Thick dust billows across the green field.
Citizens run aimlessly. Screams overlap one another.
"Rebellion!" "Rebels!" "Run!"
Those who had stood watching with fervor now shove each other aside. Bodies collide. Children fall and are yanked back up roughly. Some stumble over the corpses of soldiers who have already fallen.
They all move in one direction.
The only entrance.
Now transformed into the only hope of escape.
"Quickly!" "Move!" "Stop pushing!"
The pressure grows more brutal. They crush forward without regard for who is trampled beneath their feet. The gate is far too narrow to contain panic of this magnitude. Even the soldiers stationed there are swept away by the terrified human tide.
Dust rises higher, obscuring vision and forming a brown haze that blankets the field.
Amid the chaos—between the screams and fleeing bodies—five figures move in the opposite direction.
Olivia advances first.
Her sword flashes, reflecting the morning light as she cuts down an Ilginisar infantryman before he can raise his spear. She pivots without pause, evading a slash from a Solcendria soldier, then thrusts back with cold precision.
Bartra stands several steps behind her.
His sling is drawn.
A round metal projectile shoots forward— WHIZZ—CRACK!
The helmet of a Nocthollow soldier splits instantly. He collapses without a sound. A second shot follows, striking the wrist of a Zepharia archer just as he is about to release his arrow.
Santiago steps forward steadily, his arquebus already lit.
BOOM!
A Nimurelle cavalryman charging from the left is thrown from his horse. BOOM!
A Solcendria commander falls before he can issue a command.
Thin smoke curls from the barrel, yet Santiago reloads with practiced composure, calm in the midst of the storm.
Grizz and Gruzz move side by side.
Two greatswords swing in opposing arcs, shattering the Ilginisar infantry formation attempting to encircle them. One sweep from Grizz forces back three men at once. Gruzz slips through an opening, thrusting and kicking without hesitation.
"Left!" Gruzz shouts.
Grizz turns just in time, blocking a spear that nearly pierces their flank.
Hundreds of soldiers from five kingdoms—Ilginisar, Solcendria, Nocthollow, Zepharia, and Nimurelle—close in from every direction. Cavalry charge, infantry tighten ranks, archers rain arrows from afar.
Yet one by one, they fall.
Olivia leaps, stepping on the shoulder of a collapsing soldier to propel herself higher, landing directly before the Zepharia line.
"This way!" she calls.
Her blade sweeps horizontally, tearing through the formation like thin cloth.
Bartra continues spinning his sling. Every metal projectile finds its mark—forehead, throat, knee joint. None miss.
Santiago fires without emotion. BOOM! BOOM!
Each blast fells another enemy.
Atop the execution platform, Oliver watches it all.
The wind whips through his hair. The ropes still bind his body, yet his eyes gleam.
"They are my proud children and crew," he murmurs softly, a proud smile clearly etched on his face. "Unmatched… especially if I were fighting beside them below."
Below, Grizz slams a Nocthollow soldier to the ground. Gruzz plants a foot on the man's chest before wrenching his blade free from another body.
The field begins to fill with motionless forms.
The royal formations collapse. Infantry scatter. Cavalry lose direction. Commanders fall.
Only the archers remain in elevated positions—too distant for sword or sling to reach.
Now the citizens have fully fled the execution grounds, leaving only the rebels behind.
"RELEASE!"
The sky darkens instantly.
Hundreds—no, nearly thousands—of arrows launch at once, blotting out the morning light. The sound resembles a merciless storm descending.
SHHHHHHH—
Olivia looks up.
"They are coming!" she calls.
She moves first.
Her sword spins rapidly, forming a circle of steel above her head. CLANG—CLANG—CLANG!
Arrows split in two before touching the ground. She steps forward, cutting one after another in a rhythm nearly invisible, as though the rain were nothing more than dust to her.
But not all are in such favorable positions.
Santiago is too late to find cover. The arquebus in his hands is not a weapon meant to deflect a rain of arrows.
He looks up—too late.
"Tch—"
Grizz runs.
With a powerful push, he leaps before Santiago, raising his greatsword high.
SWASH—SWASH—SWASH!
Each swing cleaves through dozens of arrows at once. He spins, his feet striking the earth, his blade forming a wall of steel between himself and Santiago.
Not a single arrow touches them.
On the other side, Bartra continues spinning his sling, unable to reposition.
"Gruzz!" he shouts.
Gruzz does not answer. He is already moving.
He charges toward Bartra, lifting his sword with both hands.
CLANG—CLANG—CLANG!
Arrows shatter midair. Some nearly slip through, but Gruzz twists his body, cutting with brutal precision.
One. Two. Dozens.
The rain continues.
Olivia steps back half a pace, now aligned with them. Her sword still dances, splitting projectiles descending from every direction.
For several elongated seconds—
Not a single arrow touches the ground among the five of them.
Broken iron falls like a second rain.
When the barrage finally ceases, the field falls silent once more.
Olivia lowers her sword slowly.
Grizz still stands before Santiago, his breathing heavy yet steady. Gruzz glances at Bartra, who remains completely unharmed. Santiago stares forward, thin smoke still trailing from the fuse of his arquebus.
Above, the archers freeze.
Some lower their bows unconsciously. Others simply stare in disbelief at the five figures below—untouched, uninjured, as though the rain of thousands of arrows had been an illusion.
THUD.
The silence shatters beneath a single heavy step.
One step.
The ground trembles.
THUD.
A second step, heavier still. Dust falls from the platform.
The remaining soldiers turn in unison.
From behind the execution structure, a gigantic figure emerges.
His body stands nearly three meters tall. His shoulders are as broad as a gate. Muscles bulge beneath bandages that wrap his entire form, and he wears a soldier's uniform with protective headgear.
The executioner grips a massive sword nearly as tall as a grown man.
Each of his steps echoes.
THUD.
The name strikes Oliver's mind like lightning.
"Predator…" he whispers, his breath caught in his throat.
Impossible.
Predator belongs to the previous generation. He dies—slain by the Mad Warrior in a duel that shakes the continent.
Yet now he stands there.
Alive.
The colossal blade drags slowly along the ground, carving a long line in the soil. The soldiers who moments ago are gripped by fear now step aside, as though the creature's presence is the answer to their failure.
Olivia stares at him.
"What… is that?" she murmurs.
Grizz tightens his grip on his sword. Gruzz unconsciously takes half a step back.
Santiago raises his arquebus, but for the first time, his expression is no longer entirely calm.
Predator stops at the center of the field, standing before Olivia and the others.