Amid the thunderous explosions tearing through the air, a teenage boy sprinted through the shrubs that had begun to wither.
Yellowing leaves snapped beneath his feet. His sand-colored cloak fluttered lightly each time he leaped over tangled roots and the shattered remains of fallen temples. A compact satchel hung from his belt, small in size yet packed to the brim.
Every so often, he glanced skyward. His eyes searched for the three winged silhouettes slicing through the poisonous mist surrounding Dasamuka.
"Look! Who's that?!"
Whispers rippled through the human stands like waves.
The slender youth moved with astonishing agility. He danced across weathered stones like a performer who had memorized every inch of the stage since birth.
As he ran, his lips remained pressed against a tiny whistle—a whistle that produced nothing but silence to human ears.
With one powerful stride, he disappeared into the entrance of an ancient temple. Darkness swallowed him whole, as though he had vanished from the world itself.
The audience held their breath.
Waiting.
A few seconds later, a youthful hand emerged from the temple's shadow.
Resting in his palm was a neatly crafted sphere, compact and no larger than a clenched fist.
One of the falcons suddenly dived.
With flawless precision, it snatched the sphere as though accepting a golden offering from the heavens.
Its feathers never even brushed the ground.
The other two followed the same pattern.
Dive.
Grab.
Climb back into the sky.
Standing just inside the temple doorway, the teenager gazed upward.
A small monocular rested against one eye while the silent whistle vibrated softly between his lips once again, sending commands that only his winged companions could hear.
High above, the three falcons wheeled through the air like living arrows.
Another explosion blossomed across Dasamuka's body.
Small bursts of flame danced over his dark gray hide, shattering sections of the hardened skulls protecting his remaining heads.
Two explosions.
Then three.
The colossal giant staggered violently.
Each handmade bomb crafted by the teenager destroyed another piece of Dasamuka's skull with force wildly disproportionate to its size.
The human spectators rose from their seats.
They could scarcely believe that such a skinny teenager was directing birds of prey as though commanding an elite aerial squadron.
Once their payloads were exhausted, the three falcons swooped back toward the temple.
They landed upon its entrance like military drones returning to reload ammunition.
The cycle repeated.
Dive.
Reload.
Take flight.
Detonate.
Again and again.
Until three of Dasamuka's skulls had been blown apart.
The giant's remaining eyes gradually darkened—
Not because they had closed...
But because they had died.
Then...
Thin white smoke drifted from one of the temple's open windows.
Almost like vapor rising from a chemical reaction.
Several spectators narrowed their eyes, trying to glimpse what the mysterious teenager was doing inside.
The smoke slowly curled upward, as though signaling that the next assault would be even deadlier.
Moments later, the white smoke gradually dispersed.
A weary breeze carried away what remained of Dasamuka's foul stench.
From behind the temple's cracked stone doorway, the teenager stepped outside.
His silhouette was small.
His build lean.
Yet every movement carried the confidence of a hunter who had stared death in the face countless times.
Dust coated his sand-colored cloak until it nearly blended with the drying earth of the arena.
He neither hurried...
Nor relaxed.
His breathing remained perfectly steady.
Like someone who had calculated every second in advance.
The human stands erupted once more.
"There he is again..."
"How old is that kid? A teenager? Or even younger?"
"I thought he was just a falcon handler."
"Turns out he's much more than that."
The boy descended the crumbling temple steps before taking cover beside the structure, hidden beneath the shadows of the remaining trees.
Swiftly, he reached into a pouch on his belt and withdrew a thin strip of metal.
It looked like the broken fragment of a blade—or perhaps a carving tool.
From the stands, only the movements of his hands were clearly visible.
With practiced precision, he pressed the metal against the temple wall.
Krrk... Krrk... Krrk...
The scraping sound pierced the silence between Dasamuka's distant roars.
Yellowish-white marble-like flakes peeled away, falling like shards of candle wax.
The teenager carefully collected them in his palm before transferring them into a small pouch at his waist.
Not a single movement was wasted.
Not a single gesture carried hesitation.
It was as though he had studied the temple's structure for years.
"Did you see that?" asked a miner seated near the back.
"He's scraping it... like he knows exactly which part is the purest."
Before the audience had even finished marveling, the teenager moved again.
He darted toward the bushes that had been half-killed by the giant's foul breath.
Skillfully, he snapped off several dried branches.
But not just any branches.
He selected pale ones with delicate veins and thick resin slowly oozing from their fibers.
"Resin wood?" guessed a forest ranger.
"It... looks like it.
Though it's hard to tell with all the leaves gone."
The teenager wasn't finished.
He sprinted down a shallow slope leading into a small depression hidden beneath tangled roots.
There—
Between fractured rocks—
Golden-yellow crystals gleamed.
Their pungent scent stung the nose.
He crouched down and scraped them loose with a small knife drawn from inside his boot.
"Isn't that sulfur?"
"No wonder those explosions..."
The conversation abruptly ended as one of the falcons dived from above.
The dark brown bird landed atop one of the smaller temples beside Nurlan.
With careful hands and unmistakable affection, the teenager fastened several freshly crafted bombs onto the bird.
Brown feathers drifted around Nurlan as the falcon beat its wings, leaving behind a brief gust before soaring skyward once again.
Meanwhile, the human spectators had begun discussing something far more intriguing.
"So the birds are controlled by that whistle?"
"Incredible...
They're like living drones."
At that very moment, someone slowly rose from the back row.
An elderly man whose vest was covered with countless small pouches.
His hair resembled scorched cotton.
Round spectacles rested crookedly upon his nose.
