The group had pushed another five kilometers into the lightless gullet of the Glacier. The damp, heavy mud that had previously bogged their boots down had been replaced by a treacherous, glass-slick layer of permafrost. The temperature had plummeted so sharply that even the breath leaving their lungs turned into jagged crystals before hitting the floor.
In front of them, the cavern opened into a massive, frozen cathedral. Hanging from the ceiling were stalactites the size of skyscrapers, pulsing with a frigid, azure light. But it wasn't the scenery that stopped them—it was the sound. A chorus of rhythmic, bird-like chirps that sounded like metal grinding against bone.
Roaming the ice were hundreds of them. They stood seven feet tall, shaped like prehistoric ostriches but draped in shaggy, cobalt-blue feathers that shimmered with frost. Their faces were nightmares—stripped of beaks and replaced with jagged, tooth-filled muzzles. Their most terrifying feature, however, was their eyes: burning orbs of emerald-green light that pierced through the frozen mist like searchlights.
Rayn narrowed his eyes, his white hair whipping in the unnatural sub-zero wind. "Matthew, talk. What are these blue fuckers, and why are their eyes glowing like they're high on Gnosis?"
Matthew shivered, pulling his cloak tighter. "Those are Frost Riders, also known as Glacial Hunters. They aren't just animals; they are avian calamities. If even a small pack of these bastards escaped into Ashburg, they'd turn the entire town into a frozen tomb in a single night. They roam in packs, governed by a hive-mind led by an Alpha. They are fast, they are ruthless, and they are unnatural."
He gestured toward their glowing eyes. "That green light? It's a tracking mechanism. They don't see light; they see heat and life-force. In this darkness, you are a glowing target. Their voices are a specialized frequency used for communication and disorientation. The only saving grace is that they don't have the obsidian armor of the Zyrakthar. They are soft. If you hit them, they bleed. But you have to be faster than them, or they'll strip the meat from your bones before you can blink."
Rayn looked at the hundreds of emerald eyes turning toward them. "A pack of Phase 7 killers? Perfect." He turned his head slightly toward Vespera. "Vespera, darling. I think it's time you stretched those wings. Handle this trash for me, will you?"
Freddy and Victus exchanged a look of pure disbelief. They knew Rayn was a monster, but Vespera? To them, she was just a beautiful woman who followed him around. "Are you fucking kidding me, Rayn?" Freddy spat, his breath hitching. "She just awakened! Those things can slaughter a Phase 7 master with ease. You're sending your woman to her death!"
Rayn's gaze shifted to Freddy, and for a second, the air around Freddy's throat constricted until he turned blue. "Stop looking at my wife like she's a damsel in distress, you pathetic cunt. If you say another word about her being weak, she won't even need to move—she'll kill you with a thought. And I won't stop her. In fact, in terms of raw destructive power? She's significantly stronger than me."
The group went silent. They had seen Rayn make a Phase 5 master kneel. If he was saying this woman was stronger, then she was a walking apocalypse.
Vespera looked at the Frost Riders with a look of utter boredom. "They are too weak, Rayn. Killing them is like stepping on ants. It's a waste of my Gnosis."
She was the Black Dragon, a cornerstone of the Heaven's Divine Rebellion. Rayn didn't know the full history of that team yet, but he knew they were legends capable of erasing star systems. These birds were beneath her.
Rayn smiled and leaned into her ear. "I know they're trash. But I am your husband, and I'm asking you to show these idiots what a real power looks like."
Vespera's eyes flashed with a hint of amusement. The "husband" card always worked. She began to step forward, but a shadow blocked her path.
"Lord Rayn," Chandler Winston said, stepping forward. His voice was steady, despite the overwhelming aura of the birds. "Let me go. I am the leader of Division 1. I cannot let the Sovereign's wife soil her hands with such filth while I still draw breath. Let me show you why Dawinton chose me to lead."
Rayn was surprised. The scarred veteran was actually volunteering for a suicide mission. Rayn chuckled, stepping back. "Go then, warrior. The stage is yours. Don't bore me."
As Chandler walked toward the ice field, the wind caught his white cloak, sending it billowing behind him like a banner of pure light. He looked untouchable, a hero from a forgotten epic.
Clang.
