Chapter 170
Ari, Gray, Dawn, and Tracey accept a suspicious free ride only to be teleported by Vice-Captain Finn into a dark chamber, where they are confronted by the Four Emperors. The rulers reveal they summoned the group to discuss the growing threat of Imperial—the Red Marked—and propose forming a coalition to eliminate him.
They present an ancient book only Ari can read, foretelling the return of a destructive darkness tied to lightning and shadow. The Emperors admit they created Hollowborn using forbidden means as weapons against this coming calamity. Tension rises as the group questions their morality and motives, but the rulers insist their goal is to capture Imperial—not just to stop him, but to harness his power.
The scene shifted. The group found themselves in a hall far larger than the chamber they had faced the Emperors in before. Darkness clung to the corners, pierced only by faint, dim lights tracing the edges of the room, just enough to make out shapes and figures. Dust swirled lazily in the still air, illuminated only where it caught the pale glint of magic or the glimmer of polished metal. At the far end, the Four Emperors sat on their thrones, silent, unyielding, their golden fur-lined white coats gleaming faintly like the first rays of dawn brushing over snow. Ari, Gray, Dawn, and Tracey stood tense at the center of the hall, every muscle coiled, senses straining to catch the slightest movement.
From behind the Emperors, more figures emerged. The same gleaming white coats marked them, but Ari's eyes narrowed—these were not mere attendants. Shadows lengthened and shifted as three generals stepped forward into partial light: General Luck of the Lunaris Empire, General Peter of the Pyronis Empire, and General Mock of the Aetheris Empire. Behind them, a disciplined group followed, each figure radiating quiet authority, their presence commanding respect without a word.
Ari's gaze swept across the assembled faces. Then it froze. Familiar. Unmistakable. Her pulse quickened. Jimmy. The ground-magic user she had faced months ago at the prison. The one who had pushed her to the brink, forcing every ounce of skill and courage from her. A shiver ran down her spine.
Her mind flashed back:
Sparks had danced in the air as her blade met his earth-forged weapons. One clash, then two, then a blur of motion as Jimmy vanished, striking from every conceivable angle. "Ground Magic: Ground Fist!" he had roared, stone erupting from the floor to slam into her chest, sending her crashing across the hall. Blood, dust, pain—none of it had stopped her. She had risen again and again, light magic flaring in her hands, her speed and blade a blur, dancing between the relentless attacks.
Every strike from Jimmy had tested her limits. Her wounds reopened as he disrupted her healing. Every dodge was a race against exhaustion. And yet, she had endured. Driven by the image of her captured parents, the sacrifices of her guards, and a stubborn refusal to fail, she had reached a new state: Light Drive: Second Mode. Her aura of golden-white light had wrapped around her like molten fire, trailing radiant, blade-like particles. Even the walls of stone and soldiers of earth Jimmy summoned had crumbled under her precision and determination.
By the end, she had stood victorious, wounds burning, body exhausted—but unbroken. Jimmy, bruised, stunned, had realized the truth: the gulf between them was wide, shaped by struggle, resolve, and the will to protect what mattered most.
The memory surged through Ari, sharpening her senses. Her grip on her sword tightened, light magic pulsing softly along its blade. The past had tested her—and she had survived.
Now, Jimmy stood in the hall, and he was not alone. Behind him, four figures emerged from the shadows—two men and two women, their battle scars and hardened expressions telling stories of countless fights. Each exuded deadly precision, standing like statues of strength.
A heavy, oppressive wave of magic rolled through the hall, pressing down on everyone present. Dim lights flickered as four more figures appeared from the surrounding darkness: the Elite Five—Gravio, Ben, Morgan, and Lucy. Their combined magic dominated the hall, bending shadows and warping the air. Even the vast space felt suffocating.
Magnus broke the silence, his voice calm and commanding, echoing in the cavernous space.
"We are grateful to have all sixteen of you here. As you know, the purpose of this gathering is clear: to eliminate the greatest threat to our world—the Red-Marked Imperial."
Ari's hand tightened around her sword. Dawn's eyes gleamed with determination, Gray's body tensed. Every person in the room understood—the confrontation had already begun.
