Aftermath of the Battle

For a week, the beast tide raged.

And when the dust finally settled, the numbers were revealed.

The devastation was incomprehensible.

Millions of civilians lay dead, their bodies scattered across the remnants of once-thriving cities. The beast had torn apart some, others trampled in the mad scramble for safety. Entire bloodlines had been erased, leaving nothing but echoes of the lives that once were.

The warriors—those sworn to protect—had not fared much better. Hundreds of thousands perished, from seasoned Grandmasters to hopeful novices who had been thrust into battle too soon. They had fought valiantly, but the relentless tide had swallowed them whole.

The land bore the scars of war. Towns and villages had been reduced to rubble, and charred ruins stood where bustling marketplaces had once been. The scent of blood and ash still lingered in the air, carried by the wind that whispered through the ghostly remains of what had once been civilization.

But the worst part?

The Earth Clan had failed to suppress the truth.

They had always controlled the narrative, ensuring that no matter how dire a situation became, the people only saw what they were allowed to see. But this time, the destruction was too vast, too widespread. There were too many witnesses, and too many whispers carried beyond their borders.

And the rest of the world had noticed.

The moment the war ended, messengers moved like wildfire across the continents.

Couriers rode through the night, and encrypted transmissions crackled through hidden channels. Spies, disguised as businessmen and dignitaries, relayed hushed reports to their superiors.

The message was the same, no matter where it was sent:

The Earth Clan had fallen from grace.

They were no longer the unshakable bastion of stability they once claimed to be.

The Fire Clan received the news with scorn. Their warriors, clad in crimson, laughed at the Earth Clan's failure. "If it were us," they sneered, "this would have been over in a day."

The Water Clan was more measured. Their leaders dissected the reports, their minds turning like currents beneath the surface. Scouts were dispatched, and their orders were clear—verify everything.

The Wind Clan? They watched. Silent. Amused. The cracks in the foundation of power were always the most entertaining.

And yet, beneath all the analysis and mockery, one undeniable truth remained:

The Earth Clan, one of the world's most potent forces, had been humiliated.

And the world would not forget.

....

But there was no time for politics for those who had lived through the war.

They did not celebrate.

They mourned.

Entire families were gone. Streets that once bustled with life were silent. The smell of incense and candle wax filled the air as makeshift shrines appeared on every corner, offerings left for those who would never return.

Resentment simmered beneath the grief.

"They told us the walls were unbreakable!"

"Where were the clans when we needed them?"

"How did they let this happen?"

The Earth Clan had ruled with an iron grip, promising safety in exchange for obedience. But now, the illusion had shattered.

They had failed.

Failed to protect. Failed to reassure. was unable to keep the monsters from clawing their way into the very heart of their land.

Rebellion wasn't an option—not yet. The Earth Clan still held too much power. But something had changed.

And the change was dangerous.

The elite citizens—the self-proclaimed rulers—remained silent. They hid behind their gilded doors, their estates untouched, their lives unshaken.

But the people had long memories.

And resentment only grew more potent in quiet.

....

High above the city, Alex stood on the balcony of a towering high-rise, watching the fractured world below.

Three days had passed since the beast tide had breached the city's defenses.

Three days since the first screams had echoed through the streets.

Three days since fear had sunk its claws into the people.

Now, he could see it—the first cracks forming in the foundation of the Earth Clan's rule.

Beside him, Nyxara's sleek form was a shadow against the night. Her luminous eyes flicked toward him, her tail curling around her paws.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" she murmured.

Alex didn't answer immediately.

He orchestrated this war, the chaos, and the failure of the Earth Clan. He knew exactly how it would unfold.

And yet…

Even he hadn't expected it to be this catastrophic.

Nyxara's ears flattened.

"Millions died, Alex."

He exhaled slowly, gaze still fixed on the smoke rising in the distance.

"Good," he said at last.

"Now the Earth Clan bleeds."

Nyxara sighed, turning her head away.

Because she knew the truth.

For Alex, this was just the beginning.

And it pained her to see him this way.

....

In the grand chamber of Geb Fortress, silence reigned.

The throne room, carved from ancient stone, bore the weight of centuries of power. Now, it carried the weight of failure.

Khepri Geb, the Earth Patrician, sat motionless on his throne. Reports hovered around him in glowing holographic projections—casualty lists, structural damage reports, urgent communiqués from his commanders. The losses were staggering.

And then, his communicator flickered to life.

A call.

From the Fire Patrician, Liè Yàn.

Khepri inhaled deeply, stone-gray eyes narrowing. Of course, he would call.

With a flick of his wrist, the hologram shifted, forming the image of the Fire Clan's ruler.

Liè Yàn—the Crimson Inferno.

Draped in flowing robes the color of molten embers, he exuded effortless arrogance. His golden eyes shimmered with amusement as he leaned back, swirling a goblet of wine between his fingers.

His smirk was slow, deliberate.

"Khepri," he drawled, voice dripping with mockery. "Time has not been kind to you, my old friend. What happened to the 'indomitable guardian' of the Earth Clan? Have you grown weak?"

Khepri did not react.

His expression remained unreadable, carved from the very stone he ruled.

His voice, when it came, was low and steady.

"Why did you call?"

Liè Yàn chuckled, shaking his head. "Straight to the point. Fine."

The amusement in his gaze sharpened.

"What caused the beast tide?"

The air thickened.

Khepri did not move, but the weight of his presence intensified.

The Fire Patrician wasn't a fool. None of the Higher Clans were. A beast tide of this scale wasn't natural. And when something catastrophic happened in a Higher Clan's domain, the others demanded answers.

"Mind yourself, Fire Patrician."

Liè Yàn's smirk deepened.

"Oh, Khepri, Khepri..." His laughter was slow, indulgent. "You won't tell me, will you?"

He lifted his goblet in a mock salute.

"Fine. Have it your way."

The hologram flickered, the call about to end—then, at the last moment, his voice dropped to something almost dangerous.

"Just remember... the world is watching. And if you can't control your domain, then maybe..." He swirled his drink lazily. "Someone else should."

The call cut out.

Silence returned.

Khepri closed his eyes for a brief moment, then exhaled.

The Fire Clan was watching.

The other Higher Clans were watching.

The world was watching.

And weakness was never ignored.