Lightning ripped the sky in half.
Thunder rolled like a beast waking from centuries of sleep.
Rain hammered the ruins of Musicia, drenching everything in a cold, metallic haze.
The Lunaranites were already out—shadows with spears—silhouettes scanning the storm for movement.
"We gotta get outta here," I muttered, my teeth clenched so hard I could taste the rain.
Prince shifted beside me, feathers bursting into crackling blue light as he transformed into his Lightning Bird form.
"Bro, where we even gonna go?" he shouted over the storm. "If we fly, what about Sophia, Javier, Ella, and Olsen? They can't keep up—they're creatures that touch grass!"
I turned to the squad, lightning flashing across our soaked armor.
"We split up." My voice cut through the thunder. "You four stay on the ground. Me, Power, Prince, Demaurion, Archie, and Angel—we take the sky."
Ella's voice broke through the rain, soft but shaking. "But Don, that's suicide! If you fly, the Lunaranites will see you!"
I looked back up. She wasn't wrong. The clouds churned with movement—hunters above, predators waiting.
Then I looked down. The others—scared, ready, trusting me. Leader. I couldn't hesitate.
She's right. It's suicide. But it's our only shot.
I met her eyes. "We'll be fine," I said—steady, certain, lying through my teeth but meaning every word.
I shifted into my dragon form—scales rippling, wings unfurling wide enough to blot the lightning. The others followed, transforming one after another.
Rain turned to knives, wind to screams.
Then—
BOOM.
We launched.
The storm swallowed us whole.
Lightning carved paths through the black clouds, close enough to taste the electricity. Archie flew beside me, his phoenix flames struggling against the rain, sparks trailing like falling stars. The wind tore at my wings. Thunder roared so hard it felt like the air was cracking open.
"Yo, Don!" Prince yelled, voice distorted by the storm. "You sure we're gonna make it? This feels like flying into our own funeral!"
I didn't answer. Couldn't. My mind was locked on survival.
Hydra ambush… that wasn't random. That was Dreadixz. Or someone even worse.
Then it hit—
War cries. Metallic, sharp.
Figures emerging from the mist.
"Lunaranite Scouts!" Angel shouted.
Five of them. Silver armor gleaming even through the rain, wings slicing through the storm like razors. Their spears pulsed with black light, dripping dark energy like venom.
"GET 'EM!" one barked.
"MOVE!" I yelled. "Break formation!"
A spear flew past my head, close enough to slice a few scales. Instinct kicked in—I dove, spun, lightning flashing past me.
Then—CRACK!
A bolt of lightning hit Archie dead-on. His scream tore through the storm.
"ARCHIE!" I roared.
He fell—wings limp, fire fading. I dove through the rain, catching him across my back just before he hit the ground. His body was smoking, his flames reduced to faint embers.
But he was breathing.
He was alive.
I scanned below—no clear ground, no safe landing, just endless storm and chaos.
And then I saw him.
A silhouette rising through the fog. A black figure on the back of a massive Lunaranite dragon, black energy coiling around him. His eyes—crimson, glowing like molten glass.
He smiled, voice smooth but venomous.
"Look what the lightning dragged in."
"Who are you?!" I shouted through the rain.
He cracked his knuckles—dark energy leaking from them like smoke.
"You don't remember me?" he said, tone playful, dangerous. "That's cold, Don. I was kinda famous once… or maybe infamous."
Before I could react, he launched himself off his dragon, fist glowing with lunar power.
BAM!
His punch hit me like a comet.
The world flipped.
Pain exploded through my skull.
I spun through the storm, wings buckling, the sky and earth trading places over and over.
"DON! CAN YOU FLAP!? KEEP FLAPPING! KEEP FLAPPING!" Prince screamed somewhere above me.
Archie slipped off my back—his body falling into the black.
My wings failed. My heart thundered in my ears. Everything blurred into sound and rain and static.
"No…"
I gasped, voice barely a whisper.
"I can't… I can't…"
And then—
Darkness swallowed everything.
Five days later — Eclitsic
I snapped out of stasis. Ice cracked off my scales as I pushed my eyes open to a frozen wasteland: flat white plains, squat igloos, and jagged mountains that loomed like teeth. Blizzard winds screamed through the air. The sky was nothing but falling snow; visibility dropped to a whisper. Snow piled on cliffs and frozen rocks, soft mounds swallowing everything in a sick, muffled silence.
I was still in dragon form, but when I tried to beat my wings, pain lanced through my joints. I crashed back onto the ice. Tiny ice spikes clung to the membrane—like nails—locking my wings. I must've been out for days. Six, maybe. My silhouette lay fractured and trapped beneath the glassy sheen of the ice. Stasis for real.
No time to panic. Find the beast. Move to the next world. That was the plan. Then—CRASH—a massive boom rolled over the plain. My ears snapped to it. I bounded toward the sound even though the cold bit through my scales. When I reached the cliff edge, the landscape opened up and my stomach dropped. I wasn't on a field at all. I was on a tower.
