Morning mist rolled in as the sound of hammers and chisels filled the air. The workers moved in rhythm, repairing cracked planks and reinforcing the massive ropes of the half-finished bridge.

  Clyde yawned and stretched. “Not bad for a cursed bridge,” he said. “If we finish this thing, Kabo might actually look civilized for once.”

  Lucien stood at the edge of the scaffold. “Focus. No chatter. The fog’s thicker than it should be for this hour.”

  Aisho leaned against a support beam, eyes following the workers. “You think the curse talk’s real? The villagers said people went missing building this bridge.”

  Yuta scoffed. “People go missing everywhere. Ghost stories make it easier for criminals to kill and not be caught.”

  Trace didn’t respond. He crouched near the railing, his eyes reflecting the rippling surface below.

  One of the workers—a middle-aged man with a bandanna tied around his forehead—laughed nervously. “C-come on, y’all. Don’t say that too loud. You’ll wake the Drowned Hand.”

  Clyde smirked. “Drowned Hand, huh? Sounds like a pirate name.”

  “No pirates,” the man said quietly. “They say the dead under this bridge never left. That the water remembers them. Being attacked by those ghasts or whatever on the marsh is really starting to make me think the stories are legit.”

  Lucien’s brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to say something—then stopped.

  A sharp crack echoed through the air.

  Aisho’s head snapped toward the sound. One of the workers was gone. The rope he’d been tied to work on the side of the bridge now swung freely, its end dripping wet.

  “Wait—where’s—?!” another worker shouted.

  They rushed to the railing. All that could be seen below was rippling water, swallowing bubbles.

  “Someone fell!” Aisho yelled. “We need to—”

  Her words were cut short by a high-pitched whine. A streak of golden light cut through the fog, aimed straight for Clyde.

  “Clyde!” Lucien barked, already lunging forward.

  The air erupted as the first blast struck, searing through the spot Clyde had been standing. Lucien crashed into him, pushing him and rolling across the planks as more energy bullets ripped through the air. The wooden surface splintered, clusters of dust and wood falling into the abyss below.

  “Lucien!” Aisho cried.

  Lucien hissed through his teeth. His shoulder smoked where a bullet had grazed him—burned through his clothing.

  “Someone’s attacking us!” Yuta shouted, ducking low.

  More shots rained down from the fog, cutting through the air like burning hail. Clyde slammed his bat into the wood, projecting a shimmering blue barrier that absorbed the next volley.“

  Keep your heads down!” he barked.

  The workers scattered, diving for cover behind crates and tools.

  Footsteps echoed through the mist—slow, deliberate. The group and the workers felt it—the immense Dragon Vein Pressure this combatant was exerting. They couldn’t help but wince at the strength.

  Trace’s eyes narrowed. “This is Dragon Vein Pressure… it’s not natural.”

  Out from the shifting veil of fog stepped a man in tattered armor. Twin machetes hung at his sides, their edges glinting faintly purple.

  “Guess I should’ve aimed lower,” he said, voice calm and cold. “Didn’t expect Silver-ranked babysitters.”

  “What’s up with this Vein Pressure?” Lucien rose slowly, blood trailing down his arm as he held it. “Who are you?”

  The stranger smiled faintly. “Name’s Regis, Vein Killer. Don’t get too attached. Won’t matter in five minutes.”

  From the water below, pale figures began to rise—half-formed, skeletal silhouettes carrying spectral weapons. Ghasts. Dozens of them. They began to scale up the wood pillars that connected to the waters.

  Trace noticed first. “Hey guys, the ghasts are back.”

  Yuta’s eyes widened. “You’ve gotta be kidding me…”

  Aisho’s pulse quickened. “It’s the same ones from before!”

  Clyde twirled his bat, blue light surging along its length. “Well, guess we found who’s been playing ghost maker.”

  Regis’s grin widened. “Not me.”

  A puddle of water manifested in front of Regis… and a hand—pale, dripping, ghastly just like the soldiers—emerged, followed by the upper half of a man with long, soaked hair and hollow, glowing eyes.

  “Didn’t I say,” the man murmured, his tone soft, almost mournful, “that the bridge must never stand again?”

  Yuta froze. “That energy… I can sense a large amount of Dragon Vein Energy, but it feels almost decayed.”

  “My name,” he said, lifting his head, “is Naoyama. And this bridge was built on graves. You won’t make the same mistake twice.”

  Aisho gritted her teeth. “What’s your guys deal? Graves or not, people need this bridge.”

  Naoyama’s expression darkened. “People need to remember. And if they won’t… I’ll make them drown with us.”

