Chapter 40 – The Gathering Storm
The walls of the Castle of Kings trembled under the clash of power. Shadows bled across the marble as Hawks, his six-armed demon form looming, pressed forward against Moro and the bloodied but unyielding Hanks. The shadow domain pulsed, every torch extinguished, leaving only black flame that writhed like serpents.
Moro's chest heaved, the matrix sigils glowing across his arms as he steadied his stance. Each breath was a battle, but his eyes held a fire Hawks could not smother.
"You are strong, Moro," Hawks growled, his voice echoing with the distortion of ten voices at once. "But strength alone cannot carve against fate. The Council decreed it long before you stepped foot in Shinya."
Hanks staggered, his arm glowing in its Colossus form, repairing the cracks Hawks' last strike had made. He spat blood and barked a laugh.
"Fate? I defied the Council before you were even their dog, Hawks. Don't talk to me about fate. Talk to me about chains."
The demon's six arms swept wide, carving through pillars as though they were paper. Moro rolled beneath one strike, the force splitting the floor open. He thrust his palm forward, matrix light flooding the cracks, stitching them back together before Hawks' domain could swallow them whole.
"Balance…" Moro whispered, his father's lessons echoing in memory. "The matrix exists to break the chains of dark magic. And I won't let yours bind Shinya forever."
The two forces collided, light and shadow painting the grand hall in an apocalyptic glow.
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The Sanctuary Halls
Meanwhile, the rebellion surged inside the Sanctuary. Kaya led the charge with Herbert at her side, their blades dripping with the sweat and fury of battle. Xerx's incantations rippled through the air, cloaking the rebels in veils of invisibility that flickered whenever a strike landed true.
Royal Guards roared, clad in obsidian armor, their halberds sparking as they clashed with rebel steel. For every guard that fell, another seemed to rise. The corridors echoed with war cries and the desperate shouts of the wounded.
Herbert kicked through a door, cutting down a pair of guards with his dual sabers, then called out:
"Push them back! For every drop of blood they take, we take back a step of freedom!"
Kaya's eyes flashed. She thought of Moro, thought of the last look they'd shared before she rushed to lead the rebels inside. That flame in his eyes—it made her grip her sword tighter.
Xerx, standing at the center of the formation, raised both arms. A glyph of ancient fire spiraled from his palms, erupting down the hall and sweeping aside an entire wave of guards. The rebels cheered, but Xerx's voice was grim.
"This is only the first line. The Council is watching… and they are ready to answer."
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The Captain of the Royal Guard
At the heart of the Sanctuary, the Captain of the Royal Guard—a towering man clad in crimson steel—stepped forward. His blade pulsed with inscriptions drawn directly from the Celtic High themselves. His eyes found Xerx, the only magician daring enough to stand against their divine order.
"You," the Captain sneered, his voice like a thunderclap. "You dare taint the holy halls with your rebellion? You dare cast spells in the house of the High?"
Xerx's cloak snapped in the heat of magic rising from the floor. "I dare because truth demands it. Your High are not gods. They are parasites, and every parasite has an end."
The Captain raised his sword, slamming it against the marble. The walls shook. Guards rallied, roaring in unison. Xerx met the charge with a spell so bright it tore through the veil of shadows and lit the Sanctuary like dawn breaking.
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Back in the Castle
Moro's arms trembled as Hawks bore down on him with all six shadowed limbs. The demon's laughter echoed, mocking, endless. Hanks leapt in with his colossal fist, smashing one of the shadow arms into shards of smoke. But even that victory was fleeting—another arm sprouted instantly, fueled by the Council's dark infusion.
"You cannot kill me," Hawks hissed, shadows pouring from his mouth. "I am Shinya's blade. I am the hand of the High."
Moro's lips curled into a grin, sweat running down his jaw. "Then it's time someone broke the hand."
With a surge of the matrix, Moro split his aura into streams, each weaving to intercept Hawks' arms. The hall quaked as light and shadow clashed in unending storm.
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Outside – The People
The people of Shinya gathered in terror outside the Sanctuary walls. They could feel the tremors, hear the battle raging inside. Mothers clutched children. Men whispered of prophecy. Whispers spread:
"Could this be it? Could the High finally be opposed?"
"Or will we all burn when their wrath descends?"
Hope and dread warred in their hearts.
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The Council of the Celtic High
Deep within the Sanctuary's inner chamber, the Celtic High sat in their thrones of black crystal, their eyes glowing with unreadable light. They watched through scrying pools of shadow, voices overlapping in whispers.
"They dare desecrate our Sanctuary."
"They dare touch our chosen Hawks."
"They dare raise fire against eternity itself."
Their hands moved in ritual. Dark energy thickened, coiling into a storm above Shinya.
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The Gathering Storm
Inside the castle, Moro and Hanks held their ground against Hawks' monstrous might. In the Sanctuary, Xerx and the rebels pressed deeper, even as the Captain's blade tore reality itself. Outside, the people trembled as the skies darkened with unnatural clouds.
Hope flickered. Despair grew.
And above all, the Council prepared their answer—a strike that would shake Shinya to its roots.
The storm was only beginning.
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