Mel, Renita, and Elowen huddled inside a vast cave a few yards away from the cabin. Mel meticulously crafted a flag, weaving it with threads of his electric webs. The final product bore the initials R.E.M., bold and gleaming. He wrapped it around a sturdy stick and proudly planted it into the ground.

"Not a fan of that name…" Renita muttered to Elowen.

"Just let him have his moment," Elowen whispered back, and the two exchanged stifled giggles.

Mel stood tall, gazing dramatically at the sun. "REM! REM! REM!" he chanted, fists raised triumphantly.

Renita shook her head, barely hiding her amusement. “Alright, let’s talk strategy—and lucky for you two, I already planned it out.” She held up a neatly written piece of paper, earning an enthusiastic hug from Mel.

“I’m so lucky to have you on my team!” Mel said with excitement as he wrapped his arms around her.

Renita smirked, keeping her arms at her sides. “Yeah, you are. Now focus. Here’s the breakdown: Mel, you’re our flag seeker. With your skills—no offense, Elowen—you’re the best choice to locate the enemy base and capture their flag. Elowen, you’re on flag protection. Stay here and guard our flag with your life; make sure no one even gets close. I’ll take the midfield role. I’ll make snowball ammo, create distractions, and act as a diversion when needed.”

Meanwhile, on Sera’s team, their base was strategically perched on a cliff overlooking the cabin, offering a clear vantage point. Their flag, however, was unconventional.

“Can I get my shirt back?” Lincoln asked, shivering slightly as he tried to cover his lean frame.

“Nope,” Sera replied nonchalantly, tying his shirt around a stick and planting it firmly in the ground.

“That’s not even a flag…” Lincoln muttered under his breath, but Sera ignored him, already assigning roles. “I’ll be the flag getter,” she announced confidently. “Lincoln, scout the area for other flags—stealth is your job. Lumi, you’re on defense. With your magic, you can keep snow coming nonstop. That’ll give us the edge if anyone gets close.”

Before anyone could protest, Sera clapped her hands. “Let’s move!” And just like that, they split up to execute her plan.

On Arid’s team, things weren’t going as smoothly. Their base was set underground, and tensions were already high.

“Why do I have to be bait?!” Jake muttered, his voice wavering with frustration.

“Because you’re the weakest!” Arid snapped, groaning as he rubbed his temples. “I’m not risking my win on your no-magic ass!”

Lance, trying to diffuse the tension, stood up and began crafting snowballs methodically. “Look, Arid, you’re being way too bossy. This is supposed to be fun. Just chill out.”

“Chill out?!” Arid spun around, his frustration boiling over. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to lose to Elowen? Again?! No thanks! Just do your damn job!”

Without waiting for a response, Arid stormed out of the base, leaving Jake and Lance to exchange a look of disbelief. “This is gonna be a long game…” Jake muttered.

Meanwhile, Mel rolled behind a rock, swiftly packing snowballs as he scanned the landscape. "Where are these bases?" he muttered under his breath. Suddenly, the air hissed as something whizzed past him. He instinctively flipped sideways, narrowly avoiding a snowball.

Mel’s eyes narrowed as he noticed the snowball was attached to a vine, which retracted back toward its thrower. He ducked under its path, grabbed a nearby stick, and sliced through the vine with a sharp, precise motion.

A shadow loomed overhead, and Mel turned just in time to see Arid descending from the air, staff raised high. The staff, intricately marked with vines, seemed to pulse with energy. Mel sidestepped, letting Arid's strike slam harmlessly into the ground.

Clasping his hands together, Mel pulled them apart, generating glowing electric webs between his fingers. He shifted into a fluid, balanced stance.

"What is that?" Arid scoffed, balancing effortlessly on his staff with both feet planted, leaning forward like a meditative monk. "Some kind of web kung fu?"

Mel chuckled, his stance steady, electric webs shimmering between his hands. "Not a bad name," he replied with a smirk. "Web kung fu... string Chun."

Without warning, Mel flicked his wrist, launching a web strand above himself as he angled for the perfect strike. He snapped the strand forward, aiming a powerful blow at Arid. Arid deflected the attack with a spin of his staff, redirecting the momentum before countering with a sharp jab to Mel’s gut.

