Chapter 6: Sparks in the Dark

Raizen Valefor stood firm at the heart of the Kazehana Tribe's camp, his sharp, cold eyes cutting through the panicked villagers as a deep, guttural roar echoed from the dead forest beyond. It wasn't the shrill screech of the spiral beasts he'd faced before—this was heavier, fiercer, like some colossal creature clawing its way out of Noctavaria Abyss's ash-choked depths, shaking the ground beneath their feet. A frigid wind howled through the barren trees, carrying the damp scent of earth and a sharp, metallic tang—danger was closing in. The villagers trembled, some clutching wooden spears or freshly made crossbow bolts, their gazes flickering between dread and a fragile hope pinned on him—the outsider who'd led them through two clashes with the Shadowfang using traps and steel-edged cunning.

Selene Kazehana stepped to his side, her steel sword catching the faint moonlight filtering through the slate-gray sky, her mismatched eyes—icy blue on the left, blazing red on the right—sharp with a mix of vigilance and tension. The thin scar across her throat stood out as she tilted her head to catch the roar, her battered leather armor shifting faintly with her quickened breaths. "That's no ordinary beast," she said, her voice low and cutting, like the edge of her blade. "I've heard this sound before—three moons back, when the Shadowfang Tribe unleashed it to slaughter us. It's bigger than anything I've seen."

Raizen turned to her, his grip tightening on the broken sword from the last fight, a flicker of suspicion mixing with curiosity in his stare. "Unleashed?" he asked, his tone deep and steady. "You mean someone controls these things? The Shadowfang?"

Selene nodded slightly, her red eye fixed on the dark woods. "The Shadowfang don't just hunt these monsters for hides and bones," she replied, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "They worship them—call them 'The Avengers' of this cursed land. But this one… it's massive. I don't know how they do it, but every time it shows up, it takes dozens of us with it."

Raizen's brow furrowed, flashes of Neo Saigon 2050 streaking through his mind—military reports on bio-weapons, failed experiments at Thiên Long Corporation. He glanced at the cut on his left hand, still oozing blood from the last Shadowfang skirmish, recalling how the ash sucked it up like a living thing. "If they can control it," he muttered, "I'll break that control—or kill it."

But before he could elaborate, Ragnar Kiryuu burst from a nearby crafting tent, clutching a newly finished repeating crossbow, its wooden bolts gleaming wickedly on the taut string. His short hair was a mess, his torn tech uniform still smeared with ash from their crash through time. "Raizen!" he shouted, voice rough with urgency, "we're screwed if we don't act! Five crossbows won't stop that thing—I heard the roar from way out there, and it's not like those little ones from yesterday!"

Seiryu Alvis followed, arms wrapped around a bundle of dried herbs she'd scavenged from the forest's edge, her face a mask of cool detachment masking a flicker of strain. Her white blouse, now streaked with dirt, hung loose, sleeves rolled up to reveal lean, sinewy arms. "Ragnar's right," she said, her voice sharp and icy. "If it's a big one, a few scratches from crossbows won't slow it down. Got a plan, or are we just waiting to die again?"

Raizen scanned them, then the villagers huddling behind tattered tents and flickering fires. Time was slipping away—the roar was closing in, and if he didn't move fast, the shaky trust he'd built through two victories over the Shadowfang would crumble to nothing. This wasn't just about survival; it was his chance to forge these terrified souls into something unbreakable. He turned to Leon Vesper, the economist leaning casually against a rotting wooden post near the medic tent, his cryptic smirk glowing faintly in the dark, narrow eyes watching the chaos like a bystander at a game.

"Leon," Raizen called, his voice low but firm, "how much charcoal and sulfur did you tally from yesterday's haul? I need it now."

Leon shrugged, his tone dry with a hint of mockery. "Enough to torch this whole dead forest—but don't tell me you're cooking up gunpowder in this backwater dump. Where's your saltpeter coming from? Digging those creepy ash pits, I bet?"

"Exactly," Raizen shot back, a glint of resolve in his eyes. "I spotted a dry saltpeter vein near the ash pit yesterday—not much, but enough for crude firebombs. Ragnar, help me rig them up now. Seiryu, prep antiseptics—this is gonna get bloody."

Ragnar nodded, gripping the crossbow tighter, a spark of excitement flashing in his eyes at the mention of bombs. "I'm in—but it'll take time. What about these villagers? They're just standing there shaking with spears—no way they've got the guts to toss bombs."

Raizen stepped onto a broad rock at the camp's center, his voice booming over the encroaching roar. "Listen up," he said, raising the broken sword like a badge of defiance. "I know you're scared—I've been there, in a place far from here, where I lost everything because I wasn't strong enough. But here, I'm giving you the power to fight—not just tonight, but always. Who's ready to learn this and protect their families? Step forward!"

The villagers fell silent, eyes wavering. A young guy—Jace, Raizen had heard them call him, the one who'd begged to learn crossbows after the Hắc Lang fight—stepped up, hands trembling but blazing with determination. "I'm in," he said, voice cracking but fierce. "No more running." A grizzled middle-aged man with a spear hesitated, then joined, dragging two others along. Raizen nodded, a flicker of satisfaction in his gaze—it was a start, however small.

