The mountain road twisted like a serpent through the darkness, flanked on one side by jagged cliffs and on the other by a sheer drop into the abyss below. It was an old road, cracked and weathered by decades of neglect, once part of a trade route before the wars rendered it obsolete. Now, nature had begun reclaiming it—vines coiled around rusting guardrails, and deep potholes gaped like old wounds in the asphalt. Some sections had crumbled away entirely, leaving nothing but fractured edges overlooking the mist-drowned cliffs overlooking sea below. The night was starless, moonless—a void swallowing everything except for the blinding headlights cutting through the mist.

Then, breaking the silence, an engine roared.

A battered pickup truck tore through the crumbling asphalt, its tires screaming against the sharp curves.  Inside, four figures braced themselves against the violent lurches. The driver, Dante, gritted his teeth as he yanked the wheel, dodging a pothole large enough to swallow them whole. His knuckles turned white against the leather grip.

“Hold on!” he barked, sweat trickling down his temple.

In the truck bed, Kester, a lean young swordsman with a bloodstained bandage around his forearm, clung to the side rails, scanning the road behind them. His other hand gripped the hilt of his twin short blades, the steel humming as they rattled in their sheathes.

Beside him, Maria, a young woman with fierce eyes and a protective stance, clutched the trembling twelve-year-old girl huddled against her chest. The child’s small hands gripped a glowing wooden box, its eerie light flickering with each jolt of the truck. Maria whispered something, her voice barely audible over the wind.

“It’s alright, anak. Don’t let go of the box. No matter what happens.”

The girl nodded, her lips quivering.

Behind them, their pursuers closed in.

Two black SUVs tore through the road like hungry wolves, their engines howling. Figures in dark robes hung out of the windows, rifles raised. Muzzle flashes erupted in the night, bullets hammering into the truck’s rusted metal. Sparks exploded where the rounds struck, some punching through the thin walls of the vehicle.

“Shit! They’re gaining!” Kester snarled, drawing his blades.

“I see it!” Dante growled.

Further above, a helicopter loomed—a sleek black silhouette against the sky. A spotlight flicked on, its beam cutting across the trees, searching, hunting.

Maria tightened her hold on the child. “We’re running out of time. We need a way out!”

Kester’s jaw clenched. “No roads. No exits. We keep driving, or we fight.”

“Then we fight.”

The girl gasped as the light from the box pulsed, as if sensing the tension.

Then, from the shadows of the speeding convoy— death came for them.

A motorcycle roared forward, slipping between the SUVs with inhuman precision. The rider was clad entirely in black, his long coat billowing behind him like a torn banner. His face was hidden beneath a hood, but the silver cross-shaped emblem on his chest gleamed under the headlights.

Maria inhaled sharply. “The Flock of the Redeemer.”

Kester stiffened. “An executioner.”

The black-clad priest unsheathed a blade—a long, curved sword, its polished surface reflecting the truck’s taillights like a river of blood. With a single, fluid motion, he leapt from the motorcycle—soaring through the air like a specter of the night.

Then, he landed.

On the roof of their speeding truck.

The steel groaned under his weight. The girl whimpered.

Kester reacted first, scrambling up onto the truck bed, his swords flashing in the dark.

Dante’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Get that bastard off my truck!”

Then, the priest raised his blade.

And hell descended upon them.

The black-clad priest crouched low on the roof of the speeding truck, his sword gleaming in the headlights of the pursuing SUVs. His presence alone was suffocating—an executioner of the Flock of the Redeemer, a cult of zealots who killed in the name of their nameless god.

Kester didn’t wait for him to strike. He leapt onto the roof in one smooth motion, twin short swords flashing as he slashed at the priest’s legs.

Clang!

The priest twisted away, his blade meeting Kester’s with a shower of sparks. The force of the block sent a deep vibration through Kester’s arms, but he gritted his teeth and pressed forward.

“Kester! Hold on!” Maria called from below, shielding the girl.

The priest answered with silence. His movements were precise, deliberate, each step perfectly balanced against the truck’s violent swerves. His long coat billowed in the wind, making him seem almost spectral.

Then—he struck.

A downward slash aimed to split Kester in two.

Kester barely dodged, rolling across the roof as the sword bit into the metal, carving a deep groove. The truck lurched as Dante swerved to avoid another hail of gunfire, sending both fighters stumbling.

The priest recovered first. With inhuman agility, he lunged, his blade flashing toward Kester’s throat.

