“Ghost-5s, Heads of troops, legs of troops, whatever,” Max spoke up, in a domineering, loud voice — echoing throughout the large, empty ground, and the large structures of the stadium.

“and howling, shouting, silent, whatever. All thirteen of you veterans,” Max shouted, “Come at me.”

Captains, majors, the troop leaders watched from the heads of the stadium in perfect silence, yet fiery excitement, for the imminent upheaval.

The thirteen veterans, who had led thousands of wars against the monsters, killing, collecting, guiding, felt their primal, battle instincts rise.

In quiet silence, Dante wearing his medal-laden uniform, heaved a sigh of preparation from his stubble-filled face. He tucked his hand on the side of his belt, and pulled it out, with silent expertise. The belt transformed into a whip. Structures like a spear-tip, stable, yet not interconnected, they floated over a yellow, base energy. Some derivation of 01.

“I’m coming, Sir.” Dante addressed Max, as the land of the stadium shifted. The distance between Max and Dante shortened. Dante vanished, zapping out of view, as Max heard loud, sizzling booms — as if thunder were cutting the air.

He turned to the sound, as in his hands, a sword was produced. Parts connected under the yellow, base energy.

Their weapons collided, as a gush ran through, and the whip wrenched the sword, and it slipped out of Max’s hand.

“Come all of you, fools.” Dante shouted, as he pressed the handle of the whip, guiding it towards the bare-handed Max. His green eye, looked very sweet. The natural, eye-catching face. The one that soothes the soul out of yourself. Yet, Dante noticed his hand reaching before his mouth. Cusped before his lips — where hovered a smile — he blew, as an encompassing, blooming fire appeared out of nowhere.

Dante hurried, and redirected his whip. His face tensed, as the fire contacted his whip. He could control fire, yes, but something this big… he wasn’t sure.

Dante rushed back, as he hurled fire elsewhere with an exaggerated twist.

As the fire veil contracted out of existence — Max had produced spears. Not one, not ten, not hundreds but thousands, sizzling in air — and, now, Dante once again realised, why the Ghost-6s are revered, worshipped, and called Creators. The most valuable asset of this planet, and civilization.

The thirteen leaders produced their weapons. Hoards of spears hurling towards them.

Amidst all this, Max, stood in the middle of the stadium, as the thirteen heads fought with the fighting spears. He exaggeratedly twisted upwards, and bellowed a huge puff out in the air.

Max was single-handedly resisting against everyone of the Heads. Their control of matter, their attacks, their teamwork — everything.

They all looked towards Max.

A large, slithering figure was emerging out of thin air, as the air twisted in violent gushes.

“How does he have that much power!?” A head shouted, under the fierce sounds of rushing air and thundering weapons. She parried three spears running towards her, as she held the fourth one and thrashed it on her sword — breaking it.

“He is the most powerful of the Ghost-6s!” Graniel shouted, “We need to do something, we are getting smacked here.”

They looked towards Max, where the violent gushes had produced a fuming, flying snake, slithering through the air, as it twisted itself in the air and roared.

Its white scales, shimmering under the sun, and its voice pierced through the hearts of the witnessing soldiers.

The thirteen heads looked in unbelievable awe. This wasn’t something anyone could do.

All this long, he had been cancelling their powers. Both the Ghost-6s and Ghost-5s can control the matter. Yet, the Ghost-6s can create, unlike the Ghost-5s.

Not only had Max created thousands of spears, which were fighting the thirteen veterans keeping them at bay. But he had been cancelling all of the thirteen head’s constant struggle to control matter around them, and now he had created a being? Something so mythical and grand?

The roaring snake hovered over the head of the Supreme Head, Max who was standing still. Wearing his burnt, baby cat mask like a patch. In his tall stand, looking charming under the sand swirling all around the ground. Thousands of spears were dancing around him, keeping the thirteen heads at bay.

Soldiers — zillion in numbers — seeing. Witnessing their undefeatable heads being handled from a distance.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

The slight…very slight smile on his face was intact. As he spoke, pointing towards Graniel, who was standing just before him.

“Go.”

His voice was soundless in the rush of thundering sounds, yet the snake reacted in perfect sync.

It flew, slithered and zoomed towards the three heads. The snake growing towards them with the spears was trouble.

Their powers were still being countered — perfectly.

Graniel whispered under his breath, “Fuck this.”

As he vanished, running, and leaped. His body jumping to the top of the stadium structures.

The snake roared, and rushed for a collision — fearlessly.

The other edge, Max was observing Dante. His prowess was annoying. Max knew he was finding it harder to counter their powers, especially Dante.

