Night had fully fallen, casting a dark, misty veil over the forest as the upperclassmen made their way back to the entrance. The rain hadn't let up, soaking everything in a cold, relentless downpour. Emrys cracked her back, her eyes scanning the scene as she counted the unconscious bodies being dragged to the entrance—Arid, Renita, Lincoln, Cassius, and Astroman, all motionless.
"How was it?" Emrys asked, her voice calm but curious.
Draven stretched his arm lazily, a smug grin on his face. "No biggie," he shrugged. "They put up a fight though, even though we ambushed them." He exchanged a chuckle with Kai and Jasper, who grinned like predators satisfied with their hunt.
Emrys knelt beside Arid's limp body, studying him. "This guy looks fried," she muttered. "I can't sense any damage from physical blows… it's like he's been hit by lightning magic." She slapped his face lightly, and after a moment, Arid jolted awake, gasping in terror. His eyes were wide with fear, and he scrambled to his feet, trembling.
"T-t-that girl is a monster!" he stammered, pointing shakily toward the forest.
Emrys raised an eyebrow. "Wait, lightning magic? None of us use that. And the Abyssal wardens we brought in from other schools don't either." Clay, standing nearby, began piecing things together. His expression darkened as realization struck. "The only one in there who can wield lightning magic… is Elowen."
Clay grabbed Arid's shoulder, his voice demanding. "Son, what happened?!"
Arid bit his lip, his body trembling. "I had the upper hand, I swear. But then… it started raining, and lightning struck out of nowhere. She—she moved so fast, like a storm. Her power was overwhelming. And for a split second…" His voice faltered as his eyes grew distant, haunted. "I could've sworn I saw the spirit of the late King Arthur Pendragon coming from her. It was like she became him."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the group, fear and confusion hanging thick in the air.
Suddenly, the sound of crunching leaves echoed behind them, and everyone turned, freezing in horror at the sight. Dainin staggered toward them, his body riddled with open wounds, blood pouring from a vampire bite on his neck. Despite his injuries, he still wore his unnerving smile, his narrowed eyes glinting with madness.
"That boy," Dainin rasped, his voice weak but laced with dark amusement. "Sure is… terrifying." With that, he collapsed, unconscious, the smile still haunting his face.
Laurel screamed in shock, while Ingrid pulled out her card, her face pale as she spoke into it with urgent authority. "Attention all wardens. There are two kids still in the forest. Do not leave until they are captured. Use any means necessary."
King Aldara, who had been watching from the edge of the chaos, stepped forward, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What is going on here?!"
Before he could say more, Jessica grabbed him by the arm, her voice sharp. "You need to get out of here, now."
She didn't wait for a response, pulling the king away from the scene as the tension in the air thickened, the rain pouring down harder as if matching the looming storm of chaos yet to come.
"Students, evacuate immediately!" Sonic's booming voice echoed through the area, sending the students scattering, some dragging the unconscious ones along.
Back at the castle, an awkward silence hung in the air as Mel and Rue sat stiffly on the couch. Queen Ruecrix sat between them, her sharp eyes flicking from Mel to Rue. Her presence was overpowering, and the tension in the room was palpable.
"Am I interrupting something?" she asked coolly, her tone almost accusing.
"Of course not!" Mel quickly waved his hands, his voice edged with nervousness.
"Absolutely," Rue muttered under her breath.
In an instant, Ruecrix's hand shot out, grabbing Rue's ear. "What was that?" she sneered, her voice dripping with menace.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Rue pleaded, wincing in pain as she tried to appease her mother's fury.
Suddenly, King Percival—better known as Aldara—burst into the room, pacing frantically. "It's bad, really bad... King Melanthius? What are you doing here? No, never mind that—your friends—"
Before Aldara could finish, Mel shot to his feet, urgency written across his face. "What do you mean? What's happening with them?" he demanded, his voice tight with concern.
Aldara stood before him, breathing heavily. "Mel, your friends... I don't know what's going on, but during training, they went on a rampage. Dorian attacked one of the wardens—left him bloodied and unconscious. And Elowen… she took down Arid. He swore he saw King Arthur's spirit emanating from her."
Mel's heart raced. "I have to stop them," he muttered, his eyes darting around the room.
"What are you looking for?" Queen Ruecrix asked, rising from her seat with a sharp look in her eyes.
"I can't face them bare-handed. They're too powerful," Mel rambled, growing more desperate by the second.
With a calculating gaze, Ruecrix pulled a hidden lever. A compartment opened, and a staff fell from above. "Here," she said, handing it to him.
Mel took the staff, carefully gripping it with his gloved hands to avoid losing control of his own immense power. He gave a deep bow, gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you."
