Sometime Before Zander's Arrival
The sky above the Phoenix Clan's base was eerily still, shrouded in a darkness that carried the weight of impending doom. Though no immediate threat loomed, Beatrice's instincts screamed in warning.
She stood atop the watchtower, her piercing green eyes scanning the horizon. Her gaze flicked between the outer fortifications and the vast expanse beyond, her body tense as if anticipating an attack. The wind carried the faint scent of damp earth and the embers of the training fields below, but something about the night felt off—wrong in a way she couldn't yet pinpoint.
Her hands brushed the twin blades strapped to her thighs, a familiar comfort amidst the unease. Barely minutes had passed since Zander's departure, and yet her wariness had reached its peak. She didn't believe in coincidence, especially not with the enemies the Phoenix Clan had amassed over the years.
Something was coming.
She had learned to trust her instincts.
And then, she felt it—a shift.
The air grew heavier, unnaturally so. It pressed down on her chest like an invisible weight, the ground itself seeming to tense as though recoiling from an unseen presence.
Then it happened.
BOOM!
The eastern barricade exploded in a blaze of dust and twisted steel, shattering the uneasy quiet. The shockwave rippled through the base, shaking the ground beneath the soldiers' feet. Alarms blared, the piercing sound echoing through the air as warriors scrambled into action.
Beatrice was taken aback for a moment but quickly regained her composure. What she dreaded but also expected had happened—but she was prepared.
"Form up!" Her voice rang out, sharp and commanding, cutting through the chaos with the force of a battle cry. Phoenix warriors rushed to their positions, their discipline evident as they formed ranks, weapons drawn and blazing with mana.
Through the smoke and debris, a group of warriors garbed in dark armor with black cloaks over their faces emerged. Leading the group were three figures who hovered in the sky like gods overlooking mortals.
The first was a humanoid figure, his golden mane flowing like a crown of fire. His imposing presence was amplified by the golden armor that encased him, intricate markings etched across its surface. Two massive maces rested on his back, their runes glowing faintly with a menacing aura. He was unmistakable—Drayden, one of the five great protectors of the Heaven Devouring Lion Clan, a sect composed solely of lions with royal blood.
The second was a wolf from the Sirius Clan, his predatory aura suffocating. Unlike the relatively unknown Alpha who had faced Zander, this wolf was on a completely different level. His snow-white hair and gleaming silver eyes radiated malice and a thirst for blood. A reddish-brown sickle, etched with faint blue runes, hung from his back. His fur armor, crafted from the carcass of a peak King-stage beast he had slain years ago, added to his terrifying presence. The smirk on his face revealed his pleasure at the massacre about to unfold. He was known to the word as Garou.
The last figure was cloaked in mystery. Decked in the same black armor as the warriors below, his was thicker, darker, and adorned with a strange red plaque strapped to his waist that read "King." A spear rested on his back, its shaft lined with runic inscriptions. His features were completely obscured, but his aura was twisted, unnatural, and deeply unsettling.
he three observed the base for a split second before the cloaked figure issued the command.
"Attack. Leave no one alive. Today, we put these Phoenix bastards in their place. This will be our introduction to the world. They will learn to fear us. They will learn to respect us. And once we're done here, our conquest for domination will truly begin."
The elite warriors moved like shadows, clad in dark armor that gleamed with a sinister sheen. Their weapons glowed faintly, laced with poisons meant to paralyze or kill. Their movements were coordinated, precise, and merciless. These were no mere mercenaries—they were trained killers.
As the warriors advanced, their leaders remained stagnant, unmoving as if they didn't intend to intervene themselves. They didn't need to. The weight of their combined power bore down on the battlefield like an invisible storm, their intentions clear: they would watch, wait, and strike only when necessary.
Beatrice clicked her tongue. Cowards.
"They're trying to grind us down first," she muttered to herself.
But she wouldn't let them succeed.
"Phoenix warriors—hold the line!" Beatrice's command cut through the air, rallying her forces as the opposing force swarmed forward.
And then, Beatrice moved.
Beatrice was a force of nature, her every movement a deadly blend of precision and power. Her blades flashed as she weaved through the chaos, each strike calculated to perfection. A flick of her wrist, and one mercenary fell, a blade buried in his throat. A spin, and two more collapsed, their bodies slashed open before they could react.
