November 24, 2024 - The Tower, Second Tier, Second Stage

Pablo tensed as the bag of orbs arced toward the giant creature's maw.

Every frame played out in slow motion in Pablo's eyes as he instinctively took several more steps back.

Soon, the bag disappeared into the dark, fiery depths of its mouth.

Pablo caught the glint in the creature's eyes—and he could swear there was a wicked smile hidden in them.

The first second stretched. Nothing happened.

But then it did.

The creature jerked violently, its body expanding far more than in any previous transformation. Its size jumped from ten meters to eleven, to twelve—and it kept growing.

The ropes snapped one after the other. Its head broke free from the last shackles as it raised it upward, full of pride and confidence.

Its posture straightened. The horns grew longer, more refined. Its tail extended—sharper, thicker, more robust.

Its huge front limbs held it firm, planted like pillars.

But the biggest difference came from its back.

Molten veins pulsed along its spine, glowing faintly—then split open.

Lava-like fluid oozed from the ruptures, searing through the hide as something pushed from within. The skin stretched, tore, and peeled away with a wet crack. Bulging shapes pressed outward—growing, unfolding.

Then—

With a fleshy snap, two massive wings burst free from its back.

Heavy, uneven, scorched. Bone ridges lined the edges. Strips of dark membrane hung like charred cloth, twitching as they adjusted to the air.

It flapped once—hard—sending drops of molten fluid in every direction. The Shadows scattered, moving without needing a command.

Even from over a hundred meters away, Pablo felt the pressure. The burst of hot wind hit his face.

The creature before his eyes didn't feel like a beast anymore.

It felt like a butterfly emerging from the cocoon.

Not born of fire—but perfected by it.

From a salamander to a—

A dragon.

Ignosaurus draconis.

As Pablo stood stunned by the creature's presence, Leonie's voice sounded in his head.

"Definitely a leader type… it seems we can create them. Depending on the rewards it grants, this may shift our entire approach to this stage. Smart idea, Pablo. I will remember this."

Pablo's heart tensed as the words echoed in his head.

He couldn't deny the flicker of pride rising in his chest—his theory, ungrounded as it was, had been tested and proven right. The idea of evolving a creature into its leader variant had been there, buried among countless others, but it was vague… speculative at best. Yet now, watching the creature from a distance, he was certain. That presence. That aura. It could only be a leader type—and one far beyond anything they had faced so far.

Now came the real question: were Leonie and The Shadows prepared for this fight? Only seven of them had boss gear, and most hadn't yet reached their orb absorption limits.

But as he looked at her back—calm, upright, unshaken as she faced the dragon head-on—Pablo knew.

Be it giant lobsters, jellyfish, or even creature's of myth… he couldn't imagine Leonie falling.

The sun is just rising on the horizon.

I stare at it, still wondering if there's an actual star out there—some glowing mass beyond this world. How real is it?

I glance down at my hide pack. Five-liter water container, some dried sabretooth meat we hunted on the way here with Imani and the others, and a strip of spare cloth I kept from the waiting room.

The usual stuff.

But in my hands—what I'm holding—is new.

The first real weapons the Ajnal have given me.

New blades.

They call this model K'uhul Tz'iib, as in Twin Fangs—a double-edged design used by the Ajnal scouts and hunters.

They feel more primitive than my previous medieval-style swords—slightly shorter, but heavier. Thicker. Just enough to feel solid, grounded. A welcome shift from my older pair, which had started to feel too light, too brittle, and riddled with dents.

The edge is only a bit sharper—nothing special—but it holds better. Doesn't chip as easily.

The hilt is made of compacted bone, tightly wrapped in dried sinew. The grip's a bit rough, but it doesn't slip—even with sweat. It's functional. No unnecessary shaping, just a bulge near the end to stop the hand from sliding off.

But the biggest difference—what really sets these blades apart and marks them as a clear upgrade—is their EM conductivity. My previous weapons, on Houston's scale, had a conductivity of 1.0. These ones clock in at an incredible 2.4. The difference is night and day!

