The sun rose higher in the sky, its rays now piercing through the forest canopy. The surroundings grew livelier as more animals emerged in search of food. Monkeys swung deftly from tree to tree while snakes had already snatched up unsuspecting mice.
This predatory instinct was precisely what Yamile needed to develop. She had to sharpen her abilities to match those of the Kalanak demons and their underlings. Zhao voiced this thought aloud: "Before we head into the city, try out your powers. Niroki's strength goes beyond just the trident."
"As far as I know, Niroki can manipulate water," Zhao added.
Although she felt somewhat annoyed at being ordered around, Yamile eventually complied. She had to start adapting to this power if she wanted to be useful in battle—especially since their enemies weren't ordinary humans. Moreover, Yamile needed to master the power without succumbing to Niroki's influence.
She decided to move away from the hideout, leaving Zhao and Biacca behind. She wandered through the forest in search of a river and finally arrived at a small stream flowing from the mountains.
Doubt crept into her heart—what if Niroki took control of her again? Soon enough, the voice returned.
"So, you want to train with my power?" said Niroki.
Yamile trembled in shock.
"How can a coward like you wield my power?" Niroki mocked.
Her pride shattered under the demon's ridicule. She refused to accept this, and, without realizing it, her fighting spirit reignited. Her determination burned anew.
"I am your master! Don't act like you're in charge," Yamile said firmly.
After Yamile flared up in anger, Niroki vanished. His voice faded from her mind, and she could finally focus on her training.
Yamile attempted to summon her trident. She clenched her right fist, imagining herself holding the weapon—and there it was, gleaming gold with a greenish glow.
She continued practicing with the trident—slashing, stabbing, and trying various combat techniques. She swung it through the air repeatedly, scattering leaves with every sharp movement. Her breath grew heavy, but her spirit didn't falter. Her movements began to flow with rhythm, as though her body was finally syncing with the aura of the trident. She shut her eyes and concentrated, attempting to perceive the water energy flow that Niroki's power could control.
Slowly, she extended her hand toward the river. The previously calm stream suddenly formed a small vortex on its surface. Yamile opened her eyes, astonished at the reaction. She tried again, this time with more focus. The river water began to rise, forming a threadlike stream that hovered in the air, following the movement of her hand.
"This... is wonderful," Yamile whispered.
But the water suddenly burst and fell back into the stream. She stumbled backward, panting hard. The training had drained her more than she'd expected. Still, she smiled. At the very least, her behavior was proof that she could use the power without Niroki's control.
Footsteps rustled from behind the bushes. Yamile snapped to attention, but it was only Zhao.
"We've been watching you from a distance," he said, tossing her a water pouch and some dried bread. "I was worried you'd pass out in the river."
Yamile chuckled. "I can still fight. I could beat you up right now if you like."
"Don't start another fight. My body still aches from yesterday's battle," Zhao replied.
"Enough! Let's head to the city before it gets too late," she suggested.
Yamile and Zhao returned to the part of the forest where Biacca waited. From a distance, the beautiful girl still sat in silence—her depression seemingly unshaken.
Together, they began their trek out of the forest. Their goal was to reach the main road, hoping to hitch a ride from a passing truck. It was their only option—no money, and the vehicles back home had surely been destroyed by the Split Sun group.
People in the eastern outskirts of the city were known for their kindness. No sooner had they reached the road and waited for a ride than a truck stopped, and the driver offered them a lift.
The driver was a man around fifty, with a sturdy build and sun-darkened skin. "You folks are heading into the city? Hop in—I'm going that way. Just don't be surprised if it smells like fish; I just came from the harbor," he said with a broad smile.
Zhao climbed in first, then helped Biacca and Yamile into the truck bed. The air inside was pungent with the smell of fish, but no one complained. The journey was far too important to fuss over comfort.
During the ride, Yamile stayed silent, her gaze blankly fixed on the road. Forests gave way to fields, and old houses began to appear. She knew they were nearing the city—the place where everything had begun and possibly where it would all end.
Biacca occasionally glanced at Yamile. Although Biacca's face was still pale, a glimmer of strength began to emerge behind her eyes. Zhao shut his eyes, trying to conserve his energy for the battle that likely awaited them in the city.
They arrived as dusk settled. The city seemed eerily quiet. Unlike its usual bustle, the streets were nearly deserted. Shops were closed, and doors and windows were tightly shut. Faded flags hung limply from electric poles, fluttering weakly in the wind.
"This feels like a dead city," murmured Yamile, her eyes scanning the empty streets.
"This isn't because of a regular war. Someone is controlling their fear," Zhao replied.
Intense fear suddenly overcame Biacca. Her body trembled violently, and sweat poured down her face. Yamile and Zhao quickly rushed to her.
"What's wrong?" Yamile asked.
"It's them! They're the ones who ruined my life," Biacca whispered.
"Who? Where?" Zhao asked, his anger starting to rise.
"At the bus stop," she replied.
Sure enough, at the bus stop stood a group of young men bullying another man. They looked about the same age, but strangely, the group was surrounding one man sitting on the bench—who looked terrified.
The four teenagers repeatedly struck the man in the center. Their laughter echoed as he grew more frightened.
Zhao ordered the driver to stop. He immediately jumped from the truck bed, thanking the driver for the ride. Yamile and Biacca followed.
Zhao marched furiously toward the bus stop while Yamile and Biacca waited across the street.
The bullies noticed Zhao approaching. One of them—a tall boy with bright red dyed hair—glared with disdain.
"Well, look who's playing hero," he sneered.
Zhao continued advancing, but the red-haired boy stepped in front of him.
"What's the problem, sir? May I help you?" he asked smugly, flashing a sarcastic smile.
Zhao didn't waste words. He launched a solid punch straight at the boy's face, sending him flying onto the asphalt.
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