
The boys didn't hesitate. Cards materialized in their hands, glowing with desperate power. Bolts of energy, blades of light, and crushing force erupted upward, shattering the initial wave of concrete and steel into smaller, more manageable pieces.
But Russell's thoughts were already elsewhere. If only Master Blake had created Wei Zheng, the Incorruptible Arbiter. A card based on that legend would have devastation attacks specifically designed for dragon-type creatures. Instead, high above them, Blake Whitmore's shadow-wreathed champion—[Lucius, the Shadow Regent]—was locked in a brutal dance with the flesh-and-blood dragon that had once been Director Valerius.
The two titans crashed through the sky, their battle sending shockwaves that shattered windows for miles. Lucius was powerful, diamond-grade, but the dragon was cunning and desperate. Every time the Shadow Regent gained the upper hand, the creature would dive toward the city, forcing Lucius to break off his attack to prevent civilian casualties.
At this level, they could reduce the entire city to rubble, Russell thought grimly. Even with Lucius trying to keep the fight airborne, the surrounding blocks were already crumbling under the pressure waves of their combat.
The students braced themselves as the building's remains hurtled toward them. Luffy's expanded form trembled with the effort of preparing to absorb the impact.
Then the night exploded into daylight.
A beam of pure white energy lanced down from the heavens, striking the falling debris. The massive chunks of concrete and steel simply vanished, vaporized into glittering dust that sparkled like snow in the artificial dawn.
Russell's jaw dropped. Through the settling dust, a figure descended from the clouds—majestic, divine, terrible in its power. It wore armor of brilliant crimson that seemed to burn with inner fire. In one hand, it held a serpentine dragon crafted from white glass that writhed with contained lightning. In the other, a glowing orb pulsed with energy that made the air itself hum.
The glass dragon suddenly sprang to life, flowing from the figure's grasp like liquid light. It rocketed skyward, its crystalline form reflecting the city's lights as it engaged the flesh-and-blood monster in aerial combat.
"Students, are you all right?"
The voice was warm, authoritative, and achingly familiar. Russell spun around to find President Lance Jennings standing beside them, his weathered face creased with concern.
"President Jennings!" Russell called out, relief flooding through him. The other students quickly echoed his greeting, some with awe, others with barely contained excitement.
Jennings nodded, his eyes quickly scanning the group. When he confirmed they were all unharmed, the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. His gaze lingered on Russell for a moment longer than the others. The boy who might just save us all, he thought. Without Russell's quick thinking and protection, none of these students would have survived.
The Association had miscalculated badly. They'd assumed Blake Whitmore's presence would be enough to keep the students safe. They hadn't anticipated the sheer scale of the Spirit Society's coordinated assault.
Above them, the divine figure—Jennings' own diamond-level card, [Virupaksha, the Western King]—was systematically driving both dragons away from the city center. The glass dragon moved with perfect precision, each attack calculated to force the flesh-and-blood monster further from populated areas.
"I apologize for the terror you've all experienced," Jennings said, his voice carrying the weight of genuine remorse. "Let's get you to a proper shelter now."
For a moment, he considered asking these talented young people to help maintain order throughout the city. But looking at their faces—still young, still innocent despite what they'd witnessed—he dismissed the thought. Let the old men handle this burden. They're still children.
"President Jennings," Russell said urgently, "all the employees at Golden Talent Credit—they were transformed into demons by the Spirit Society."
Jennings' expression grew heavy. He already knew. At that very moment, Brother Tiger's organization and a dozen other suspected front companies had erupted into chaos across the city. Their members were transforming into monsters, turning New Metro into a battlefield.
Fortunately, Russell's intelligence had allowed them to position surveillance teams at most locations. The casualties could have been catastrophic—instead, they were merely devastating. Only the situation at Golden Talent Credit, with Valerius's unexpected transformation into a diamond-grade threat, had spiraled completely out of control.
But something didn't add up. The Spirit Society's move seemed like strategic suicide. They'd exposed every major operation in the city. Who would dare work with them now, except the truly desperate?
What are they really after? The question gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside. There would be time for analysis later.
"The Association is handling the situation," he said, forcing warmth into his voice. "Russell, please escort your classmates to the nearest shelter. The all-clear will sound once we've secured the city."
Russell nodded, understanding the dismissal. As he began leading the other students away, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.
Far out over the ocean, where the waves still bore scars from their earlier battle, Blake Whitmore and Regent Jin faced each other across the churning waters. The Spirit Society's leader wore an expression of smug satisfaction that made Blake's blood boil.
"You must be very grateful to that Russell boy," Regent Jin said, his voice carrying easily across the distance between them. "Otherwise, tonight would have gone very differently."
Blake's face darkened at the mention of Russell's name. How does he know?
The implications hit him like a physical blow. There was a high-level traitor in the Association. Someone with access to classified information, someone who knew about Russell's recent activities and his growing importance to their operations.
The list of suspects was terrifyingly short. Beyond himself, only a handful of people knew the details of Russell's involvement. He could trust Jennings absolutely—the man's son had died in the [Demon's Nest] catastrophe years ago, a tragedy orchestrated by the Spirit Society. Jennings carried a hatred so deep it had nearly consumed him. He would never betray them.
That left... Jonathan Whitemore.
The thought was like poison in his mind. His own brother, one of the few people who knew about the alterations to Russell's official record, who had been present for all the key decisions. Unless someone had been watching Russell from the very beginning—but why would they? Before the Prodigy Cup, the boy had shown promise but nothing extraordinary.
No, Blake thought, it has to be someone on the inside.
Regent Jin watched the suspicion bloom on Blake's face with obvious satisfaction. "It's a pity, though," he continued, his tone becoming almost conversational. "Those talented students... they didn't sign my contracts. I have to admit, I'm disappointed."
His expression shifted, becoming mockingly humble. "Yes, you win this battle. But we didn't lose the war." His eyes glittered with malicious triumph. "After all, we achieved our primary goal."
Blake's frown deepened. Every instinct screamed at him to demand answers, but he knew better than to give his enemy that satisfaction. Instead, he sneered. "Putting on a brave face? How pathetic."
Regent Jin's laughter echoed across the water as his form began to dissolve into wisps of shadow. "Until next time, Blake. Give my regards to your brother."
He vanished, leaving Blake alone with the sound of waves rushing back to fill the crater their battle had carved in the ocean. The water was tinged red with blood—whether his own or his enemy's, he couldn't tell.
Exhaustion settled over him like a heavy cloak. The night had been a victory, but it felt hollow. The Spirit Society had revealed their hand, yes, but they'd also accomplished something—something Blake couldn't yet fathom.
And now, worst of all, he had to consider the possibility that his own brother was a traitor.
"Russell," he murmured, the boy's name now carrying the weight of terrible suspicion. What have you gotten yourself into?
The waves continued their eternal dance, indifferent to the human drama playing out above them. In the distance, New Metro's lights flickered like dying stars, and Blake wondered if this pyrrhic victory would be remembered as the beginning of the end.
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