Now the force behind my strikes will be more balanced—between the drive of my EM waves and the raw strength of my body. Not only that, with my nodes, I can send faster, sharper pulses, adjusting the blade's trajectory mid-fight with far less resistance.

It's obvious the weapons were forged using highly conductive alloys—similar to the ones Arjun and I found in the mining cave during our clearance quest. But how they shaped that material into such a robust blade… that's a mystery to me.

I should probably ask Imani later. Last I heard, he was in the process of becoming a smithing apprentice under the Lord of Sparks overseeing the forge here at the base. And speaking of him—I'll probably be seeing him soon anyway, since I need to get my measurements taken so they can arrange new armor for me.

Mine might look decent—fancy even—and it still holds up, but theirs is more conductive and far more durable, even if it doesn't offer the same full-body coverage.

I hear faint footsteps from behind. Xam.

"Ready?"

I stand up and nod. "Yes."

Not gonna lie—I'm actually looking forward to trying out the new blades and seeing how these guys move in action.

"I lead today. Tohol not be present."

I see… so it's going to be a lighter patrol then. Getting me into the ropes.

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"I will be at your care."

Xam turns and points toward three others approaching.

"That is Kahul Moʼ—quick on his feet. Knows the ridge paths better than anyone here."

I glance at him. Lean build, shaved head, thin scar across the nose. Carries two curved blades that swing loose at his sides.

"Kinam Te—good balance. Quiet. Precise."

Medium frame. Spear slung over one shoulder, side blade at the hip. Relaxed posture but his hand's already near the hilt. His steps barely make a sound. Definitely the type who disappears the second you blink.

"Tziib Ch'ok. Young Jaguar."

Slightly shorter than the rest, maybe a year or two younger. Calm face, sharp eyes. Blade on one side, small round shield on the other. Still growing into his rhythm, maybe—but no hesitation in his steps.

They stop a few steps away and give me a once-over. Nothing rude—just the usual curiosity. I do look a bit different from them, after all.

Xam doesn't waste time.

She points toward the narrow slope path cutting down the ridge.

"Route Six. South ridge curve. Down to the basalt pools. Return before half-sun."

So about half a sun cycle—maybe four or five of our hours, tops.

"Safe path," she adds. "You learn terrain. You learn flow."

I nod.

We start moving.

The trail drops sharply, rocks still slick with dew. Kahul takes the lead without a word, his steps light. Xam and Kinam move center. Tziib hangs just ahead of me.

I stay rear. Better to observe first.

The terrain shifts quickly. Slopes, narrow crossings, black stone ridges carved by lava flows that probably ran not too long ago. Sparse trees jut out from fractured earth, their roots half-exposed, gripping like claws.

I feel the blades at my waist. Heavier than I'm used to, but solid. Reassuring.

I let the squad's rhythm settle around me. They move rather fast, but not exactly sprinting either. They slow down around corners, scan the open spaces, and I can sense their EM waves scouting at all times, layered in ways to avoid detection.

There's no talking. It's a quiet journey.

I suddenly feel a pulse directed at me—it's from Xam.

It shows a rough 3D sketch of the region around us. I study it carefully. Several locations are labeled with names, danger zones marked clearly, and multiple paths are traced—like hiking trails back on Earth—highlighting the usual patrol routes.

The one we're on now is Route 6. It's one of the shortest and keeps a good distance from any of the red zones.

I glance out, comparing the terrain to the mental map. Trying to build a sense of the area.

My eyes fix on a mountain in the distance—marked as an active volcano. Everything beyond that point is flagged as highly dangerous.

Looks like the Xok'al are mostly active on the far side.

We keep marching along the path, not stopping once. As the hours pass, I get a better sense of the others—the way they move, when they send waves, the rhythm of their steps, where they look, how they hold their balance, how they shift their weight.

The study of others has become a habit of mine. It gives me valuable insight into who they are, how they might fight, and what to expect from them if a battle breaks out. Of course, the process isn't nearly as good as seeing them in combat… but it's still useful. Especially for fitting in. And for understanding how patrolling works here.

Along the way, Xam sends me a couple more pulses, pointing out the main lookout points along the path. It's interesting—while they're marked as key points, we barely pause. Just a wider scan, a longer wave sweep, and we move on.