Without wasting another moment, he conjured a cloud, leaping onto it and soaring upward, disappearing through the window in the ceiling as he raced toward the chaos.
As the dust settled, Rue groaned, shaking her head in frustration. "You two always ruin everything," she muttered before storming off toward her room.
In the dense forest, two wardens wandered with little enthusiasm. One lazily twirled his weapon. "We're really stuck looking for these kids? What a hassle," he grumbled.
"Yeah, but the pay's better," the other sighed, scanning the vast expanse of trees. "This place is huge, and I haven't even spotted a student yet."
A sudden crunch of leaves snapped their attention behind them. They turned, expecting trouble, but it wasn't Mel, Dorian, or Elowen. Instead, a towering figure approached—a man with a scar running down his neck, iron gloves on his hands, and a mask covering his jaw. His calm demeanor was unsettling.
"Hey," he asked, voice unnervingly composed, "have either of you seen Melanthius Shadowbane?"
The wardens exchanged confused, then offended, glances. "Who the hell are you?" one sneered. "You're definitely not one of the wardens, so start talking. Who are you?"
The man sighed, almost exasperated. "I can't really tell you that," he replied, voice smooth. "See, I'm supposed to be dead."
Before either warden could react, one of them launched a fireball directly at the man. He swatted the attack aside with a casual flick of his wrist, sending it crashing into a nearby tree. "Manascares, huh?" the masked figure mused with a chuckle. "Not quite a wizard, but able to use magic. Brings back memories."
Suddenly, the other warden appeared behind him, swinging a sword down with deadly precision. But in a blur, the sword was twisted, bent out of shape like a toy. The warden, still mid-air, had no time to react as the towering man glanced up at him, eyes gleaming with a dangerous light.
"I don't have time for this," the stranger muttered, gripping the warden mid-flight. "But I'm in the mood for a fight."
With brutal efficiency, he drove a knee into the warden's side, sending him crumpling to the ground with a sickening thud. The calmness in the man's voice never wavered.
The towering man stood calmly as the other warden's muscles bulged in rage. "Bastard!" the warden roared, lunging forward. The towering man, with effortless agility, flipped upside down, grabbing the warden's hair mid-flip.
"Here's the deal: if I win, you tell me where Melanthius Shadowbane is," the towering man proposed, voice unnervingly composed. But the warden shook loose, his fury burning hotter. "Rage of the Dragon King!" he shouted, unleashing a torrent of fire from his mouth, engulfing the towering man.
"Good, I'll finish this and warn the oth–" The warden's words faltered as the smoke cleared. Standing unharmed in the flames was the towering man, his body encased in a gleaming iron shell.
"You didn't win this battle," the towering man said coolly, "not because you're weak, but because I'm made to withstand this." The iron covering slid away, revealing the man was completely unscathed. "You see, I'm bound to iron. You? Fire. Your loss was inevitable."
The warden, now desperate, charged with a wild punch aimed at the towering man's stomach. His fist collided, but instead of causing damage, a sickening crack echoed through the air as his bones shattered on impact. The warden screamed in agony, clutching his broken hand.
"What... is this?" he gasped, disbelief and pain coursing through him. "Your body... it's like punching pure iron!"
The towering man grinned. "That's because it is. This," he gestured to his invulnerable frame, "is my Ironclad Bastion."
"W-who are you?" the warden stammered, trembling as the towering man stepped closer. Slowly, the iron giant removed his mask, revealing a face the warden never expected to see. His eyes widened in shock. "Y-you're—! But you're supposed to be—"
Before he could finish, the towering man's fist, now encased in iron, came crashing down with terrifying force. The warden was slammed into the ground, the impact shaking the earth.
The towering figure stood over him, his voice low but filled with authority. "Donatello. The Late Renaissance King." He looked down at the broken man. "I was supposed to be dead—killed by my own brother."
He turned away, his iron-clad body gleaming in the dim light. "That's why I need to find Melanthius Shadowbane." Without another word, he walked off, leaving the crushed warden in stunned silence.
In another part of the forest, Dorian, eyes glowing an eerie green from absorbing a fraction of Dainin's magical power, stood opposite Elowen. Both were in a strange, half-conscious trance. Elowen, her movements sluggish but deliberate, flicked her finger and summoned a bolt of lightning that cracked down on Dorian. With reflexes enhanced by his vampiric state, he deflected the strike with a dagger and charged forward, imitating Dainin's signature side punch.