Vines erupted from the ground, coiling around attackers and crushing them with ruthless efficiency. Roots sprang forth to block incoming strikes, allowing her to focus her relentless assault on the enemy. Her elemental affinity—Nature—turned the battlefield into her domain.
The Phoenix soldiers rallied behind her. Despite being outnumbered, they fought with the ferocity of cornered lions, their weapons blazing with their various elemental affinities, though most were flame users. They held their ground, even as the dark-armored warriors pushed harder, their blows growing more coordinated and precise.
Wave after wave of enemies fell before the Phoenix warriors, but the leaders had had enough.
The three King-stage Awakened released their combined aura, and the battlefield seemed to freeze.
The weight of their presence crashed down like a tidal wave, suffocating the soldiers. Some stumbled, their weapons falling from trembling hands. The weakest collapsed outright, gasping for breath as their mana faltered. Even the strongest among them struggled to remain standing.
But Beatrice endured.
Her legs trembled, sweat dripped down her brow, but her emerald eyes blazed with defiance. She pushed forward, ignoring the crushing pressure as she continued to cut through the enemy ranks.
"You bastards…" she growled, her voice low but filled with venom. "Is this all you've got?"
She slaughtered her way forward, her blades dancing through the air as more and more assassins fell before her. But for every enemy she felled, more took their place. One by one, the Phoenix soldiers around her fell, their bodies littering the blood-soaked ground.
Her heart clenched as she watched her comrades fall, but she refused to retreat. She refused to surrender.
Because she knew.
Zander would come.
He always did.
From the moment the battle began, he had been watching her—the fluidity of her movements, the precision of her strikes, and the way she commanded her soldiers to turn chaos into a coordinated defense. Her brilliance irritated him, gnawed at him. He loathed geniuses, hated them with a deep, venomous passion. The sight of someone like her stirred a primal, sadistic desire within him—a need to destroy, to humiliate, to take away everything they held dear until they were left shattered and broken.
The black-cloaked figure could tolerate it no longer. After observing Beatrice keep her side from collapsing for far too long, he finally stepped forward. His movements were slow, deliberate, almost taunting, as the remaining enemies withdrew to create space
The battlefield fell silent, the only sound the crackle of lingering flames.
"You're strong," he said, his voice low and gravelly, tinged with amusement. "Join us. You'd be better off alive than dead."
Beatrice spat blood at his feet. "I'd rather die."
The figure sighed, almost disappointed. "Then so be it."
He moved faster than she could react. His fist slammed into her gut, sending her flying back through a crumbling stone wall. She hit the ground hard, coughing up blood, but she refused to stay down.
She rolled to her feet, her blades flashing as she lunged toward him. But he caught them effortlessly, his hands crushing the blades as though they were glass.
He toyed with her, his strikes brutal but measured as he broke her down piece by piece. A rib cracked. Then another. Blood filled her mouth, but she refused to scream.
"Why do you keep fighting?" the cloaked man asked, tilting his head.
Beatrice smiled through bloodied lips. "Because… I know Zander's coming."
His expression darkened. "You put too much faith in him.
His fist descended, crashing into her chest and sending her flying. She smashed through several buildings, her internals a mess.
The cloaked figure approached slowly, his voice dripping with sadistic glee. "I wonder what would happen if I took you right here. Would he scream? Would he go mad? Ah, what expression would he make? I want to see it. I want to see it so badly."
"Kingslayer," the Sirius wolf growled, his tone sharp. "Now's not the time to indulge your sadistic tendencies. We came for a purpose—it must be accomplished."
Kingslayer clicked his tongue, shrugging as he turned away. "Aren't you a killjoy? Very well." He glanced back at Beatrice, his smirk widening. "See you later, lass. If you survive, maybe next time I'll show you a good time." His laughter echoed as he walked away.
Beatrice's vision blurred, her strength fading. And finally—everything went black
Bea…trice… Beatrice… Can you hear me? You cannot die, Beatrice…"
Beatrice's eyes fluttered open, her gaze unfocused but faintly recognizing him. A weak, trembling smile tugged at her lips. "Commander…" she murmured, her voice so faint it was barely audible. "I… I tried…"
Zander shook his head, his jaw clenched tightly as he fought back the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "Don't speak. Save your strength. You'll be fine. I promise."
She nodded as she closed, he eyes once again her weakness lolling her into unconsciousness