"Sticky Palm Strike!" Mel shouted as he retaliated with a glowing palm strike infused with electric webbing. The shock sent a jolt through Arid, stunning him momentarily and causing him to stumble backward.

"Are you seriously making up names as you go?!" Arid growled, shaking off the stun as he kipped up, his frustration mounting.

Mel grinned. "You forgot something," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "It’s a snowball fight, not a duel."

Before Arid could react, a snowball hit him square in the chest. He roared in frustration, brushing the snow off as he stomped back towards a resting place, muttering curses under his breath.

Meanwhile, in the cabin, Rue and Caius sat in the living room, the crackling fire filling the silence between them. Rue tilted her head, studying Caius. "So, Caius, are you weaker than your sisters, Sera and Lumi? I just wonder because ya know, you usually let them guide your decisions." she asked, her tone curious.

Caius gave her a blank stare, saying nothing as usual.

Before Rue could press him, Shenelle bounded over the couch, landing gracefully and resting her head on Caius’s chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. "No," she said matter-of-factly. "He asked me to suppress his powers a long time ago."

Rue arched an eyebrow. "And why would he do that?"

Shenelle glanced up at Caius, silently seeking permission to continue. He gave a subtle nod, his expression unreadable.

"Well," Shenelle began, her voice softening, "when Caius was a kid, he shapeshifted into a wolf for the first time... and lost control. He... he ate his parents."

Rue’s eyes widened, a mix of shock and sympathy flashing across her face.

Shenelle continued, her gaze fixed on the fire. "The trauma broke him. He hasn’t spoken since that day. Only we can really understand him now. Eventually, he came to me and asked me to lock away his full shapeshifting magic. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing control like that again."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of Shenelle’s words settling over them like a shroud. Rue looked at Caius, her usual playful demeanor replaced with something quieter, more reflective. "I see," she murmured. "That must’ve taken a lot of strength."

Caius didn’t respond, but for a brief moment, his eyes met Rue’s, and she thought she saw a flicker of something—gratitude, or maybe just acknowledgment.

“Hey! What if we did something fun, like a jigsaw puzzle?” she suggested, her excitement bubbling over.

Shenelle and Caius exchanged amused glances before chuckling. “If you think jigsaw puzzles are fun,” Shenelle said with a smirk, “then we have very different definitions of fun.”

Meanwhile, Jake was busy sculpting a snowman, patting down its lopsided head with care. Arid stormed over, his footsteps crunching against the snow. “Jake, what in the frozen hell are you doing?!” he barked, exasperation dripping from his voice.

Jake let out a long sigh, glancing at Arid without breaking his rhythm. “Technically, I’m making ammo,” he replied nonchalantly, sticking a twig arm onto the snowman.

Arid dragged a hand down his face, muttering something unintelligible. Just then, a snowball slammed into the side of his head with a satisfying thwack.

“Dammit!” Arid roared, clutching his temple. “That was an iceball!” He glared around for the culprit, while Jake shrugged and adjusted the snowman’s crooked grin.

Arid grabbed Jake by the collar, his voice sharp with frustration. “Do you even want to play this game?!”

Jake shoved him off, his tone equally heated. “I do! But I’m not going to be your bait, you jealous control freak!”

Before things could escalate, Lance sprinted over, wedging himself between them with outstretched arms. “Chill out! What’s wrong with you two? We’re all supposed to be friends!”

Arid glared past Lance, pointing an accusing finger at Jake. “You came to me, remember? You asked me to help you work out. Now you won’t even listen to me?!”

Jake’s eyebrow shot up, his expression a mix of disbelief and anger. “You came to me and said I needed to get stronger! You realize nobody even expected you to come, right? Mel’s just nice to everyone—that’s why you’re here. No one here is actually friends with you. You think helping with the wardens makes us close? You’re delusional! You’re nothing but a damn control freak, and I’m done with you!”

Jake’s voice trembled with emotion as he turned on his heel, leaving Arid stunned in the snow.