His hit connected, forcing Elowen to grit her teeth in pain. In retaliation, she swung Excalibur in a wide arc, slicing across Dorian's back, the blade trailing lightning in its wake. As he lunged to bite her, Elowen caught him off guard and hurled him into a tree with supernatural strength, then followed up with a vicious knee to his chest.
Dorian coughed, spewing a boiling blood spike at her face, the sharp projectile cutting her across the eye. Elowen snarled in pain, raising her fist as it crackled with lightning. Without hesitation, she unleashed a storm of punches, each blow electrified and relentless, raining down on him like a thunderstorm made flesh.
"That's enough," Donatello said calmly, chopping both Dorian and Elowen on the neck with precision, knocking them out cold. He straightened up, about to continue his search, when his eyes landed on Melanthius, standing behind him, gripping a staff with fierce determination.
"You... get away from them!" Mel growled, his voice low and dangerous. His knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on the staff, his eyes filled with fury.
"Melanthius!" Donatello exclaimed, surprised by his sudden presence. Before he could say another word, Mel launched himself forward, using the staff to propel into the air, his hidden cloud kick aimed directly at Donatello's head. But to his shock, Donatello casually caught his foot mid-strike, halting him with almost no effort.
"Wait!" Donatello pleaded, trying to calm him, but Mel twisted in mid-air, wrenching his leg free. He spun around, kicking again, but Donatello dodged, smoothly avoiding the blow.
Landing back on his feet, Mel scowled, his mind racing. "Jeez, you're slippery. The only person who ever dodged my hidden cloud kick was Yaga," he muttered, eyes narrowing.
To Mel's utter confusion, Donatello's form rippled and changed. In a flash, he shapeshifted into Draven, the one who had given Mel suspicious photographs not long ago. "I was the one who gave you those photos," Donatello revealed, his voice calm. He morphed back into his original form.
Mel's stomach twisted with fear and confusion, his heart pounding in his chest. "W-who are you? Why did you give me those photos? Why did you tell me the Jester was alive?" His voice cracked with suspicion, his knuckles trembling as he gripped the staff tighter.
Donatello cracked his knuckles, his expression softening. "I need you to trust me, Mel. Don't tell anyone that I'm here. I've already erased the memory of me from the other wardens. Please." He knelt before Mel, making his request sincere.
Mel's eyes darted around nervously, unsure whether to believe him. He conjured a small cloud and hovered above, crossing his arms defensively. "You can trust me," Mel muttered, though his gaze remained skeptical.
"I'm one of the four kings of the Renaissance Kingdom, along with Leonardo, Raphael, and Michelangelo," Donatello began, his voice steady but grave. Then, with a weighty pause, he added, "You may know Michelangelo by another name... Goldman. Is that what you called him?"
The air seemed to shift around them as Mel's eyes widened, his heart dropping into his stomach. His mind raced back to memories of Goldman—the man who had trained him, taught him everything. "Y-yes, I know all about him," Mel stammered, still trying to process the revelation. "He trained me."
Donatello nodded. "Do you remember the photos I showed you?" he asked, his voice calm but firm. Mel nodded slowly, the confusion thick in his mind.
"I do," Mel replied hesitantly. "How does that even—?"
Before Mel could finish, Donatello dropped the bombshell: "Michelangelo—Goldman—is still alive. And he was the one who killed those kings."
The weight of Donatello's words hit Mel like a crashing wave, leaving him breathless. His chest tightened with disbelief, fear, and a mounting anger that threatened to spill over. "You're telling me... that despicable man is still alive?!" Mel's voice shook with a barely-contained fury.
Donatello tilted his head, studying him. "I'm surprised. Most people feel a certain attachment to their trainers, even the bad ones. But you… it seems like you harbor deep resentment toward him."
Before Mel could respond, his stomach churned violently. He bent over, throwing up on the ground, unable to contain the revulsion swirling within him. "Just the thought of that monster," he gasped, wiping his mouth, "it makes me sick. I keep it in when I'm with my friends so they won't ask about it."
Donatello nodded thoughtfully, his eyes sharp. "I told you the jester was alive as a test—to see if you'd confide in others. You did, which tells me you're truthful. But the jester? He's dead—sliced clean in half. That part is over. But his story, Mel... it's far from finished." Donatello rose to his feet, brushing the dirt off his clothes, his tone darkening. "Something is coming, on Halloween. You won't see me again for a while, but remember this: you can't protect everyone."
With that cryptic warning, Donatello turned, his footsteps echoing softly as he disappeared into the shadowed depths of the forest, leaving Mel alone with his spiraling thoughts.
Mel remained seated, the weight of everything crashing down on him. His mind raced, a flood of questions surging within him, relentless and overwhelming. "Why did he tell me all this? What's going to happen on Halloween? Should I tell anyone? But he warned me not to. And how does this tie into the jester? Could my father be involved somehow?"