Under the dim glow of sputtering campfires, Raizen and Ragnar worked fast near the ash pit. Villagers clustered around, curiosity battling fear as Ragnar mixed black charcoal, pale yellow sulfur, and a pinch of saltpeter Raizen had scraped from the pit—a gritty find from his post-battle scouting. Raizen wrapped the mix in scraps of old tent fabric, tying each fist-sized bomb with vines from the nearby woods, adding damp grass wicks to slow the burn. It wasn't perfect—some powder leaked, a few knots slipped—but with danger bearing down, it'd have to do.

"Not full-on muskets yet," Raizen told Ragnar, wiping sweat from his brow, "but these'll explode and spook it. If we get more sulfur and metal, we'll build something bigger."

Ragnar grinned, slotting another bolt into his crossbow. "I'll shoot from range—but you sure about this? If these bombs blow early, we're all toast."

"I'm sure," Raizen replied, his stare unflinching. "But I need the villagers to throw them—not just to kill the beast, but to feel their own strength." He turned to Seiryu, who stood by the medic tent with her herb bundle. "Seiryu, show them how to pack these—hurry."

Seiryu frowned, her tone biting but compliant. "You're nuts," she said, dropping the herbs and kneeling before the volunteers. "Watch me—scoop the powder in the middle, wrap it tight, tie it off. Don't spill it unless you want your hand gone."

Jace followed her lead, fumbling but careful, tying off a bomb with a steadying breath. He held it up for her to check, eyes alight. "Good enough?"

"Yeah," Seiryu said, her voice icy but faintly impressed. "Don't shake when you throw—or you're done."

Meanwhile, Selene took five others with crossbows to the camp's edge, her red eye scanning the dark woods. "How long do we hold them?" she asked Raizen, her grip on her sword iron-tight.

"Long enough for me to set this up," he answered, peering into the shadows where the roar grew louder. He glanced at Leon, still lounging by the post, his enigmatic gaze tracking the scene. "Leon, how's your market holding? Are the villagers buying in?"

Leon shrugged, voice smooth. "I've got three zones—wood, hides, herbs. They're trading, but some squabbled over shares—greedy for more than they earned. You want laws? Fine—but don't expect them to grasp 'fair' overnight."

"I'll make them get it," Raizen said, his tone steely. "After this, tighten it up—who makes bombs gets extra. No more bickering."

The roar hit closer, shaking the ground hard enough to rattle nerves. Raizen stood with Selene at the camp's edge, a crude firebomb in hand, eyes locked on the dark. Behind him, villagers gripped spears and crossbows, some trembling but holding their ground—the first sign of trust he'd planted. From the forest, a massive beast loomed, its silhouette slicing through the moonlight—twice a man's height, its black fur bristling like steel spikes, red eyes glowing like twin wildfires, a crimson spiral pulsing on its back like a living curse. Its claws gouged deep scars into the earth, its gaping maw unleashing a roar that toppled a nearby dead tree, splinters flying.

Raizen froze, the spiral triggering a flash of Neo Saigon—the Asvaria machine's mark, tied to Vesper Atrius, the bastard who'd dumped him here. "He's behind this?" he muttered, but there was no time to unpack it.

"Metal won't kill it," Selene warned, her voice tight, sword clenched. "I've seen Shadowfang stab it with steel—it just pisses it off more. You sure your bombs can handle this?"

"I'll make it mad—and then finish it," Raizen replied, his gaze icy. He signaled Ragnar. "Hit its eyes—now!" Ragnar fired from fifteen paces, three bolts streaking out—two slammed into the beast's left eye, black blood spraying with a rancid stench. It roared, staggering back, claws flailing in pain.

Raizen lobbed the first firebomb, the wick flaring mid-air. It detonated right in the beast's face, a deafening boom splitting the night, black smoke and fire bursting wide, forcing a furious bellow as it reeled. He spun to Jace and the villagers. "Throw—aim for the legs!"

Jace, hands shaking, stepped up and hurled his bomb. It veered off, exploding near the beast's left leg, flames licking up its spiked fur, making it falter. Two others threw next—one hit the right leg, fire roaring, the other burst overhead, smoke clouding its vision. But it didn't drop—claws slashed out, smashing a tent to splinters, sending two villagers scrambling back, screaming.

"Hold your ground!" Raizen roared, charging forward with the third bomb. He waited for the beast to roar again, then flung it straight into its throat. The blast erupted inside, a thunderous crack echoing as smoke and black blood poured out. With a final, guttural howl, it crashed down, the ground quaking under its bulk, flames smoldering on its charred hide.

Silence gripped the camp for a heartbeat, then cheers erupted, spears thrust skyward in triumph. Selene approached, her dual eyes sizing him up, a hint of respect in her tone. "You're crazy—but crazy like this wins."

