Ren locked eyes with the monstrous bat looming above them. Its shadow swallowed the ruins, the once-muted greens of the forest now painted in the dim glow of its sickly dark eyes. The air felt heavy, charged, and alive with a dreadful malice that prickled against his skin. The beast's wings moved slightly, sending shockwaves through the trees, their leaves trembling like whispers of a shared terror.
He tightened his grip on the hilt of his blade, his knuckles whitening. The corruption covering the Kaiju was unmistakable—writhing veins of black pulsing under its skin, writhing as if alive. Its head tilted, and the massive creature leaned closer, its maw parting with a low, guttural growl. A warm, fetid wind brushed against Ren’s face, carrying the metallic tang of rot.
“Run!” Linsia’s voice broke the spell, sharp and urgent.
Ren didn’t move. His instincts screamed to act, to fight, to draw on his Crimson Will and carve through the monstrosity. But he hesitated. The beast’s sheer size and power—it could level this entire forest with a sweep of its wings. Even with his Chroma power, he would barely scratch it. His stomach churned, the sting of familiar helplessness biting deeper than fear.
The Kaiju’s mouth opened wider, revealing rows of jagged, obsidian teeth. Its head moved toward them, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the inevitability of its meal. Ren’s pulse hammered in his ears.
Then the ground trembled again, but this time not from the bat. A thunderous impact split the air, sending vibrations up through Ren’s boots. A boulder the size of a small house slammed into the Kaiju’s flank, knocking it sideways with a deafening crash. The beast roared, a sound so deep and resonant that it seemed to shake the very air around them.
Ren stumbled back, his vision swimming from the sheer force of the sound.
“That was Hanumantha,” Linsia said, her voice trembling but firm. “We run. Now.”
Ren nodded, his body moving before his thoughts caught up. He sprinted after her, the forest blurring around them. The earth shifted beneath his feet as they raced over roots and under low-hanging branches. Behind them, the bat Kaiju bellowed, a sound of rage and defiance, followed by the unmistakable crashing of trees.
Ren glanced back. The beast had recovered, its massive wings unfurling as it shook off the debris, its glowing eyes locking onto something away from them.
“Faster!” Linsia shouted.
Ren pushed himself harder, the only thought in his mind: survive.
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Ren’s boots hit the uneven forest floor, roots snagging at his heels, branches clawing at his face. The trees closed in, their shadows stretching and warping under the faint glow of sky. Linsia sprinted just ahead, her breathing sharp and uneven. The roar of the monstrous Cama still echoed behind them, a sound too vast to escape.
Then came the shrill cries—smaller, sharper. Ren glanced up and saw them. A dozen winged shapes darting through the canopy, their forms cutting across the dim light like black blades. The Kaijura swarm.
“They’re on us!” Ren shouted. He reached for his blade, the weight of its hilt grounding him.
“No!” Linsia spun, her expression tight with panic. “We’re not strong enough! There are too many!”
Ren hesitated. The swarm was closing in, wings slicing through the air with a sound like tearing fabric. His muscles coiled, instinct pushing him to fight. But she was right. This wasn’t a battle—they’d be ripped apart by this many.
“Keep running!” Linsia said, already turning back.
Grinding his teeth, Ren tapped into his Cypher Power. The world shifted, colors bleeding away to reveal shapes and movements more vivid than sight. The swarm lit up in his view like embers scattered in a storm—dozens of Kaijura, their movements erratic but coordinated, circling for the kill.
A high-pitched screech tore through the air. The first Kaijura dove, its talons extended, eyes glowing with malice. Ren spun, slashing upward. His blade caught the creature’s wing, sending it spiraling into the trees. The impact shook leaves loose in a cascade of noise.
But more came. Too many. Their cries became a chorus of hunger.
“Ren!” Linsia’s voice snapped him back.
Before he could act, something barreled out of the shadows. A flash of red. Then another. The forest exploded with movement. Monkey-like beings, their fur colored in crimson hues, descended from the canopy and the undergrowth. They wielded crude stone weapons with practiced precision, their leather armor blending into the forest’s gloom.
