The young Pre-Heroes were surrounded—Illegals on all sides, their shadows stretching across the broken forest floor. Vironos growled, steam curling from his nostrils, while Dark Olsen roared from somewhere above the trees.
Prince glanced around, sparks skittering across his feathers. "Okay, yeah, this is cute. Big baddies cornering us. Anybody got a plan before we die ugly?"
Before anyone could answer—the air warped.
Green light spiraled downward like a falling star.
Eli dropped from the sky, boots hitting the ground with a thunderous thoom that made the dirt ripple in slow motion, like time itself hesitated around him.
He rose from the crater he'd made, shoulders squared, eyes locked on Vironos.
Everyone froze.
Energy snaked across his body—bright green currents wrapping around his legs, threading up his spine, and pooling into his right arm. His hair lifted gently, tugged by temporal winds no one else could feel.
Olsen, barely standing, choked out, "I thought… you left at the ridge…?"
Eli didn't respond. Didn't even blink.
Chronos energy flared around him, the air bending and humming like reality was a taut string stretched over fire.
He finally looked back at the group.
And he explained everything—without a single word.
A flick of two fingers.
A sweeping motion of the arm.
A sharp tap to his own chest, then a point toward the forest.
It wasn't random.
They understood instantly.
Get moving.
We're out of time.
I came back because the future I saw ends with you dead if I leave this fight.
William blinked. "Uh… Javier? Was that English?"
Javier shrugged. "That was doomsday charades. I think he means 'run.'"
Sophia turned. The forest behind them was swallowed in fog—no Power, no backup, no leader. Just them.
She clenched her fists. "He's saying we move. I can see through the fog—follow me!"
She sprinted, leading half the group away, leaving Olsen, Prince, Demaurion, Archie, Ella…
…and Eli, now standing alone between them and the Illegals.
Ella looked at Olsen, panicked.
"Olsen, you're not okay. You can't—"
"I'm fine," he growled, forcing rock armor to coil around his legs. "Rock fixes everything."
The Illegals morphed into their beast forms. The heroes shifted too, snarling as the forest trembled beneath them.
Eli's body erupted in pale green radiance.
He transformed—
a Time Wyvern, scales dark green and hexagonal, wings etched with shifting runes that pulsed like living clocks.
He crawled toward Vironos.
Vironos lumbered forward.
They paused—muzzles inches apart—growling low.
Eli's wings snapped open.
A ripple of distorted reality flashed across the battlefield.
Battle began.
Vironos lunged—
but Eli flickered, reappearing behind him with a slash that landed three times before the first hit even registered.
Temporal echoes.
Afterimages striking out of sync with time.
Below them, chaos erupted—
Ella on Rusty's back, claws tearing.
Olsen crushing Dark Olsen's armor with primal force.
Prince and King exploding through the sky in a hurricane of lightning.
The battle roared.
But Eli?
He fought like the world was a chessboard he'd already solved.
Vironos snapped his jaws—
Eli rewound his position a foot to the left.
Vironos clawed—
Eli warped time, forcing the attack to crawl in slow-motion.
He struck with green energy spikes, each hit creating little shockwaves of collapsing seconds.
For a moment—just a moment—the Illegals hesitated.
Because Eli wasn't fighting to win.
He was fighting to buy the crew the exact amount of time they needed.
Exactly what he saw.
Exactly what he returned to fix.
Power's Search for Incarceration
Rain tore down from the sky, hammering Power's skin, soaking his body, blinding him with cold. The forest blurred around him as he tore through it at lightspeed—branches whipping past, thorns scratching, mud splashing. Thunder shook the ground beneath his feet, lightning splitting the sky, and every inhale tasted like ozone and earth.
Then—
Crack.
A stick snapped underfoot.
Power skidded to a stop. Heart thudding. Rain slapping his face. He turned.
There.
Between jagged, towering trees—alone, unmoving, drenched like he'd been standing there long before the storm even started—stood Incarceration.
Not waiting.
Just… there.
Like he didn't belong anywhere else.
"INCARCERATION!" Power yelled, voice cutting through the rain, raw and desperate.
Incarceration's head tilted slowly. Red eyes glowed faintly through the storm, dull—tired more than anything—as they met his.
"You had something to do with this… didn't you?" Power's fists shook, his body tense.
Incarceration didn't answer right away.
He crossed his arms, shoulders slightly hunched—not confident. Closed off.
"Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't."
A pause.
"…But everything's in check."
"IN CHECK?" Power's voice cracked, his chest heaving. "You broke him! Don! You twisted him until he didn't even know himself!"
Thunder ripped across the sky.
Power stepped forward, boots slipping in mud. "We want the real Don back! Not whatever you forced out of him!"
Incarceration exhaled slowly, tilting his head back, letting the rain hit his face.
"You know…" he muttered, voice quieter now. "You were the golden Zenith."
Power blinked, thrown off.
"The one everyone talked about. The one everyone looked up to."
His voice didn't rise.
It sank.
"And the rest of us?"
Power didn't respond.
Incarceration gave a small, empty laugh.
"Actually—no. Not 'us.'"
He looked back at Power.