Raizen panted, clutching his now-throbbing wound, blood dripping to the ash, vanishing into eerie red streaks. He eyed the beast, then the villagers. "This isn't the last win," he said, voice deep and commanding. "The Shadowfang control these things—they'll be back. But I'll teach you to make bombs, guns—more. Starting today, we don't just survive—we grow stronger."

By morning, the Kazehana camp buzzed with new life. Raizen didn't let victory soften them—dawn barely broke when he rallied the villagers, weak sunlight piercing Noctavaria Abyss's thick clouds to light weary but hopeful faces. Ragnar stood by a fresh woodpile, showing Jace and others how to craft crossbows, using an Asvaria shard as a mold, carving straight shafts and rigging vine springs. "Pull this—aim there—shoot," he coached, steady and calm. Jace fired, the bolt hitting a tree ten paces off, his cheer lighting up his face.

Seiryu expanded the medic tent, rigging a wooden frame against the rain, teaching women to brew antiseptics from herbs. She boiled water over a fire, dropping in dry leaves, a faint aroma cutting through the chill. A young mother—Liora, Raizen heard them call her—brought her kid, gratitude shining as Seiryu bandaged the child's hand with herb-soaked cloth. "Thank you," Liora said, voice shaky. "He's not crying now."

Seiryu nodded, cool as ever. "Learn it—I won't be here forever." But her eyes softened briefly at the kid.

Leon scratched lines in the dirt, turning the small market into three clear zones—wood, hides, herbs—divvying up spoils from the last fight. "Bombs yesterday? Two hides," he told the villagers, voice smooth. "Crossbow shots? One log. Simple—but don't argue, I'm not your babysitter." A grizzled man grumbled about short shares, but Leon just shrugged. "Work more, get more."

Raizen watched from a distance, pleased but alert. At noon, with the sun at its peak, he climbed the big rock again, his voice ringing out to draw the villagers close. "Starting today," he said, raising the broken sword like a banner, "we don't just scrape by—we build. Each group—hunters, builders, planters—pick a leader. They'll speak for you, but I'll hear everyone. Here's the law: screw up, you'll pay fair; do well, you'll eat well."

Kaelric Duskwind, the elder, hobbled up, leaning on his staff. "Laws?" he rasped. "Like the Shadowfang forced us into slavery? Our ancestors died under Solvaria Dominion's rules—what makes you different?"

Raizen met his eyes, unflinching. "Everything," he said, voice hard. "Their laws crushed you—mine lift you up. Work, and you're fed; betray, and you're out." He scratched a square in the ash with his sword. "Solid homes—wood walls, rainproof roofs. Roads that don't drown, bridges over streams so your kids don't wash away. But I need your hands—who's in?"

The villagers buzzed, some nodding, though Kaelric's doubt lingered. "You promise a lot," he said, "but how do we know it's real? We live by spears and axes—your bombs and houses, are they for us?"

Raizen signaled Ragnar, who stepped up with a leftover firebomb from the night before, lighting the wick before the crowd. It blew apart a rock pile ten paces off, smoke billowing with a sharp crack. The villagers gasped, some cheering, others shrinking back. "That's real," Raizen said, voice booming. "And I'll teach you to make it—not just to kill beasts, but to guard yourselves."

Jace stepped forward, crossbow bolt in hand, eyes blazing. "Teach me to write," he said. "I want to record how to make bombs—so we never forget."

Raizen grabbed a stick, carving "fire" into the ash—simple, bold lines. "This is your start," he said, handing it to Jace. "Learn this, and you'll wield flames stronger than last night's bombs." Jace took it, eyes wide like he'd been given gold.

But in the camp's shadows, a quiet plot brewed. Two villagers—the ones who'd cut the trap ropes—lurked behind a tent, whispering. "He's tough," one hissed, eyes darting to Raizen. "But the Shadowfang offered steel spears and three kills if I spill about his bombs."

The other nodded, clutching a bark scrap—their signal to the Shadowfang from the night before. "He's got bombs, but they've got monsters," he muttered. "If that big one didn't take him, the Shadowfang will—and I'll live better over there."

Raizen didn't hear, but his gaze lingered on their dark corner. He turned to Selene, voice low. "Keep an eye on them—I won't have more traitors."

Selene nodded, her red eye glinting. "If they try anything, I'll handle it," she said, hand resting on her sword hilt.

From the distance, heavy footsteps rumbled—not the beast's growl from last night, but men, and the creak of wood on dry ground. A new Shadowfang warband appeared at the forest's edge, far larger than before—forty strong, hauling three bigger wooden cannons, steel spears flashing under the moon. Leading them was a scarred giant, wielding a long, unrusted steel sword. He stopped, eyes raking the camp, then roared in a tongue Raizen didn't know—but Selene did.

"He says he'll flatten this place," she translated, voice cold. "Revenge—and your head."

Raizen rose, gripping his broken sword, his stare glacial as the Shadowfang advanced. He turned to Selene, Ragnar, and the villagers, his voice deep and unyielding. "Get ready—this time, I'm not just beating them. I'm making them kneel."

Ragnar loaded his crossbow, Seiryu checked the bombs, Selene raised her sword—and the villagers, though shaky, clutched their weapons. A bigger fight was coming fast.