"Alright, let’s get back to the main point." His tone was clipped, authoritative. gaze settling on the 2 missing chairs.Where is the Demon Lord and the Ice Queen?"

Aamon leaned back against a pillar, his face half in shadow, giving him an air of practiced indifference. "Who knows? And who cares?" he replied, shrugging. "Why did you summon us here if you won’t get to the point?"

The cloaked man sighed, seemingly ignoring Aamon’s challenge. "Because we’ve captured someone crucial—a very, very important man. He’s being held in the second main base prison."

A brief silence fell over the group, broken only by Terry’s uncertain voice. "Wait…who?"

"Shinji," the cloaked man answered slowly, his gaze sharp, "the one meant to replace Ryūjin. Ryūjin well in his hundreds but has at least 26 years left due to the Amethyst Shard he possesses."

Terry raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms skeptically. "I thought it was called Aether?"

"No, no," the cloaked man corrected, sounding almost amused. "It’s Amethyst. And the shard gives him the power to transform into a dragon—a power that’s kept him a high-value target for years."

Across the room, Mr. Jo folded his arms, a frown creasing his brow. "But I thought Ryūjin was practically on death’s door. Didn’t someone strike him in the head? Practically split his skull open…"

Hale, usually quiet, chimed in with a gruff laugh. "And he’s sick—like, really sick. The man’s ancient."

Aamon snorted, his voice dripping with derision. "You’re worried about one man? Please, he’s old, he’s crippled, and his glory days are long behind him."

The cloaked man gave a humorless smile, his tone darkening. "Let me remind you—Ryūjin may be old, but he’s still capable of reshaping the world. His illness might be slowing him, but that dragon form of his? It’s considered a threat on a global scale. And with the right followers to fuel his cause… well, even Aamon here might find himself outmatched."

Aamon’s eyes flashed with a challenge, but he said nothing. The cloaked man continued, his voice steely.

"Ryūjin has a disease—a disease engineered to target every layer of his being. We thought it would be his end, but even at death’s door, he has enough strength to make us pay if we underestimate him."

Terry shifted uneasily. "This is a disaster waiting to happen. What are we supposed to do? Storm the base and pray it’s enough?"

The cloaked man shook his head, his gaze sweeping across them all. "No. I need every one of you to bring your people, to prepare. Shinji must remain in that cell, and Ryūjin’s forces must be crushed before they reach him. His followers don’t need him healthy; they need him as a symbol, and right now, he’s the only one strong enough to rally them."

Mr. Jo looked down, deep in thought, before nodding. "Then we’ll need more than numbers. We’ll need our best strategies, all of us on our guard. We can’t risk another prison break."

Aamon’s mouth twisted into a dark smile. "So, we’re saving the supreme council from one half-dead old man. Fine. But don’t expect me to care if this goes sideways. I’m here because I want to be, not because I owe you anything."

The cloaked man’s voice softened, though the edge remained. "No, Aamon. You’re here because you know, as well as I do, that Ryūjin is still a threat to us all."

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

The tension in the room seemed to thicken as the clocked man took a step closer to Aamon, his voice steady but with an unmistakable edge.

"And did you know, Aamon," he continued, "that Ryūjin’s dragon form is one of the world’s greatest threats? And your assistant—let’s just say their powers may be even more terrifying than Ryūjin's."

Aamon chuckled, his laughter dark and mocking. "Oh, really? And how about my power? How does that measure up, clocked man?"

The clocked man met his gaze with a calm, unnerving confidence. "Truthfully, we don’t fully understand the danger of your kitsune abilities. But we do know this: your power alone is far from enough to stand against the world."

Aamon’s expression hardened, but he waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say."

Turning away from Aamon, the clocked man directed his gaze to a tall, woman with green hair in the corner, her green hair flowing around her like a canopy of leaves. "Asha, leader of the Verdantia Clan. Are you willing to help us—bring your people?"

Asha crossed her arms, her brow furrowing as she met his gaze. "No, I won’t risk the lives of my clan in someone else’s war." Her voice was firm, unwavering. "But I’ll join you myself. My people will not be sacrificed for this."

The clocked man nodded, understanding her resolve. "I respect your choice, Asha. Your presence alone is an asset."

He then turned to another figure in the hall: Jason, the renowned swordsman, his reputation whispered in both fear and admiration across the land. "And what about you, Jason? You’re known as the strongest swordsman alive. Will you lend us your blade?"