“Red Yetis. They’re Hanumantha’s devotees!” Linsia shouted over the chaos. Her voice was almost swallowed by the battle as the Yetis collided with the swarm, their guttural war cries echoing through the trees.
One of the Yetis appeared beside them, his broad face marked with ochre streaks. He jabbed a clawed hand forward, speaking in a clipped, guttural tongue. “Follow! Now!”. The urgency in the Yeti’s eyes said enough.
“Go!” Linsia grabbed Ren’s arm, pulling him.
The three sprinted deeper into the forest. Behind them, the clash of stone and wing faded, replaced by the pounding of their footsteps. Ren glanced back only once. The Yetis held their ground, a red storm against the Kaijura swarm. But he didn’t linger.
The forest thickened, the canopy overhead swallowing what little light remained. Their guide pressed on without hesitation, his movements fluid and sure. Ren tightened his grip on his blade, his breaths ragged, his heart still racing.
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Ren’s legs ached as he and Linsia trudged into the village. “Blood Tear Village”, the Yeti said. The name suited the place. It was nestled among ancient ruins, dark blue stone structures covered in creeping vines. Wooden additions sprouted from the stone, rough but functional—huts, bridges, and platforms weaving between the remnants of a forgotten civilization. Smoke rose lazily from a few fires, and Yetis moved about, carrying bundles of wood, tending to fire pits, or sharpening stone tools.
They passed a statue carved from the same blue stone. It depicted a great monkey-like figure, larger and more imposing than the Yetis around them. Ren’s gaze lingered. This wasn’t just a village—it was steeped in something deeper, something ancient.
The male Yeti guiding them stopped and turned. His guttural voice carried a tone of concern. “Injured?”
“No,” Ren said, his voice sharper than intended. He softened. “We’re fine.”
Linsia nodded in agreement, though her face was pale. The Yeti grunted and led them to a structure still intact—four walls and a roof, though one wall bore a gaping hole that served as an entrance. Inside, the air was warm and smelled of earth and fur. Female Yetis were seated within, their forms more slender but unmistakably powerful. Their exposed bodies—features Ren quickly turned his eyes from—hinted at their role in the tribe.
The male Yeti motioned to furs laid on the ground. “Rest. Safe here.”
With a curt nod, he and the others left. Ren let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His shoulders sagged. The silence of the room pressed against him, heavy and unfamiliar. For the first time since arriving on Godwana, he wasn’t running, fighting, or bracing for something worse.
Ren sat on the furs and leaned back against the wall. His body ached, but it was the kind of pain that reminded him he was alive. He glanced at Linsia, who sat cross-legged across from him, her hands rubbing her temples.
“This place…” Ren began, but he stopped, searching for the right words.
“Feels like a moment to breathe?” Linsia finished, her voice soft.
Ren nodded. His hand brushed against his pocket, feeling the crystal hidden there. The teleportation crystal. One touch, and he could be back at the Silver Spire. Safe.
The thought brought a wave of guilt. What am I doing here? He looked at Linsia, her tired yet determined expression framed by black hair and silver strands. His failures back home—the ones that had driven him here—loomed large in his mind. He clenched his jaw. “I should’ve handled that swarm better. I should’ve protected us and fight with them.”
Linsia frowned, tilting her head. “You’re not invincible. Every person has its limits.”
He didn’t respond, his fingers curling into fists. The urge to be stronger gnawed at him. His Chroma powers weren’t enough. He wasn’t enough. If he couldn’t protect Linsia—anyone—what was he even doing here?
“You push too hard,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “I’ve seen it in you since we met. It’s like you think you have to save everyone, no matter the cost.”
Ren looked away, shame prickling at his skin. “If I don’t, who will?” He thought about his mission from the Astral Order.
“You think sacrificing yourself helps anyone? If you’re gone, what then?”
Her words struck deep, forcing him to meet her eyes. In the soft glow of the room, he saw something he hadn’t noticed before. Linsia wasn’t just resilient—she cared, deeply. Her concern wasn’t just about survival; it was for him, as a person.
