The centipede twitches violently, its fractured skull shifting unnaturally as if something inside is pushing against it. The cracks widen, splitting further as thick, gelatinous ichor seeps from within, bubbling like a festering wound.

Then, with a sickening, wet rip, the shattered exoskeleton peels away.

Flesh tears apart in uneven strips, sinew and muscle splitting as the remaining fragments of the head collapse inward. The centipede's mandibles twitch even as they detach, the remnants of its face sloughing off like dead skin. Underneath, something pulses—raw, glistening tissue writhing beneath layers of ruptured chitin.

A jagged convulsion wracks its body. The exposed, decaying flesh quivers, before an abrupt spasm forces the entire upper half apart.

It doesn't die.

Instead, the corpse of the severed skull buckles in on itself, then begins splitting further down the torso. Flesh peels back, the armored plating cracking away as something else emerges from within.

A fresh limb tears through the remains of its former body, its surface slick with viscous fluid. Then another. Translucent wings, webbed with veins, unfurl from beneath the gory mess, stretching as if testing the air. The creature that was once a centipede sheds its bulk, its form distorting, compressing, reshaping itself with each convulsion.

Its body slims, the thick armor sloughing away in chunks. The massive segments collapse one by one, exposing the grotesque transition beneath—a writhing network of shifting muscle and soft, vulnerable tissue molding into something faster, lighter.

The last of the hardened plating drops, and what remains is a winged horror—elongated, insectoid, its glossy, unblinking eyes reflecting the battlefield like polished glass.

Then, without hesitation, it takes to the air.

Lukas tenses at the unexpected transition.

A massive flying creature, built for speed.

Its many translucent wings give it an eerie presence, moving at a rate imperceptible to the human eye—even to them.

Lukas stays silent, letting the others react. They know what to do.

Chiara and Arjun open fire, their bullets streaking toward the rapidly ascending creature. The rounds connect—but instead of tearing through the thin wings, they ricochet, deflected as if striking hardened steel.

Lukas' eyes narrow.

The wings can't be damaged? Not only that—at the speed they're moving, getting caught in them would mean instant death.

The creature flicks its body mid-air, pivoting with unnatural sharpness. Then, in a blink, it shoots toward Chiara.

She barely avoids it, twisting away at the last moment. But it isn't just the charge—it's the barrage that follows.

Needles.

Thinner than before. Faster. Greater in number.

They don't just chase her—they scatter mid-flight, adjusting their angles in real-time, making traditional evasion meaningless.

Chiara doesn't slow.

She inverts mid-air, rotating into a tight spiral. The first wave of needles veers past her harmlessly, thrown off by the shift in her trajectory. Another burst comes, even faster—she rolls sharply, her path shifting into a sudden lateral arc.

The scattered projectiles, instead of pursuing her cleanly, begin colliding into each other, their chaotic spread working against itself.

She keeps moving.

A sharp dive, a rapid burst of acceleration, a series of micro-adjustments mid-flight that make her movement impossible to track. The thin projectiles streak past, narrowly missing her.

But the creature doesn't stop.

Lukas watches the shifting momentum.

It went from defensive to purely offensive in an instant.

But if that's all it has—

Alonso moves.

He surges forward, closing the distance with precision. The gap between the wings is narrow, but he maneuvers through, blades raised, threading perfectly through the blind spots in the creature's erratic movement.

The first wave of needles fires toward him.

He doesn't evade—he deflects.

His swords carve through the air, intercepting the oncoming barrage with rapid parries. Each needle is barely an inch from contact before his blade redirects it, sending them spiraling harmlessly away. His movement isn't rushed, isn't frantic—it's measured, sharp, every deflection flowing seamlessly into the next.

Then, in a blink, he's in melee range.

The abomination twists, its wings flicking outward in an attempt to repel him, but Alonso is already adjusting. His momentum shifts, his entire body tilting forward as his blade snaps toward the exposed underbelly.