Jason smirked, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Sure. But I’m in it for one thing only—gold. A lot of it."

The clocked man gave a nod. "Your terms are noted."

Asha’s eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze darting to Jason. "If this cause means so little to you, Jason, why even bother?"

Jason shrugged. "Call it a mercenary’s duty, Asha. Nothing personal."

The clocked man’s voice cut through their exchange. "You’re all here because you have something invaluable to offer. This battle will require every skill, every ounce of strength each of you brings. And it’s our best shot at keeping Shinji contained and Ryūjin’s forces from tearing the world apart."

Aamon, smirking, leaned back against the wall. "Well, this little ‘team’ of yours had better be ready. Because if Ryūjin’s followers think they can bring him back, they’re going to hit us with everything they’ve got."

The gathered group stood in silence, each assessing the gravity of what lay ahead, the weight of alliances, and the looming threat of a power too great to be faced alone.

The scene shifted to Ryūjin’s ship, a massive, ornate vessel soaring through the skies. Festive music echoed from the deck, mingling with hearty laughter and the clinking of tankards as Ryūjin’s men reveled in the open air. Ryūjin himself, towering at an intimidating 30 feet tall, stood amidst a crowd of women, his booming laugh carrying over the din.

"DORAAAAHAHAHAHA!" he bellowed, raising his tankard of root beer high above his head, his Scottish accent thick as he toasted his crew. "Drink, lads and lasses! Let’s make these skies shake with our merriment!"

A lanky man in a long coat—the ship’s doctor—approached him, offering a vial of medicine with a polite nod. Ryūjin, grinning, downed it with ease before returning to his drink.

Nearby, Freddie, his trusted right-hand man, leaned against the railing, raising his own mug with a smirk. "Sir, we’ve got two months ‘til we reach the destination. Plenty o’ time for more of this, eh?"

Ryūjin clapped him on the back with a force that nearly sent Freddie stumbling. "Aye, Freddie! That means two months to drink, dance, and prepare to set the whole bloody world aflame if it stands in our way!"

The men around them cheered, lifting their drinks, while others threw themselves back into dancing. Among them was a tall man wearing a raven mask, a hulking figure with fine clothes, and another who sat cross-legged, eyes closed in meditation, a calm center within the chaos.

As the party surged on, the sky darkened slightly, as if a storm were gathering in the distance. Suddenly, a blinding flash split the air, and from it descended a figure: a man with flowing white hair, piercing blue eyes that seemed to radiate power, and shining silver armor that glinted in the fading light. His voice, resonant and cold, cut through the revelry as he strode directly toward Ryūjin.

"Ryūjin," he called, his voice layered with authority. "The Supreme Council has sent me to offer you a chance. Surrender now, and turn back before it’s too late."

Ryūjin paused mid-swig, setting his tankard down with a heavy thud. A slow, mocking smirk crept across his face. "Aye, is that so? And ye flew all the way here to deliver that wee message?"

The knight’s gaze remained unwavering. "Don’t be a fool. You stand on the edge of ruin, Ryūjin. The council has deemed your cause too dangerous. They will destroy you if you continue on this path."

Ryūjin took a step forward, casting an imposing shadow over the knight, his grin widening. "Then you can fly back to your masters and tell them… to kiss my dragon-scale arse!" He let out another booming laugh, echoed by the cheers and laughter of his men.

Evee, one of his crew members, let out a delighted cackle from the sidelines, raising her own tankard. "That’s right! Ain’t no council gonna stop us!"

The knight’s face darkened, his voice low with quiet fury. "You’ll regret this, Ryūjin. When you face the full wrath of the council, there will be no escape."

Without another word, the knight unfurled a pair of gleaming white wings from his armor, the feathers radiating a soft, almost blinding light. He gave one last stern look before launching himself skyward, his figure quickly disappearing into the clouds.

Ryūjin snorted dismissively, picking up his drink and taking another long gulp. "Bah! Let them come. I’ll give them a reason to fear me, alright."

Freddie leaned over, raising an eyebrow. "Think they’ll actually try to stop us, sir?"

Ryūjin chuckled, his eyes glinting with a savage determination. "Let ‘em try. The council thinks it can command the skies—well, soon enough, they’ll be nothing more than ashes in the wind. So drink up, lads! To our victory, and to the fire we’re bringin’ with us!"

The crew erupted in cheers once more, their voices carrying across the sky as the party roared back to life.