Kester crossed his swords, catching the strike between the twin blades. The force sent him skidding backward, the edge of the roof now dangerously close.

"You're skilled, but reckless," the priest murmured, voice eerily calm. "A soldier, not a warrior. You lack faith."

Kester's eyes narrowed. "Faith won’t save you from this."

He twisted his grip, trapping the priest’s blade between his own. With a quick pivot, he drove a knee into the priest’s ribs—a brutal, unrestrained blow.

The priest exhaled sharply but did not fall. Instead, his free hand lashed out, grabbing Kester by the throat.

Before Kester could react, he was airborne.

The priest hurled him off the truck.

For a split second, Kester saw only darkness. Then, his back slammed onto the hood of a pursuing SUV. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, the metal denting under his weight.

Inside the SUV, the driver’s eyes widened in horror.

Kester, still dazed, barely had time to react before the priest leapt after him—his sword descending like the hand of God.

The blade sliced down, but Kester twisted at the last moment. Metal screeched as the sword carved into the SUV’s hood, inches from Kester’s head.

The car veered wildly, tires screeching.

Dante, still gripping the wheel of the truck, caught the scene through the rearview mirror and spat a curse. "This is going to shit!"

Maria’s grip tightened on the child, her breath sharp. “We have to help him!”

Before she could move, a deafening impact shook the truck.

Dante’s eyes widened.

Something had collided with them. Hard.

The truck lurched sideways, the steering wheel jerking violently in his hands. The rear tires screamed, the vehicle fishtailing.

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Ahead—a herd of cattle wandered onto the road.

Dante’s heart plummeted.

“HOLD ON!”

Maria barely had time to throw herself over the child before the truck plowed into the animals.

A sickening crunch of bone and metal.

The impact sent the truck into a wild spin. The world turned into a blur of movement and sound—gunfire, screeching tires, the distant thumping of helicopter blades.

Then—the road disappeared.

The truck soared over the edge of the cliff.

And the night swallowed them whole.

For a heartbeat, there was only silence.

The truck hung in the air, weightless, as if time itself had frozen. Then, gravity took hold.

The world tilted as the vehicle plummeted off the cliff. Wind roared in their ears, the headlights casting a fleeting glow on the jagged rocks far below.

Inside the cabin, Dante fought the wheel, but there was nothing to steer. His breath came in sharp gasps, muscles tensed for the inevitable impact.

In the truck bed, Maria wrapped herself around the girl, shielding her with her own body. The child's terrified whimper was drowned by the howling wind.

Kester, still on the SUV’s hood, could only watch as the truck vanished into the abyss.

His stomach twisted. Maria… the girl…

But he had no time to mourn.

The priest, still standing atop the SUV, ripped his sword free from the hood and raised it high.

Kester’s body reacted before his mind could catch up. He rolled to the side, just as the blade slammed down where he had been. The impact shattered the windshield, sending glass into the screaming driver’s face.

The SUV swerved wildly, tires screeching.

Kester’s hands shot out, gripping the edge of the roof. With a burst of strength, he hauled himself up, flipping over the priest’s next strike.

He landed, both swords flashing in a deadly arc.

The priest twisted, but not fast enough. Kester’s blade carved a deep gash across his shoulder, blood spraying into the night air.

For the first time, the priest’s mask of calm cracked. He exhaled sharply, his stance shifting.

“You fight well, boy. But you fight for the wrong side.”

Kester glared, panting. “And you’re just another bastard with a god complex.”

The priest smirked. “Then let’s see if your will is stronger than mine.”

Before Kester could react, the priest thrust his palm forward.

A shockwave of force exploded from his hand, hitting Kester square in the chest.

Kester flew backward, tumbling off the SUV. The night swallowed him as he disappeared over the cliff’s edge.

The priest sheathed his sword. One down.

He turned his gaze toward the abyss, where the truck had vanished. The wreckage had to be at the bottom, broken and burning.

Or so he thought.

His eyes narrowed as, from the darkened treetops, two figures emerged.

Maria. Alive.

And the girl, still clutching the glowing box.

Maria locked eyes with him. No words were spoken.

Then, she turned and ran into the forest, disappearing between the trees.

The priest exhaled slowly. Then he lifted his hand, signaling the helicopter above.

A dark voice crackled through his earpiece.

“Recover the girl. Kill the rest.”

A cold smile crossed his lips.

“With pleasure.”

The hunt was not over.

