[Oliver’s POV]

  [Let the first phase begin.]

  The words appeared across Oliver’s vision, but he barely gave them attention. His eyes were fixed on the battlefield below.

  The Meridius soldiers had realized that their rifles meant nothing against the Jailer. Now, desperation pushed them to use their boons and Energy shots. One soldier unleashed a concussive blast that rippled the sand in a shockwave; another raised his hand and sent an arc of lightning into the beast’s armored flank. The air crackled, the ground shook, yet against the towering scorpion-man, the attacks were little more than sparks.

  Not all of them had combat gifts. Some stood frozen, their powers useless in such a scenario.

  Oliver’s jaw tightened. How do I enter this fight? When? His mind analyzed with precision, weighing outcomes. If I had my Ranger Pistol… I could end this from here. One shot to the head.

  But he didn’t. And so he continued to watch.

  At the center of the chaos, Adrian Meridius stood unyielding. The young heir moved with startling speed, his body weaving around the monster’s venomous tail as it lashed down. Where he could not evade, he blocked. With his arms raised, his stance braced, he held the tail, avoiding its venom. Each time, he emerged unscathed and with defiance burning in his eyes.

  “Strike the tail!” Adrian roared, his voice cutting through the battle. “Take that out, and I’ll handle the rest!”

  The soldiers obeyed, hurling what powers they could muster at the thrashing stinger. Flames licked against its exoskeleton, bolts of pure Energy cracked against it, and for the first time, the Jailer’s attention shifted. Its malformed humanoid torso twisted, grotesque head turning toward the men who dared wound it.

  But Adrian was already moving.

  He stomped twice, his boots sinking deep into the sand. The ground trembled, then split as two massive pillars of earth erupted upward on either side of the creature. They slammed inward, pinning the monster between them.

  The young Meridius wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, spitting blood into the sand. His eyes never left the beast.

  “Bitch,” he growled, his voice low and venomous. “You think I’ll let you run? No, baby. It’s you and me.”

  He raised his fists, his body coiled with raw defiance.

  On the dune above, Six’s eyes widened, his gauntlet glowing faintly as it analyzed the energy surging around Adrian. “He… he inherited the boon,” Six whispered, astonished.

  “Yes,” Oliver murmured, his tone flat, though his eyes gleamed with calculation. He had already received reports about Adrian Meridius. The boy had inherited the natural boon of his bloodline—one of the rarest gifts among the Great Houses.

  The Meridius were said to be born with the power to bend the bones of the earth itself, to command stone and metal as if they were extensions of their own flesh. Oliver didn’t know the exact mechanics, but he knew enough. Adrian could reach into the very fabric of inanimate inorganic matter and twist it with his Energy.

  Below, the battlefield quaked.

  The Jailer thrashed, its grotesque humanoid torso straining against the pillars of stone Adrian had conjured. Its spear of bronze arced wildly, the blade splitting the air in deadly sweeps. Twice it nearly cut Adrian. Twice, Adrian rolled aside, his fists hammering against the creature’s armored carapace in retaliation. Each blow landed with a dull, thunderous crack, but the scorpion’s hide absorbed the force like iron.

  “Down!” Adrian roared, his voice cutting through the chaos. Soldiers ducked as the spear whistled overhead. On its third swing, the weapon crashed into one of the pillars, shattering stone into shards that rained across the sand. The Jailer ripped itself free, its segmented legs slamming into the earth as it surged toward the dunes, dragging its monstrous body back into open ground.

  But even in retreat, it struck with fury. The spear lashed left, then right, each swing wide and merciless. Each arc was powerful enough to cleave a man in two. Soldiers scattered, diving for cover, but Adrian did not retreat.

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  He moved forward.

  The next strike came straight for him, a horizontal slash aimed at shoulder height. The blow should have ended him, split him clean.

  But it did not.

  The spear met not flesh, but stone.

  Adrian’s hands, wrapped in jagged gauntlets of earth and ore, surged up to catch the weapon mid-swing. The impact detonated like a cannon. Sand exploded outward in a violent ring, a shockwave tearing across the battlefield. Soldiers were hurled back; their cries lost in the roar of the air. Adrian’s uniform shredded along his arms and chest, the fabric torn by the backlash of raw Energy.

  And yet, he stood.