Out of thin air, a massive, two-handed warhammer appeared in his grip. It was a brutal weapon, its head the size of a beer keg, pulsing with a dark, crimson fire that refused to be extinguished by the cold. It looked like it weighed a ton, yet Chandler held it as if it were a feather.
"What the fuck?" Rayn asked, turning to Matthew. "He summoned a fire-infused hammer out of thin air. You told me that kind of spatial summoning only happens at the peak of Phase 6. He's just an Initial Phase 6."
Matthew's eyes were wide with pride. "Chandler is a freak of nature, Rayn. A genius born once in a century. When he was thirteen, he awakened one of the 14 Forbidden Powers: The Mirror. He can store and retrieve any weapon he has ever bonded with from a personal 'Mirror Dimension.' It's one of the most versatile combat laws in existence."
In the center of the ice, Chandler didn't wait. He thrust his hand into a small, shimmering portal in the air—a literal tear in the "Mirror"—and pulled out a secondary weapon: a longsword wreathed in roaring orange flames.
The Frost Riders screeched, their green eyes flashing. They didn't charge individually; they moved as a wave of blue feathers and jagged teeth.
Chandler slammed his hammer into the ice. BOOM! The shockwave sent a literal wall of fire rippling outward, but the Frost Riders were fast. They leapt into the air, their blue wings beating back the heat, and opened their muzzles. Hundreds of beams of concentrated frost-energy shot toward Chandler.
Chandler didn't dodge. He spun his hammer with such velocity that it became a glowing shield of crimson fire, absorbing the ice beams. But the sheer volume of the attack was too much; the frost began to creep up his legs, turning his armor into brittle glass.
"He's going to get frozen!" Victus shouted.
"Ember Slash!" Chandler roared.
With his other hand, he swung the flame-sword in a massive horizontal arc. A crescent of white-hot fire tore through the air, cleaving the front line of the Frost Riders in half. Decapitated heads and blue-feathered torsos flew into the air, the blood boiling into steam before it could even hit the ground.
But the pack was relentless. They swarmed him from all sides, their talons ripping through his white cloak and slashing deep grooves into his back and shoulders. Blood sprayed onto the ice, but Chandler didn't scream. He closed his eyes.
"Is the kid a masochist?" Freddy muttered, stepping forward. "I'm going in, Rayn. He's getting shredded."
"Stay put," Rayn commanded, his eyes locked on Chandler. "He's finding the rhythm. He's looking for the Alpha."
Suddenly, Chandler's eyes snapped open. They weren't brown anymore; they were reflecting the entire cave like two polished mirrors.
"Blazing Whirlwind!"
Chandler became a tornado of steel and fire. He spun his hammer and sword in opposite directions, creating a vortex of crimson and orange flames that sucked the nearby Frost Riders into the meat-grinder. The sound was horrifying—the crunch of bone, the squelch of exploding organs, and the high-pitched screams of birds being roasted alive.
For a full hour, the massacre continued. Chandler moved through the pack like a god of war, his body covered in deep gashes, his armor shattered, but his flames never faltered. When the last Frost Rider—a massive, ten-foot Alpha—tried to flee, Chandler threw his hammer. The weapon tore through the air, smashing the Alpha's skull into a fine red mist against the cavern wall.
The battle was over. The once-blue ice was now stained a dark, steaming crimson. Chandler stood in the center of the carnage, leaning on his sword, his breathing ragged. Vespera walked over to him, her hand glowing with a soft, black-green light. She touched his shoulder, and the deep gashes on his back began to knit together instantly.
"You did well for a human," she whispered, her voice a mix of condescension and genuine respect.
They moved past the bodies to the end of the ice field. There, nestled in a nest made of frozen bones, sat two things.
The first was a blue artifact—a jagged crystal that pulsed with a rhythmic, freezing light. It was beautiful, cold, and clearly powerful. Freddy, Victus, and Matthew stared at it with greedy eyes, their breaths hitching at the sight of such raw power.
But Rayn didn't look at the crystal.
His eyes were fixed on the second object: a massive, obsidian-black egg, nearly four feet tall. It wasn't glowing. It wasn't pulsing. It was just... there. But to Rayn, it felt like a black hole, pulling at his very soul.
He walked past the shimmering blue artifact without a second glance and placed his hand on the cold, leathery shell of the egg. Deep inside, he felt a heartbeat. Slow. Heavy. And ancient.
"The hell is this?" Rayn whispered.