Silence ruled the Golden Globe.
Not the kind born from peace… nor the quiet that followed rest.
This silence was different. It was heavy. Suffocating. The kind left behind when something had been completely, irreversibly destroyed.
The war was over.
And it had ended in defeat. Above, the sky stretched wide and empty. Where great structures had once floated—symbols of power, of progress, of hope—there was now nothing. Not even debris remained. Just open space, as though they had never existed at all.
Below, the land told the real story. The remains of a once-great civilization lay scattered in ruin. Burned into the earth. Crushed into dust. Twisted into something unrecognizable.
The air carried the stench of death so thick it clung to the lungs. Bodies were everywhere—some charred beyond form, others frozen in their final moments, expressions locked in fear or defiance. A few still clutched weapons in stiffened hands, as if refusing to accept the end even in death.
And those who had survived… Had not escaped. They were gathered together, forced into submission—bound, weakened, and driven to their knees. Prisoners.
At the center of it all stood Ekekiri.
Untouched. Unchallenged. Unopposed.
He didn't need to declare victory. The world around him had already done it for him.
Behind him, his younger son stepped forward. Dragan tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping across the devastation with open fascination. There was no disgust in his expression—only amusement.
"What a beautiful display," he murmured, a slow grin spreading across his face. His eyes gleamed with excitement, as though he were admiring a masterpiece rather than the aftermath of slaughter.
A quiet breath escaped him.
"But sadly… I wasn't a part of it."
No one responded. Not out of defiance— But because there was nothing left to say.
Another presence approached. Zarin moved with the same calm certainty, blood streaked across his armor and face, yet his expression remained unchanged. Cold. Steady. Detached.
Ekekiri didn't acknowledge either of them. He simply turned— And began walking toward the Golden Tower.
It stood alone.
The final structure still standing within the Golden Globe. Its barrier flickered unevenly, unstable but unbroken, casting faint pulses of light across the ruined landscape.
Before it, the lean general, Darius hovered in the air, both arms raised as violent streams of energy gathered around him. The power he wielded churned wildly, barely contained, spilling outward in unstable surges.
Above, beams rained down relentlessly.
Each strike crashed against the barrier with enough force to erase entire districts.
And yet— It held.
"Why is it still standing?" Ekekiri asked.
His voice was quiet. But it carried.
Darius didn't turn. His focus remained fixed on the barrier as another blast struck, sending ripples across its surface.
"My lord… the barrier is unusually strong."
Another impact followed.
The Golden Tower trembled, its foundation groaning under the strain—but it did not fall.
Ekekiri's gaze sharpened slightly. He didn't move. Didn't raise his voice. But something shifted.
The air grew heavier. Denser.
Darius felt it instantly.
Not cold— But pressure. Expectation.
"…I'll try harder, my lord."
For the first time, his voice faltered.
Then he pushed.
Power surged violently through his body, crackling across his arms as sparks burst outward. The energy above intensified, growing larger, faster—more destructive.
The sky lit up.
And then— The barrier broke.
It didn't collapse slowly. It shattered like glass.
Fragments of energy scattered into nothingness as the final defense of the Golden Globe disappeared.
Darius lowered his arms, his breathing uneven.
Ekekiri stepped forward.
His army followed. They reached the entrance. One of the beasts moved ahead, placing its hand against the massive doors.
In an instant— Ice consumed it.
The creature froze solid where it stood, its form locking in place before—Shattering.
The doors burst open with a violent force.
Mist poured out from within. Thick. Cold. Alive.
More beasts rushed forward, driven by instinct. Too fast. Too careless.
Ice shot outward in razor-sharp bursts, piercing through them with lethal precision. One after another, they fell before even reaching the threshold.
Then— He stepped out.
The Water Elder.
His breathing was steady. His posture relaxed. Mist curled around him like a living extension of his will, shifting and flowing with quiet intent.
"…So," he exhaled softly, his gaze settling on Ekekiri, "…you finally broke through."
The army surged forward.
This time— He moved.
A single motion of his hand sent ice racing across the ground, spreading outward in controlled waves. Beasts froze mid-charge, their bodies crystallizing before shattering apart. Others lunged through the chaos.