  Face twisted in exertion, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, Adrian held the spear fast. His fingers, encased in mineral and Energy, dug into the bronze shaft as though trying to bend it.

  The Jailer shrieked, its grotesque body convulsing as it struggled to wrench the weapon free. The earth trembled under its fury.

  Adrian planted his feet, shoulders trembling with the strain. Slowly, he began to push back.

  No doubt… his strength is at Queen-level, if not higher, Oliver thought, his eyes narrowing as he watched the struggle unfold in the sands below.

  The bronze spear groaned under the pressure of two wills locked in combat. Energy crackled across its length, the shaft bending like a bow as Adrian’s stone-wrapped hands forced it close to its breaking point. The Jailer shrieked, its grotesque, humanoid torso writhing, but it finally released its grip. The weapon slipped free from its claws just before it would have splintered in two.

  Adrian used this to his benefit and advanced.

  With a roar, he pivoted, driving the spear downward in a brutal arc. The blade met one of the scorpion’s legs at the joint, and with sheer force, he severed it clean.

  The effect was catastrophic.

  The limb tore away, spraying a torrent of thick, green ichor that burst in a grotesque fountain. It splattered across Adrian, soaking him in steaming slime, and doused the soldiers who had dared to remain close. The stench was suffocating, burning in the nose, and the sand hissed where it fell.

  The Jailer’s scream split the desert.

  It was no ordinary cry of pain. It was a sound that rattled bones, a piercing, resonant roar that froze every soldier where they stood. For a heartbeat, the battlefield itself seemed to pause, paralyzed by the sheer force of it.

  Six clamped his hands over his ears, wincing as the sound reverberated through his skull. Even muffled, it was unbearable. “Shouldn’t we move now?” he shouted over the sound. “If we wait, he’ll kill the Jailer himself!”

  But Oliver remained still, his gaze sharp. His voice was calm. “Not yet. The beast is wounded. Cornered. That makes it more dangerous. Let him bleed it further.”

  As if to prove him right, the Jailer’s movements shifted.

  Its massive body writhed, its insectoid tail curling high above its back and thrashing in wide, desperate arcs. But instead of striking with its stinger, the creature’s venom spewed outward, spraying around its body.

  Two soldiers caught in the spray screamed as the liquid struck them on their armor, their skin, their faces. At first, it seemed like any other toxin, but then the horror revealed itself. The venom began to boil. It bubbled and hissed where it touched, eating through uniforms, flesh, and bone alike.

  “My god—!” one shrieked, clawing at his chest as the acid ate through his armor.

  “It’s burning through me—!” another screamed, his voice cracking in terror.

  “Help! Someone help me!”

  Their cries echoed across the dunes, but no help came. Within seconds, their voices faltered, choked, and then were silenced. What remained of their bodies collapsed into the sand, melting into grotesque pools.

  The sight brought even the hardened soldiers to a halt. Horror rippled through the ranks.

  Adrian and his soldiers could do nothing but watch as the last cries of their comrades dissolved into silence, their bodies reduced to grotesque, bubbling heaps by the scorpion’s venom.

  The green ichor still clung to its armored hide. Now the monster wore its own poison like a shield, a corrosive armor that dared any to strike.

  The battle had reached a deadlock.

  Adrian stood poised, fists clenched. To attack now meant risking everything, his life, his men, all consumed by the venom that coated the Jailer’s body. But to hesitate was death as well. The soldiers tightened their circle, their eyes darting between their commander and the hulking monstrosity.

  The Jailer hissed, its grotesque torso shifting as if eager to strike. But it too hesitated. It had learned the strength of its enemies and knew that a reckless assault might cost it everything.

  For a moment, the desert seemed to hold its breath.

  And then the sand itself betrayed them.

  From the sands underneath, five pairs of massive hands erupted. Each hand seized a leg of the monstrous scorpion, clamping down with crushing force. The Jailer shrieked, its body thrashing as the sand exploded outward in plumes, and from beneath the desert a figure emerged.

  He rose like a nightmare given flesh.

  A towering Ork, his skin a dark red. His armor was crude but brutal, plates stolen from battlefields and reforged into a jagged carapace. His eyes burned with feral cunning, and in his massive fists, he wielded nothing but the strength of his own body.

  “Uklush,” Oliver whispered under his breath. “Commander of the Ork Vanguard Line.”