Jazz felt his consciousness slip—no, it was more than that. For a fleeting moment, it was as if his very soul had been torn from his body, cast adrift in an expanse beyond time and space. His senses dulled, reality twisting into something distant, unreal. The world around him faded, and in its place came an overwhelming stillness, like the lingering echo of a final note before silence took hold.
Before him stood two female Mal’aks, their dark blue hair cascading over their shoulders, their blue eyes weary and filled with worry. Between them, cradled in their arms, was a male Mal’ak—motionless.
As the two Mal’aks stepped closer, Jazz felt a jolt of recognition. The younger of the two—her delicate features framed by dark blue hair—was Enn’aly. Enn’ary’s daughter.
“Are you two okay?” Jazz asked, his voice laced with concern. “Let me help you.”
But neither of them responded. They didn’t even look his way.
He stepped forward and reached out, his fingers aiming for Enn’aly’s shoulder—only to feel nothing. His hand passed straight through her as if she were made of mist.
He turned his gaze back to them, realization settling in. This wasn’t real.
Jazz looked at the face of the male Mal’ak and froze. The resemblance was unmistakable—the Mal’ak looked exactly like him, except for his dark blue hair. Realization struck Jazz, this was Enn’avy. The lost son of Enn’ary.
Before he could process it further, the scene around them wavered, dissolving into nothingness. A moment later, the world reformed, shifting into a new place.
They now stood at the border of the Negative Harmony. But something was different. Jazz’s eyes widened as he took in the change—the swirling edge of the border was not the ominous dark blue and purple he had seen before. Instead, it glowed with a light blue hue.
The same color as the new border in Oasis Cavern.
Gently, they laid Enn’avy’s body down.
Enn’aly knelt beside him, her trembling fingers brushing against his skin. She turned to the other female Mal’ak, her voice tight with emotion as she spoke in the Mal’ak language.
Jazz’s breath hitched. For somehow, he understood every word.
“Mother,” Enn’aly said in a worried tone. “Enn’avy is cold… He is gone.”
“That’s why we’re here,” her mother replied.
Reaching into her cloak, she pulled out a small jar and an aged scroll. Her expression was unreadable as she unrolled the parchment, tracing the ancient symbols with her fingertips.
“Only dark magic can resurrect him now.”
Enn’aly’s shook her head in silent protest, but her mother had already begun.
She opened the scroll and started to chant.
The border flickered.
From the jar, she poured a handful of silver sand into her palm. As she neared the final words of the incantation, her voice deepened with eerie resonance.
“A life for a life. Let the darkness thrive!”
With a swift motion, she cast the silver sand into the border.
At once, the shimmering light blue hue flickered violently, shifting erratically between deep blue and sinister purple.
Then—
A blinding flash of purple light erupted from the border, swallowing everything in its glow.
As the blinding flash faded, Jazz’s eyes adjusted to the scene before him. The Mal’ak mother lay motionless on the ground, her lifeless form eerily still.
Beside her, Enn’avy’s eyes fluttered open—just for a moment. Then, with a sudden deep inhale, his chest arched upward as if pulled by an unseen force. But just as quickly, the breath left him, and his body fell lifeless once more.
Before Jazz could react, the world around him twisted.
In a blink, he found himself hurtling through a swirling expanse, a realm of shifting light and shadow. He was flying fast—too fast—pulled forward as if through a tunnel of endless motion.
Then, everything shifted.
The sky burned with hues of orange and gold—late afternoon. Below him, familiar rooftops rushed into view. He was descending rapidly, straight toward his own neighborhood street.
But just as he braced for impact—Another shift.
In a flash, he was standing still. A new vision.
Before him stretched a narrow street, lined with discarded trash and broken remnants of things long abandoned.
Then, his heart clenched.
A baby boy lay among the refuse, small and fragile. Motionless. His tiny form barely stirring, as if life had already begun to slip away.
Had he been abandoned? Left here to wither by cruel, careless parents?
Jazz felt a deep, sinking ache in his chest.
Suddenly, from above, Jazz saw what looked like a soul swiftly descending. It stopped a few feet above the baby, then hovered over the tiny, fragile body lying among the refuse. It was weightless, like a wandering spirit, drifting without direction.
Then, in an instant, the soul moved toward the baby, and the baby cried out.
