At’tar stood at the edge of the gaping holes that scarred the building’s floor, each one marking where Jazz had fallen. His piercing eyes followed the trail of destruction until they landed on the motionless body of Jazz far below. For a brief moment, the air seemed to grow heavier, charged with At’tar’s presence as he confirmed that Jazz wasn’t moving anymore.
At’tar straightened and shifted his gaze to the chaos around the mall. The once-bustling shopping center was eerily silent now, evacuated in haste, leaving only shattered glass, and debris scattered across the floor.
At’tar walked toward the shattered glass edge of the building. His dark-gray skin seemed to absorb the faint light around him, his polished armor glinting with an ominous gleam. He looked down at the street below, where the commotion was already escalating—crowds gathering, authorities arriving, and a mix of fear and confusion spreading like wildfire.
“It’s time to make these humans suffer,” he muttered, his voice low and filled with malice.
Without hesitation, he stepped off the building, plummeting toward the ground. The impact of his landing was catastrophic, shaking the earth beneath him and sending cracks splintering across the pavement. Dust and debris shot into the air, silencing the growing noise as the crowd froze in terror.
At’tar slowly rose from his crouched landing, his imposing figure standing tall amidst the chaos. His burning green eyes scanned the terrified faces, and a cruel smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
All of a sudden, At’tar’s sinister moment was interrupted by a deafening crash. The force of impact sent him hurtling several feet away, his polished armor scraping against the cracked pavement. A fast-moving car had slammed into him, its momentum powerful enough to send shockwaves through the ground.
The car skidded to a halt, its front bumper completely mangled from the collision. The hood was crumpled inward, steam hissing as it poured out in thick, angry streams. The crowd, already frozen in fear, stared in disbelief at the scene unfolding before them.
At’tar lay still for a moment, his stark white hair splayed against the ground. Then, with an unsettling calm, he rose to his feet. His movements were unhurried, as if the violent impact had been no more than a slight inconvenience. He dusted off his dark armor, not a single dent or scratch visible, and turned his piercing green eyes toward the vehicle.
The driver’s door of the car creaked open, and Leeland stepped out first, his face etched with grim determination. His clothes were slightly ruffled, but his confident stride showed he wasn’t shaken in the slightest.
From the passenger side, Keilee climbed out, shaking her head as if already annoyed by the situation. Her expression hardened as her sharp eyes focused on At’tar.
The back doors opened simultaneously. Gabe emerged first, his imposing frame seeming to fill the space as he adjusted his jacket. He glanced briefly at the damage to the car but didn’t seem particularly concerned.
Finally, Kenzie stepped out, his posture calm but his eyes focused and sharp, his movements precise, as he joined the others in a quiet, united front.
At’tar’s lips curved into a cold smile as he observed them, his gaze lingering on each of them in turn. “So, the rest of you have come to play,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery.
At’tar’s cruel smile widened as his gaze fixed on Kenzie, his piercing green eyes burning with malice. “I’ll start with you,” he said coldly, his voice laced with venom. “I’ll kill you the same way I killed Kellan.”
Kenzie’s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening, but he remained silent, his sharp eyes locked on At’tar.
“You’ve relied on luck for too long,” At’tar continued, his tone mocking, yet sharp as a blade. “But your luck has run out. Al’aric isn’t here to protect you anymore. He hides like a coward, refusing to show himself on Earth. And without him… you’re nothing.”
He let the words linger in the air, each syllable calculated to pierce through Kenzie’s composure. Then, At’tar’s gaze swept across the faces of Leeland, Keilee, and Gabe. His smile grew darker, and his next words carried the weight of finality.
“You’re too late,” he said, his voice echoing ominously. “I’ve already killed Jazz.”
A heavy silence followed his declaration, the words cutting through the chaos like a knife.
Keilee’s piercing eyes locked onto At’tar, her expression hardened with unrelenting resolve. With a swift motion, she summoned her Echo, the twin nunchucks materializing in her hands. They shimmered faintly, resonating with her determination as she spun them with practiced precision, the air around her humming with power.
“Keilee, wait!” Kenzie called out sharply, stepping forward with urgency. “He’s provoking us. We need to strategize, not charge in blindly. Stay focused!”
But Keilee’s focus was already set, her frustration and anger boiling over. Without a word, she dashed forward, her speed blurring as she closed the distance between her and At’tar.