He stepped aside. Effortless. Precise.
A touch—one froze. A blade formed—another fell. He turned, shifted, struck again.
Each movement carried purpose. Each action ended a life. There was no panic in him. No desperation.
Even now—exhausted, drained from the war—he fought with the calm mastery of someone who had long accepted the cost of battle.
For a brief moment… Even Ekekiri's army slowed. Because strength— Recognizes strength.
Ekekiri's gaze shifted. A silent command. His female general in white, Claudia, moved.
She appeared in front of the Water Elder instantly. No warning. No buildup.
Her fist drove into his stomach with crushing force. The impact broke through his defense completely.
Blood spilled from his mouth as his body folded, his knees slamming into the ground.
Before he could recover, she turned sharply, her leg crashing into his side and sending him across the ground.
The mist around him flickered. Faded.
He tried to rise— But his body refused.
Footsteps approached.
Ekekiri.
Darius and Claudia lifted the Water Elder, forcing him upright—forcing him to kneel.
Ekekiri stopped in front of him.
"Why struggle?" he asked.
His tone remained calm. Measured.
"Resistance doesn't change fate."
He leaned slightly closer, his presence pressing down like an unseen force.
"It only delays it."
The Water Elder glared up at him, blood trailing from his lips.
Behind him, the other Elders were dragged forward—broken, drained, and thrown to the ground.
Ekekiri's gaze darkened faintly.
"Her energy led me here," he said. "Those fools tried to hide you from me."
A brief pause.
"Now tell me—" His eyes locked onto the Water Elder. "Where is she?"
Silence.
Then— The Water Elder laughed. Soft. Low.
"…I always knew you were a fool." His eyes sharpened despite the blood and exhaustion. "But this?" A faint smile touched his lips. "…this is impressive."
Ekekiri's fist moved. The impact drove deep into the Elder's body, forcing a violent cough from him as blood spilled freely.
"Where is she?" Ekekiri asked again.
The answer came through pain.
"You expect me to hand over the one who will end you?"
A beat.
Then quiet laughter followed. The air grew heavier.
Then—
"LORD!"
The voice cut through the tension. A figure rushed forward before dropping to his knees.
Max.
He bowed deeply, his posture filled with reverence.
"Thank you for gracing me with your presence," he said. "Today is a perfect day." He lifted his head slightly, a grin forming. "The Golden Globe has fallen… and I get to stand before you."
He bowed again, deeper.
"I am unworthy… but please—accept me and my brothers."
Ekekiri watched him carefully. Found his words to be through
Then—
"Rise."
Max stood.
"Prove to me you're ready to join my army."
The grin widened.
A gray aura gathered around his arm as he stepped forward. Without hesitation, he reached out and placed his hand on the Iron Elder.
For a moment— Nothing happened.
Then— Stone spread. It crawled rapidly across the Elder's body, consuming him completely. In seconds— He was gone.
Replaced by stone.
The Water Elder closed his eyes tightly. Not in fear. But in helplessness.
"Petrification Flow…" Dragan muttered, interest lighting his expression. "How exciting."
Ekekiri gave a small nod. "Take the old one." He turned. "And petrify the others."
Max smiled.
From below, gray light erupted as he moved.
Above, Ekekiri rose into the air, ascending toward his ship. His sons followed. The generals followed.
They reached. A portal opened.
The Old Witch stepped through.
"The girl escaped," she said. "Ikua's arm still exists."
Ekekiri's gaze darkened.
"She escaped once."
A pause.
"She won't escape again."
He turned slightly, his voice carrying across the battlefield.
"Spread out."
A command.
"Find her."
His army moved instantly, scattering in every direction.
Far from the Golden Globe—
An Iron Wheel tore through the sky.
Inside, silence lingered.
Koya sat still. Anna. Cal. Meriosa. Kelly. Bless. Ra'an. Melly. And a child.
No one spoke. Because they all felt it. The same thing. Something was gone.
Not just a place. Something deeper. A home.
Koya stared ahead, her grip tightening slowly. She didn't cry. Didn't speak. But her eyes— Burned.
Behind them, far in the distance, smoke still rose into the sky.
The Golden Globe— Was gone.
Or so they thought.
To Be Continued.