"Oh yeah, we definitely have to destroy this thing," said Ren, grabbing the Marbel Emerald without hesitation. His armored fingers clenched around it, the servo mechanisms in his Mark II gauntlet tightening.
A sharp cracking sound shattered the silence. The orb fractured, giving off one final green glow before exploding in a small burst of shimmering light that slowly faded into the air.
"That should do it..." muttered Derek, struggling to his feet. He gave a tired, bitter smile as he looked at the bodies of his fallen comrades, now lying lifeless on the blood-stained floor of the once-grand throne room.
Footsteps echoed from the eastern corridor. One by one, members of the Band of Massiah entered—some covered in blood, some barely able to walk.
"It’s over!?" Arash’s voice rang out, his eyes quickly scanning the entire hall.
"You’re late!" Ren called out without turning, exhaling deeply. His helmet was already open, revealing a tired but sharp expression.
"Not all of us can fly, you know!" Nea snapped back, smacking her shoulder, half-annoyed, half-relieved to see Ren still in one piece.
Ren turned to her and gave a faint smile. "If I had the choice, I’d walk too—chased by a Hulk-level monster kind of ruins the mood."
Denon came in last. His gaze fell immediately on the bodies of his old comrades. His face was blank—no tears, just a heavy, hollow stare.
He slowly approached Derek. The two locked eyes in silence, then Denon placed a hand on his twin brother’s shoulder—a simple touch, but one full of unspoken weight.
"I was too late..." Denon murmured, his voice nearly swallowed by the vastness of the hall.
Derek said nothing. He turned his head slightly and gave a nod—exhausted, but accepting.
The others began to gather weapons, tend to the wounded, and regroup inside the throne room. They knew the palace wasn’t fully secure yet—and the shadow of war still loomed.
Nea stepped up beside Ren. "That was... the Marbel Emerald, right?" she asked, glancing at the shattered remains scattered across the floor.
Ren nodded. "Malik’s power source, as far as I can tell. If Khan’s theory’s right, this should make him easier to beat."
『Master, energy signature at the city center remains unchanged. No decrease detected after destruction of the artifact.』 Ultro’s voice cut in, unusually urgent.
"What...?" Ren turned toward Arash, his face tense. "That’s the only orb in this palace, right?" He pointed at the broken fragments.
Arash nodded firmly. "Yeah... Why?"
Ren quickly sealed his helmet with a hiss and jumped from the shattered wall. They were on the palace’s second floor. His thrusters flared to life.
"That orb was useless!" Ren shouted, his voice echoing through the throne room. "Malik still has his power!"
Everyone turned, faces stunned and confused. Some glanced back at the broken fragments as if expecting them to answer.
Nea clenched her fists. "What does that mean? Wasn’t there only one?"
Before Ren could answer, a deafening boom shook the floor, coming from the heart of the city. It sounded like two mountains colliding—dense, deep, and terrifying.
Ren’s expression hardened beneath his helmet. "Maybe... there isn’t just one. Or maybe... it was a decoy."
Arash stared at the ground, troubled. "No... If that’s true, then Malik knew about our plan from the start."
Derek, still standing near his fallen allies, narrowed his eyes. "Then Khan—he’s in danger."
Ren turned toward the rising column of smoke downtown. From here, he could see the clouds of dust and flickering lights in the sky—signs of a massive battle still raging.
"Alright, you guys—go find the real orb if it exists," Ren said, his voice sharp. "Meanwhile, I’m going to help Khan!"
No one objected. They all knew—only Ren was fast enough to reach him in time.
With a deep breath, Ren turned and fired up his thrusters. The Mark II’s back lit up in a bright blue glow, and the launch boom rattled the palace walls.
Ren shot out from the second-floor balcony, his body a streak of light slicing through the smoky sky. Dust and wind trailed behind him, whipping Nea and Denon’s cloaks violently.
『Boosting navigation. Distance to energy source: 2.3 kilometers. Estimated travel time at max speed: 42 seconds.』
Ren gritted his teeth. "If Malik knows we destroyed the fake Marbel... he’s definitely speeding things up."
In the distance, massive silhouettes came into view. Not one, but two towering figures clashed in the ruins of the city: Khan and Malik, their powers tearing through buildings around them.
"Hang on, Khan..." Ren whispered, pushing his thrusters harder—tearing through the clouds, racing toward the battlefield.
Denon glanced at Arash, his voice heavy. "Alright, so where do we search next?"