With a shout, she lashed out, her nunchucks spinning in a flurry of precise, swift strikes aimed at At’tar. The air cracked with the force of each swing, but At’tar moved effortlessly, his speed uncanny. Each attack narrowly missed as he stepped, turned, and dodged with an unsettling ease, never even raising a hand to counter her strikes.
Keilee’s strikes grew more furious, her movements a blur of relentless assault, but At’tar only smirked. Then, as if growing bored, he acted. With a sudden movement, he caught both of Keilee’s nunchucks mid-swing, one in each hand, stopping her momentum cold.
His piercing green eyes met hers, his expression one of cold amusement. “Is that all?” he mocked.
Before Keilee could react, At’tar drove his right knee upward with devastating force, striking her squarely in the abdomen. The impact sent her hurtling upward, her body arching as she gasped for air. She landed hard on the ground with a thud, the nunchucks clattering beside her.
Keilee struggled for a moment, her breaths shallow as she gasped for air, but her strength failed her. Her body went still, collapsing into unconsciousness.
As if by instinct, At’tar suddenly leaped into the air, his reflexes sharp and precise. A series of explosive arrows struck the ground where he had just stood, sending debris and smoke billowing into the air. Turning toward the source, At’tar’s piercing green eyes locked onto Leeland, standing a short distance away with his Echo—a sleek bow—gripped tightly in his hands.
Leeland nocked another arrow in one fluid motion and let it fly. The arrow shot through the air, but At’tar dashed toward him, moving with blinding speed, evading each arrow with graceful precision. His movements were calculated, and within seconds, he was only a foot away from Leeland.
In an instant, At’tar summoned his dark, gleaming sword. With one swift, merciless motion, he slashed across Leeland’s chest. The force of the strike sent Leeland flying backward, his body crashing to the ground. Blood stained his clothes as he lay gasping for air, clutching his chest in pain.
At’tar turned his head at the sound of a cry and saw Gabe rushing toward him, his massive axe raised high, ready to strike. On the other side, Kenzie was closing in, his sword gleaming with determination.
With quick reflexes, At’tar leaped backward, avoiding the coordinated attack. Gabe and Kenzie followed, their movements relentless. Gabe swung his axe in a wide arc, while Kenzie attacked with swift, precise strikes from the other side. The two worked in tandem, trying to score a blow, but At’tar moved like a shadow, effortlessly parrying each attack with his sword.
Gabe let out a powerful cry as he brought his axe down in a thunderous smash. At’tar met the blow head-on, blocking it with his sword in a resounding clash of metal. Sparks flew as the weapons locked, their strength evenly matched for a moment.
On the other side, Kenzie saw his opening and lunged forward, his sword aimed for At’tar’s side. But At’tar countered with a brutal kick to Kenzie’s chest. The force of the impact sent Kenzie flying backward, landing hard on the ground. He gasped for air, pain radiating through his body as he struggled to rise.
At’tar turned his attention back to Gabe and pushed him back with a powerful shove of his sword. Before Gabe could recover, At’tar came forward with a devastating blow. Gabe managed to parry, but the sheer force of the strike caused his Echo to vanish, the axe disintegrating into the air.
Kenzie, now on his feet, shouted desperately, “No!” He could see what was about to happen, but he was too far away to stop it.
At’tar thrust his sword forward, piercing Gabe’s chest. The blow was precise and unrelenting, and Gabe crumpled to the ground as blood began pooling beneath him.
“Gabe!” Kenzie cried out, his voice filled with anguish.
Fueled by rage, Kenzie charged at At’tar, his sword raised. But At’tar parried each blow with ease, his movements almost taunting.
“Go on, Kenzie,” At’tar said with a mocking smile, his voice cutting like a blade. “Let rage consume you again.”
* * *
The cavern walls of Emberfall shimmered with veins of molten stone, glowing faintly with hues of gold and crimson, as though the heart of the earth pulsed within. Stalactites of crystal hung from the ceiling, refracting the warm light into dazzling patterns that danced across the cavern’s surface.
The six Mal’ak leaders stood together in the heart of the cavern, their formidable presence commanding the room. Al’aric stood among them, his striking features illuminated by the warm glow.
Before them, six weavers moved in harmony, their hands weaving the air as strands of light flowed from their fingertips. As the weaving neared its completion, the Echo’s energy intensified. Al’aric stepped forward, his movements calm and deliberate. His hand extended, and his finger hovered above the glowing center. A golden light emerged from his fingertip, its warmth palpable, and as it touched the Echo, the energies collided in an explosion of radiance, its light filling the cavern with a blinding brilliance.