At Mel's base, Elowen sat near the electric-webbed flag Mel had crafted, her eyes scanning the snowy terrain outside the cave. A faint snap of a stick caught her attention. She spotted Lincoln creeping closer, his movements cautious but determined. Picking up a snowball, she stepped out of the cave with a sly grin.

“Like shooting fish in a barrel,” she muttered, winding up her throw.

But then, another crunch of snow sounded behind her.

“You’re right,” a voice said.

Elowen turned just in time to see Sera smirking before she was bombarded by a flurry of snowballs, each strike knocking her off balance.

“Alright, get the flag,” Sera commanded.

Lincoln, emboldened, rushed into the cave and reached for the flag. The moment his hand touched the webbing, a jolt of electricity shot through him.

“ACK!” he yelped, stumbling back as sparks danced across his hand.

Sera facepalmed. “Seriously, Lincoln? You didn’t think Mel would booby-trap it?”

Lincoln growled as he transformed into a towering werewolf, his fangs gleaming as he clamped down on the stick holding the flag. With a powerful leap, he and Sera bolted toward the cliff where their base was perched, snow kicking up in their wake.

Elowen burst out of the snowbank, shaking off the frost and yelling at the top of her lungs, “They got our flag!”

Renita, who had been concealed in the branches of a nearby tree, narrowed her eyes as the commotion reached her ears. “No, they don’t,” she muttered, a confident smirk spreading across her face. "Not when one of us is from the Vampire Crypt's Runners clan."

In a blur of speed, she darted from her hiding spot, her feet barely touching the ground as she pursued the fleeing duo. With a fluid motion, she leaped into the air, twisting mid-spin as she hurled two snowballs.

One struck Lincoln squarely in the side, knocking him off course and sending the flag tumbling from his jaws. The other smacked into Sera’s hair, splattering it with frost and stopping her in her tracks.

Sera scowled, brushing snow from her head. “Did you seriously just aim for my hair?!”

“Priorities,” Renita quipped, landing gracefully, her breath visible in the cold air as she assessed the situation. Without hesitation, she snatched the fallen flag from the snow and dashed back toward their base, her movements swift and precise, like a predator on the hunt.

Bursting into the cave, Renita planted the flag back into its holder and turned to Elowen, who was still brushing snow off her coat. “Alright, we need to hunker down,” Renita declared. “They’re actively targeting us now, and if they’re smart, they won’t stop coming. But we have one advantage—they don’t know where Mel is, and that guy’s practically a one-man army.”

Elowen nodded, still catching her breath. “I’ll reinforce the entrance,” she said, grabbing a nearby pile of snow and shaping it into a barricade. “If they try to come through here again, they’re getting an avalanche in the face.”

Jake stormed through the forest, his breath coming in sharp bursts as he tried to calm the storm raging inside him. His fists clenched and unclenched, his thoughts a tangled mess. "I finally stood up to Arid," he muttered, his voice shaky. "But why don’t I feel any better about it? Is it because of his childhood? His father? Why does it feel like I’m the bad guy here?" He let out a frustrated sigh, kicking at a snowdrift before leaning against a tree, his shoulders slumping.

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That’s when he noticed movement up ahead. Peering through the frost-covered trees, Jake saw Mel crouched between two sturdy pines. He was stringing electric webs between them, creating what looked like an enormous slingshot loaded with snowballs. Mel grinned as he gave the webbing a test pull.

"Sorry, Jake!" Mel called with a laugh, releasing a shot that sent a barrage of snowballs flying toward some unseen target.

Jake raised his hands in surrender and stepped forward. “Wait! Don’t shoot—I’m not here to fight.”

Mel paused, tilting his head in curiosity. “What’s up?”

Jake sighed heavily. “I…I want to join your team. Arid and I…we got into it.” He avoided Mel’s eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t think I can go back to him.”

Mel straightened, his usual playful demeanor softening. “You okay? What happened?”

Jake hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I finally called him out—for everything. The way he treats people, how he pushes everyone away. But instead of feeling good about it, I feel…awful. I know he’s got his issues, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s unbearable sometimes.”