He let out a slow breath, the tension in his chest loosening. “I… don’t know how to stop. That’s just who I am.”
“Maybe you don’t have to stop,” she said. “But maybe you need to learn how to share the burden.”
Ren nodded, though the weight of her words pressed heavy. He reached for the teleportation crystal again but pulled his hand back. Safety wasn’t what he needed. Strength was.
“I’ll get stronger,” he said, the words a quiet promise to himself.
Linsia smiled faintly, her eyes closing as she leaned back. “Good. Start by resting.”
For the first time, Ren let his body relax. The guilt, the drive, the self-recrimination—they didn’t vanish. But for now, he let them quiet.
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Ren shifted uncomfortably on the fur-covered floor as the chieftain entered. The Yeti leader, a towering figure with gray streaks running through his crimson fur, carried an air of quiet authority. His sharp, golden eyes scanned the room before settling on them. Two female Yetis followed, setting down clay bottles of juice, bowls of vibrant fruits, and a platter of roasted birds that still smelled of smoky wood. The leader waited until they left, then crouched by the fire, his stone-tipped staff resting across his lap.
Yeti
Base Level: 8
Chroma Color: Red
Category: Humanoid Kaijura
Type: Monkey
Notes: Bears the spiritual mark of Hanumantha, tethering his will to the deity’s essence. The bond grants him immunity to external corruption but may render him vulnerable if the patron deity falters.
Passive Abilities: Crimson Mind
“I am Akarvas, Chieftain of Blood Tear Village,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. “And you... are not of this valley.” His gaze lingered on Linsia, then shifted to Ren. “I see Godwana in her. But you…” He sniffed the air, his expression hardening. “You are... other.”
Ren hesitated. He reached for one of the clay bottles but stopped, unsure if it was meant for them. “I’m not from Godwana,” he admitted, meeting Akarvas’s piercing gaze. “I can’t say much about where I’m from, but I’m here to help with the corruption.”
Akarvas grunted, his eyes narrowing. “Help. Words are easy. Prove it with action.”
Linsia stepped in, her voice calm but firm. “We’re searching for the Crystal of Will. I believe its power can save the corrupted Kaiju and protect Hanumantha from the Worm Emperor.”
At the mention of the Worm Emperor, Akarvas spat into the fire, the flames hissing in response. “The Worm Emperor…” His voice rumbled with disdain. “A festering wound upon this land. We Yetis have fought its taint for generations, and now it sends Cama and her brood to finish us.”
“Cama?” Ren asked, glancing at Linsia.
“The Mother of Bats,” Akarvas said, his grip tightening on his staff. “Her magic bends minds. Her brood spreads terror. We are one of the last Yeti villages. The others… gone. Burned, slaughtered, or worse.”
Ren’s chest tightened. He hadn’t realized the extent of the devastation. “And Hanumantha? He’s fighting her?”
Akarvas nodded, his expression grim. “Our patron resists her magic, but it costs him. The Crystal of Will protects him, but its power alone is not enough to end this war. The crystal is somewhere in the heart of this valley. A legend. None have found it.”
Linsia lowered her head, her shoulders sagging. “So it’s just a story…”
“It’s not just a story,” Ren said quickly. He looked to Akarvas. “Someone has to know something. There has to be a way.”
Akarvas’s expression darkened. For a long moment, he was silent, his gaze flickering between the fire and the two strangers. Finally, he sighed. “There is one. A hermit. Older than any Yeti alive. He might know the truth.”
“Where is he?” Linsia asked, a flicker of hope returning to her voice.
“The Hermit of Cragshard Spire,” Akarvas said. “To the north, where the valley meets the cliffs. The winds there cut like knives, and the rocks crumble beneath your feet. It is no place for the weak. And the hermit... hates all. Humans, Kaijura, Yeti alike. If he does not help you, he may kill you.”
Ren exchanged a glance with Linsia. Her fear had faded, replaced by determination. “We’ll find him,” she said.
Akarvas rose to his full height, towering over them. “Then may Hanumantha guide you. You will need his strength.”