The baby’s wail pierced the air, thin yet desperate, a sound of life refusing to fade.
As the cries echoed through the narrow alley, a woman passed by. Jazz’s breath caught. His mother.
She stopped abruptly, turning toward the sound. Concern flickered in her eyes as she stepped forward, searching. And then—she found him.
Without hesitation, she lifted the baby into her arms, cradling him against her chest. Her hands trembled as she looked around, scanning the alley for any sign of who might have left him.
There was no one. No answer.
A hushed breath escaped her lips. “A gift from above,” she murmured. “A replacement for my lost baby girl… Melody.”
She looked down at the baby’s face, her expression softening.
“I will call you… Jazz.”
Jazz’s heart leaped. A flood of emotions surged through him, but before he could fully grasp them—he was himself standing in front of Al’aric. The ruler of Eternal Resonance regarded him with steady, knowing eyes.
“I am a Mal’ak,” Jazz said, the truth sinking into his very core.
“Yes, you are,” Al’aric replied.
His voice carried a weight beyond mere acknowledgment. “If you wield the baton,” he continued, “you will soon return to your former self—a Mal’ak.”
Jazz’s fists clenched. He already knew what was coming, but he had to hear it aloud.
“If that’s the only way to save people… my friends… and Lyra,” he said, steadying his resolve, “then I will wield it.”
Al’aric’s gaze was unwavering. “But be it known, Jazz—once you use the Echo, your transformation will be complete. You will return to Eternal Resonance.”
A heavy pause settled between them.
“It means… you can never return to Earth.”
Jazz stilled. The weight of the words pressed against him, each syllable a door closing behind him.
His chest tightened, but he didn’t waver.
“I will wield it.”
* * *
Kenzie lay on the ground, struggling to rise, but his limbs refused to obey. The weight of defeat pressed down on him, the clear evidence of losing to At’tar reflected in his battered state. Blood stained his clothes, and his breath came in shallow gasps. He couldn’t move, couldn’t fight back.
Around him, chaos reigned. Police cars lay scattered across the street, some overturned, others smoking, and a few still burning with the intense heat of the battle. The air was thick with acrid fumes, and the remnants of destruction were everywhere.
At’tar stood tall amidst the wreckage, his broad sword gleaming darkly in his hand. With a vicious swipe, he slashed through the air, and from his blade, a surge of dark energy erupted—a wave of pure malice. The energy tore through the air, slamming into the last remaining police car.
The car was thrown violently, tumbling through the air before crashing into the ground in a fiery explosion. The blast sent shards of metal and glass scattering across the wreckage, the force of it rattling the very air around them.
At’tar, having already delivered his crushing blow to Kenzie, turned back toward him with slow, deliberate steps. He stood tall in front of Kenzie, sword in hand, ready to finish what he had started. The weight of finality hung in the air, but before he could strike, something unexpected happened.
Small rocks began to strike At’tar’s body, bouncing off his dark armor with little effect.
At’tar’s eyes narrowed, and he looked up to see the source of the attack. A child, no older than ten, stood a few feet away, throwing rocks with surprising accuracy.
“Get away from him!” the brave kid cried, his voice full of desperation and defiance.
A mocking smile curled at the corners of At’tar’s lips, he dispelled his sword and turned toward the child, his expression dripping with contempt. He began to walk toward the boy, each step bringing him closer to the vulnerable child.
The boy didn’t falter, his fists clenched as if he could somehow stop the inevitable.
At’tar stopped just in front of the boy, towering above him, his presence an overwhelming force. His fist clenched, ready to strike.
But just as the blow was about to fall, something unexpected happened. A whip of energy shot out from behind, wrapping around the boy’s body with unyielding force. The child was taken away from At’tar, flung backward into the air.
For a moment, the boy seemed to hang in the sky, suspended by the whip’s power. But then, as he began to fall, a figure appeared.
It was Jazz. With one fluid motion, he reached out, catching the boy midair, holding him securely in his arms.
Jazz gently set the boy down, his hands steady despite the chaos around them. He looked at the child with soft concern, “Are you alright, little fellow?”
The boy nodded, a smile breaking through his fear. Then, a voice from behind them shattered the brief moment of calm. It was the boy’s mother, her voice thick with tears.
Jazz turned to her, offering a reassuring glance. “Take the boy, and please go away as far as possible, Ma’am,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle.