When the light subsided, the Echo floated in serene silence, radiating an aura of immense power.
Zar’iel broke the silence, his deep voice filled with awe and concern. “This Echo could surely defeat At’tar,” he said, his gaze fixed on the radiant Echo. He paused. “But no human is strong enough to wield it. It’s too powerful for a mortal.”
Al’aric turned to the Mal’ak leaders, his calm gaze meeting theirs. “Yes,” he said simply. “No human can wield it.”
The leaders exchanged uneasy glances.
“Send it to Earth,” Al’aric commanded the Mal’ak weavers.
The weavers moved as one, their hands weaving the air in intricate, deliberate motions. The energy surrounding the Echo responded to their actions, swirling and coiling as if alive. With a synchronized motion, they all swept their hands upward, as though throwing something into the heavens.
The Echo transformed into a brilliant orb of energy and shot skyward, vanishing into the clouds above, leaving behind a faint trail of shimmering light.
Enn’ary hesitated, his gaze fixed on the sky. “If no human is strong enough to wield the Echo… then who is going to wield it?”
Al’aric turned to face him, his expression calm but resolute as he answered, “Enn’avy, your son.”
* * *
The world around Jazz seemed to dissolve, and the weight of his body was lost to the abyss as the darkness threatened to swallow him whole.
But then, a glimmer of light appeared, soft and warm, pulling at him gently. His consciousness drifted toward it, and in that dreamy state, he saw a figure standing before him—Professor Mackenzie. The professor’s gaze was steady, his expression one of quiet understanding as he stared down at Jazz’s still form.
“It is not time for our reunion, Jazz,” Professor Mackenzie’s voice came, calm and firm. “Wake up.”
With those words, a rush of air filled Jazz’s lungs, and he suddenly gasped, his body jerking back to life. His breath was ragged at first, as though his chest had forgotten how to breathe, but gradually, it began to normalize.
His body screamed in agony with every inch he tried to move. The pain was overwhelming—his whole being was a patchwork of bruises, scratches, and deep, bleeding gashes. His shirt was soaked in crimson, the fabric clinging to his skin as though it had become part of the wounds themselves.
His mind was filled with desperation, the thought of Lyra a sharp, painful ache in his chest. He wanted to stand up, to fight, to rescue her, but his body refused to obey. Every muscle screamed in protest, and even moving a finger felt like an impossible task.
He remembered Leeland, Keilee, Gabe, and Kenzie. They might have already arrived, tracking his location, but witnessing the strength of At’tar, he knew that even together, they were no match for him. Jazz’s heart sank, the weight of helplessness threatening to crush him as he lay there, trapped in his battered body.
Jazz’s ears rang with a sound he couldn’t place, but then, through the haze of pain and exhaustion, a familiar voice reached him, soft yet powerful.
“Jazz…”
He strained to focus, the voice like a lifeline in the overwhelming darkness. It was gentle, but there was a strength to it that made his pulse quicken. He tried to remember where he had heard that voice before—so clear, so unmistakable. And then, like a jolt of recognition, it hit him. It was Al’aric’s voice.
Gritting his teeth against the pain that seemed to be seeping into every fiber of his being, Jazz managed to shift, tilting his head in the direction of the voice. His vision swam, but he caught a glimpse of something.
A few feet away, a baton hovered in the air, gleaming with radiant white light. It was suspended just an inch above the ground, pulsing softly as though it were alive.
His breath hitched as memories flooded back—his dream. In that instant, Jazz knew without a doubt that this was it—the most powerful Echo he had seen in his dream.
Jazz summoned every ounce of will and remaining strength within him. His body screamed in protest, but he fought against it. Inch by inch, he managed to lift a finger, then a hand. Each movement was agonizing, but he kept pushing forward, gritting his teeth against the pain that wracked his body.
With every ounce of willpower, he twisted his body, pulling himself slowly from his back onto his side, then onto his stomach. Each small shift felt like a victory, but with it came an explosion of pain. Broken ribs threatened to tear further with each movement, and he felt as though knives were being thrust into his chest. His breath was ragged, shallow, each exhale sharp and painful, as if his body was protesting every inch he managed to crawl.
But still, he pushed forward. The baton shimmered just out of reach, about an inch away from his trembling hands. His body was giving out, and his strength was almost spent, but with a final, desperate cry of effort, Jazz lunged forward, stretching out his hand. With what was left of his resolve, he grabbed the baton.
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