Below, Jocabed and Emely were fighting—fighting him. The guy who'd punched me into next week. Or at least someone who wore his face. Shadows collided with snow as beasts lunged and shredded the air. One beast snatched Emely by her trident and hurled her across the ice like she was nothing.
Not on my watch. I morphed back to base form; my hero suit snapped into place around me. Celestial energy crackled up my spine, bright and hungry. I launched myself off the cliff. Energy trails blew open behind me as I slammed into the battlefield like a meteor. The shockwave shattered the still air, knocking lesser monsters off their feet and flattening whatever line they'd managed to hold.
I landed—hoodie flapping, breath fogging the air—and faced the enemy. He rose from the snow: eyes glowing red, hands like claws, teeth bared. I barked, "Who are you?! Why are you hunting us? I don't even know you!"
He smirked, casual and cold. "Ooohhhhh, so you really don't know who I am? Heart burning…. I'm Incarceration. Villain name… Insane X."
My blood ran cold. Incarceration—the Zenith traitor, fourth strongest. This was bad. I pulled my daggers, fingers locking around the grip. I sprinted, blades tucked behind me. I spun, flipped a dagger forward, and slashed his cheek. Only a single drop of blood welled up.
He moved like a storm. In one brutal motion he grabbed me and hurled me across the ice as if I were nothing. I slammed and skidded like a comet, teeth gritting.
I pushed up, infused my daggers with celestial energy, and dove back in like a blazing comet. I carved across his chest—blood sprayed like fireworks—then slid and charged again.
I cracked him with a spin-drop shockwave that should've rocked worlds, but he skidded, laughed, and treated it like a warm-up. "Pretty potent," he said flatly, red eyes boring into me. "But for an Ex-Zenith—potent is not a good enough category to fit in with."
His arm exploded forward and five red chains shot out like missiles. I weaved and teleported between them, a blur cutting through the air. More chains came. I flickered around them and reappeared right in front of him.
"50-50-50 CELESTIAL DROPKICK!" I shouted. My legs slammed into his chest; a celestial energy wave rippled from the impact and he tumbled across the battlefield like a busted wheel. I holstered my daggers and went back on the offensive—right hook, left hook, backhand—then spun into a Galactical Uppercut that launched him skyward. I teleported above and slammed him down into the frozen ground. BOOM.
He rose—bloody, scarred—and scoffed, untouched in spirit. I blinked. "Why aren't you fighting back?"
He laughed. Not a laugh—it was a thing that creaked at the bones. Snow cracked under his feet as if the world answered him. "Don… you don't get it, do you?" he said, standing tall.
"I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to help."
My mind stalled.
"What are you talking about?" I snapped. "You're a villain—not some therapist!"
I hurled a celestial spear.
He caught it. Didn't brace. Didn't flinch. Just crushed it between his fingers, dust spilling like chalk.
Then he moved.
Two punches—fast, clean—my guard came up too late. A spinning kick cracked my jaw sideways. He grabbed my head and drove me into the ice. My skull rang. He twisted, spun, and threw me—
—through a wall of frozen glass.
I tore through it, shards screaming past me.
The chain snapped tight around my chest.
Everything jerked.
I was yanked off my feet, spun once, then hurled into open air. Wind ripped at my ears. My grip on reality slipped.
I reached for the dark energy.
It didn't erupt.
It folded in on itself.
Like a move I knew—knew—and still forgot.
The ground vanished.
Sound cut out.
I fell.
I hit metal face-first.
Cold flooded my hands as I pushed myself up. The space around me felt wrong—too small, too familiar.
Then I looked up.
A ceiling of red eyes opened one by one, blinking slowly.
Watching.
Incarceration's voice drifted down, calm, almost fond.
"You hated that sound, didn't you?"
Something grabbed me and yanked me upward—
—and I slammed into a gym floor.
Fifth grade.
The echo hit first. Sneakers squeaking. A whistle dangling in the air. I didn't need to look around. My body already knew.
Across the mat, my opponent staggered.
I saw the opening.
I went for the finisher.
My foot slipped.
Just a little.
Enough.
My balance collapsed. I hit the mat wrong—hard, awkward, stupid. Pain flared up my side, but that wasn't what made my chest lock.
It was the laugh.
One kid.
Then another.
Not cruel. Not loud.
Just there.
I tried to get up too fast. Slipped again. Someone snorted.
My face burned.
"No," I whispered.
The scene reset.
Same gym. Different match.
I rushed. Missed a step. Froze mid-combo.
The ref's whistle blew.
This time the laughter came faster.
Not mean.
Worse.
Easy.
Like it didn't matter.
My vision blurred anyway.
Incarceration stepped closer. The laughter looped, thin and sharp.
"They weren't mocking you," he said. "They were reacting."
The words hurt more than they should have.
"They didn't hate you," he continued. "They just didn't stop."
The sound filled the room—soft chuckles, whispers, someone covering their mouth like it was funny by accident.
"You remember the pain," he said. "But that's not what you replay."
The gym lights flickered.
"You remember standing there," he said, "knowing everyone saw it."