Before she could respond, a mocking voice cut through the air, sending a chill through the scene.
“So, you still live?” At’tar sneered, his tone dripping with derision. “You should have just run away and survived. Instead, you came for your death.”
But behind his mocking words, At’tar’s mind raced. How could he still be standing? He saw Jazz’s motionless body from their previous battle—he had struck him with a blow that should have shattered anything in its path. There was no way the man could have survived.
But there Jazz was, standing defiant, his form unwavering.
At’tar’s gaze moved over him, noting the subtle, yet unmistakable changes. Jazz’s hair was now dark blue, the color deep and striking against the chaos surrounding them. His body seemed different somehow, stronger. And then, there was the Echo—the whip that Jazz had just used in place of the sword from their last fight.
Yet, it wasn’t just the change in weapon that struck At’tar. It was the countenance in Jazz’s eyes. Despite the clear signs of injury—his bloodied clothes and bruised body—Jazz’s presence was no longer one of weariness or pain.
It was full of strength. A quiet, unyielding power that radiated from him, standing tall against everything.
As the mother and child ran a bit farther away, Jazz turned, his eyes locked on At’tar. The intensity in his gaze was unmistakable, calm yet fierce—a reflection of his unwavering resolve.
For a moment, the two stood still, their eyes meeting in silent challenge. Understanding the weight of the upcoming clash. The tension between them thickened, time seeming to slow.
Then, in an instant, Jazz moved.
With a speed that seemed impossible, he dashed toward At’tar, his body a blur. At’tar’s eyes widened in alarm, surprised by the newfound speed Jazz possessed. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t anticipated that Jazz would be so much faster than before.
Before At’tar could react fully, Jazz appeared right in front of him, his fist flying toward At’tar’s face with brutal force.
At’tar quickly raised his hand to block, but there was a flicker of panic in his eyes as the punch collided. The sheer force of the blow sent him skidding back, his feet scraping against the ground. He gritted his teeth, trying to maintain his balance, but it was clear: Jazz had become something more than the fighter he had faced before.
As At’tar found his balance, a twisted determination flickered in his eyes. With a swift motion, he reached out, grabbing nearby wrecked cars with ease. Without hesitation, he hurled them at Jazz, the metal and debris flying through the air like deadly projectiles.
Jazz’s eyes narrowed as the cars came hurtling toward him. With lightning speed, he summoned a new Echo—this time, a pair of nunchucks materialized in his hands. The chain between them shimmered, and in an instant, Jazz began to swing them.
With each powerful swipe, the nunchucks struck the incoming cars, deflecting them aside with explosive force. The vehicles tumbled away, crashing into the ground or skidding harmlessly off to the side, all while Jazz moved forward unfazed.
At’tar’s eyes narrowed in fury, his anger palpable as he watched Jazz’s strength now seemingly match his own. How? How could this man wield such power? And how could he switch between different Echoes so effortlessly? The realization gnawed at At’tar’s mind as his frustration grew.
With a growl, At’tar concentrated, his body crackling with dark energy. The power coiled around him like a storm, building and twisting until it morphed into a massive broadsword, gleaming with a sinister, shadowy light.
“Let’s see you block this,” At’tar sneered.
He swung the broadsword through the air with terrifying precision. The sound of its passage was like a whip cracking through the atmosphere, and the air seemed to respond—ripping and twisting in the wake of the strike. A huge dark wave emerged from the sword’s arc, a torrent of destructive force speeding toward Jazz.
Jazz’s eyes locked on the oncoming wave, his stance unwavering. In an instant, the nunchucks vanished, transforming into a large, ethereal shield that materialized in front of him. The shield shimmered with ethereal light, a stark contrast to the darkness of the wave.
The wave collided with the shield with a deafening impact. Jazz’s foot dug into the ground, his muscles straining against the force as the pavement cracked beneath him. The shield held firm, but the energy was overwhelming. The dark wave shattered against it in a violent explosion, the force of the collision sending shattered fragments of energy crashing into the walls of the nearby mall. The building groaned under the pressure, cracks spider-webbing across the walls as the energy blasted through them.
At’tar, undeterred, continued his relentless assault. He swung the broadsword again and again, each strike releasing another barrage of dark waves. The air was thick with smoke and debris as the blasts tore through the space around Jazz, the force of each wave shaking the ground beneath them. The mall behind Jazz began to crumble, sections of the building collapsing under the sheer weight of the ongoing destruction.
