Vulcan stood motionless on the shattered remains of the Falklands, his white-hot eyes fixed on Wolfen. His spine spurs had grown longer, jagged, pulsing with orange light. The veins beneath his cracked grey skin burned brighter. The air around him shimmered with heat.
Wolfen didn't hesitate.
Solar lava erupted from his body—not the red fire of before, not the orange, but something deeper, something that made the ground beneath him melt. His eyes shifted. His hair changed. His body became a furnace given form.
He threw a fireball.
Massive. Dense. Concentrated. It crossed the distance in an instant and detonated against Vulcan's chest.
The explosion was blinding. The water around them evaporated, steam rising in great white clouds. The shockwave flattened what remained of the island.
Vulcan didn't move.
He stood in the center of the blast, his chest smoking, his skin blackened, his white-hot eyes still fixed on Wolfen.
Then he roared.
The sound was not a sound—it was a force. It pressed against Wolfen's chest, his lungs, his bones. The heat around Vulcan intensified. The orange veins in his body flared.
He charged.
Wolfen braced—too slow. Vulcan's hands closed around his head, fingers like iron vises, squeezing, trying to crush his skull.
Wolfen's hands ignited. He punched Vulcan in the face—once, twice, three times. Flames exploded against the creature's skin.
Nothing.
Vulcan didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Didn't stop.
Wolfen felt blood drip from his eyes. The pressure was immense. His vision was blurring.
He opened his mouth.
The high-frequency sound erupted from his throat—the same sound that had shattered eardrums, disrupted nervous systems, stopped enemies in their tracks. It hit Vulcan directly in the face.
Both of Vulcan's ears burst. Blood sprayed from the ruptured tissue.
He let go. Stumbled back.
Wolfen dropped to the ground, gasping, his hands pressed to his skull. Through the ringing in his ears, he saw Vulcan's wounds heal.
The ears reknit. The blood stopped. The rage in those white-hot eyes deepened.
Vulcan punched him.
Wolfen brought his arms up to block. Both bones shattered. His ribs caved. His body folded around the impact, and he flew.
The world became a blur—sky, water, land, sky again. He hit the ground in El Calafate, Argentina, carving a trench through the frozen earth, finally coming to rest in a crater of his own making.
He lay there, staring at the grey sky, his arms bent wrong, his ribs grinding against his lungs. His body was already healing. But it was slow. Too slow.
He pushed himself up.
His bones knitted. His ribs sealed. His breath came back. The transformation had dropped—solar lava gone, base form returned. He was weak. Vulnerable.
He felt it before he saw it. A presence in the sky. Massive. Descending.
Wolfen threw himself sideways.
Vulcan landed where he'd been standing, his impact cratering the earth for miles. The ground cracked. The trees for miles fell. Dust and debris exploded outward.
The creature rose from the crater, his white-hot eyes fixed on Wolfen.
Vulcan charged again.
He faked a head strike. Wolfen braced. Vulcan's fist drove into his stomach instead.
Wolfen flew again. Hit the ground. Skidded. Stopped.
He stood. His body screamed. His vision blurred. But something was wrong.
Vulcan was holding back.
The creature was angry—Wolfen could feel it, could see it in the way his veins flared, the way his spine spurs grew—but he wasn't going all out. He was measuring. Testing. Playing.
Wolfen couldn't stand much longer.
Black liquid emerged beside him.
Wolfen's first thought was Eva. Relief. Backup.
It wasn't Eva.
It was Maya.
She stepped out of the darkness, her body already shifting, her scales visible, her eyes already burning. Vulcan's next strike—aimed at Wolfen's head—she caught with both arms.
Her bones didn't break.
She held.
"Having a nice break?" Maya asked, her voice tight with effort.
"Why did you come?" Wolfen's voice was raw.
"Why am I not strong enough?" Maya punched Vulcan.
The force sent the creature flying—four hundred miles across the landscape, crashing through mountains, carving a trench across the continent.
Wolfen stared. "Where's Eva?"
Maya looked back at him. Her eyes were dark.
"Something happened."
Black liquid rose around Wolfen. He tried to resist, to argue, to stay.
"Maya—"
"Go." She grabbed Vulcan's leg as he reappeared, slamming him into the ground, breaking his leg, holding him there. "I'll take care of this."
"Maya—"
The liquid swallowed him.
---
He emerged in the facility.
The hall was empty. No guards. No scientists. The lights were dim. The air was cold.
Something was wrong.
Wolfen's body was still healing. His arms ached. His ribs screamed. He ignored all of it. He walked.
The corridor stretched before him, empty and silent. The doors were closed. The windows were dark.
He didn't know what he was looking for. He just knew he needed to find it.