The atmosphere was electric as the transport ship hovered silently over the desolate expanse of the Morson district.

Below, the shadows of once-grand buildings stood in silent testimony to the power the Serpentine Syndicate wielded. The only sounds were the low hum of engines and the occasional crackle of the mind link buzzing with encrypted chatter.

Val stood at the edge of the transport's ramp, eyes obscured by the dark visor of his mask, watching as Bo, Riggs, and Fon dropped with seamless precision onto the cracked pavement below.

Their boots hit the ground with a resounding thud that reverberated through the eerily silent streets. The moment they landed, their masks activated, signaling their readiness.

The command room back at HQ, filled with Clareo's highest-ranking officials and allied leaders, fell into a tense silence. The large monitors displayed live feeds from drones, each scene revealing the bleak, shadowed streets and the low growl of wind snaking through narrow alleys. The crackle of distant gunfire and the sharp hiss of an unknown energy weapon echoed in the background, seeping through the speakers.

Umbra, General Luis's voice cut through the mind link, his tone clipped. We're live. Prove them wrong.

Val didn't respond, but the glint in his eyes beneath the mask spoke volumes. He stepped back as the transport veered away, vanishing into the night sky.

Seconds later, he appeared on the highest structure in the district—a shattered tower that once overlooked the entire area.

From there, he had an unparalleled view of his team and the labyrinthine streets below.

Positions, Val's voice in the link was cold, carrying a weight that cut through the background noise.

Frost in place. Southeast sector, five degrees west, Bo's voice responded through the link, steady and precise.

Aura ready. Flanking east side, Riggs reported, a faint hint of excitement in his usually reserved tone.

Terra on standby. Watch for shifting terrain, Fon's voice crackled, laced with controlled energy.

HQ held its breath as they watched the scene unfold. The hum of computers and the low mutters of strategists buzzed through the air. Every eye was glued to the feeds, the anticipation tangible enough to taste.

Val's eyes narrowed as he analyzed the map that hovered in his mind, each moving icon representing enemy patrols marked in bright red.

He sensed their approach even before the drones confirmed it—small groups converging, seeking out the trespassers with growing tension.

In HQ, the subtle sound of shuffling feet and muttered doubts layered the room, adding to the suspense.

"They're cornering themselves. It's tactical suicide," a high-ranking officer whispered.

Val's gaze flicked to the building entrances, calculating angles, wind speed, and elevation. Frost, send an ice wall at sector four. Aura, funnel them into corridor six.

Copy that, Bo replied.

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A faint crackling noise, like the sound of breaking glass, echoed as he unleashed a wave of ice. The frost surged along the ground, forming an impenetrable wall that glittered under the pale moonlight.

A sudden cacophony of yells erupted from enemy patrols caught unprepared, their shouts muffled by the snapping ice as it sealed their escape routes.

Riggs inhaled deeply, his eyes narrowing as the wind responded to his call. A powerful gust surged forth, whipping through the narrow corridor and carrying debris like deadly shrapnel. The haunting whistle of the wind mixed with the terrified cries of the Syndicate members being swept into the confined space.

The audio feeds picked up every scream, the ragged breath of soldiers colliding with stone and metal, and the sharp crack of bones hitting the frozen ground.

In HQ, the room shifted, shocked murmurs turning into silent awe as the feed played out in real-time. The operators' fingers hovered, poised above keyboards, unsure of whether to call this genius or madness.

"They're doing it," someone whispered, the voice tinged with disbelief.

Fon's voice came through the mind link, coiled and ready. Your call, Umbra.

Val's pupils dilated, zeroing in on the shifting enemy positions. Terra, collapse corridor eight.

Fon's gloved fist slammed into the ground, sending a tremor echoing through the streets. The rumble reached HQ, where speakers carried the deep, guttural sound that rolled like thunder. Syndicate elites were swallowed by the sudden cracks in the earth, their panicked screams smothered as the rubble fell in a choking cloud of dust.

The command room erupted in murmurs of awe and shock. One of the leaders, pale with astonishment, muttered, "It's chaos down there."

"It's controlled chaos," General Luis said with a hint of a smile.

The battlefield was a storm of sound and motion.

Bo's ice cracked and groaned under the strain of battle, shifting seamlessly into deadly spikes that lanced upward. The screams of those impaled were sharp, cutting through the static in HQ's feed.

Riggs's wind howled, carrying the metallic scent of blood and the groaning of collapsing structures. Dust and frozen mist mingled, creating an eerie shroud around the trapped fighters.

From his vantage point, Val absorbed every detail, every sound—the rattle of enemy guns firing blindly through the frost-choked streets, the rush of Riggs's wind, the splintering roar of Fon's shifting terrain. His commands were succinct and sharp, cutting through the noise like a blade.

Prepare for secondary surge, Val said, eyes still locked on the movements below.

HQ collectively held its breath as they watched Bo shift his ice formation from a defensive wall to jagged spears. The sound of ice cracking and shattering echoed loudly, followed by cries as Riggs's vortex lifted Syndicate members, their bodies smacking against the frozen constructs with bone-crunching finality. Fon's manipulated ground shifted under the enemy's feet, the crunch of stone and screams merging into a symphony of destruction.

Someone in HQ gasped as the audio feed picked up a sudden, terrified shout, quickly silenced by the shifting earth.

"Umbra's leading this like a general," an intelligence officer remarked, his voice shaky but full of newfound respect.

Val's gaze flicked up, eyes narrowing at a sudden blaze of power flaring from the far end of the corridor—a Syndicate elite radiating heat, flames licking up from their skin. The screeching hiss as ice and fire met crackled through the speakers, creating a haze of steam that washed over the battlefield.

Frost, suppress, Val commanded, his tone never wavering.

Bo's eyes narrowed as he pushed his palms out, the ice shifting and surging toward the enemy with an almost sentient precision. The elite stumbled, his defiance faltering as Riggs's wind coalesced around him in a fierce vortex, pinning him in place with the shriek of rushing air.

Terra, seal the exit, Val commanded.

Fon's earth walls snapped shut with a resounding crash that echoed through the streets and carried back to HQ. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the occasional groan of settling rubble.

In HQ, the skeptics were silenced, their eyes locked on the screen. This was no reckless gamble; this was a masterclass in warfare. Every scream, every crack of ice and stone, painted a vivid picture of Val's unparalleled strategy.

With the first wave subdued, Val's voice came over the link, sharp and resolute. Phase one, complete. Phase two, get ready.

Bo, Riggs, and Fon responded in unison, their voices full of steely confidence. Ready.

HQ buzzed with tension, the weight of disbelief crumbling as they witnessed true mastery unfold before them. The Serpentine Syndicate, for the first time, was cornered.