Chapter 36 – Shadows over the Sanctuary
The moon hung low above Shinya, pale and cold, casting its silver hue across the sprawling city and its towering sanctuaries. Tonight, the air was different. The whispers of rebellion did not echo in crowded taverns or back alleys anymore—they flowed like an underground river, silent and unseen, carried by those who had already given everything to the cause.
At the heart of it all stood Xerx, the mystic magician cloaked in violet robes that shimmered faintly against the night. His eyes, deep as forgotten wells, traced every star in the heavens before lowering to the group around him. The rebellion squad waited in absolute silence, their faces drawn tight with determination and dread.
Moro stood closest, the glow of his Matrix aura faintly shimmering like a dying flame. Kaya, arms crossed and jaw clenched, refused to break eye contact with the distant towers of the sanctuary. Beside them, Hanks, the once-royal, now-rebel, bore the weight of guilt and defiance equally.
Xerx raised both hands, his voice low and resonant.
"Tonight marks the crossing. Shinya will never be the same after this. The Council thinks themselves untouchable, wrapped in shadows and power. But shadows break under light—and you, Moro, carry a flame they cannot extinguish."
Moro exhaled slowly. "You talk as though you knew my father."
Xerx's eyes flickered, sadness mixing with pride.
"I fought beside Jara when he first awakened the Ember Spirit. He was the first to show me that the Matrix is more than balance—it is resistance against corruption itself. Tonight, you will either rise as his son… or fall as another casualty to the Celtic High."
He placed his staff into the ground. From its crystal tip, rings of mystic energy spread outward, weaving across every rebel present. The magic shimmered faintly, bending air and light, until their very presence dissolved into nothing.
"Invisibility," Kaya whispered, glancing at her own hands, now transparent.
"No," Xerx corrected softly. "More than that. This is erasure. You no longer exist in their sight, sound, or sense. Move quietly, and even the most cursed eyes will pass you by. But should you falter, even once, the spell will break—and Shinya will drown in blood before dawn."
The rebels nodded grimly. Their mission was clear: infiltrate the sanctuary, plant their roots of resistance within its heart, and cripple the council's dominion from inside.
But not all of them were destined for stealth.
At the edge of the clearing, the Castle of Kings loomed, its obsidian walls lit by torches and guarded by phantoms in steel. The great hall within throbbed with power, and at its center awaited a nightmare given flesh: Hawks, the Council's most loyal hound, body infused with the darkest magics the Celtic High had ever conjured.
Xerx turned to Moro, Kaya, and Hanks. "You three must hold Hawks. If he leaves this castle, the rebellion dies before it breathes. Whatever strength you've kept hidden, unleash it tonight."
Moro stepped forward, his eyes blazing faint blue.
"Then let's end this."
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The Infiltration
Herbet moved first, his squad shadowing him through narrow alleys toward the sanctuary's southern gate. His pulse thundered in his ears, but his footsteps made no sound, not even against the cobblestones. The erasure spell clung to them like a second skin, muffling their very existence.
They passed guards standing in formation, torches flickering, spears held upright. Not a single helmeted head turned. To the soldiers, Herbet and his men were air, mere whispers of the night.
Inside the sanctuary's outer courtyard, the scale of the task struck them. Towers stretched like skeletal fingers into the sky, draped in black banners marked with the Council's sigil. The faint hum of dark energy radiated from the walls, thick enough to make lungs ache.
Herbet signaled with two fingers. The squad split, slipping into the maze of archways and stairwells. Their mission was simple—map the sanctuary from within, identify its vulnerabilities, and plant the rebellion's seeds. But every step deeper felt like trespassing into the underworld.
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The Castle of Kings
Meanwhile, the air within the throne chamber quaked.
Hawks stood at its center, tall and broad, draped in armor forged of shadows themselves. His wings—black, serrated extensions of dark energy—twitched with anticipation. The Celtic High had infused him beyond mortal limits; his body was now a vessel of their will, his eyes glowing with an endless void.
When the doors creaked open, Moro, Kaya, and Hanks entered, weapons drawn, auras burning.
Hawks smirked.
"So, the traitor returns with his little entourage. Tell me, Hanks—do you feel the chains of guilt still? Or has rebellion blinded you completely?"
Hanks clenched his fists, his voice heavy with venom.
"The only chains I feel are the ones I let you and the Council wrap around my people. No more."