  The fog erupted outward. The ghasts screamed as they charged up the bridge, spectral blades swinging, water dripping from their hollow frames.

  “Positions!” Lucien shouted, snapping extra arms into existence as he caught Clyde’s shoulder. “Don’t let them swarm the workers!”

  “Finally,” Yuta growled, ice crackling around her arms. “Something I can hit.”

  Aisho took a deep breath, gold light flickering through her veins.

  Trace’s eyes burned faint violet.

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  Regis twirled his machetes, eyes fixed on them like a predator savoring a hunt. “Come on. Show me what you’ve got.”

  Aisho’s golden aura flickered as she ducked under a ghast’s swing, its weapon passing through her hair and into the wooden plank, leaving a scorch mark of condensed energy. She focused her Dragon Vein energy, trying to channel basic circulation to enhance her attack. She pivoted, striking the ghast’s chest—the moment her knuckles connected, it sent the ghast dissolving into mist.

  “Nice one!” Yuta shouted, shooting shards of ice. “But they just keep coming!”

  Trace, his body glowing faint violet, moved like a ghost himself—slipping through attacks, countering with precise, ruthless bursts of force. His Dragon Vein energy rippled inside him as he nearly already got the hang of basic circulation.

  “Y’all ever stop?” Clyde yelled, swinging through another ghast. “I swear I’m playing whack-a-mole with ghosts!”

  Across the bridge, Regis advanced through the carnage. His twin machetes in hand. He aimed to ambush Clyde.

  Clyde quickly parried using his bat and retaliated with a heavy swing sending Regis sliding back.

  “That’s a lot of force there,” Regis exhaled. “You're pretty strong.”

  Clyde smirked. “Yeah, thanks.”

  Regis held out a free hand, shooting a shotgun of energy bullets aimed at Clyde. He held up his bat creating his Safe Zone to block the strikes.

  They clashed once more, engaged in weapon-to-weapon combat.

  Naoyama smirked. “Come on Regis, can’t you finish this any quicker?”

  “I don’t see you doing anything,” Regis turned. “Idiot.”

  “I’m being helpful, keeping them occupied with my ghasts.”

  Trace began to charge a void-disc in his left hand, powering it up. “Watch out Clyde!” he said as he unleashed.

  Clyde dashed out the way last second, letting the disc propel forward, but Regis moved out the way.

  Everyone had thought Trace missed but he wasn’t aiming for Regis, it was Naoyama.

  The disc passed through Naoyama—severing his Dragon Vein energy in a burst of energy, Naoyama ghastly figure melted into a puddle of water.

  “Got him!” Trace exclaimed.

  But to the groups surprise, the ghasts didn’t stop their attack.

  Yuta groaned as she shot another ghast with an ice shard. “Shouldn’t that had stopped these attacks? That was a direct hit!”

  Lucien turned sharply. Something was off. He narrowed his eyes. Why hasn’t the ghasts stopped? Their user was hit.

  Then he saw it: a ripple in the water below. In the same place that the worker fell overboard.

  He dashed toward the edge, extending arms out over the side. “Clyde—cover me!”

  Clyde held his bat, blocking a hail of Regis’s bullets. “Make it quick!”

  Lucien used his Yogen to extend arms from his palms as they plunged into the water. Instantly, he sensed a Dragon Vein energy—a second presence. He muttered. “The real you’s been hiding this whole time.”

  Lucien smirked as he grabbed someone. “Got you.”

  His extended arms coiled around something below the surface—an actual body—and with a roar, he ripped it upward. Water exploded into the air, and the real, humanoid Naoyama was yanked onto the bridge, crashing hard against the planks in between Clyde and Regis. The instant he hit solid ground, the ghasts around them began to waver and collapse into mist.

  Naoyama coughed violently, gasping for air, his drenched hair clinging to his face.

  The fog dissipated completely, revealing the sky again. The workers peeked out from cover as the pressure faded.

  Clyde leaned on his bat. “Well,” he said, catching his breath, “looks like story time’s over.”

  Regis lowered his machetes slightly, eyes narrowing toward Naoyama. “…Tch. Seriously caught, pitiful.”

  Lucien stood tall, his wound bleeding but ignored. “His Yogen only works when he’s in water. That’s why he pretended to be a worker falling overboard and never climbed up—why the ghasts always came from below.”

  Naoyama groaned weakly and lifted his head. “How did you—”

  A sudden, clipped laugh snapped through the air. From the far end of the bridge, a procession of men stepped forward—armed and clean. In front of them was Mayor Tobin, smiling. He stopped a few paces away

  “Well done,” Tobin said as he spread both hands in mock apology. “You brought the trouble home. Now we can sort it out.”

