Chapter 26 Title: Sting of Defeat

Thorne's massive stinger shot toward Vulcan's chest, buzzing with deadly speed. But Vulcan had braced himself, his muscles tensing as he activated Tekkai. His body hardened, transforming into an iron-like defense. Thorne's stinger slammed into Vulcan's chest with a force that shook the ground, but Vulcan didn't budge. The impact sent a shockwave through the clearing, but his hardened body absorbed the blow completely.

Thorne's face twisted in disbelief. His stinger—so deadly and precise—had failed to pierce through. His insect eyes flickered with confusion as his wings buzzed furiously, trying to lift him away from Vulcan.

"What...?" Thorne hissed through clenched teeth, panic creeping into his voice.

Vulcan seized the moment, twisting his body as he deflected the stinger with his naginata. He moved quickly, using Soru to dash behind Thorne, the pirate still struggling to recover. In one swift motion, Vulcan drove his naginata deep into Thorne's side. The blade sliced through his chitin armor, cutting into his flesh. Blood sprayed from the wound, and Thorne let out a screech of pain.

His wings buzzed wildly as he staggered, desperately trying to lift himself into the air. Vulcan didn't give him the chance. He dashed after the pirate, his naginata flashing through the air with deadly precision. Each strike cut into Thorne's body, leaving deep gashes in his exoskeleton.

Thorne snarled, his wings beating furiously to escape. "You're... too slow!" he spat, but there was fear in his voice. His movements had lost their sharpness, and his wings buzzed with a strained, erratic rhythm.

Vulcan dodged a desperate swipe of Thorne's stinger, moving faster now as he took control of the fight. The venom that had slowed him down earlier was burning in his veins, but Vulcan pushed through the pain. He had faced worse than this. His eyes locked onto Thorne, focused and calculating. The rogue pirate was getting sloppy, his attacks more wild and panicked.

With a final roar of frustration, Thorne swung his stinger in a wide arc, aiming to impale Vulcan once and for all. But Vulcan sidestepped the blow, his body moving like lightning with another burst of Soru. The stinger missed by inches, embedding itself deep into the ground. Thorne was left open, vulnerable.

Vulcan didn't hesitate.

He twisted, driving his naginata forward with a powerful thrust. The blade pierced through Thorne's chest, cutting straight through his chitinous armor. The rogue pirate's wings fluttered wildly as blood sprayed from the wound, his body convulsing from the impact.

Thorne let out a final, agonized scream as Vulcan twisted the blade deeper. His insect wings faltered, buzzing weakly before falling still. His stinger dropped to the ground, and his limbs twitched in his death throes.

Vulcan yanked his naginata free, stepping back as Thorne's body crumpled. His once monstrous form shrank back to its human shape, his wings fading into his back as he lay in a pool of blood, gasping for breath. His eyes, wide with fear, locked onto Vulcan one last time.

"You... you're a monster..." Thorne croaked, barely able to speak as the life drained from him.

Vulcan didn't respond. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, wiping the blood from his face. His muscles throbbed, the venom still burning beneath his skin. But he stood tall, victorious.

Thorne's body lay still on the jungle floor, his wings now motionless. The buzzing that had once filled the air was gone, replaced by the eerie silence of the jungle. The rogue pirate had been a powerful foe, but Vulcan's patience and precision had won out.

But it wasn't over yet.

Vulcan knew Thorne wasn't the only one. There had to be more of them. The signs were clear—this island wasn't just a hunting ground for wild beasts. Humans had been here. Vulcan had seen the signs: the old camps, the makeshift barricades. Thorne had to have a base somewhere nearby, a place where he and his men operated.

Vulcan scanned the clearing, his eyes sharp. He crouched beside Thorne's body, searching for clues. It didn't take long to find what he was looking for: faint footprints leading away from the clearing, deeper into the jungle. Thorne had flown most of the way, but at some point, he had been grounded. The prints were uneven, as though he had been dragging something behind him.

The jungle was thick and overgrown, but Vulcan followed the trail with determined steps. His body ached, the venom sapping his strength, but he pressed on, his mind sharp and focused. The prints led him through winding paths, overgrown vines, and dense foliage. Every sound seemed amplified, but nothing stirred. The silence was unsettling.

As Vulcan moved deeper into the jungle, the terrain began to change. The trees grew taller, their trunks massive and gnarled. The ground was soft, damp from the jungle's humidity, and the air smelled of rotting wood and moss. The prints became clearer, more frequent, as if Thorne had been moving back and forth regularly.

After what felt like hours of tracking, Vulcan spotted something in the distance—a small clearing nestled between three towering trees. As he stepped closer, he saw it: a shabby wooden structure hidden in the dense jungle. It looked like a makeshift cabin, hastily constructed from warped wooden planks. The walls were crooked, the roof patched with leaves and branches. A thin plume of smoke rose from a small chimney on the side, indicating that the camp was still in use.

Vulcan's eyes narrowed as he approached. This was it—Thorne's base of operations.

The wooden house was surrounded by a crude perimeter, makeshift barricades made from fallen logs and sharpened sticks. It wasn't much, but it was enough to suggest that someone had been living here for some time. The area was eerily quiet, too quiet. Vulcan's grip on his naginata tightened. He couldn't hear any voices, but that didn't mean he was alone.

He crouched low, moving closer to the structure, his eyes scanning the area for traps or hidden enemies. His instincts told him to be cautious. This place was too quiet, too still.

As Vulcan circled the camp, he spotted movement inside the cabin—a shadow passing by one of the broken windows. He couldn't make out who or what it was, but someone was definitely inside.

His muscles tensed as he crept closer, his breath steady but shallow. The wooden door of the shack creaked slightly, as if a faint breeze had disturbed it. Vulcan's hand tightened around the handle of his naginata, every fiber of his being on high alert.

The smoke from the chimney carried a faint smell of cooked meat. Whoever was inside wasn't expecting company. They were either unaware of Thorne's defeat, or they had no reason to believe anyone would challenge them. Vulcan's lips curled into a small grin. That arrogance would be their downfall.

He reached the door, his heart pounding in his chest. The jungle around him remained still, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire inside the cabin. With a deep breath, Vulcan pushed the door open, the hinges creaking in protest as the wooden door swung inward.