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Maria’s breath came in sharp gasps as she ran through the forest, branches whipping against her skin. The girl clung to her tightly, her small hands clutching the glowing wooden box as if it were her only lifeline.

The thick canopy above swallowed the moonless sky, turning the forest into a black labyrinth. The sound of gunfire and snapping branches echoed behind them—their pursuers were close.

Maria didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

They had lost Dante.

They had lost Kester.

She refused to lose the girl.

“Don’t look back, anak. Just hold on to me.” Her voice was firm, but there was a tremor in it.

The girl whimpered, but nodded against Maria’s chest.

A shadow passed over them.

Maria’s stomach twisted.

The helicopter.

The mechanical whirl of its rotors grew louder, the beam of its spotlight cutting through the trees, searching, hunting.

Maria veered left, zigzagging through the undergrowth. The uneven terrain threatened to trip her, but she forced her legs to move. She knew these mountains better than the zealots did.

If she could just get to the river—

A voice boomed through the forest from the helicopter’s speaker.

“There is no escape. Surrender the girl, and your suffering will be brief.”

Maria ignored it.

A sudden burst of movement—figures in black robes emerged from the trees, their blades glinting in the dim glow of the box.

Maria skidded to a stop, eyes darting. Five… six of them. Too many.

The girl clung tighter. “Ate… I’m scared.”

Maria tightened her grip. “I know. But we’re not dying here.”

The first attacker lunged, a curved blade flashing toward Maria’s throat.

Maria ducked low, twisting as the blade sliced just above her head. Before the cultist could react, she slammed her elbow into his ribs, grabbed his wrist, and twisted—a sickening snap echoed as his arm broke.

He screamed, but Maria had already grabbed his falling dagger and hurled it into the throat of the second attacker.

The others hesitated.

Maria took a slow breath, shifting her stance, her eyes sharp.

The leader, a tall, gaunt priest, stepped forward, studying her. His voice was laced with curiosity.

“I thought you were a myth. The last of the Amihans.”

Maria’s expression didn’t change. “You’re mistaken.”

The priest smiled thinly. “No. I know exactly who you are.”

A rustle in the darkness—more figures emerged.

Then, something landed with a dull thud in front of Maria.

Her heart stopped.

It was Dante’s severed head.

Blood dripped from the strands of his graying hair, his lifeless eyes staring at nothing.

Maria felt the girl bury her face into her chest, sobbing.

The priest tilted his head. “Now, you are the last.”

Maria swallowed back the grief clawing at her throat. She could mourn later.

Now, she had to fight.

She slowly unsheathed a hidden dagger from her belt, fingers steady despite the rage burning in her veins.

Then—the box glowed.

Brighter this time.

The girl’s trembling form went rigid, her eyes suddenly distant, as if staring beyond reality itself. The light from the box pulsed, illuminating the cultists' masked faces.

The priest took a cautious step forward.

“What are you—”

A flash of blinding white erupted from the girl.

A shockwave tore through the trees, uprooting them like twigs.

Maria barely had time to throw herself over the girl before—

Everything exploded.

A deafening roar tore through the mountains as the explosion engulfed the forest in blinding light.

The cultists screamed, their voices warping into something inhuman as the shockwave ripped through their bodies, sending them flying like ragdolls. Trees splintered, the ground trembled, and the air itself hummed with unnatural energy.

Maria felt nothing but weightlessness—as if she and the girl had been torn from reality itself.

Then—

Silence.

The wind howled through the smoking crater, embers drifting like fireflies in the darkness. The earth had been carved open, leaving a blackened scar where the cultists once stood.

But Maria and the girl were gone.

At the edge of the devastation, the priest slowly lifted his head. His robes were scorched, his left arm hanging limply at his side, but he was alive.

He staggered forward, his boots crunching over ash and shattered rock. His breath came in ragged gasps, his gaze sweeping over the ruins.

Gone.

The girl was gone.

His fingers curled into a fist, rage boiling beneath his composed exterior. But before he could curse the heavens, his eyes caught something.

A faint glow beneath the rubble.

He knelt, pushing aside the debris until his fingers brushed against something smooth, cold—pulsing with power.

A shard.

It was small, no larger than a coin, yet it radiated an eerie, otherworldly light. The same light that had engulfed the girl before she vanished.

The priest held it up to the night sky, his eyes narrowing.

A storm rumbled on the horizon.

This was not over.

With slow precision, he slipped the shard into his robes, turned toward the ruined forest, and walked into the darkness.