The strike lands clean.

His sword carves into the soft membrane between the exoskeletal segments, slicing through the thinner flesh. Dark ichor splatters, but the wound is shallow—the creature's body twists mid-air, minimizing the damage.

It retaliates instantly.

A sudden shift in its wings. A burst of pressure.

Alonso's balance wavers as the violent wind knocks against him. Another barrage of needles fires, this time from multiple angles, their speed blinding.

Alonso twists, rotating mid-air, his blades flashing in a flurry of motion—parrying, deflecting, redirecting. Each needle that should have struck is sent veering away at the last possible second.

Then—

Wang appears beside him.

The two move in sync, adjusting their positions mid-flight.

Alonso leads, his blade carving through the first opening. Wang follows an instant later, his own strike widening the wound.

They circle the creature as it twists its elongated body, releasing volleys of needles in an attempt to shake them off. But it fails—each wave of projectiles is either dodged or deflected.

The creature's body is getting mangled, but its sheer size makes the wounds shallow, the damage spread too thin.

Arjun and Chiara begin firing through the gaps.

Lukas analyzes the visuals, tracking the impact points. A pattern emerges—a slight variance in the depth of each strike.

"The tissue at the center is softer, and the width is thinner. Focus on it."

"Roger that."

Alonso and Wang adjust immediately.

Their flight paths tighten, each strike now aimed precisely at the center mass.

The creature writhes, screeching, its wings pulsing in chaotic, irregular bursts.

Chiara and Arjun press the assault.

Bullets tear into the weakened tissue, each shot threading perfectly between Alonso and Wang's movements, exploiting the newly exposed vulnerabilities. The creature's motions grow erratic, its stability failing as its frame struggles to hold itself together.

Then—

It twitches violently.

Lukas' eyes narrow and he grins.

That's the final convulsions.

"Quick, finish it off."

Alonso and Wang react instantly, increasing their speed of attacks just as—

BOOM!

A brutal, violent detonation rips through the air.

A section of the creature's body self-destructs, rupturing in a grotesque explosion of toxic air and sheer concussive force.

The shockwave expands outward like a tidal wave, twisting the sky itself, distorting light and warping the battlefield into a chaotic storm of pressure and debris.

The ground fractures, deep splits racing across the barren landscape as chunks of rock and hardened ash are sent flying in all directions.

For a moment, everything is noise— rupturing wind, breaking stone, and the high-pitched hum of an electromagnetic discharge.

And then—from the heart of the explosion, something shifts.

The creature remains untouched.

But it is no longer one.

At the epicenter of destruction, its massive form splits. Torn flesh peels back, revealing something writhing beneath—two new entities, smaller but far more agile, their wings still unfolding as if freshly hatched from the ruin of their former self.

Lukas tenses.

His connection with Wang and Alonso—gone.

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They were sent spiraling through the air, flung violently from the explosion.

Lukas tries to reconnect—nothing. No response.

He quickly checks on Chiara. She was further from the blast, but her condition is deteriorating—momentary deafness, disorientation, and dangerously high toxicity levels.

Not good.

His jaw tightens as he watches the two new creatures forming midair, their bodies shifting, exoskeleton still hardening. Both are identical, smaller versions of the original.

A thick, acrid stench rolls through the air—burnt chitin, rotting flesh, and the sickly-sweet scent of dense toxicity.

It divided.

Another stage?

No time to analyze.

Wang and Alonso are in critical condition.

Lukas takes a breath, forces clarity through the noise.

"Ayu, Imani."

Before he even finishes speaking, Ayu is already moving, dashing toward Alonso. His flight path is erratic, like an unconscious part of him is still trying to stabilize but failing—mental strain and the toxin's lingering effects making controlled movement impossible.

Lukas swallows hard, his throat tight as his pulse hammers in his ears.

He hadn't expected such a sudden movement.

"Chiara, try to catch Wang."

She confirms, her own flight still unsteady but already adjusting course toward him.

