Jasmin fought like a man drowning in an ocean of death.
The specters' wails pierced his ears as their ghastly forms coiled around him, their touch colder than death itself. Every muscle in his body screamed as he struggled, desperately resisting the pull of the abyss.
Their clawed fingers dug into his flesh, ghostly tendrils wrapping around his arms, his legs—his throat. He gasped, his vision darkening as he felt himself slowly sinking into their cursed embrace.
Zurai, his guardian beast, was in no better state.
The colossal mammoth bellowed in fury, her massive frame thrashing as spectral bodies swarmed her like locusts. Her trunk lashed out violently, sending several phantoms spiraling into the fog, their ethereal forms dissipating momentarily before reassembling again.
Her razor-sharp tusks impaled a few, forcing them to vanish in ghostly howls—but it wasn't enough.
There were too many.
They were both drowning.
Jasmin's breath hitched. Is this where it ends? His body was numb, his soul teetering on the brink of oblivion.
Then—
Pow!
A bright, glowing bullet tore through the darkness, striking the nearest specter. It let out a bloodcurdling shriek before disintegrating into nothingness.
Then another.
And another.
One by one, the wretched spirits vanished into thin air, each shot tearing through their cursed forms like divine judgment itself.
Jasmin felt the suffocating weight around him lighten. Strength surged back into his limbs.
Without hesitation, he vaulted onto Zurai's back, gripping his bow tightly as he pulled multiple arrows in rapid succession. His hands moved instinctively, each arrow with precision.
Release.
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
The arrows whistled through the air, impaling the remaining specters. Their eerie wails echoed through the battlefield as they were obliterated, their cursed existence finally erased.
Jasmin exhaled, his chest heaving as he turned toward the source of his salvation.
And there he was—strolling through the battlefield like it was nothing but a leisurely walk through a park.
Nebula.
A smirk curled his lips as he inspected the sleek revolver in his right hand, its barrel smoking faintly from the shots just fired.
In his left hand, he nonchalantly raised a second revolver, pulling the trigger without even glancing as a specter lunged toward him.
Pow!
The bullet found its mark. The phantom screeched before bursting into nothingness.
Nebula twirled the revolver around his finger, cocking his head slightly.
"Impressive," he mused. "I never thought these enchanted weapons would be this effective against specters," his voice was calm—almost playful.
But his eyes?
They burned with a quiet, dangerous fire.
He glanced at Jasmin with his usual air of indifference, as if he hadn't just single-handedly turned the tide of battle with a pair of enchanted revolvers.
Jasmin could only stare, icy steam rising from his lips as he turned to Nebula, his eyes flickering with gratitude.
"Thank you, Nebula. I owe you one," he said, tightening his grip on his bow. "But I'll hold the line here. You must stop King Yaron—he's already making his way toward Princess Naritsa and the boy, Daryl."
Nebula remained silent for a moment, his gaze sharpening. Then—a smirk.
He cracked open the cylinders of his twin revolvers, reloading them with smooth, practiced motions. The sound of metal clicking into place was almost a declaration of war.
"For Naritsa, I worry not." His voice carried a hint of amusement, but beneath it was an unshakable confidence. "Only an arrogant fool would dare confront a Guardian Vessel alone."
Then, his expression hardened, the smirk vanishing as he spun the revolvers once before snapping them into place, his gaze locked in the direction Yaron had gone. "But for Daryl's sake… I must stop that barbaric scum of a king."
And with that, he began moving.
His grey coat flared dramatically behind him as he sprinted into the frozen night, disappearing into the swirling snowfall. His movements were swift, almost like a shadow slipping through the battlefield, the crunch of his boots lost amidst the distant screams and clashing steel.
Jasmin watched his retreating figure for a moment, his grip tightening around his bow. "Make no mistake," he muttered to himself, feeling a weight settle in his chest. "The Ghost Land king isn't one to be underestimated."
Before he could dwell on it further, a guttural snarl snapped him back to the moment as a new wave of specters and soldiers descended upon him.
"Damn it—!"
He spun, narrowly dodging a clawed phantom as its ghostly form slashed through the air where he had just been standing. Zurai reared up behind him, her massive form crushing two enemy soldiers and their guardians beneath her weight as her tusks sent another flying into the frostbitten ground.
The battle was far from over.
***
King Yaron and his Minotaur tore through the frostbitten streets like hunting beasts, their footfalls hammering against the frozen earth, leaving deep fractures in their wake. The cityscape around them was a blur of snow-dusted buildings, dimly lit alleys, and distant battle cries, but they paid no heed—only their prey mattered.
For a brief moment, they halted, scanning the maze-like ruins of the city, their breaths forming thick clouds in the frigid air. And then—the sound of distant hoofbeats.
It came from the left.
Without hesitation, Yaron gave a silent command, and his guardian beast responded instantly. The hulking Minotaur grabbed its master and hurled him effortlessly onto a nearby rooftop before leaping after him. Together, they sprinted across the frostbitten buildings, rooftops shuddering beneath their crushing weight as they chased the galloping echoes below.