"Just me."
The rain hit harder, like the sky was leaning in.
"I wasn't like them," Incarceration continued. "I didn't shine. I didn't inspire. I didn't fit."
His fingers twitched at his sides.
"My Element? Nightmare."
The word sat heavy in the air.
"My appearance? Something people avoided looking at too long."
Another step forward.
"And the Zeniths?"
His voice cracked slightly.
"They didn't hate me."
A pause.
"…That would've meant they noticed me."
Power's expression shifted.
Incarceration's eyes dimmed.
"They just… didn't care."
Lightning flashed.
"Meetings would end without me being spoken to. Missions would happen without me being called."
His jaw tightened.
"I stood in the same room as you all… and still felt like I wasn't even there."
Power's chest tightened.
"You—"
"Even you," Incarceration cut in, voice sharp now. "You saw me."
A beat.
"And still did nothing."
Power froze.
"I thought you were different," Incarceration said, quieter again. "I thought if anyone would notice… it'd be you."
Rain slid down his face, mixing with something heavier.
"But you didn't."
He clenched his fists.
"No one did."
The storm roared.
"I wasn't a Zenith," he said. "Not really."
His voice dropped into something hollow.
"I was just… something standing next to them."
Power's voice came out strained. "I didn't know—"
"That's the point," Incarceration snapped.
Silence hit for a split second.
Then—
"I made Don suffer," he said, quieter now. "Because I needed someone to feel it."
His gaze flickered.
"To feel what it's like to exist… and still not matter."
Power took a step forward, shaking. "You don't have to stay like this. You don't have to be alone. We can fix this—together."
Incarceration's head lifted slowly.
For a second—just one—something broke through.
One eye widened. The glow flickered. Cracks spiderwebbed faintly across it.
And underneath all of it—
There he was.
Not a villain.
Not a monster.
Just a kid who was never seen.
And then—
BAM.
Incarceration slammed his fist into Power's jaw, sending him rocketing into the air.
Branches shredded around him. Rain stung like needles. Power's vision blurred, spinning, crashing into mud, coughing, struggling to rise.
Incarceration didn't give him a second to recover. Teleport, gut punch, uppercut—
A black shockwave tore through the forest. Trees cracked and splintered like twigs.
Power spiraled. He was airborne again. Mid-fall, Incarceration dropkicked him—CRSHK—Power blasted through rock, coughing, lungs burning.
He staggered to his feet. Incarceration was already there. The next clash hit him like an avalanche—fist against fist, bone-cracking, forest-shaking. Every strike, every dodge, every breath was survival and fury all at once.
Power's body screamed. He fell to mud, trembling, chest heaving. Incarceration's boot pressed down on him, holding him like the storm itself.
"Why would I need your help," Incarceration hissed, "when you never cared?"
"I DO care!" Power choked out, soaked, exhausted, shaking.
"You could've done better… brother," Incarceration said, voice low, cutting deeper than any punch.
Then he turned, pacing into the storm-dark trees. Power lay in mud, rain drenching him, heart hollowed by words heavier than steel.
"And Don's not coming back to you. Never," Incarceration's voice echoed, inside and out.
Something inside Power snapped.
Blue energy exploded from him. Wild. Ferocious. His eyes ignited like twin suns. Lightning tore the sky apart, fire in the clouds, rain hissing to steam.
Power stood. Rain evaporating off him in bursts. Storm wind thrashing. Every muscle coiled with fury he had never allowed himself to feel.
He sprinted. Faster than the storm. Faster than fear.
Incarceration turned.
He realized, too late. He had underestimated him.
Power lunged, unstoppable. Energy rolling, lightning crackling, fury incarnate—
"OVERPOWERED… OVERHAND… PUNCH!!!"
BWAM.
The strike shattered everything—forest, air, silence. Incarceration flew upward like a dark missile, leaving a world-shattering shockwave behind.
Power's chest heaved, lungs burning. He looked up at the fractured sky and screamed through the storm:
"I'LL COME BACK, BROTHER!!!"
***
At King Dreadixz's Castle
King Dreadixz lounged on his throne like he owned the moon itself, talons tapping a lazy rhythm on the armrests. Same towering monster as always — but those eyes? Nah. Something was off. His right one carried a scorched red ring, still burned into the flesh from Archie's explosion back at Eclitsic. A permanent reminder he hates.
He whistled a low, villain-type tune… until—
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
The portcullis rattled like it feared him. Dreadixz didn't even flinch. Just sighed.
"Ugh… come in."
The gate groaned open. Two Lunaranite guards marched in, dragging two prisoners bound in heavy cuffs.
Dreadixz's jaw twitched. "Tell me, guards… who are these?"
The first prisoner: a Celestianite dragon girl — white scales shimmering like frost under moonlight, a purple spine glowing down her back, gold eyes sharp enough to cut glass. Indigo belly scales, dark purple curling horns, and a bright yellow snout. Her tail ended with a single yellow feather swaying defiantly.
The second prisoner: a Flamenite, black-scaled and carved with scars like battle graffiti. Red underbelly, red horns, teeth like execution tools. His fiery orange eyes carried a void-black ring inside them. He hissed and fought the guards like he'd rip both in half if he got one free movement.