Dust and smoke erupted around Jazz, the chaos raged on, each wave more powerful than the last, and the building’s walls continued to crumble with the force of At’tar’s fury.
The battlefield was thick with smoke and dust, the air heavy with the lingering effects of At’tar’s relentless assault. Jazz was no longer visible, his figure swallowed by the chaos. At’tar stood tall, a satisfied grin curling at his lips, thinking that the onslaught had finally brought an end to Jazz. There was no way the man could have withstood that attack.
But that grin was short-lived.
From the swirling smoke, a figure began to emerge, cutting through the haze with unyielding determination. Jazz stepped forward, unharmed, the ethereal shield still clutched in his hands. As he walked, his presence grew more imposing, and with a fluid motion, he morphed the shield into a battle axe, its long handle gleaming with raw power.
With a swift motion, Jazz rotated the axe in his right hand, ready for the next phase of the fight. Without hesitation, he dashed toward At’tar, his movements a blur of speed and precision.
At’tar’s eyes widened as Jazz closed the distance, and he quickly raised his broadsword to block the incoming onslaught. Jazz’s axe met At’tar’s sword with a resounding clash, sparks flying from the force of the impact. Jazz didn’t relent, pressing the attack with relentless speed, his axe slashing in rapid succession.
At’tar struggled to parry, his movements becoming more defensive as the tide of the battle shifted. Each strike from Jazz forced him back, step by step, the broadsword no longer an equal match to the sheer ferocity of Jazz’s barrage.
Finally, Jazz saw the opening he was waiting for. With a powerful swing, his axe connected with At’tar’s armored chest. The impact was so forceful that At’tar was thrown back, his body rolling across the ground, the broadsword vanishing from his grip as he landed with a heavy thud.
At’tar slowly pushed himself up from the ground, his body seething with anger and dismay. His expression twisted into a snarl as dark energy erupted from within him, cascading outward like a violent storm. The air around him crackled with power as his dark armor, now cracked and damaged, shattered and fell to the ground with a heavy, metallic thud.
No longer encased in his formidable armor, At’tar stood, less protected, but there was a new intensity in his eyes. His resolve was unbroken, and he spoke, his voice low and filled with venom.
“Do you know that if you kill me, you will also kill Lyra?”
Jazz’s breath caught in his chest. At’tar’s words hit him like a sudden blow. His mind raced, momentarily distracted by the thought. He couldn’t shake the image of Lyra—her life, entwined with his actions.
Seizing the opportunity, At’tar surged forward with an explosive burst of speed. Jazz’s focus snapped back into place just in time to see At’tar vanish from where he had been standing.
At’tar’s newfound swiftness caught Jazz off guard. He moved twice as fast as before, the dark energy fueling him. Jazz barely had time to react as At’tar materialized behind him in an instant, delivering a powerful punch.
Instinctively, Jazz turned around and crossed his arms in defense, the punch landing with force that sent him skidding backward. The impact shook his body, but he quickly regained his balance, eyes narrowing in concentration.
As he skidded to a halt, Jazz summoned a sword with a practiced motion. In the same instant, At’tar also summoned his blade, both warriors now poised for the next clash.
Without hesitation, they launched at each other with blinding speed. The clash of their swords was deafening, a crack of thunder that echoed across the battlefield. Each parry and strike was a blur of motion, the ground shaking under the force of their blows. Every time their blades collided, sparks flew, the shockwaves reverberating through the air.
Jazz hesitated, the weight of At’tar’s words lingered in his mind. For a brief moment, his resolve wavered, and At’tar, sensing this vulnerability, recognized the shift.
With newfound speed and deadly precision, At’tar took advantage of Jazz’s hesitation. In a flash, he swung his broadsword with a violent sideward slash. Jazz didn’t have time to fully react. The force of the strike sent him crashing to the ground, his body rolling uncontrollably. The Echo sword he had summoned dissolved in mid-air.
Jazz came to a stop, kneeling on one knee, the breath knocked out of him. As he looked down, a searing pain erupted in his chest. His shirt was torn, revealing a large, sideward wound where the sword had sliced through him. Blood trickled from the wound, staining his skin, and his body shook as he struggled to breathe.