Mel gave a thoughtful nod, stepping away from his slingshot and leaning casually against a tree. “Arid’s…complicated,” he admitted. “But standing up for yourself? That takes guts. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you did.”

Jake glanced up, a small flicker of relief crossing his face. “Thanks. So…does this mean I’m in?”

Mel playfully ruffled Jake’s hair. “Yep,” he said with a grin, only to suddenly duck as a snowball whizzed past him, striking Jake square in the face.

Jake groaned, wiping snow off his cheeks, as a voice called out. “Good job taking that hit, Jake, but I wasn’t aiming for you.” Lance stepped out from behind a tree, cracking his knuckles with a mischievous smirk.

Mel looked between them, feigning shock. “Jake! You’ve betrayed me?!”

Jake shrugged and flopped onto the snowy ground, his voice dripping with mock indifference. “Yeah, but not for Arid—for Lance's revenge.”

Mel’s eyes narrowed as he turned his attention to Lance. “Lance?! You dare betray your sensei?!”

Lance scoffed and crossed his arms. “Sensei? Please. You destroyed my car, Mel!”

"So it’s like that, huh?" Mel smirked, settling into his Web Chun stance. "The students think they can surpass the master." Lance mirrored his stance, an eager gleam in his eyes.

"Luckily for me," Lance grinned, "you can’t use your cloud martial art, and your web magic is still pretty basic. But I did learn a few tricks from you, didn’t I?"

With that, Lance lunged forward, throwing a lightning-fast punch hidden beneath a cloud of mist. But without Mel’s cloud-infused magic, the punch lacked its usual power and effect, leaving only the strike itself to land.

Mel’s eyes narrowed, and in an instant, he caught Lance’s wrist in a web. He pulled, using the momentum against him, and with a sharp twist, forced Lance to punch himself in the jaw.

Lance yanked at his arm, but Mel swiftly trapped his other limb with a web, forcing him to slap himself across the face. "As a master, it’s my job to humble my students," Mel said with a chuckle, watching Lance struggle to break free.

Jake, standing off to the side, watched the scene unfold and couldn't help but smile. "Mel's come a long way since that first day. Back then, he was just a kid trying to fit in after everything that happened in Caldara. Now, he's... more goofy and has friends."

After a few more moments of struggle, Lance finally slumped in defeat, webbed securely to a nearby tree. "Alright, alright, I learned my lesson! Can you let me go now?" he groaned, wriggling in his webbed prison.

Mel glanced back with a smirk. "A lesson for my student," he said, and with a lighthearted chuckle, he walked off, leaving Lance to stew in his own misfortune.

After the capture-the-flag game, the nine trudged into the cabin, brushing off snow and shaking their hair free of icy flakes. Laughter and chatter bubbled among them as they basked in the sudden warmth of the room. Their attention shifted to the cozy living area, where Caius, Rue, and Shenelle lounged on the couches, a movie playing softly in the background. Shenelle lazily reached for another handful of popcorn, while Rue glanced up from her spot.

“Who won?” Rue asked casually, raising an eyebrow.

Mel wrapped his arms protectively around Elowen, who was shivering in his embrace. “There… there was a snowstorm,” she murmured through chattering teeth.

Sera yawned, stretching lazily. “Yeah, it got so cold my temporary warmth spell couldn’t keep up. Poor Elowen got sick because of it.”

“We won, though,” Renita said nonchalantly, plopping onto a chair. “We snagged Arid’s flag and brought it back to base.”

Arid clicked his tongue in annoyance, shooting her a glare before stalking off to his room without a word.

“I’m gonna get Elowen to bed,” Mel said softly, his voice laced with concern. “She needs to warm up.” He gently guided her toward their room, while the others dispersed, heading to their own rooms to clean up and unwind.

Inside the room, Mel laid Elowen down carefully, tucking the blankets snugly around her trembling form. She clung to him instinctively, her cold fingers gripping his shirt. “M-Mel…” she whispered, her voice frail.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he said soothingly, adjusting the blankets and holding her close to warm her up.