"These two were caught sneaking into Foreshade, sir," the first guard said.
Dreadixz snorted. "What are these little wyrmlings doing in my kingdom?"
"They were searching for these," the other guard added, pulling out three Power Gems — red, blue, and green.
"Oho…" Dreadixz chuckled. "A gift. How thoughtful."
"Okay, now you got what you want!" the Celestianite barked. "Can we go?! It's late!"
The Flamenite snapped at a guard, enraged.
Dreadixz snapped his fingers. "Identify yourselves, wyrmlings."
"We're not wyrmlings!" she shot back. "Just let us go! Keep the stupid Gems!"
"Not until I know who you are," he growled.
She huffed, defeated. "Starla."
Dreadixz's grin widened. "Ah. The King's daughter. Half-expected, half didn't. So tell me — where's your mother?"
"In Zeriath," Starla said flatly. "Keeping a promise."
Dreadixz clapped once, mockingly. "So you're a stray. Daddy dead. Mommy gone. No one left for you."
Starla's jaw clenched.
"And the Flamenite?" Dreadixz asked.
Starla glared. "His name is Scorch. He doesn't talk. He has a condition—he's stuck in his beast form."
Scorch snarled low, muscles tightening like something barely being held together.
Dreadixz chuckled. "He doesn't look very… civilized."
Then his expression dropped.
"You may release the Flamenite… but kill the Celestianite."
Starla snapped instantly. "ARE YOU SERIOUS?! LET ME GO, YOU PSYCHO!"
The guards hesitated for half a second—just enough.
Scorch's body began to shake. Not fear.
Rage.
The chains around him creaked—not snapping instantly, but straining under pressure. Heat built beneath his scales, faint at first… then rising.
The guards noticed.
"Hey—HEY—!"
Too late.
Scorch ripped one arm free, tearing metal out of the wall itself. The second cuff didn't last long after that.
Now the guards reacted properly.
They grabbed the Power Gems, energy sparking violently in their hands.
One launched forward with a charged strike—
Scorch ducked low and slammed into him like a missile, knocking the wind out of his chest and sending the Gem skidding across the floor.
The second guard fired a blast—
Scorch took it.
It hit his side and actually burned, forcing a snarl out of him—but it only made the fire inside him spike harder.
He lunged.
This time, it wasn't clean or instant.
They struggled.
The guard tried to push him back with the Gem's energy, but Scorch forced through it, jaws clamping down with brutal force until the resistance gave out.
The second guard froze—then broke.
He bolted.
Not fighting. Not thinking. Just running.
Scorch didn't chase.
He turned instead—focused.
Starla.
He unleashed a controlled blast of flame at her restraints. Not wild—precise. The metal glowed, softened, then snapped apart.
She dropped free, grabbing one of the fallen Power Gems.
That's when the room shifted.
Dreadixz stood.
Slowly.
Not shocked—annoyed.
The air grew heavier as he stepped down from his throne, eyes locked onto them.
"You've made a mess," he muttered.
Then his body twisted—expanding, cracking, reshaping into his Lunaranite Dragon form. Massive. Dominant. The kind of presence that made the room feel too small.
He didn't hesitate.
He attacked.
Fast.
His claws slammed into the ground where Scorch had been a split second earlier, stone exploding outward.
Scorch barely dodged.
Dreadixz's tail whipped around instantly—
This time, it clipped him, launching him across the room and into a pillar with a brutal crack.
He hit the ground hard.
Dreadixz advanced.
No wasted movement. No talking.
Kill intent.
Scorch forced himself up, limping—but when the tail came again…
He committed.
Instead of dodging—
He bit down on it.
Dreadixz roared, fury snapping through the room.
Scorch's flames surged, far hotter than before—pushed by pain, adrenaline, and pure instinct. The heat burned deep into the tail, forcing Dreadixz to yank it back violently.
In that moment of recoil—
Dreadixz lunged forward and tackled Scorch, slamming him into the ground and sinking his fangs into his shoulder.
Scorch roared, thrashing violently—but this was Dreadixz's territory now.
He was winning.
Until—
Starla moved.
She didn't hesitate.
She launched forward, Power Gem flaring in her hand, and drove her fangs into Dreadixz's neck, targeting a weak point—not brute force, but precision.
That forced him off.
Not because he was overpowered—
But because it wasn't worth the damage.
He staggered back a step, blood running down his scales, eyes narrowing.
"…You two are more trouble than expected," he muttered.
Starla didn't waste the moment.
She grabbed the remaining Power Gems and backed toward Scorch. "We're leaving. Now."
Scorch pushed himself up, injured but moving.
Dreadixz didn't chase immediately.
Not because he couldn't.
Because he was thinking.
Calculating.
Watching them run.
By the time he stepped forward again—
They were already gone.
The throne room fell silent, broken only by the slow drip of blood onto stone.
Dreadixz exhaled sharply, tail twitching, gaze fixed on the shattered entrance.
"…Interesting."
Foreshade would remember this night.
Not as a victory.
But as the moment something dangerous slipped through his grasp.