Chapter 88: The Race to the Beacon
The activation of the Storm Beacon was a declaration of war. Ren didn't need Zephyrion to tell him that. He felt it in the way the Aether of the world now seemed to hold its breath around him. He had placed himself at the center of the board, and every other piece was now moving toward him.
He spent less than an hour in the ancient outpost, his Apprentice-level core refilling his reserves with furious speed. He found one last gift in a hidden chamber: a complete set of Raijin battle armor. Crafted from the same storm-grey metal as the bracer, it was light, durable, and hummed with a dormant power. When he donned it, the armor molded to his form like a second skin.
"The 'Aegis of the Sky-Lord'," Zephyrion breathed with reverence. "It will not make you invincible, boy. But it will allow you to survive what is coming."
Ren walked out of the mountain spire, clad in the armor of his ancestors. The sky above the Shattered Peninsula, already a bruised purple, was darkening further. His actions had consequences, and they were arriving faster than he could have anticipated.
On the horizon, he saw the first arrival. It was a sleek, silver skiff, its design elegant and impossibly fast. It bore the insignia of House Volkov. Anya. She had the recording of his soul's song, and the Beacon's broadcast had given her a perfect, undeniable target.
To the east, a squadron of three black GAMA enforcement skiffs cut through the clouds, their movements precise and military. They were a hunting party, dispatched with brutal efficiency.
And to the west, a single, terrifying shape emerged from the storm clouds. A Pagoda 'Reaper-class' hunter-killer drone. It moved with a silent, predatory grace. The Pagoda had sent an executioner.
He was caught in a three-way pincer.
"So," Zephyrion's voice was a low, dangerous hum. "The vultures have come to roost. You cannot fight them all in the open. You must choose your battlefield. You must use the terrain."
Ren's eyes scanned the landscape. The rocky, open ground offered no cover. To be caught here was to be surrounded. He needed to change the rules of the engagement. His gaze fell upon the churning, storm-tossed sea that battered the red-rock cliffs. The existing storm was his greatest ally.
He turned from the approaching factions and sprinted towards the highest, most exposed cliff edge, the wind whipping at his new armor.
The GAMA skiffs accelerated, their commanders likely thinking he was cornering himself. The Pagoda drone adjusted its course, its weapon systems beginning to glow as it acquired a target lock. Anya's skiff, however, seemed to hesitate, her analytical mind likely trying to understand his seemingly suicidal maneuver.
Ren reached the edge of the cliff. A thousand-foot drop into a raging, rock-strewn sea lay below him. He was trapped.
He turned to face his pursuers, his back to the abyss. The GAMA skiffs began to circle, cutting off any escape. The Pagoda drone slowed, readying its attack.
"Surrender, rogue Apprentice!" the lead GAMA commander's voice boomed over an external speaker. "You are in violation of GAMA law!"
Ren simply raised his hand, not towards them, but towards the storm-filled sky. He drew upon his power, not to create a new storm, but to agitate the one that was already there.
He didn't summon a colossal bolt. He sent a powerful pulse of his own resonant frequency into the clouds, a whisper to the churning Aether. The already-violent storm responded to the call of a fellow Raijin. The wind rose to a deafening shriek. The drizzle turned into a torrential downpour. The flashes of distant lightning became more frequent, illuminating the scene in stark, dramatic flashes.
He had not created the storm, but he had inflamed it, turning the battlefield into a raging tempest that would cripple his opponents' visibility and flight stability. He stood on the edge of the cliff, a lone figure in ancient armor, using the natural fury of the world as his shield. He had set the stage. Now, he waited for the first of his enemies to make their move.