Elowen shook her head weakly. “No… look.” She fumbled with her black card and handed it to him.

Mel’s brow furrowed as he activated the hologram. His heart sank when a news report blinked into view, the headline bold and ominous: Bloodthorn News: Former King Vladimir Dracula Pronounced Murdered; His only son Dorian Dracula Ascends to the Throne.

Mel read it aloud, his voice low and serious. “This is Dorian’s kingdom…”

“This is why he didn’t come… poor Dorian,” Elowen sobbed, burying her face in Mel’s shirt. Her tears soaked into the fabric as her body trembled, not just from the cold but from grief.

Mel’s expression darkened as his eyes scanned the last part of the headline. Bloodthorn News: Dorian Dracula Declares Himself Dictator of Bloodthorn Dominion.

He tightened his grip on the card, scrolling through the accompanying details with a grim intensity. The report listed the oppressive measures Dorian had implemented since taking the throne:

Excessive Taxation: Dorian levied crushing taxes on his people, targeting farmers and merchants the hardest. Many were forced to sell their land or close their businesses to meet his demands.

Restricted Freedom: A curfew had been enforced across the Dominion, with severe punishments for those caught outside after dark. Public gatherings were banned unless they were state-approved.

Militarization: Dorian had doubled the size of the military, conscripting men and women without warning. Those who refused were labeled traitors and sent to labor camps.

Censorship: The once-vibrant free press of Bloodthorn had been silenced. Only government-approved news, like the very report Mel was reading, was allowed to circulate.

Luxury at the Top: Dorian had refurbished the royal palace with lavish excess, while the people starved and struggled. His elite circle lived in opulence, immune to the suffering outside.

Mel clenched his jaw, the words on the hologram burning into his mind. “This isn’t the Dorian I know… What happened to him?”

Elowen sniffled, pulling back slightly to look at him. “He’s hurting, Mel. He’s lost so much—his father, his kingdom’s respect. He’s drowning in it, and now he’s taking it out on everyone else.”

Mel’s hands curled into fists, his knuckles turning white. “He didn’t need to do this. There were other ways. This is…” He exhaled sharply, his voice lowering to a growl. “This is wrong.”

Mel’s head snapped toward her, his eyes blazing with a rare fury. “Our friend?!” he barked, his voice sharp and unyielding. “He’s being a terrible king, Elowen! He’s hurting his people! I can’t forgive him for that!”

The room seemed to shrink under the weight of his anger. His hands shook as he thought of the destruction a tyrant could bring, and his mind flashed to his father, Merlin. The man who had brought kingdoms to their knees, who had ruled not with wisdom but with fear and cruelty.

Mel pushed himself to his feet, his movements tense and deliberate. Elowen shifted to the edge of the bed, concern etched across her face. “Mel—” she began, but he cut her off with a curt wave of his hand.

“I need… I need to take a walk,” he muttered, his voice low and strained.

Without another word, he strode to the door, yanking it open and stepping out. The sharp slam reverberated through the room, the force rattling the walls and causing the lights to flicker in protest.

Everyone saw Mel storm out of the house, they knew something was wrong with him and Elowen walked out, still wearing a blanket, tear stained cheeks. She explained what was going on with Dorian and his new dictating.

“Damn it, everyone but me gets to be a king!” Arid groaned, burying his face into a pillow.

Renita glanced around, her brow furrowed. “So… is the trip over?”

Shenelle shook her head, reclining lazily on the couch. “I don’t think you kids should stop having fun just because someone decides to play bad king.” She waved a dismissive hand, though her tone carried a faint edge of reassurance.

Despite her words, the students exchanged uneasy glances.

Sensing the tension, Shenelle stretched and added, “Hey, lighten up. There’s plenty to do here at the resort—skiing, good restaurants, scenic trails. And with the moon out, it’d make for some pretty great views. Why not enjoy it while we can?”

Meanwhile, Melanthius stood at the edge of the ocean, the waves lapping softly against the shore as he gazed at the moonlit horizon. Rue wheeled over to him, her voice gentle. “Mel, are you okay?”