Jimmy stepped forward, arms crossed, smirking. "Sixteen of us," he said, voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Sixteen… all here to eliminate one man? One Red-Marked Imperial?"
Magnus' gaze swept over him, unwavering. "Numbers are not pride. They are necessity. The threat he poses cannot be underestimated. Each of you was chosen for skill and strength. Together, you guarantee the mission's success."
Jimmy shook his head, chuckling. "Unprecedented, huh? He's strong, sure—but sixteen of us? Isn't that… a bit much?"
General Luck stepped forward, voice sharp. "Overkill? No. Every detail has been considered. Underestimate him, and the cost is worlds. That is why all sixteen of you were assembled."
Jimmy's grin widened, teasing. "So, here I am… part of this sixteen. Me, fifteen others, all standing in one hall. And yet… does anyone really believe one man can be eliminated cleanly just because we're all here?"
Magnus' tone remained steady, measured. "Doubt is natural, but hesitation is not. Each of you has a role. Each must act without fail. The Red-Marked Imperial must not survive. Failure is not an option."
Gravio stepped from the shadows, arms folded, a slow, mocking grin spreading across his face. "So, Jimmy," he said, amusement heavy in his tone, "you're part of this little party. Tell me—do you feel small standing among sixteen? Or do you enjoy being one of the toys the Emperors line up and shake?"
Jimmy's smirk didn't falter. "I don't feel small. I feel… entertained. You sound jealous, Gravio."
Ben leaned on the haft of his weapon, eyes glinting with mischief. "Jealous? Hardly. But I'll warn you—this isn't a sparring match. The target we have eats sparring matches for breakfast. Imperial faced four of us before and survived. That tells you everything."
Morgan's laugh was cold, sharp. "Survived. Barely."
Lucy's voice was deceptively soft, yet carried in the vast hall. "Maybe you like being where the heat is. Not everyone can stomach it. He's dangerous—not because we failed before—but because he survived. That says a lot about what he's capable of."
Jimmy's laugh sharpened, pride and irritation braided together. "So he survived you four. Congratulations. Means he's strong—and so am I. Don't act like this surprises you."
Gravio's grin sharpened. "We're not surprised. We're cautious. Spirit is one thing—strategy is another."
Ben's tone lowered, serious. "He doesn't just fight. He reshapes the battlefield. If you think this will be another duel, you're mistaken—and not in a good way."
Ari finally spoke, her voice cutting through the tension. "Strength isn't just surviving. It's about what you protect afterward. If he survived you four, that's a reason to be careful—not reckless."
Jimmy's jaw tightened, but his smile returned, sharper than before. "Then let's be cautious together. Sixteen or one, I don't plan on being the weak link."
Lucy's eyes glinted. "Good. If you survive, we'll all be glad you weren't."
Magnus' expression was unreadable, his voice calm, unyielding. "Enough. Insults and bravado will not win the day. Prepare yourselves. We move when we move."
The hall fell silent again. Dust hung in the air, the faint glow of magic tracing the edges of the room. A tension settled, like the calm before a storm. Every heartbeat echoed against stone walls. Every glance and breath carried weight. And in that stillness, one truth hung unspoken yet undeniable: the Red-Marked Imperial was not a simple target. He was a force. And whichever way the day turned, this hall, this confrontation, would remember the clash of sixteen extraordinary warriors converging on destiny.
Scene Shift:
The camera zoomed slowly toward a solitary house, its silhouette barely visible against the dim evening light. Inside, shadows clung to the corners, and the room was bathed in a low, muted glow. Imperial lounged in a worn chair, one leg casually resting on the edge of the window sill, his gaze distant, lost in thought. The faint creak of the chair broke the silence, mingling with the whisper of wind outside.
Cut to the view beyond the window. The neighborhood lay in ruins—houses splintered, rooftops torn away, and streets littered with debris. Dark clouds roiled above, whipped by a harsh, stormy wind that rattled the broken windows and sent dust swirling through the air. The sky itself seemed heavy, almost alive with the fury of the approaching storm, echoing the tension that hung in the air.