She also shows me what to pay attention to and how the Xok'al camouflage themselves against waves and sight. She mentions their usual operandi—how they move in squads of five to seven, similar to them.

I know a bit of the Xok'al from talking with Nahbalam. He mentioned their strength is determined basically by how many tails they have. One tail means workers. Two tails means warriors—like the Seventh Boss—and they're roughly at the level of Stone Jaguars, maybe slightly weaker. Three tails, however, are the truly dangerous ones. They're elite warriors of the Xok'al, and their power matches that of the Lords of Sparks.

Which means… stronger than my current self.

And three tails isn't even their limit.

We keep going—more than halfway already. I enjoy the view, reminds me of the hikes and bushwalks I used to do back in Australia.

The scenery here, though—

Huh?

I pivot on my left foot, Overdrive spiking, several nodes activating as I slash my blade upward.

Clang!

I block the projectile aimed at my head.

An ambush?

I scout with my waves using the layered technique Xam taught me—but even knowing the direction the shot came from, I barely catch a glimpse.

They're underground.

Shit.

They've obviously been waiting for us.

The others move. Xam sends me a wave highlighting their positions, but I already know it. Then another pulse—this time a series of visuals.

The counterattack plan.

I confirm back.

My feet crack against the solid ground as I activate nodes in my ankles.

I dash forward.

More projectiles come—but it's easier to deflect and dodge now, tracking the lines from their tails.

I count four shooters… but probably more hidden, waiting for us to push forward.

And sure enough—

The ground on both sides trembles.

A pincer attack.

But… just as expected.

Kahul takes the left. I take the right. Xam and Tz'iib press forward.

From the ground, one Xok'al emerges directly in front of me.

It looks very similar to the Seventh Boss, but instead of blades, its forearms are shaped like barbed drills.

Its anatomical structure, however, is identical to the Seventh Boss. Which means… I can use previous data to predict its movements.

It thrusts toward my gut, fast. But my blade moves to deflect. I feel a wave trying to slow my strike, and I let it…

Until the last moment.

I activate some of my waist, leg, and back nodes, shifting my balance from the left blade to the right. I twist just enough for the drill to scrape my armor instead of punching through.

My right blade cuts forward, fast—riding the momentum, Overdrive fully engaged.

The creature reacts, strong pulses trying to slow me down. One tail swings to block. The other whips around, aiming to shoot at close range.

Not fast enough.

My blade connects and slices through its shoulder, red blood spraying into the air.

Not fatal—but enough. That arm's done.

I switch grips, bring my other blade across, and meet the projectile mid-flight.

Clang!

The force rattles through my forearm, sharp and heavy from the earlier momentum—but my bones hold. No fracture.

I disengage and use my blades to block supporting fire from the other Xok'al.

The one I'm fighting tries to retreat, its tail angling to keep shooting at me.

I remain calm.

I assess the surroundings. I think. I plan. I move.

Dual Overdrive.

The world slows. I lower my chest to the ground and push off with my feet. I see all the bullets—those that are, and those that will be—mapped as vectors in space.

The way the dirt kicks up as the Xok'al steps. The way the wind shifts around its tails. Their smell. The iron in the blood still hanging in the air.

All of it—merged into my mind.

The ground cracks behind me. The wind bends around me.

My blades move.

The creature reacts. It shoots. I dodge one, deflect the other.

It thrusts—more desperate now. Projectiles fly from the rear as the others try to cover its escape. But it's pointless. I use its own body as cover.

I shift and swing, intercepting the drill from its only working arm.

I block it.

I swing the other blade.

I see the fear in its eyes.

That expression... just like last time.

My blade connects.

Slices its throat—an arc of blood into the air.

I don't wait. I pivot and kick the body, using the momentum to hurl it toward the shooters in the back.

It won't reach them. But it'll break their line of sight for a while.

I run, aligned with it.

Xam and the others already dropped one.

I reach them.

I kill another.

And just like that… my first encounter ends.

Six Xok'al died that day.

Two under my blades.

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