His fingers twitched as he started biting his nails, an old habit that returned in moments of stress. The storm inside him raged on, and he had no answers, only uncertainty and the gnawing sense that something terrible was coming.
Moments later, Mel emerged from the forest, carrying the unconscious bodies of Elowen and Dorian over his shoulders. The crowd burst into applause, murmurs of admiration spreading. "I don't know where he came from, but Melanthius has apprehended them!" Clay announced, his voice ringing with excitement.
Draven stepped forward, noticing the distant look in Mel's eyes, something raw and unsettled beneath the surface. "Mel, are you alright?" he asked, expecting the usual cold response—Mel hadn't forgiven him for the time he stabbed him. But this time, Mel glanced up, his face pale and haunted, and simply nodded.
"I'm fine. I just... need to get back to my kingdom," he muttered softly, spinning the staff in his hand. With a quick motion, he conjured a cloud beneath him and rose into the air. The crowd gasped as he disappeared into the sky.
Emrys nudged Draven, brow furrowed. "What's wrong with him?"
Draven shook his head, still watching the spot where Mel had vanished. "I don't know. We haven't exactly been on the best terms since... you know, the stabbing incident," he muttered.
Emrys patted his back comfortingly. "He'll come around, don't worry."
Trying to shake off the unsettling feeling, Draven remembered the upcoming event. "Hey, are the junior black cards still hosting the Halloween party tomorrow for Hallow's Eve?" he asked, shifting the topic.
Kali, who had been leaning against a tree, sauntered up and draped an arm over Draven's shoulder. "Of course we are. It'll be at Bayside Torrept, near Spritz Point. Everything's set."
Laurel joined them, rubbing her temples. "Yeah, but we've still got to decorate and put up flyers. With that fake Draven causing trouble, I'm not sure if we should even be advertising the party," she sighed, her frustration clear.
Kali gave her a reassuring smile. "We'll handle the decorations and that impostor. No way we're canceling."
But Draven's mind was still on Mel, the weight of his strange behavior gnawing at him. Something was wrong—he could feel it.
Moments later, Mel found himself in the dilapidated library of the middle school, its shelves sagging under the weight of dust-covered, tattered books. Graffiti marred the walls, and scattered pages littered the floor. The stench of neglect filled the air, and broken furniture cluttered the space. He rifled through the mess with growing frustration, his movements frantic as he searched for something—anything—useful. His hands landed on a worn-out book, and he opened it, only to find the pages torn to shreds. With a frustrated groan, he shoved the book back onto the shelf.
"I need information on the Renaissance Kings," he muttered under his breath, desperation creeping into his voice. His eyes scanned the cluttered shelves as he grabbed another book, quickly flipping through the pages. Nothing. He hurled it to the ground in frustration, only to hear a faint hiss.
"AHH!" he yelped as a rat scurried out from under the book, its beady eyes glaring at him before disappearing into a pile of rubble. He jumped back, his heart racing, then ran a hand through his hair, trying to steady his nerves. "This place is a nightmare," he muttered.
Mel suddenly felt arms wrap around his waist, and when he looked over his shoulder, he saw Elowen embracing him from behind. Dorian stepped forward, hands in his pockets, surveying the chaotic mess of books scattered across the floor. "Man, this place is a disaster," Dorian muttered, walking through the rubble and ruffling his hair in frustration. "What's got you digging around so hard? It's midnight," he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Mel, still half-immersed in his frantic search, tilted his head in confusion. "I thought you guys were asleep?" he said, sounding surprised as Elowen loosened her grip and took a step back. "We were," she admitted, leaning casually against a nearby shelf. "But we were worried about you. It feels like we haven't really been… friends, not since the Jester incident."
Her words hit Mel harder than he expected, and he sighed, guilt flooding his expression. "I know. I'm sorry," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "I've just been on edge with everything that's been happening lately." His head drooped slightly, weighed down by the apology he wasn't sure how to express fully.
"So, what are you doing here anyway?" Dorian asked, grimacing as he covered his nose to block out the stench of the neglected library.
Mel opened his mouth, ready to tell them about the Renaissance Kings, about Donatello's shocking reveal—but he hesitated, remembering Donatello's final words to him.
Flashback
"By the way, King Melanthius, keep it a secret that you saw me and everything I told you, alright? I'm supposed to be dead."
Present
Donatello's warning echoed in his mind. Mel sighed, forcing a casual smile. "I was just… looking for books to learn more about Halloween," he lied smoothly.