"Actually," Arash replied calmly, "we’ve already hit the most likely spots—throne room, private chambers, and the underground. But if it’s not there, then we have no choice."
Denon raised an eyebrow. "Which means?"
"I have intel from my undercover operatives inside the palace," Arash continued. "So we’re going to have to search every corner—yes, even the cup storage."
"Seriously..." Denon muttered, staring up at the ornate walls. "This palace is massive. Like a labyrinth. And we’re running low on people."
"And," Nea added, wiping blood from her weapon, "reinforcements will be coming—either from the satellite cities or loyalist troops still held by Malik."
"Don’t worry," Arash said, his expression composed but determined. "My team made sure those troops won’t be here for at least the next five hours."
Nea turned sharply. "You’re sure?"
"The potion your friend gave us works exactly as promised," Arash replied, tapping the sleeping-gas canister hidden in his cloak. "If it lasts five hours—no one wakes up before we finish this."
"Derek is nuts," Denon murmured. "But I’ll give credit where credit’s due."
"But here’s the thing," Arash said, refocusing. "If the Marbel Emerald still exists elsewhere, it’s not being kept as an artifact—it’s disguised as a decoration or everyday object."
"You mean like hidden under a table leg?" Nea replied sarcastically.
"Or inside a column," Arash countered without laughing. "Our ancestors concealed royal keys in places like that. If Malik knew this orb matters, he’d move it without telling even his aides."
Nea ran her hands through her hair in frustration. "What matters more is how we find a palm-sized stone in a palace this big!"
"You have wizards?" Arash asked. "The emerald radiates energy and is highly sensitive to magical detection. Use them as sensors."
Denon clenched his fist. "Then we split the teams and search systematically."
"Agreed. Start in the east wing, then the galleries, then the banquet hall. Check the artillery stores too—this palace has secret rooms even our maps don’t show."
Nea tapped Denon on the shoulder. "I’m with your team. The faster, the better."
"Good." Denon looked around at the standing members. "We’re on a tight schedule, and the world outside is falling apart. Find that stone—otherwise all this will be for nothing."
Small teams formed and began fanning out across the hall.
Meanwhile, on the main square of Samsara...
"Kgh!" Khan grunted as he absorbed the crushing weight of Malik’s giant sandy fist. His arms and legs sank deep into the cracked earth, his body trembling under the enormous pressure far beyond human limits.
"Hahahaha! What’s wrong, Farid? You look pale!" Malik taunted with cruel laughter, delighting in Khan’s struggle to withstand a blow three times his size.
"Tsk... you..." Khan growled, sinking deeper into the fractured ground. "You shouldn’t be involving civilians!" he yelled, panic obvious in his eyes as he glanced downward.
Beneath Malik’s colossal sandy fist knelt an old woman, trembling in terror, her hands shielding her head. She didn’t know who was fighting above her—only that the sky seemed to be collapsing, and her life balanced on a knife’s edge.
Khan didn’t dodge. He could—he had the skill. But doing so would let the blow strike more than just the stone streets—it would crush the helpless, the innocent who had no part in this war.
Damn... what about the others? Have they found the real Marbel? His lungs burned. The longer this fight dragged on, the harder it was to hold on. Mentally, he was nearing his limit... He might collapse at any moment.
His body shook—not just from Malik’s overwhelming force, but from the pressure of seeing the innocent harmed. Sweat and dust and sand mixed on his skin as if fate had piled on one last weight.
"Enough," Malik’s voice came from above, sharp and venomous. "I know what you’re thinking. Did you really think I wouldn’t expect an assault on the palace? While you fight me...
Those words cut through Khan’s concentration. He slowly lifted his head, eyes widening. Amid swirling dust, he recognized a familiar figure.
Princess Diana—his mother—stood among the crowd who dared to watch despite the danger. Her form was frail, but her gaze was unwavering. And their eyes met.
Time seemed to slow. She said nothing—and yet, through that look, Khan understood: don’t run. Don’t waver. Trust.
"Alright..." Khan gritted his teeth and let out a fierce shout, "Uggggh!" He drove his sword deep into the ground. A sudden surge of sand energy surged up its blade—like electricity forged in steel.
His left arm still held back the massive sandy fist, but his right plunged sword into the earth. With fierce will, he commanded the surrounding sand to reshape.
Spines of hardened sand rose, sharp and lethal—spears erupting from the earth toward Malik’s massive sandy form, striking from all directions like a pack of attacking serpents.
Malik faltered—not from the attack itself, but from the intensity of Khan’s spirit, something he hadn’t anticipated.