Chapter 37: The Flow of the Matrix
The castle of kings trembled beneath the weight of chaos. Shinya was no longer a city of saints, no longer the glittering jewel the world thought it to be. Its skies bled with smoke, its towers cracked under rebellion, and its once-sacred halls now echoed with the clash of will and blade.
Moro stood in the grand throne hall, its walls etched with centuries of rule, its pillars carved with golden saints that now seemed to leer mockingly. His chest rose and fell heavily, his shirt torn and bloodied from the battles before. Kaya had rushed out, leading reinforcements toward the sanctuary. Hanks had staggered back, his left arm pierced and mangled by Hawks' shadow talons. And now Moro stood alone, facing the man who had haunted their path since they first stepped foot into Shinya.
Erick Hawks.
The Advanced Agent's figure stood cloaked in writhing shadows, his eyes glowing like pits of black fire. Every step he took cracked the marble beneath him, as if the darkness itself devoured the ground. His presence was suffocating, his voice like a dagger dipped in oil.
"You should've fled while you had the chance, Moro," Hawks said, his lips curling into something between mockery and disdain. "But no—you chose to stay. To fight. To defy what cannot be defied."
Moro clenched his fists, the blue glow of the Matrix pulsing faintly through his veins. His hair was damp with sweat, his arms trembling from strain, yet his spirit blazed brighter than ever.
"I don't care who or what you serve," Moro spat. "If you think you can chain Shinya with fear, then I'll be the one to break those chains."
The air tightened. For a moment, silence. Then Hawks raised his hand—and the throne hall plunged into darkness.
Shadows swarmed like living beasts, taking the shape of claws, serpents, and screaming faces. They lunged for Moro with murderous hunger. Moro's feet slid across the marble as he summoned the Matrix, his body glowing in a brilliant azure light. He bent low, channeling the flow, and when the first shadow struck, he moved—not against it, but with it.
The Matrix rippled like water. Moro twisted his body in perfect rhythm, dispersing the shadow with a strike of his palm. The attack exploded harmlessly against the blue energy that now coated his frame.
Hawks' eyes narrowed. "Interesting… You've learned to flow with power instead of resist it. That was Jara's trick, wasn't it?"
At the name of his father, Moro's heartbeat surged. He charged, fists ablaze in blue, clashing with Hawks in a storm of sparks. Each strike reverberated like thunder. Hawks' claws carved across the hall, slicing apart marble columns, but Moro moved like liquid lightning, the Matrix bending around every attack.
Outside the castle, chaos raged.
Herbet led the rebels through the burning streets toward the sanctuary. The Holy Sanctuary, the great cathedral where the Celtic High held dominion, loomed over the city like a mountain of ivory and blood. Its bells tolled, summoning soldiers, priests, and guards.
"Forward!" Herbet roared, his blade cutting through the guards. "Every step we take is for Shinya's freedom!"
Kaya fought at his side, her rage igniting every blow. Her fists shattered armor, her kicks broke shields. Yet even she stole glances back toward the castle, her heart burning with worry. She had left Moro behind.
"Don't die on me, Moro…" she whispered between strikes.
And at the rear, cloaked in mystic robes, Xerx walked with his staff glowing. His eyes were sharp, his lips murmuring incantations as the air around him pulsed with power. The magician's presence cloaked the rebels in veils of invisibility, bending light and sound, guiding them unseen through enemy lines.
"The time is near," Xerx said, his voice grave. "The key is not merely rebellion, but balance. Moro must master the flow, or we will all perish."
Back in the castle, the duel reached its peak.
Hawks' shadows coiled into a monstrous form, towering like a beast of smoke and fang. Moro was flung across the hall, his body crashing through a broken pillar. Blood streaked his mouth, his ribs screamed with pain, but his eyes never dimmed.
"Still breathing?" Hawks taunted, his shadow beast advancing.
Moro staggered up, pressing his hand to his chest. In his mind, he heard his father's voice, echoes of old training: The Matrix is not force, Moro. It is not rage. It is flow. It is balance. When you flow, the world itself bends with you.
He closed his eyes. Breathed.
When he opened them, the glow of the Matrix erupted brighter than ever. Blue currents spiraled around him like rivers, forming wings of energy. His wounds sealed, his heartbeat steadied.
Hawks snarled and unleashed the beast, claws descending like black storms. Moro moved with perfect grace. He did not block; he redirected. Each claw dissolved into harmless streams of shadow as his body wove between them. He struck, and his fist carried not just force, but the flow of the Matrix. The impact shattered the shadow beast in a burst of blue light, blowing Hawks back across the hall.
For the first time, Hawks' face twisted with frustration.
"You… you dare master balance against me?" he growled. His body erupted in more shadows, darker and heavier, infused with the Celtic High's corruption. "Then I'll drown you in despair!"
The two forces collided again.
The throne room collapsed around them. Statues of saints crumbled, the ceiling cracked, flames spread across the shattered marble. The city itself shook from the duel. Every strike between Moro and Hawks was more than a clash of strength—it was a battle between light and darkness, balance and chaos.
And then, just as Moro gained momentum, Hawks struck deep.
A claw of shadow pierced Moro's side, lifting him off the ground before flinging him across the ruins. Moro's vision blurred, blood pouring, yet his spirit did not falter.
"You can kill my body," Moro gasped, dragging himself upright, "but you will never break me. And as long as I stand, Shinya still has hope."
Hawks' face twisted in fury. He charged to finish it—
—but suddenly, the walls shook with thunder.
The sanctuary was under siege. The rebels, cloaked by Xerx's magic, had infiltrated deep and now launched their assault from within. Explosions rocked the city, and the bells of Shinya tolled in alarm.
From the distance, Kaya's battle cry rang like fire: "FOR SHINYA!"
Hawks turned his head for just an instant, distracted. Moro seized that moment. He surged forward, his entire body ignited in the purest glow of the Matrix. He struck Hawks with everything he had—fist to chest, flow against shadow. The impact hurled Hawks back, crashing him through the throne and into the stone walls beyond.
The castle quaked. Silence followed.
Moro collapsed to one knee, gasping, his body trembling, his veins lit with Matrix light. He looked at his hands, bloodied but glowing, and whispered to himself, "Father… I understand now. Flow, not force."
Far across the city, the rebels pressed deeper into the sanctuary, fighting through waves of priests and guards. Xerx raised his staff, and a sphere of mystic energy swirled above him, ancient runes blazing. He looked toward the heart of the sanctuary—the chamber of the Celtic High.
"It is time," Xerx murmured, his voice echoing across realms. "If Shinya is to be freed, then the darkness at its core must be shattered."
And as the rebels stormed forward, Moro stood amidst the ruins of the throne hall, battered but unbroken, ready for what came next.
The war for Shinya had only begun.
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