Chapter 18: The Song of The Former teammates

Bray couldn’t believe his eyes.

The innocent boy he once knew — the one who had forced him to absorb heavenly principles, the one who had been energetic and bright — was now clutching a still-beating human heart. It pulsed in his hand, red and wet, proof of its not-so-late removal.

Behind Jamie, the commander’s corpse sprawled on the grass. Blood gushed from the yawning cavity in his chest, soaking the once-green lawn into a dark, glistening red. The hole in his body was so massive the ground beneath was visible through it.

In front of Jamie, four men knelt. Their heads were lifted high as though offering their necks to the executioner’s blade, their trembling mouths muttering prayers, their bodies surrendered to fate.

Bray’s stomach twisted. His lips quivered, words stammering out, but finally he found the courage to force a question past his dry throat.

“What’s… happening!?”

He took a cautious step forward, hands stretched out, legs stiff as if wading through a nightmare.

Jamie’s head turned sharply, eyes locking on him with eerie precision. His gaze was lifeless — golden irises glowing with the unnatural calm of a storm held barely in check.

And then, in a voice stripped of warmth, he replied:

“I am delivering justice.”

His arm lashed out in a blur. The air cracked with a whipping sound that echoed across the field. A thin arc of lightning carved through the space, clean and merciless. The men didn’t even scream. Their necks split at a perfect slant, severed so sharply that the wounds hardly spilled blood until after their heads toppled.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

The bodies collapsed in unison, their heads rolling to rest a few feet away. Blood spilled in widening pools, some of it reaching Jamie’s shoes and darkening the soles.

Bray froze, horror choking his lungs. His mind screamed one truth:

We made a mistake.

The boy they had pushed to grow, the boy they had wanted to strengthen… had become something monstrous.

“We shouldn’t have tried to make him grow up,” he muttered, guilt dripping heavy in his chest.

Jamie’s head turned again, but this time a curved smile stretched across his lips — the kind that unsettled more than comforted.

“Everything is alright now.”

The lightning flickered, then died away. His eyes dimmed back to their natural shade, the Yellow Sun finally deactivated.

“Your special skill,” Bray asked, desperate to cling to conversation, desperate to anchor the boy to something human.

“I think so,” Jamie said, his tone normal again, almost casual.

“Where’s Greg?”

At the name, Jamie’s expression shifted. His gaze fell to the ground, shadowed with grief.

“He’s dead.”

Bray’s heart lurched. The commander had defeated Greg — their strongest — yet Jamie had destroyed the commander. None of it added up. None of it made sense.

A ragged gasp tore through the silence, breaking Bray’s spinning thoughts.

The vice commander was awake.

Blood still caked his arm, but the bleeding had slowed. He shifted, groaning, and the sudden movement drew both their eyes. Bray’s widened with shock — he had thought the man dead. Jamie’s narrowed with something else entirely: hunger.

Jamie walked toward the weakened man, his kali sticks gripped tight in his hand. His voice carried an edge, sharp with remembered pain.

“Do you know what he did?” Jamie asked, eyes never leaving the vice commander. “He broke my arms. And he enjoyed every second of it.”

He squatted beside the man, gaze cold, body calm.

The vice commander’s eyes flickered nervously from Jamie’s face to his right hand — and then froze on what he saw.

“It’s… his heart…” he stuttered, horror draining the color from his skin. The commander’s heart. Still clutched in Jamie’s fist.

Jamie’s smile twisted.

Phwah!

The heart burst like an overripe fruit, exploding in his hand. Blood sprayed in fine droplets, running down his arm and dripping to the ground in crimson spatters.

“Don’t worry,” Jamie whispered, voice almost gentle. “I’ll ease your pain.”

The kali stick darted forward and plunged into the man’s neck. The vice commander convulsed once, then fell still.

Bray staggered back, trembling. The world had changed, yes — but what he was seeing went beyond change. Jamie was enjoying it. Killing under the banner of justice, but savoring every cut, every execution.

“I hope this doesn’t become a problem,” Bray muttered under his breath, fear curling in his gut.

Beep.

The system screen appeared in front of Jamie:

[Guns > 1 base]

[Broken Shields > 1]

A slow smirk spread across his bloodstained face.