Mel didn’t look at her right away. Instead, his eyes stayed fixed on the glowing moon. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, forcing a smile as he turned toward her. But the tearstains on his cheeks betrayed him.

Rue studied him carefully. “Maren was a terrible king, and you had to stop him. You nearly killed him, didn’t you? And now… you’re afraid.”

Mel’s gaze fell, his shoulders heavy with unspoken weight. “I might have to do the same to Dorian,” he admitted quietly.

Rue wheeled closer as he walked over to her and kneeled at her side. “Come on, you big idiot,” she murmured, her voice softening as she cradled his head in her lap, running her fingers gently through his hair. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

Mel stood and stretched, forcing a small smile. “I need to head to Atlantis for a bit,” he said, and with a mighty leap, he dived headfirst into the water. The ocean embraced him, and as he floated downward, the shimmering beauty of Atlantis revealed itself like a dream. Its coral-covered towers and glowing streets were a masterpiece of the sea.

“I really need to appreciate this place more,” he thought, his gaze lingering on the underwater kingdom. He landed gracefully in the heart of the city, and immediately, the Atlanteans gathered around, bowing and greeting him as their king.

“Excuse me! Pardon me!” Mel said with a polite wave, weaving through the crowd. He made his way to the grand, yet weathered, castle that stood as a relic of Atlantis’ history. Reaching the castle doors, he pulled out a key and inserted it into the lock. The doors creaked open, revealing the faded grandeur of the interior—a haunting mix of splendor and decay.

Mel walked through the halls, his footsteps echoing softly until he reached a modest room. Inside, Maren, the son of Triton and the dethroned former king of Atlantis, lay resting. Maren opened one eye as Mel entered.

“What now?” Maren muttered, his tone laced with irritation. “I helped you deal with the wardens. You let me stay here. What do you need this time?”

Mel sighed heavily, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed. “Dorian’s father is dead,” he said, rubbing his knees as if trying to soothe the weight of the news. “I think Michelangelo killed him.”

Maren sat up, his expression darkening. “Michelangelo,” he repeated, venom in his voice. “He killed my father, Dorian’s, and who knows how many others. You’ve already told me he’s taken down multiple kings across Auroria. I fought him once, and—” he gestured to his scarred arms and bruised body—“well, this is what’s left of me.”

Mel looked down, his voice quiet but strained. “Do you think I could beat him?”

Maren shook his head immediately. “Hell no. Didn’t you tell me his sister knocked you out cold the last time you faced her? You can’t beat him, Melanthius.”

“Beat him?” Mel muttered, shaking his head. “I can’t even find him. And if I don’t, more people are going to die.” His gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders heavy with frustration. “It seems the answers I need are hidden in the Capital of Sins—the Wrath Kingdom, Lust Kingdom, Sloth Kingdom, Envy Kingdom, Greed Kingdom, Pride Kingdom, and Gluttony Kingdom. Seven kingdoms, seven sins... and a lot of work for these hands.”

He held out his palms, letting his magic awaken. A soft, swirling cloud formed in one hand, crackling with energy, while his lightning web flickered in the other. Then, for a moment, the black lightning sparked to life, dancing between his fingers like a storm waiting to erupt.

“I’m tired of fighting,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “But if fighting means protecting the people I care about, I’ll do it—again and again. Because that’s what it means to be a man. Anyone can protect their loved ones, but not everyone has the strength to end the danger once and for all.”

The black lightning crackled louder, reflecting his unyielding determination. “And that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

“Wait, did you say the Capital of Sins?” Maren asked, his brow furrowing deeply. “When I was digging for answers about Michelangelo, I heard about that place. It’s worse than bad—it’s a nightmare. The Gates of Knights are brutal, and the kingdoms are in constant chaos. There’s no peace, no alliances, nothing but war.”

He leaned forward, his tone grave. “If a knight from Wrath so much as crosses paths with one from Lust, it’s a fight to the death. No questions, no hesitation—just bloodshed. And the kings? They’re the worst of all because no one even knows who they are. They operate in the shadows, faceless and untouchable.”

Maren’s voice lowered, almost a whisper. “It’s a land where survival comes before everything. Even answers.”