He produced a bow and arrow, as he pulled the string of it, in a wide push, and thrust it forwards.

The arrow was similar. Not normal. Connected by the same, yellow, base energy.

Dante’s face on the other side was twisted. The spears were being impossible to fight against. Rarely — perhaps once in his life — he had had his powers being countered so furiously.

It all felt like an indomitable mountain, which Dante was feeling every rush in his body to break through.

Suddenly, he noticed the other side. An arrow was hurling towards him.

His face contorted in an ugly expression, and his teeth grit.

“Fuck all of this.” He muttered to himself, as gave the arrow intent, fierce looks. The arrow rushed towards his face, as he sidestepped, and caught it.

His hand sizzled, as smoke rose. “Urrgh!” He bellowed under his breaths, and thrust one end of the arrow. He left it, as it was turning from the force of the thrust.

It faced Max, as he caught it again, and hurled it back towards Max.

Max chuckled. His eye, witnessing the sight, as his spirit was garnering excitement. Perhaps, it was really going to be as interesting as he thought.

He shouted, “Dante!” As he lifted his hand, pointing his finger, and curled it. “Come at me!”

Dante witnessed and zapped off of his place. The arrow reached Max earlier, as he dodged it effortlessly, and turned his eyes towards the rushing Dante.

Cerela, the Head of the Northern-rope troop, witnessed Dante rushing towards Max, and Graniel and four other heads, fighting the massive snake. The other heads, facing the barrage of spears, and arrows. She noticed that perhaps Max has failed to sight her well enough.

The attacks towards her had somehow turned feeble.

She swooped the weapons, thrashing with her large shield on the ground — breaking them.

She vanished from her place, aiming for a moment, an opening, a gap, which could perhaps let them gain advantage.

Of course, she wouldn’t be able to successfully land an attack, but if the control of all the heads were to return. Even for a second. Their constant struggles would definitely uproot the lands, burst this place into cinders and pound even its debris.

All of this would be hard to handle… even for this arrogant Max.

Max dodged Dante’s whip, and held the back of his neck with his right hand. He thrust his hand forward, as Dante lost his posture. A knee from Max was about to land right on his stomach, as Cerela appeared behind Max, thrusting her sword behind his back.

Max noticed her. Startled, slightly. Her presence was somehow unveiled — very much so. As somehow, she had almost slipped from her mind.

If he were to react and create, he wouldn’t be able to counter all of their controls and this small move would turn the tides.

But if he were to turn and face Cerela, Dante had already stably landed a foot on the land, and had prepared his whip for a simultaneous attack.

“What is this shithead?” Cerela, muttered, as if talking to herself, as Max had let her sword land deep inside his abdomen.

It had pierced through. Half of that two metre long sword was emerging from behind his back. Smoke, and the scent of rotting meat was vivid on the scene.

Max had held Cerela by her hand, as he pushed her up. Rolling her over his head, like a doll, he manhandled her towards Dante.

Witnessing this, Dante exclaimed, “Shit.” As he hurriedly retracted his whip to the side.

Cerela landed straight over Dante. As he got pushed back a couple of steps. He didn’t stop, and continued the momentum of being pushed back — nudging Cerela from front of her. He knew this was the perfect opportunity for Max to aim for a frontal attack. Yet, Max was faster.

A frontal kick landed on Dante’s chest. His backwards momentum saved him from the power behind the kick. Yet he was shoved in a menacing push.

He tried to stop his momentum but he went straight to the base of the stadium, crumbling its metal walls.

Max brandished the sword on his hand, as he pulled it out of his stomach. Blood spurted like a waterfall. The sand beneath him was soaked red.

All the soldiers, horrified.

“Take your powers back.” He muttered, as he thrust his hand into an exaggerated push.

“Run away, Soldiers.” He spoke, which was somehow carried throughout the space, like an announcement.

The witnessing soldiers realised, as the captains shoved the soldiers out of their tensed stances.

“Run, fly away.” They shouted.

As Max’s hand landed, the whole stadium twisted and lifted like waves. The injured monster flailed as it began to grow bigger, and bigger and bigger.

The thirteen soldiers realised they had garnered the control back. And suddenly, large fumes of fire burst from the ground towards the monster.

The white scales of the monster began to rot as it shrieked.

The spears began to crumble in tattered pieces. The spare energy booming throughout the space like bombing fireworks.

All the thirteen heads flew towards Max who was hovering above the shifting land somehow, eyeing all of them together.

His blue court had turned dark, and red. The lower of it, tattered.

His baby cat mask was intact, and still covering one of his eyes.