Lukas exhales sharply.

The situation is not going well.

That was a stupid mistake. He had been damn careless, and now they were paying the price.

But now is not the time. He forces it down, shoving it into the back of his mind.

Fix it. But… how?

"Keep firing but pull back, the boss is splitting in two. Arjun, help Imani charge. Imani, prepare a javelin. Keep the boss distracted—we need to make time for Alonso and Wang to recover."

He watches as Ayu catches Alonso and Chiara catches Wang.

Lukas keeps his focus, scanning all indicators. Arjun is striking Imani's shield, the charge building.

The boss finishes its division. The two entities start moving.

Imani hurls the javelin. It strikes true, piercing through a gap in the exposed flesh of one of them.

"Good. Keep it up."

Lukas turns as Chiara lands, carrying Wang, his body limp in her arms. At the same moment, Ayu arrives, struggling slightly under Alonso's unconscious weight.

Both of them are out cold.

Lukas kneels beside Wang first, pulling the last of the herbs from his pouch. He grinds them between his fingers, mixing them quickly with a few drops of alcohol from his flask before pressing the bitter paste against Wang's lips, forcing him to swallow.

Next, Alonso.

No more herbs.

Lukas exhales sharply, then moves fast.

He grabs his canteen, pouring a controlled trickle of water over Alonso's face and neck, washing away the thin layer of toxic residue clinging to his skin. Then, he pulls a strip of fabric from his belt, dampens it with alcohol, and presses it firmly against Alonso's nose and mouth—forcing him to inhale just enough to jolt his body into reacting.

Alonso coughs weakly, his fingers twitching, but doesn't wake.

Not enough.

Lukas quickly checks his pulse, then presses his thumb into a pressure point near Alonso's wrist, stimulating blood flow. He repeats the process at the base of his jaw.

Wang stirs first, his breath ragged.

Alonso follows moments later, groaning as his eyes flutter open.

"Stay down," Lukas orders, his voice steady. "Just breathe. You're not fighting anymore."

He stands immediately, turning back to the battlefield.

"We need to keep the boss distracted. If we pull back now, all the progress will be lost. Ayu, Arjun, Imani—don't let it stand idle."

They all confirm, but their conditions aren't ideal.

Should he call the squads forward? But with their Stage Progress, a random needle or even brief exposure to the gas could be fatal… but… the rational choice…

Lukas glances back. Wang will need a bare minimum of fifteen minutes, Alonso about the same… realistically, the rest won't be able to hold.

Two choices remain—pull everyone back and try again later, or bring the others forward to buy time. But—

Neither is good.

He needs a better solution.

Lukas swallows hard. He feels the weight pressing against his ribs, the slow, crushing realization settling in.

He messed up.

Engaging in melee combat against a creature with low defense—he should have predicted it would have some kind of nasty surprise. He shouldn't have believed in a fast victory. He should have prioritized security. He should have—

Should have.

His thoughts spiral, racing too fast to grasp. His breath shortens, but he can't tell if it's the toxic air or the sheer pressure caving in on him. His mind replays every second of the fight, searching, recalculating—grasping for a way out.

If he calls for retreat, they'll have to start all over again. If he brings the squads forward, he's gambling their lives.

There is no good solution.

Throw the squads in and lose some lives?

Retreat and lose his first task as commander?

No way to count this as a success.

There has to be something.

Think.

He should have accounted for it. He should have—

Ack!

Pain. Overwhelming pain.

His vision tunnels, his head splitting apart, a sudden, violent migraine slamming into his skull like a hammer. His knees hit the ground before he even realizes he's falling.

Lukas clenches his teeth, his jaw locked tight. His fingers dig into the dirt, ash coating his skin as the battlefield around him warps, distorts. Pressure—searing, suffocating—pushes against his temples, crushing his thoughts into static.

No.

No, no, not now.

He forces a breath through his teeth, steadying himself against the overwhelming flood. He knows pain. It's not new.