At’tar’s footsteps grew closer, each step echoing in Jazz’s ears like a death march. The sound was slow, deliberate, filled with the certainty of victory. At’tar knew Jazz could no longer stand, knew the fight was nearly over.
“Do not listen to At’tar’s lies.”
The voice rang through Jazz’s mind, strong and clear. It was a voice he recognized.
“Sync your spirit with the baton.”
The words cut through the haze of pain, rekindling a spark of hope within him. Jazz slowly lifted his head, his chest still dripping with blood, his body trembling from the effort.
“I will finish you now!” At’tar’s voice rang out, filled with dark satisfaction.
But Jazz was not done. His eyes closed, his hand instinctively reached out, and he summoned the Echo. The baton materialized in his grasp, its gleaming form filling his vision.
As the baton morphed, its light wrapped around Jazz, an ethereal aura enveloping him, strengthening his resolve.
At’tar’s confident strides slowed, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as he closed in on his fallen foe. But when he was just a few feet from Jazz, ready to strike, something stopped him.
Jazz’s hand was raised towards At’tar, and the air around At’tar seemed to freeze. The dark energy surrounding At’tar halted in an instant, and he found himself unable to move. It was as though a mighty hand, invisible and unyielding, held him in place.
At’tar’s eyes widened in disbelief. Jazz’s chest, once bleeding heavily, was now completely healed. The wound had vanished, leaving behind only a faint scar. But more than that—there was a faint, radiant light emanating from Jazz, glowing with power.
At’tar’s horror deepened as he recognized the light. It was unmistakable. The energy surrounding Jazz mirrored that of Al’aric.
With a swift forward motion of his hand, Jazz sent At’tar hurtling through the air. The dark lord was thrown violently, crashing into the wrecked cars scattered on the road, their twisted metal groaning under the impact.
At’tar struggled to rise, but before he could even lift himself from the ground, Jazz made another commanding motion, his hand swaying upward like the precise movement of a conductor.
At’tar was lifted into the air, suspended by an invisible force. His body twisted and flailed, but he could not break free. The strength of Jazz’s control was absolute.
Then, with a flick of his wrist, Jazz swung his hand downward, his motion as graceful as a conductor bringing a piece to its dramatic climax. At’tar’s body was slammed back into the ground with brutal force. The impact was cataclysmic. The ground exploded like a meteor crashing into Earth, sending rocks and debris flying into the air. The earth itself shattered under the immense pressure, creating a massive crater around At’tar, leaving him unable to move, buried in the chaos of the explosion.
Jazz stood in complete control, his motions deliberate. He raised his hand again, swaying it through the air with the same methodical grace. Above At’tar, a small, bright orb began to form, glowing with a brilliant light. It flickered and danced in the air, responding to Jazz’s movements like a symphony of energy.
The orb grew, expanding with every motion Jazz made. Its energy crackled and hummed, like an electrical storm gathering strength. The light from the orb intensified, becoming blinding as it swelled larger and larger, a dangerous vortex forming in the air. The surrounding area seemed to warp, the air itself shifting with the power of the growing orb. It twisted and pulsed, like a swirling tornado of energy, ready to consume everything in its path.
Jazz held his hand steady, and the massive orb of energy above At’tar steadied as well, hovering ominously in the air. The crackling light pulsed with raw power, waiting for his command.
With a decisive motion, Jazz swung his hands downward, as if conducting the final, crushing note of a symphony. The orb obeyed, plummeting with devastating force. It struck At’tar in a thunderous explosion, light and energy surging outward in a brilliant, blinding burst. The impact shook the very ground, sending shockwaves rippling across the battlefield.
As the light faded, Jazz opened his eyes and ran toward the spot where At’tar had fallen. His breath caught as he watched At’tar’s body—once powerful, once unstoppable—slowly breaking apart. Dark fragments crumbled away, dissolving into nothingness, like dust caught in the wind. But beneath the disintegrating form, something else was emerging.
Little by little, a familiar figure took shape, as if revealed from within. At’tar’s vanishing form gave way to someone else entirely—Lyra.
Jazz’s heart pounded as he rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside her. He reached out, his fingers gently wrapping around her wrist, searching for a pulse.
For a brief moment, the world stood still.
Then—a faint, steady beat beneath his fingertips.
Jazz exhaled, a slow, relieved smile spreading across his face.
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