“Time to get that second base,” Jamie said.

—

[1:20] LOVE BASE

The assassins were frantic. Overpowered.

Ten identical Alexanders surrounded them, twin blades gleaming in each clone’s hands. Their movements weren’t synchronized — each clone attacked with different timing, precision meant to confuse. The assassins’ eyes darted, desperate to pinpoint the real one.

On the other side, Lora stood tall, matching blades with an assassin of her own. He was slim, his stance casual, but his voice carried venom — and arrogance.

“I don’t kill ladies,” he sneered, “but today, circumstances don’t allow me to keep that promise.”

Lora’s eyes narrowed.

“How many are left at your base?” he demanded, his voice sharp.

“Why should we tell you?” she spat back.

“You’ll die anyway,” he said with a chilling smile. “Only difference is… this time with use.”

The assassins exchanged a glance. Their resolve hardened. Without hesitation, both drew their blades to their own throats.

The slashes were swift, final. Blood erupted, splattering across the ground. Their bodies hit the dirt with a sickening weight.

Alexander froze in shock. Even he hadn’t expected that. But then he remembered — assassins always carried contingencies. When defeat was certain, they chose death over capture.

One by one, the clones faded into glowing pixels, until only the real Alexander remained.

But the fight wasn’t done. One assassin was still alive, still dueling Lora.

She fought fiercely, her movements precise, her counters sharp. She mirrored his techniques and improved on them, turning every strike against him. Her mobility was flawless — proof she carried assassin blood herself.

Alexander’s gaze flicked toward Charlotte and Emily, who were locked in brutal combat with their former teammates.

“Just let us take the base!” Victoria shouted, lunging at her old leader.

“Not a chance!” came the defiant reply. Blades clashed, sparks flying.

“Need some help?” Alexander called, stepping toward them.

“No need,” Emily shouted back, eyes fixed on her foe. She parried blow after blow, katana flashing in the moonlight.

Alexander hesitated, then shook his head. “I’m off. Just remember — another of our time is already gone.” He turned toward the gate.

Beep.

System screens appeared for all of them:

[Guns > 1 base]

[Broken Shields > 1 base]

Relief rippled through Alexander. A smile tugged at his lips. They did it.

But Victoria faltered mid-fight, eyes widening in disbelief.

“How… how did we lose the base!?” she thought, panic rising.

“The best thing you can do,” Charlotte said, smirking as her blade locked against Victoria’s, “is concentrate.” She shoved her opponent back, eyes blazing.

Alexander paused. For a moment, he remembered Jamie — Jamie’s constant words about human principles, about justice. His steps faltered, indecision freezing him in place.

“I hate you, Jamie,” he muttered, seeing the boy’s face in his mind.

But he drew a deep breath and shouted:

“Ladies! We’ve taken back our base! Defeat them — reclaim your honor!”

Charlotte and Emily both nodded. His words gave them fire.

The fight burned on.

—

[1:10]

Alexander was already moving toward the builders’ base, unaware of the storm waiting ahead. Behind him, the battlefield still raged.

One assassin clenched his teeth in frustration. “She’s dodging everything!”

Desperation took hold. “Fine. Let’s try this.”

He charged Lora with all his strength, baiting her into a jump — planning to strike her mid-air.

But she was faster. Smarter. Her shuriken spun, whistling through the night, and buried itself in his skull. His head split clean in two, his body collapsing before he even hit the ground.

Lora stumbled to her knees, panting, catching her breath. Her eyes lifted toward Charlotte and Emily, who still clashed with the last of their enemies.

“It’s over!” Emily shouted, parrying another strike.

“Not yet!” her foe screamed, voice breaking, spirit shattering.

Emily kicked her hard, sending her sprawling. The mood shifted instantly. The enemy’s sobs filled the air.

“We should’ve listened to you,” Elen cried our through the tears.

Victoria overheard her, then stood still, her mood changing to regret not knowing what to say.

“Don’t worry,” Emily said softly, steadying her weapon. “It’s okay.”

“You can go take over our base,” Victoria said, her words filled with stammering, voice trembling. “We won’t need it .”

Emily’s grip eased. “Thanks.”

Relief hung heavy, but the blood on the ground made sure victory still tasted bitter.

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