My fists clenched. "I was a kid."
"So were they."
The laughter echoed again.
"When people laugh now," he said quietly, "when you miss a hit, when you trip over your words, when your friends tease you—why does it still feel like this?"
My chest tightened.
I couldn't breathe.
"Because you're not afraid of losing," Incarceration said. "You're afraid of being looked at the same way."
The gym tilted. Faces blurred into shadows, mouths half-open mid-laugh.
"They're my friends," I forced out.
A pause.
Then, almost gently:
"Then why does their laughter still sound dangerous?"
Silence swallowed the space.
He was behind me now.
"If they're going to look at you," Incarceration murmured, "make sure it's never when you're weak."
The classroom shattered.
The void rushed back in, cold and sharp—
—and a whistle cut through the dark.
I looked up.
The axe hovered inches above my face, perfectly still.
For once, I didn't flinch.
Because the blade wasn't what scared me.
It was the sound that might come after.
In a Snowy Igloo at Eclitsic
"AH—!"
I rocketed upright off the mat like the universe just hit me with a jumpscare. No warning. No mercy. Chest on fire. Lungs filing a formal complaint. I was breathing like I'd sprinted through a Category-10 blizzard wearing flip-flops.
Focus snapped in.
…Yep. Igloo headquarters.
The walls were stacked with glowing icy-blue crystal blocks, each one pulsing softly like it had trapped auroras inside. Every breath I took fogged instantly. Outside, the sun was flexing—violent blue sky, zero clouds, snow sparkling like it got dipped in diamonds. Penguins waddled by like this was normal. Like I wasn't two seconds away from questioning reality.
Quick systems check.
No stab wounds. No void scars. No missing limbs.
Hero suit: untouched. Sealed. Perfect.
Relief washed over me. Okay. No death cutscene. Nightmare confirmed… probably.
Then the temperature dropped.
Hard.
Jocabed slid through the ice tunnel.
Not walked.
Glided.
Her metallic white and deep-blue cybernetic armor hummed with blizzard energy, frost-light tracing every joint. Her Arctic Fox helmet turned toward me—ice-blue eyes narrowing beneath a sharp metallic brow. The scar across one lens crackled, kicking out tiny bursts of static snow.
Each step froze the floor beneath her boots, frost webbing outward before fading. Micro-snowflakes spun constantly around her like she existed inside her own weather system. Her cybernetic claws flexed once, cold blue energy trailing off them in vapor.
"Bout time," she said calmly.
Her voice carried that quiet-but-deadly blizzard weight.
"You've been out five days."
I blinked. Hard.
"What—okay—hold on—everyone's here? Prince, Demaurion, Archie, Olsen, Ella, Angel, Power—all of them? And Incarceration didn't show up? He didn't pull up and start throwing hands with you or Emely or—"
The air shifted.
The cold sharpened. Electric. Charged.
Emely walked in.
Her ice-colored flight suit shimmered with moving frost patterns, light rippling like snow racing across glass. Razor-edged Ice-Bird wings unfolded from her back, crystal feathers refracting light into cold rainbows. Jagged crystal armor clicked across her shoulders and knees, shedding glowing shards that evaporated midair.
Her solid-ice boots rang against the floor. The triangular emblems on her chest pulsed like a frozen reactor keeping rhythm with her heart.
She spun her trident—
—and the air twisted into a lazy snow vortex.
"What are you talking about?" she said, visor flashing as frost mist spilled from her breath, "Incarceration? Never heard of him, that name sounds made up like one of those villains people invent at three in the morning but everyone else yeah they're all outside waiting for you because you've been on ice for five days straight and they've been absolutely losing it like Prince tried to time your wake-up and then Archie dared him to poke you and then Olsen told them both that was a bad idea but Archie did it anyway and—"
She did not stop.
Words poured out like an avalanche with opinions.
Jocabed sliced the air with one glowing claw.
The snow in the room froze mid-fall and shattered into glitter.
"Don," she said quietly, the blizzard around her tightening just a little,
"you've been thrashing in your sleep since you woke up. Where'd you get the name?"
My heartbeat slammed in my ears.
"…You don't know who Incarceration is?" I said. "He attacked us hours ago. I fell through a void. Everything went black. Then I crashed into the icy depths of Eclitsic and froze solid for five whole days."
They both froze.
Jocabed's storm stuttered.
Emely's chest emblems flickered out of sync.
They exchanged a look.
"Don," Jocabed said softly, her storm lowering to a whisper,
"I think you need to rest."
Nope.
Absolutely not.
I felt the fall.
I heard the void tear open.
I remember the cold locking my body like a coffin.
So why does none of it exist anymore?
Is my mind glitching…
or did reality get edited while I was frozen?
I shoved the thought aside and stepped forward. Frost cracked under my boots as I pushed past them and burst out of the igloo.
Training field.
Now.
If something rewrote my timeline, I was about to punch the truth straight out of it.
…Still.
That tiny voice in the back of my head whispered again:
What if it really was just a nightmare?