The air was thick with tension, every breath laced with the scent of ash and rising heat. Behind you, Godzilla and Kong turned to face the icy menace Shimo, her frigid aura warping the battlefield with frostbite and bone-chilling wind.
But your focus was forward—locked onto the monster who had waited for this moment longer than any of you could imagine.
The Scar King.
He stood tall, muscles taut with primal rage, his amber eyes glowing with malevolence. His body bore the scars of countless wars—his name was not given, it was earned. And now, he stared you down like a rival, like a challenge… like prey.
You launched into the air, wings tearing through the wind, and fire churned in your throat.
With a thunderous roar, you unleashed it.
A massive cone of flame scorched through the sky and barreled toward Scar King like the breath of an angry god. The heat shimmered, the earth below cracked—but Scar King didn't flinch.
He raised a single arm.
The fire slammed into him with a roaring boom, engulfing his form in fire and smoke. For a moment, he vanished in the inferno.
Then he stepped forward—unfazed.His charred skin steamed, but his grin only widened.
He laughed. A deep, booming sound that shook the bones of the Hollow Earth. His teeth bared as if taunting you, mocking your power. And with slow, deliberate motion, he reached behind his back and pulled out the weapon every Titan feared.
The Whip of Bone and Fury.
A weapon forged from the remains of fallen Titans, twisted and hardened through generations of violence. Its length coiled like a serpent around his wrist, pulsing with a terrifying aura of power.
He cracked it once.
The air itself screamed.
Then he charged.
You wheeled in the air as he swung the whip with blinding speed. It tore through the jungle beneath, shredding trees like twigs and leaving a crater where it struck. You dodged left, then up—dancing through the air, flames gathering once more in your chest.
You let loose another blast.
Scar King twisted his body and rolled forward, the fire exploding behind him in a wave of heat. But he didn't stop—his feet hit the ground and he kept coming. Faster, more vicious. He was learning your rhythm. Watching. Calculating.
Then he grabbed a boulder the size of a small mountain hut and hurled it at you.
It came too fast to burn, too fast to deflect. You folded your wings and dropped, letting gravity yank you down as the massive rock split the air where you'd been.
The wind howled as you righted yourself mid-dive—but Scar King had vanished.
Your eyes scanned the battlefield.
Then you saw him.
Running.
His body moved with terrifying force, every step shaking the ground. He tore across the scorched field, muscles coiling as he gathered momentum.
And then—he leapt.
Time slowed.
You saw the whip unraveling behind him, its jagged edge sparking with raw, destructive force. His eyes locked onto yours with pure intent. No hesitation. No mercy.
This was the Scar King at his most dangerous—not standing, not watching.
Attacking.
You beat your wings and fired another blast, but it was too late. He was already in the air. Already committed.
And the real battle was about to begin.