"Brave words," Hawks growled, shadows crawling across his hands like living beasts. "But bravery won't stop me from crushing all of you."
The hall erupted into chaos.
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Clash of Powers
Hawks moved first. His wings snapped outward, releasing a storm of shadow-feathers, each one slicing through stone like steel. Moro darted forward, Matrix aura blazing blue, deflecting the first wave with raw energy. Kaya twisted through the storm, blades flashing, carving through the feathers before they could reach her.
Hanks struck low, summoning force into his fists, slamming the marble floor and sending a shockwave upward. The ground cracked, but Hawks laughed, dispersing the quake with a sweep of his claws.
"Pathetic," he hissed, vanishing into shadow.
Moro's instincts screamed. He turned just in time to see Hawks materialize behind him, claws aimed for his spine. In a heartbeat, Moro flared the Matrix, light bursting outward, forcing Hawks back.
The two locked eyes—Matrix against Shadow, blue flame against endless black.
"You burn bright," Hawks admitted, his grin jagged. "But fire always dies in the dark."
"Not this fire," Moro growled.
Their clash shook the castle. Fists and claws met, each strike exploding like thunder, stone and steel crumbling around them. Kaya darted between openings, slashing tendons, stabbing weak points, forcing Hawks to divide his focus. Hanks stood ground, taking blow after blow, his body shielded by sheer will.
Still, Hawks was relentless. His claws extended into tendrils, whipping through the hall, tearing pillars down as though they were paper. The shadows twisted and multiplied, creating duplicates of himself that surged at the trio.
Moro spun, Matrix light bursting from his palms, erasing the doppelgangers in flares of blue flame. Sweat poured down his brow, but he pushed harder, the memory of his father's voice ringing in his mind: The Matrix is balance. Let it consume you, and it will free you.
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Parallel Paths
While the castle rang with explosions, the rebellion crept deeper into the sanctuary.
Herbet pressed his back against a wall, heart hammering as he studied the inner sanctum. The erasure spell still held, but the air here was thick, charged with a darkness that seemed to claw at their very souls.
"What are they doing?" one rebel whispered, eyes on the great chamber beyond.
At the chamber's center, priests of the Celtic High stood in a circle, chanting, their hands raised over a pool of writhing black energy. From its depths, screams echoed faintly—voices of the damned.
"They're feeding," Herbet whispered back. "Drawing power from souls."
His gut clenched. If the Council could keep fueling Hawks like this, then Moro and the others wouldn't last the night. They needed to sever this ritual—but one wrong move could shatter Xerx's spell and expose them all.
He clenched his fist.
Patience. Trust Moro. Trust the timing.
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The Turning Tide
Back in the castle, the trio was faltering. Kaya's arm bled, sliced by a shadow-tendril. Hanks staggered, a heavy claw mark across his chest. Moro's light flickered, his energy drained by the relentless onslaught.
Hawks towered over them, shadows pooling beneath his feet like tar.
"Is this all the rebellion has to offer?" he sneered. "You are nothing but sparks before the void."
Moro's body screamed in pain, but his spirit roared louder. He clenched his fists, forcing the Matrix to surge, his entire frame glowing brilliant blue. He thought of his father, of Kaya's trust, of the rebellion dying outside if he failed here.
With a guttural roar, he charged.
The hall exploded as blue flame and black shadow collided, shockwaves shattering walls, hurling debris like missiles.
Kaya threw herself into the fray, her blades glowing faint with borrowed Matrix light as she synchronized with Moro's aura. Hanks followed, every strike fueled by defiance, his voice a war cry that shook even Hawks' confidence.
For the first time, Hawks staggered.
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The Cliffhanger
But then, as though the Council themselves sensed the threat, Hawks unleashed his full infusion. His body distorted, shadows stretching into monstrous wings, his claws elongating into weapons of pure void.
The ground split open beneath him, black fire erupting as he roared:
"You think you've seen power? I am the Celtic High's judgment made flesh!"
The force knocked all three back, slamming them into broken pillars. Moro gasped for breath, his light flickering violently. Kaya pulled herself up, eyes burning with rage. Hanks spat blood but planted his feet again.
They weren't finished—but neither was Hawks.
Far across the city, Herbet and the rebels watched as the sanctuary's black pool began to surge, its chants reaching fever pitch. The Council was pouring everything into their champion.
And the night of Shinya was just beginning.
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