As soon as Jazz uttered the word “Light-bringer,” Lyra let out a chilling laugh, one that reverberated through the room with a sinister echo. It wasn’t her usual laugh—it was darker, dripping with malice, as though it belonged to someone else entirely. Jazz and the Roscos froze, their eyes snapping to Lyra in alarm.
Her expression had transformed, her delicate features now twisted with an unsettling intensity. Her once-soft eyes burned fiercely, a wild, dangerous green that seemed to pierce through them.
“You’re right, Jazz,” she said, her words sharp and dripping with disdain. “I am At’tar, the Light-bringer.”
Before anyone could respond, Lyra let out a scream—a terrible, piercing cry that cut through the air like shards of glass. It wasn’t just a scream. It carried a monstrous force, a ripple of dark energy that surged outward in an unstoppable wave.
The impact hit Jazz and the Roscos like a battering ram, throwing them off their feet and slamming them to the floor.
Before any of them could react, Lyra was gone. The front door stood ajar, swinging slightly as if it had been flung open by a gust of wind.
Jazz was the first to rise, his movements swift and purposeful as he scanned the room. “Are you both alright?” he asked, his tone steady yet urgent.
Marvin quickly helped his wife sit up and looked directly at Jazz, his face filled with alarm. “Follow her,” he said firmly.
Jazz didn’t need to be told twice. He darted out of the house, his sharp gaze catching Lyra just outside. She was already mounting Jazz’s bike, her actions fluid yet unnervingly precise, as if driven by something far beyond human instinct.
“Lyra!” Jazz called out, but she didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, she pushed off with an almost unnatural speed, the bike surging forward as though propelled by something more than just her effort.
Without hesitation, Jazz took off after her, his strides long and powerful. The gate loomed ahead, and as Lyra weaved through it effortlessly, Jazz followed in pursuit.
His speed was unmatched, the world around him a blur as his focus locked solely on the figure ahead. Yet, even at his pace, Lyra seemed to ride as if the bike were unbound by the limitations of ordinary motion, gliding over the pavement with a velocity that defied reason.
Jazz pressed on, each stride propelling him forward with relentless precision, the distance between them fluctuating but never quite closing.
As Jazz ran, he pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers swiftly swiping to find a contact. Keeping his pace steady, he pressed the call button and brought the phone to his ear.
The line clicked, and a familiar voice answered.
“Leeland!” Jazz said, his tone sharp and urgent.
“This is Keilee,” came the response. “Leeland’s driving. What’s going on?”
“Change of plan!” Jazz said, his breath steady despite the speed he was maintaining. “Where are you now?”
“We’re about thirty minutes away from the Rosco residence,” Keilee replied.
“I’ll send my GPS location,” Jazz said quickly. “Track my phone location!”
There was a brief pause on the other end. “Why? What’s happening?” Keilee demanded.
“At’tar has taken Lyra’s body. Be quick!” Jazz replied, his voice firm and filled with urgency.
Without waiting for a response, Jazz ended the call, slid his phone back into his pocket, and focused all his energy on the chase ahead.
Lyra came to a sudden stop in front of a large mall, the screech of the bike’s tires cutting through the air. Without a moment’s hesitation, she dismounted, throwing the bike carelessly to the side as if it were nothing. It clattered to the ground with a loud crash, startling passersby. Without looking back, she sprinted toward the mall entrance, her movements sharp and deliberate.
Jazz arrived seconds later, his focus unbroken. He saw the discarded bike and then Lyra, weaving her way into the mall. Pushing forward, he followed her through the entrance.
Inside, the scene was chaotic. Lyra barreled through the crowd, shoving people aside with enough force to send them tumbling to the ground. Cries of confusion and alarm filled the air as she moved relentlessly forward.
Jazz caught sight of her ahead, her form cutting through the throng with unnatural speed. Nearby, a security guard noticed the commotion. Blowing his whistle, the guard sprinted toward Lyra, his voice rising above the chaos. “Stop! You’re hurting people!” he shouted.
Jazz’s sharp gaze shifted between the guard and Lyra, his mind racing. He pushed through the crowd with urgency, his strides unyielding as he closed the gap between him and the fleeing figure.