Mr. Bhadra.
A military chemist.
He rarely spoke.
He rarely even stood.
But now he stared at the temple with a mixture of awe and long-held fear.
"Those materials..." he murmured hoarsely.
"They're... perfect."
Several spectators turned toward him.
The old man raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the temple wall Nurlan had been scraping.
Seeing the puzzled expressions around him, he spoke again.
"Because the entire temple..."
"...is made of Polinitium."
The entire audience froze.
"...Polinitium?"
Many looked confused.
Others—those familiar with chemistry and geology—stared in complete astonishment.
Mr. Bhadra swallowed.
"A substance that..."
"...will detonate the instant it's struck by friction."
His gaze shifted toward Nurlan, who was calmly mixing sulfur, powdered Polinitium, and pulverized wood with the precision of an alchemist.
"...even the slightest friction."
The murmurs within the human stands rapidly grew louder until they became almost impossible to contain.
Their voices drifted effortlessly across the open arena.
And Dasamuka—
Though gravely wounded—
Still possessed enormous ears protruding from various parts of his body.
Nurlan slowly turned his head.
His eyes sharpened like a freshly honed blade.
Then he raised his left hand high into the air.
The entire audience instinctively fell silent.
With a swift motion, he pressed a single finger against his lips.
"Shhh."
The simple gesture worked like a spell.
The human stands became silent at once.
Everyone held their breath.
No one dared utter another word.
Not even a cough.
He then pointed toward the ground beside his feet before looking directly at the audience, silently conveying a single message.
If you make noise...
The giant will know where I am.
The humans exchanged nervous glances.
Then they covered their mouths with scarves, sleeves, or trembling hands.
Some even nudged the people beside them, urging them to remain silent.
None wished to become the reason the young hunter's brilliant strategy collapsed.
From her throne, Libra watched the scene through her luminous violet eyes.
Then her gaze shifted toward Johan, who still stood upright with both hands clasped behind his back.
His focus never wavered.
Not once did panic touch his face.
"You..."
Libra whispered to herself.
"...you saw the opening from the very beginning, didn't you?"
She looked back toward the battlefield.
The temple forest that had once seemed so ordinary—
Nothing more than towering trees, moss-covered stones, and ancient ruins—
Now appeared completely different in her eyes.
"The things I created..."
A faint smile appeared upon her lips.
The smile of a judge who had finally solved the very riddle she herself had unknowingly created.
"...were never meant to serve merely as hiding places from a giant's footsteps."
Meanwhile, upon the Solar Throne, The Ancient One slowly clenched his talons.
His jaw tightened.
He felt deceived by human language...
By meanings and terminology understood only by mankind.
"Bastards..."
"They twisted the meaning of the condition I agreed to."
Yet he could not deny it.
He could not object.
Because he himself had approved the arena...
Without ever understanding the meaning hidden within it.
Above the battlefield, the three falcons dove once again, forming three nearly invisible white streaks across the sky.
BOOOOM!!
Another orange blossom of fire erupted—
This time across Dasamuka's back.
The sound of cracking skull echoed through the arena.
Two more heads exploded instantly, spraying thick black blood across the dying trees.
Another head hanging from his right ribs slumped lifelessly.
Its eye burst from its socket, releasing cloudy white fluid.
Only five heads remained.
All five were battered beyond recognition.
Blood streamed through the cracks in their hardened hide, soaking the dry earth and carving crimson channels like tiny rivers.
The mythology stands fell silent.
Utterly silent.
Not the silence of fear.
The silence of suspicion.
Creatures blessed with extraordinary senses slowly narrowed their eyes.
Some possessed compound insect eyes that spun rapidly.
Others had serpent eyes capable of detecting the faintest changes in body heat hidden behind stone.
They scanned every inch of the dying battlefield—
The fractured temples.
The skeletal trees.
The slopes scorched by Dasamuka's poisonous breath.
Then one creature—
A wyvern with golden-yellow eyes—
Suddenly lifted its head.
It pointed toward a Hanuman statue standing among the ruined temples.
"There."
A tiny movement.
A small human figure crouched low, holding an instrument before one eye.
Khairat Nurlan.
"There!"
the wyvern shouted.
"Behind that temple! That little human is controlling everything!"
The cry echoed across the entire Colosseum.
The battered Dasamuka instantly stiffened.
One of his remaining heads growled.
"What?"
"So all of this..."
The five surviving heads swung around so quickly they nearly collided with one another.
Every eye locked onto the same place.
The temple where Nurlan was hiding.
A wave of tension swept through the human stands like icy wind.
Several people rose to their feet.
Many instinctively covered their mouths, afraid even to breathe too loudly.
Even the President gripped the edge of his throne.
The Ancient One raised a curious eyebrow.
And Libra's expression hardened with concern.
Beside the Hanuman statue, Khairat Nurlan, who had been preparing another explosive, finally heard the commotion.
He cautiously peeked through a gap in the stone.
His eyes widened instantly.
Dozens...
Hundreds...
Of mythological eyes were staring directly at him.
The teenager spat once onto the dry earth, venting his frustration.
"Damn it..."
"Those people just couldn't keep quiet."
He glanced toward the human stands, where many now looked like children caught stealing bread.
Some couldn't even meet his eyes.
Nurlan stared at them for a long moment before rubbing both hands across his face.
"...Fine."
He quietly searched through the contents of his pouch.
"This is going to turn into a game of chase."
He grabbed his satchel of explosives, tightened its straps, and without the slightest hesitation slipped deeper into the temple's shadows—
Even as thousands of eyes continued watching his every move.