And then—they saw them.
Naritsa, Laria, and Daryl, desperately riding atop Lila, the unicorn's celestial glow piercing through the misted streets. Behind them, a squadron of Ghost Land soldiers pursued on foot, though their numbers were steadily thinning—many ensnared by the howling specters lurking in the mist. Yet even with the undead at their backs, the soldiers pushed forward, unwilling to let their king's quarry escape.
Yaron sneered.
"Nakamui!" He barked his guardian's name like a war cry. The Minotaur needed no further instruction. It let out a deafening roar that rattled nearby buildings, then lunged forward—a dark blur against the night—twisting midair as its massive twin battle axes sliced through the freezing wind.
The sheer force of its leap shattered the rooftop edge, sending debris raining down into the streets, startling civilians who had dared peek from their windows.
Naritsa, sensing danger, whipped her head around just in time to see the monstrous figure descending upon them.
"Watch out, everyone!" she screamed, but the warning came an instant too late.
Impact.
The Minotaur collided with devastating force.
The impact was like a meteor strike. Lila neighed in agony, her glowing form flung violently to the side. Naritsa, Laria, and Daryl were all ripped from their seats, their bodies twisting midair before crashing brutally onto the unforgiving ground. Snow and dirt exploded upon impact, their bodies motionless in the icy wreckage.
The civilians, those who had once dared to watch, now slammed their shutters closed, bolting their doors. A few fled into alleyways, while others huddled behind overturned carts, praying the chaos would pass them by.
The street fell into an eerie silence, only the distant howls of specters breaking through the cold night air.
From his vantage point, Yaron observed the wreckage of the ambush with satisfaction.
He finally leaped down from the rooftop, his heavy boots cracking the frozen pavement beneath him. His smirk deepened, his eyes reveling in the sight of his prey—now helpless and sprawled across the shattered road.
"Round them up," he ordered, his voice smooth yet ice-cold.
The remaining Ghost Land soldiers, though shaken by the nightmarish chaos around them, rushed forward with shackles in hand, their grips tightening around their weapons. They would not fail their king.
Two soldiers struggled to lift the unconscious Daryl and Laria, their frozen breath visible as they grunted under the weight.
But just as one soldier reached out to seize Naritsa—
A sharp, distant whistle sliced through the air—swift and deliberate.
And then—gunfire erupted like a violent storm.
A relentless barrage of glowing bullets tore through the ranks of Yaron's men. One by one, they collapsed, gurgling in agony, their armor clattering against the cold ground, lifeless. Their guardian beasts shrieked in anguish, dissolving into nothingness as their masters perished.
Yaron's expression twisted into an irritated scowl as he turned toward the source of the attack.
There—standing defiantly amidst the frozen battlefield—was Nebula.
His grey coat whipped against the icy wind, twin revolvers held steady in his grip. His expression was grim, unyielding, a walking storm of precision and carnage.
The ghostly mist paved the way as he moved, his silhouette clearly visible, his presence undeniable. With practiced grace, he twisted and dodged, evading the lunging specters while unloading bullet after bullet into their spectral skulls—his shots finding their mark with lethal perfection.
He didn't stop there. A nearby soldier, too slow to react, found his chest ripped open by Nebula's bullet before he could even scream. Another, distracted by the spectral horrors, was felled with a clean shot to the temple.
Yaron's fingers curled around the handle of his battle-axe, his jaw tightening in frustration.
"This damned brat again," he muttered, his teeth grinding together. He wasn't going to let this pest interfere any longer.
His grip on his weapon tightened, his muscles coiling as he prepared to charge.
"I'll put an end to him first."
With a grunt, he lunged forward—Minotaur at his side—his battle axe gleaming under the moonlight.
But—the battlefield had other plans.
A sudden shockwave of blue aura exploded behind him, halting his charge as a thunderous roar shook the city. The ground splintered beneath an immense, crushing force.
Yaron turned—just in time to see it.
Towering at nine feet, a colossal Bigfoot guardian stood, its muscles rippling beneath a thick coat of bluish fur, eyes burning with unfiltered rage. Beneath the hulking myth-level beast, bound but now very much conscious, was Laria—her face twisted in pure fury.
"How dare you harm Her Royal Highness?!" she snarled, her eyes ablaze with murderous intent.
Yaron barely had time to register her words before she roared a command—
"Vox! Bring me the head of that bastard!"
And in that instant, the clash was set into motion.
On one end, Nebula surged forward like a phantom of death, both revolvers locked on target, his every step a calculated path toward the battle-ready Yaron. His intent was clear—bring down the tyrant king.
On the other end, the Minotaur—Nakamui snarled, launching itself toward its Bigfoot counterpart, its twin battle axes gleaming with deadly anticipation. Vox reacted angrily, its blue fur blazing like an untamed storm as it rushed forward in equal ferocity. Both guardians roared deafening battle cries, their bulging muscles flexing as they charged at each other.
The frosted city trembled beneath their impending collision.
Specters fled. Soldiers screamed. Civilians cowered.