Dorian raised an eyebrow and then chuckled. "Seriously? You're down here at midnight in a rat-infested library, flipping through books for that?" He smirked and grabbed Mel by the arm. "You could've just asked, man. It's not some grand mystery or anything."
He gave Mel a nudge and began explaining. "Halloween is just a day when people dress up, mess around, and pretend to be monsters for fun. But, if you're really looking for some deep meaning, it's rooted in old traditions about spirits crossing over, though nowadays it's just candy and parties."
"Ohh, well what are you guys gonna dress as?" Mel asked and Elowen began yawning. "Well, I thought I'd just wear my golden armor that belonged to my father. Oh right, that halloween party tomorrow." She remembered.
"I'll probably dress as a human—get some contact lenses, hide the fangs, you know," Dorian chuckled. "It'll be cool, seeing as I'm a vampire." Elowen and Mel exchanged a look, their faces unreadable, and Dorian groaned in mock annoyance. "Oh, come on! Don't look at me like that. So what're you going as, Mel?"
Mel's smile faded slightly as he glanced back down at the pile of books. "Actually… I won't be out on Halloween." The words were quiet, but they struck a chord. They all remembered what had happened to him in Caldara—how unsettling things could get when people behaved unpredictably.
Elowen reached out, concern evident. "Mel…"
But Mel held up a hand, giving her a gentle smile. "I'll come to the party tomorrow night, don't worry. I just have some business to take care of in my kingdom afterward."
He stretched, standing up and cracking his back, his expression brightening. "Alright, let's get some sleep, yeah?"
Nodding, they turned to leave, making their way out of the dilapidated library, feeling a bit closer yet still holding the weight of things unsaid.
Meanwhile, on Ironclad Isle, the towering fortress of Caldara Bastille loomed over the bleak landscape, casting a shadow across the dreary kingdom. Inside, chaos reigned as the prison was in full lockdown, alarms blaring through the cold, iron corridors. Guards scrambled to secure every hall and cell, their voices drowned out by the deafening sirens. At the heart of it all, the warden moved with a steely determination, his expression grim as he oversaw the urgent containment efforts within the stronghold where Melanthius had once been raised.
The warden's imposing figure towered over the guards assembled in rigid rows before him. His name tag read Caldric Windrider, and he moved with a cold, relentless fury. As he strode past, he tightened his blue-armored gauntlets, clenching his fists until his knuckles cracked.
"Two days before the Dragon's Rage Moon… and you let fifty inmates escape?!"
His voice thundered through the hall, and the guards stiffened under the weight of his anger. One guard mustered the courage to speak, "W-Warden, sir—"
But before the words could fully leave his mouth, Caldric swung, silencing him with a single powerful punch that dropped him to the ground. The other guards stood even straighter, not daring to meet his gaze.
He swung, dropping two more guards with brutal efficiency, and then another five until only one woman was left standing. She met his furious gaze, unshaken.
"Warden," she said evenly, "are you angry because, despite you and Melanthius Shadowbane being raised here under similar circumstances, he was chosen to go to Arcanum?" Her words cut through his rage like a blade, and he scowled but held back.
"Percival, that fool," Caldric muttered, eyes narrowed. "How dare he pick Melanthius over me? We were like brothers once—surely you've heard it before."
"Yes, sir. You remind us every day." She nodded, unphased.
Caldric flopped into a rolling chair, spun over to his desk, and began typing furiously on his computer. "The inmates have already started causing chaos," he muttered, scrolling through incident reports. Then something on the screen made him pause. "Hey, come look at this."
The woman leaned over as he jabbed at the monitor in frustration until the screen cracked. "Damn it!" he cursed, shoving it aside and pulling another monitor into place. "There—type it in."
She took over, and together they scanned the data. All the escaped inmates were moving toward the same destination: Auroria Dominion.
"That's bad news," she murmured, adjusting her glasses.
Caldric rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "With the Dragon's Rage Moon approaching, everyone's hidden emotions—anger, grief, fear, self-hatred—will surge to the surface. It ignites what's been bottled up, and that makes people more volatile and dangerous than ever."
"And the only one who survived that madness when it hit our prison—after Michelangelo's death—was Melanthius Shadowbane. And the terrifying part was…he showed every single emotion," Caldric muttered, his fist tightening as he recalled it. The woman continued typing, focused but curious.
"Do you think he'd remember you?" she asked.
Caldric shrugged. "He was 10, I was 11, and I took control of this place at 12. Doubt he'd even recognize me. Not that it matters. I doubt he'd stand a chance against me now." He stood, signaling for action, and a wave of guards fell into line behind him as he adjusted his gauntlets.
"This is going to be a bloody Halloween."