Lyra darted toward the escalator, her movements swift and unrelenting. Without hesitation, she started ascending to the second floor, her pace unbroken as she continued to push past unsuspecting shoppers, leaving more confusion and distress in her wake.
Jazz reached the escalator moments later, only to find it crowded with people. A slow-moving throng had already filled the narrow space, blocking his path. He clenched his jaw, realizing there was no way he could weave through them quickly enough without causing a scene—or worse, hurting someone.
His eyes flicked upward to the second floor, where Lyra was already nearing the top. He knew he was running out of time. At’tar’s presence inside her was dangerous, and every moment he delayed could mean more people hurt.
Jazz’s resolve hardened. There was no choice. With a deep breath, he veered away from the escalator and ran toward an open space. Without breaking his stride, he launched himself upward with an extraordinary leap, his feet leaving the ground floor in a powerful motion.
In an instant, he soared through the air, landing gracefully on the second floor. Gasps and startled exclamations from the crowd erupted around him, but Jazz didn’t stop to acknowledge them. His focus was fixed on Lyra.
Ahead, two security guards, alerted by the growing chaos, moved to intercept Lyra. One of them shouted, “Stop!” as they stepped into her path, their arms raised to block her. Behind her, the guard who had been chasing her was closing in, his whistle now silent as he focused on catching up.
Lyra didn’t slow down. With a sudden burst of speed, she leaped forward, delivering a devastating kick to the two guards in front of her. The impact was brutal, sending both men crumpling to the ground, unconscious before they hit the floor. The sheer force of her attack left the crowd nearby gasping and recoiling in terror.
The guard behind her stumbled to a halt, hesitation written all over his face as he watched his colleagues fall. His steps faltered, fear creeping in as Lyra turned to face him. Her expression was a chilling mix of malice and fury, her green eyes gleaming with an unnatural light.
She moved toward him with calculated precision, her sinister gaze locking onto him. The guard raised his hands defensively, but it was too late. Lyra lunged forward, grabbing his head with both hands. In one swift, merciless motion, she twisted sharply, and a sickening crack echoed through the space as the guard’s neck broke. His body went limp, collapsing at her feet.
Jazz, sprinting toward her with relentless speed, witnessed the horrifying scene. His heart sank as he realized the lengths At’tar—now in control of Lyra—would go. He skidded to a stop just a few paces away, his eyes widening as he took in the changes in her appearance.
Lyra’s hair, once black with purple highlights, was now streaked with stark white, as though the color had been drained. Her skin had darkened, turning a shade that resembled smoldering ash. The transformation was subtle but unmistakable, her presence radiating the overwhelming power of At’tar.
“Lyra,” Jazz said under his breath, his fists clenching as he prepared to confront the being that had taken over her.
Lyra turned to Jazz, her now stark-white hair falling over her darkened face, her piercing green eyes alight with sinister energy. When she spoke, her voice sent a chill down his spine—a warped mixture of her familiar tone and a deep, malevolent voice.
“You’re too late,” she said, her words echoing with duality. “I am almost taking over.”
Without warning, she dashed toward Jazz, her movements swift and feral. Her fists flew in rapid succession, a barrage of punches aimed at him with precision and power. Jazz reacted instinctively, parrying and blocking each blow, his hands moving in sync with her relentless attacks.
She spun with a kick, the force of it whistling through the air as Jazz ducked and shifted his stance to deflect the strike. Each of her attacks was powerful and precise, but Jazz could sense something. At’tar wasn’t fully in control—Lyra’s body moved with strength, but it lacked the full coordination and destructive mastery that At’tar was known for.
Jazz gritted his teeth as he defended himself, knowing that this incomplete possession was the only reason he was still able to stand his ground. Despite her ferocity, there were subtle gaps in her attacks, slight hesitations that revealed she was not yet entirely consumed.
Then he saw it—an opening. Lyra lunged forward with another punch, and Jazz sidestepped, his body twisting fluidly to evade her strike. In one swift motion, he countered, his fist driving forward with speed and precision.