  Aisho’s hand went to her chest. “Tobin?” she breathed. Her eyes flashed between the mayor and Naoyama.

  Tobin’s smile never left his face. “You didn’t think I’d let a little superstition get between me and progress, did you? Bridges make trade. Trade makes profit. Profit… buys peace of mind.” He glanced at the workers, as if they were props on a stage. “But, I’d much rather monopolize this side of the region. Naoyama here was useful. A spiritual engineer—excellent for calming things down. Regis kept order. Helping me keep this monopoly over this region as most are too frightened to cross the bridge.”

  Naoyama’s eyes narrowed. “You wanted to monopolize this region? But you told me—”

  “That if this bridge was never fixed, your spiritually dead friends under this bridge would be at peace,” Tobin smirked. “That was a lie. I was merely using you. Regis, get rid of him.”

  Regis held out his palm and shot multiple energy blasts at Naoyama. They connected, puncturing multiple holes and the man arched with the impact, coughing blood.

  Naoyama’s eyes rolled back. He tried to push himself up, to answer, but the wound bled true.

  Tobin clapped once, cheerfully. “Regis was promised more than just a few coins for this. He’ll make sure there are no witnesses—no loose ends.” His tone was almost bored. “You’ve done your part, Naoyama. Now we move on.”

  Anger, hot and raw, flared across Naoyama’s face. “-You-You used me,” he rasped, clutching his wounds as they bled. “Y-You told me to bind them—so I could keep peace with my friends and the people that died in the bridge collapse all those years ago. You lied.”

  Aisho stepped forward despite the chaos. “Naoyama—listen to me,” she said. “You thought you were helping. They used you. We saw it. We’ll make them pay for it.”

  Something in Naoyama’s face gave at her words

  Regis snarled and fired again—this blast struck Naoyama’s body once more. sending a spray of blood across the planks.

  Naoyama collapsed and went limp for a heartbeat and seemed on the brink of death.

  But whatever few shreds of purpose remained in him reconstituted into fury. Pain and betrayal became fuel.

  His form changed fast and terrible. He exerted a powerful Dragon Vein pressure. The bridge’s boards trembled as a shape rose from his back—something draconic. Silver wings like polished glass.

  Everyone began to stagger backwards, surprised at Naoyama’s form.

  He roared—the bridge shook—the water’s tide rose as the ghasts that had once been manipulated rose with him.

  Before Regis could react, a cluster of ghasts surrounded him with incredible speed—stabbing him with their blades. They drove Regis on their weapons over the edge of the bridge and into the water. His machetes fell spinning into the dark.

  Tobin screamed for his guards to do something, to shoot the ghasts, to do anything. The guards fired blindly, most were stabbed by ghasts or snatched overboard into the current.

  Tobin tried to stay behind his rapidly decreasing guards, his voice panicked. “No—no!”

  Naoyama’s eyes, bright, draconic and terrible, found Tobin’s face. “I understand it now,” he said. “I will avenge those people you killed.”

  Tobin cried. “You’re a monster! I’ll have your head! You hear me—!”

  A wave came over the bridge, taking Tobin and whatever leftover goons into the waters. Taking them clean.

  The surge collapsed in on itself. Naoyama’s Dragon Vein energy burst outward in one final, blinding wave of scattering light. When the brightness seeped away, Naoyama’s form was gone. On the splintered boards there remained only a man, soaked and empty of the light that had made him whole.

  Aisho caught him as he slumped. His chest rose once, twice, in shallow, failing breaths. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Naoyama’s eyes closed. He went still. His body softened in her arms and then, quietly, his heart stopped.

  Silence followed like a held breath. The fog thinned into nothing; the river calmed as if sleep had finally settled over it. Workers came forward slowly, faces pale and damp.

  Clyde exhaled. “He… did it.”

  Aisho pressed a hand to her mouth and couldn’t stop the sob that slipped out. “He… he saved them, the dead souls he swore to avenge.”

  Lucien stared down at the water. “Regis is gone. Tobin is gone. The men he hired are gone.” He looked at the citizens shivering in the mist. “And now we have to tell the rest of Kabo what their mayor did. This is a mess, isn’t it?”

  Above, the sky began to clear. The half-finished bridge lay in pieces, but beneath it the river ran clean and honest for the first time in decades.

  They lifted Naoyama gently and carried him to the edge. Clyde set his bat down and bowed his head. The workers formed a small circle, and together they let Naoyama go. His body spiralling into the waters with a final farewell.

  “To open their eyes and turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God, so that they may receive forgiveness of sins and a place among those who are sanctified by faith in me.”

  — Acts 26:18 (NIV)