“How do they even sustain their kingdoms? Where does the money come from?” Mel asked, his brows furrowing as he considered the chaotic state Maren had described.

Maren leaned back, crossing his arms with a bitter chuckle. “You’d be surprised. Most of their wealth comes from the suffering of others. The Capital of Sins thrives on exploitation. They trade in blood money—selling slaves, illegal artifacts, rare resources from forbidden lands, and even stolen treasures from other kingdoms. Lust deals in human trafficking and forbidden pleasures. Greed has its hands in black-market trades and extortion. Wrath profits off war itself, selling weapons, mercenaries, and chaos to anyone willing to pay.”

He paused, his expression darkening further. “They’ve turned sin into an economy. The more they fuel their depravity, the more their coffers overflow. But it’s not just trade—it’s taxes too. The people in those kingdoms? They’re crushed under impossible taxes, forced to pay tribute to rulers who don’t even care if they live or die. Entire families starve while the kings revel in luxury.”

Mel clenched his fists, black lightning flickering faintly around his fingertips. “So, they thrive by stepping on everyone else. It’s disgusting.”

Maren nodded grimly. “That’s why it’s so hard to bring them down. The kingdoms are built like fortresses, fueled by fear and greed. And even if one king falls, another takes their place, often worse than the last.”

Mel’s eyes burned with determination. “Then it’s not just about stopping Michelangelo. If the Capital of Sins is connected to him in any way, I’ll tear it apart piece by piece. No one should have to live like that.”

Maren sighed, his expression weary. “Just be careful. You’re talking about taking on seven kingdoms full of the worst kind of people. That’s not a fight—it’s a war.”

“If Lust thrives on human trafficking and forbidden pleasures, Greed dominates the black markets and extortion, and Wrath profits from war, selling weapons and chaos to anyone with coin—then how do Pride, Sloth, Gluttony, and Envy sustain themselves?” Mel asked, his voice heavy with both curiosity and frustration. He exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair as he tried to piece the puzzle together.

Maren’s lips twisted into a grim smile. “Each kingdom profits differently, but they all follow the same rule—exploitation. Pride feeds off vanity and status. They run exclusive arenas and competitions, making nobles and warriors pay obscene amounts to prove they’re the best or just to watch. They tax their people heavily and convince them it’s for the glory of their kingdom. It’s all a scam to fuel their king’s ego.”

“Sloth,” he continued, shaking his head, “makes its wealth through inaction—by outsourcing their labor. They enslave or heavily exploit the desperate, forcing them to work while their nobles and rulers lounge around in luxury. Imagine an entire kingdom of people taxed just to keep the laziest in comfort.”

“Gluttony,” Maren said, a bitter chuckle escaping him, “profits through excess and overconsumption. They control food supplies and luxuries, hoarding resources and selling them at inflated prices. They even manipulate other kingdoms into famine or drought so they can rake in profits by ‘saving’ them. All while their people waste away from overindulgence.”

“And Envy?” Mel pressed, his brow furrowing.

“Envy thrives on jealousy and sabotage,” Maren replied, his voice darkening. “They profit by undermining others—spreading lies, stealing secrets, and selling information to the highest bidder. Their people are trained to distrust each other, creating a culture of backstabbing. The kingdom itself is like a web of spies, with their rulers at the center, profiting off the chaos they create.”

Mel sighed again, the weight of it all settling heavily on his shoulders. “So, they all prey on the weak and the desperate, using sin itself as currency.”

“Exactly,” Maren said gravely. “And that’s why no one has ever been able to stop them. They’re not just kingdoms—they’re parasites, feeding on everything and everyone around them.”

“Hey, the school’s reopening soon, you know,” Mel said, offering a hopeful smile. “Maybe I can get you a spot. You’re my age, aren’t you?”

Maren looked down, his clawed, scaly fingers fidgeting as his expression darkened. “I can’t,” he muttered, his voice laced with regret. “I’ve brought too much shame to too many people. I can’t just walk back into humanity’s world and pretend I belong.” He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. “I’ll end this my way—kill Michelangelo and be done with it.”