But just as his punch was mere inches from her face, Jazz froze. His knuckles hovered in the air, trembling as he stopped himself from delivering the blow. His heart clenched. Lyra’s face, though now marred by At’tar’s transformation, was still Lyra’s. The white-streaked hair, the darkened skin, the haunting green eyes—all of it was alien, yet at the back of his mind, he couldn’t forget who she truly was.
This was still Lyra—the woman he loved.
Jazz’s hesitation cost him dearly. Lyra seized the moment, launching a relentless barrage of punches and kicks. Each strike landed with brutal precision, shaking Jazz’s body as he staggered under the force. A powerful kick to his chest sent him tumbling to the ground, pain radiating through him as he struggled to move.
Lyra stood over him, her piercing green eyes glowing with malice. Her lips curled into a cold sneer as she looked down at him. “Pathetic humans,” she said, her voice still a haunting mix of her own and the deep, menacing tone of At’tar.
Before Jazz could rise, a group of security guards rushed in, forming a circle around Lyra. Their shouts filled the air as they called for her to stand down.
Lyra’s gaze swept over them, her expression unfazed. Beside her stood a booth stocked with tools, and without hesitation, she smashed her fist through the glass, shards scattering to the floor. She grabbed a heavy wrench.
The guards hesitated, but she didn’t give them a chance to react. With terrifying speed, Lyra attacked. The wrench became a blur as she struck each guard with precision, taking them down one by one. Each blow was powerful enough to send them collapsing to the floor, groaning in pain or rendered unconscious.
Lyra stood over the last guard she had attacked, the man now unconscious at her feet. Her fierce eyes locked onto him with a deadly intent. Her grip tightened on the wrench as she raised it high above her head, aiming directly for the guard’s skull.
The wrench began to descend—but before it could connect, a sudden force slammed into Lyra, knocking her off balance. She staggered backward and fell to the ground, the wrench flying from her grasp and skidding across the floor.
A few feet away, Jazz stood, now back on his feet, his breathing heavy but resolute. In his hand, he held his Echo sword, its blade gleaming faintly in the light.
“I’m sorry, Lyra,” Jazz said, his voice steady but pained as he spat blood onto the floor.
Lyra slowly pushed herself up from the floor, her movements deliberate and slow as if each second of stillness heightened the tension in the air. She cracked her neck with a low, audible snap, the sound almost as unnerving as her presence.
With her back straightened, she turned to face Jazz, her eyes blazing with an unnatural intensity. A wicked smirk twisted her lips. “You’re lucky you managed to hit me,” she said, her voice low and dripping with disdain. “But that will be the last time. I am taking her body fully.”
Without warning, Lyra’s eyes narrowed, and she let out a scream—a piercing, guttural cry that made the very air around them tremble. The scream echoed in waves, twisting between male and female tones, as if the voices of both Lyra and At’tar merged into one terrifying sound.
The energy that radiated from her was suffocating, dark and pulsing with raw power. It surged outward in a shockwave, a dark force that tore through the air with a force so powerful that the glass windows of the building shattered in an instant, sending shards flying in every direction.
Dark energy enveloped Lyra, wrapping around her like a thick, swirling mist. It coiled around her body, shifting and pulsing, darkening the air around her as if it were alive. The energy seemed to twist and vibrate with every breath she took, growing more intense by the second.
When the shadows finally receded, what stood before Jazz was no longer Lyra. At’tar had fully manifested, his form towering and otherworldly. His eyes burned with a malevolent light, glowing with an intensity that felt like staring into the heart of a storm.
At’tar’s hand twitched, and with a sudden, chilling movement, he summoned his Echo sword. The weapon materialized from the dark energy swirling around him—a sword of deep, purplish hue, its blade shimmering with an eerie, unsettling glow. At’tar gripped it tightly, his eyes narrowing as he fixed his gaze on Jazz.
“Prepare to die, human,” he hissed.
In the blink of an eye, At’tar dashed toward Jazz, his speed beyond anything humanly possible. The ground seemed to shake with each step he took, a blur of dark energy and raw force charging straight at Jazz.