He's used to it.

His nails scrape against the dirt, fingers clenching tighter as he anchors himself.

He pushes, forcing his feet under him. The world tilts, the battlefield wavers, his pulse hammering in his ears—his body screaming for him to stop.

But he doesn't listen.

He can't afford to.

"Lukas?!"

Chiara's voice cuts through the noise.

He exhales sharply and stands, his movement stiff but immediate.

Not because the pain lessens. Not because he's fine.

He just doesn't have the luxury of breaking.

"I'm fine," he lies, his voice clipped, controlled. "Just a little dizzy. Maybe the toxic air."

He straightens, ignoring the weight pressing into his skull.

What… what is happening to me?

The colors—no, waves—what is this?

Lukas' gaze flickers across the battlefield. And then, as he focuses on each person—he sees them. Not their bodies, not their auras. Something else.

Something inside them.

Was it the Pillar? No. It feels different.

The pain starts to ease. He can think again, see clearer.

Had he… awakened?

But what is this condition?

What advantage does it bring?

He turns his focus to Wang, still on the ground.

That color—no, not a color, not something seen with his eyes. A presence. A feeling. A shape in his mind.

Can he… interact with it?

Lukas exhales, letting the world blur as he starts to analyze it.

He remains calm, dissecting it into smaller pieces, seeing how they fit, how they relate, how they translate into something else. The forms separate and recombine in his mind, countless simulations running in parallel. Then—he finds it.

Lukas closes his eyes, carefully shifting certain elements, observing how they affect Wang's condition.

He patiently tries again and again. It's clear that this thing here is what he needs to alter, but the effect isn't direct. It's subtle, layered, something that requires a different kind of adjustment.

He takes a slow breath.

His eyes flick to the battlefield.

The two bosses are keeping Imani in check, their needles forcing him back. He's trying to close the distance, but they've adapted. They anticipate the javelins. They shift positions before he can release. Since Imani only has one shield, he can't defend from two directions at once—he's being pushed toward the edge of the region.

The toxic air is starting to get to him.

Arjun is still firing from afar, but the erratic movements of the creature's wings make landing precise shots difficult.

Lukas redirects his focus to Wang.

He's close—so close.

The pressure builds. But pressure is pointless. It makes people make mistakes.

Lukas tunes it out, instead honing in on what he's doing.

The waves he's sending—they're not electromagnetic. They affect Wang in a way that defies explanation, yet he can observe the results in real time.

Seconds pass.

Something shifts.

Wang is recovering faster.

It worked.

Lukas swallows hard, then doubles down. The why doesn't matter right now. He's always been better at figuring things out in practice rather than theory. He ignores the need to understand and simply applies.

Wang's healing accelerates.

Good.

Lukas turns to Alonso next—and immediately, his eyes widen.

Something is different.

Not one presence. Three.

No—two more.

Is it different for everyone?

Now's not the time.

He pushes the thought aside, searching for patterns. If he can match the signals with Wang's, it should work the same way.

The similarities are there.

He focuses, adjusts, and sees the change immediately.

Alonso's condition stabilizes.

Good.

He pushes both at the same time, keeping them at their absolute limit without compromising efficiency.

So… is his awakening just a way to make people heal faster?

No. That doesn't seem to be it. There's more to this. But now is not the time.

He shifts his focus to Chiara. Even in her current state, she's still firing from a distance, her shots sharp and precise.

Can he heal her too?

Lukas concentrates, scanning the patterns in her mind. It's different—fragmented yet intricate, like a shattered whole held together by some thin threads. Dense. Complex. But the feature he's looking for is still there.

He channels his new waves again, replicating what he did for Wang and Alonso. It's slower this time. More delicate. But—

Chiara suddenly stiffens. Her movements pause.

Then, she exhales sharply, eyes flicking around before locking onto him.

"You…"

Lukas nods.

"Details later… Let's wrap this up first."

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