Jazz reacted instinctively, his heart racing as he quickly morphed his sword into blue orbs, sending them flying in front of him to block At’tar’s incoming strikes. Each orb collided with At’tar’s sword with a sharp, thunderous crack, but to Jazz’s growing horror, the orbs were destroyed upon impact. They vanished into the air, disintegrating like dust in the wind with every parry.
The destruction was relentless. Each orb that Jazz summoned was shattered in an instant, leaving him with fewer and fewer defenses. Panic gnawed at his mind as the orbs quickly lessened, his body tensing as he realized he was running out of time.
When the final orb was obliterated, Jazz’s mind raced. He could feel the pressure mounting, his every instinct screaming at him to survive. With no time left for hesitation, he gathered every ounce of strength he had left. He launched himself into the air, his body surging upward with explosive force, leaping to the next level behind him.
The moment Jazz’s feet touched the ground, his body surged with adrenaline. He quickly summoned his sword, its gleaming blade materializing in his hand. With a roar, he pushed off the ground with all his might, launching himself toward At’tar, determined to strike back.
But At’tar was already in motion. In a flash, the two collided midair, their swords clashing with a deafening crack. The force of the impact was so intense that it sent shockwaves rippling through the building, shattering windows and sending debris flying in all directions. Beams and pillars groaned under the pressure, cracking and splintering as if the very structure of the place were buckling beneath the sheer force of their combat.
For a moment, it seemed as if the swords themselves couldn’t withstand the overwhelming energy. They shattered in the air, their blades vanishing into nothingness, leaving only the resounding echoes of their clash behind.
Both combatants landed on the ground, skidding slightly but staying upright. Jazz’s chest heaved with every breath, his limbs aching with the weight of the energy he had just expended.
At’tar stood tall, his eyes measuring Jazz with a sense of amusement. “I do not expect that strength coming from a human,” he remarked, his voice a cold, mocking tone.
But as At’tar observed him, Jazz could feel the toll of their battle weighing on him. The energy he had expended was taking its toll—his body trembled, his muscles screaming in protest. He was teetering on the edge, almost at the brink of his strength. Every breath felt like a strain, every movement slower than before.
“But like I said before,” At’tar continued, his voice cold and final. “You will die now.”
Before Jazz could even register the threat, At’tar vanished from his sight, moving with blinding speed. He appeared in an instant, already to Jazz’s side. In the blink of an eye, At’tar unleashed a brutal series of punches and kicks, each strike landing with double, if not triple, the force of the previous blows Jazz had endured. The power behind each attack seemed to reverberate through Jazz’s entire body, sending shockwaves of pain through his limbs and chest.
Jazz barely had time to react, his body unable to keep up with At’tar’s incredible speed. The blows struck with unrelenting force, each hit stronger than the last, the pain blurring his vision. His muscles screamed, his bones felt as though they were being crushed beneath the weight of At’tar’s fury.
His eyes dimmed, the world spinning around him as the energy from the strikes drained the last of his strength. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.
At’tar stood over him, watching coldly as Jazz lay motionless on the ground. For a few moments, there was only the sound of Jazz’s ragged breaths as he fought to remain conscious.
Then, without warning, At’tar jumped into the air, his form becoming a dark blur as he gathered his energy. With a terrifying roar, he launched himself downward and extended his hand, delivering a crushing punch directly to Jazz’s chest.
The impact was earth-shattering. At’tar’s blow struck Jazz’s chest with a force so intense that the ground beneath them cracked and shattered. The shockwave sent Jazz crashing through the floor, the tiles and concrete splintering under the weight of the impact. He plummeted through the mall’s multiple levels, his body spiraling downward until he finally crashed into the basement, his body slamming into the cold, hard ground below.
The pain was unimaginable. It felt as though his ribs had shattered, the crushing weight of the blow collapsing his chest. Blood flowed from his mouth, the metallic taste filling his senses. He couldn’t breathe—his lungs felt as if they had been crushed, every inhale a struggle.
His vision blurred, his body screaming in agony as the darkness crept in. His eyes dimmed further, the world around him fading into a cold, empty void. Jazz’s heart pounded, but it was slowing. His breath came in shallow gasps, then nothing at all.
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