Ashes, Ice, and Red Shadows (Filler Story)

As the ice cracked beneath the frozen contestants and their defeated forms vanished in teleportation light, a silence lingered—until it was broken by slow, deliberate footsteps.

From the northern slope came a boy with wild red hair, the tips of his coat singed and his boots scorched from travel. His presence was loud, even before he spoke.

Beside him crawled a heavy, snail-like Whisp, its massive obsidian shell jagged with magma trails. It left burning craters where it slid, steam curling from its path.

The boy's name was Rykarn Vohl, badge C7, known in some circles as "The Scorchling."

He grinned at the empty clearing.

"Thanks for warming the ground, clowns," he said lazily. "Now hand over the badges—or what's left of them."

From the mist, Binny raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed.

Behind him, the white-haired girl sat, brushing her fingers through the soft fur of her frost Whisp, Glacireine, who now rested curled like a cold crescent beside her.

Rykarn eyed her.

"Oh, more statues. What's with this place? You mute too, Miss Frostbite?"

Binny chuckled dryly. "Go back to your lava pit, Rykarn. She's not in the mood."

"Oh, you know me?" Rykarn said, feigning surprise. "Good. Saves time."

He flicked a finger toward his Whisp.

"Crack 'em."

The magma-snail launched a glowing Magma Boulder straight toward the girl, flame curling at its edges.

She didn't flinch.

The boulder froze mid-air—encased in ice before it even reached her.

Shkkk-crack! The block shattered and dropped like ash.

Rykarn stopped smiling.

"Oh... she blinks when she's annoyed. Cute."

She finally stood up.

Binny immediately stepped forward. "Miss, don't waste it. He's not worth our frost."

She tilted her head, then smiled—a quiet, dangerous smile.

"If we meet again…" she said, her voice the whisper of snow falling, "bring a sharper rock."

Then—woosh—a pulse of mist exploded from her feet. Within a blink, she and Binny vanished in a swirl of fog, like spirits leaving the stage.

Rykarn stared, growling under his breath.

"Damn it!"

His Whisp roared beside him, melting half the bush in frustration.

They fumed for nearly two minutes, pacing and cursing.

Then something caught Rykarn's eye.

...................

A figure in the distance. Quiet. Calm. Walking along the brush-lined slope with not a care in the world. A coat like black smoke, and a white blindfold across his face.

Jimmy.

Rykarn's rage focused instantly.

He pointed.

"You there! Yeah, chicken legs! Get back here!"

Jimmy didn't respond. Didn't even turn. Just kept walking.

Luna, a few meters behind him, her eyes glowing faintly in the shade.

Rykarn's knuckles cracked. "Heh. You're brave. Or stupid. Let's find out which."

His Whisp began to burn hotter, magma spilling like veins of fury down its sides.

....................................

Rykarn Vohl stood over scorched grass, his eyes locked on the dark silhouette fading into the mist ahead.

"Tch. Of course the blind clown walks like he owns the mountain."

Beside him, his Whisp—a magma-shelled creature named Moltrailk—oozed molten steam from its shell, the stone underfoot cracking wherever it moved.

The battlefield was quiet now. The white-haired girl and Binny had already disappeared into the mist minutes ago, leaving behind only frozen footprints and echoes of their eerie laughter.

Rykarn was too late to confront them.

But now, another prize walked just ahead.

"Hey, brat!" he yelled at the shadow. "You deaf too, or just stupid? You think we didn't see that silent act earlier?"

But the figure—Jimmy—kept walking, his shadow stretching longer in the mist, silent and measured.

Moltrailk growled, its rocky shell clicking with heat as magma dripped from the sides.

Rykarn took a few bold steps forward, but then... he stopped.

The mist was thickening. Too thick.

Not a natural fog—this was crafted. Deliberate. It only surrounded Jimmy's trail, curling toward Rykarn's feet, hesitant and cold.

He glanced around. No sound. No birds. No insects. No Binny. No girl.

Just the lingering smell of frost and smoke… and that shadow, always ahead, never vanishing.

Something cold slithered down Rykarn's spine.

"…This isn't a chase," he muttered to himself. "It's a pull. He's luring me."

His Whisp made a rumble of warning, half-submerged in mist now.

Then a voice—low, steady, almost too calm—carried through the air:

"We came here to win... ."

Rykarn froze.

He stared into the fog.

No echo, no movement.

Just those words, hanging like frost.

Moltrailk hissed, flames licking the damp air, but the shadow of Jimmy was now gone—swallowed by the mountain, the trees, and the mist alike.

Rykarn clicked his tongue, hard. "Cheeky bastard…"

He turned away.

"This ain't over, clown. Next time, you don't get to walk."

...................................

The Formex Colosseum thundered with cheers and curses as the battlefields unfolded across the six colossal floating screens — each formed by the synchronized union of 24 Formex Whisps, buzzing faintly above the arena.

"ZONE A – FIRESTORM AT STATION 2!"

"ZONE B – SIEGE ON A RIDGE!"

"ZONE E – MIST CLASH! ICE VS ROCK!"

"ZONE C – SKY WHISPS COLLIDING!"

"ZONE D – TRIPLE TEAM AMBUSH!"

"ZONE A – DARK PET EMERGES!"

Names flickered. Whisps roared. Each quadrant of the competition became its own storm.

ZONE A: Rising Star – Zirae (A14)

A thunderous cry echoed from the main screen. A girl in ash-black armor stood against three opponents, her palm outstretched. Behind her, a lightning eagle Strikavax unleashed a spiraling bolt that split a stone bridge in half.

The audience gasped as the wave took down two enemies at once.

"A14 is wiping the floor!"

"That's Zirae! She trained under the Raijin Cliffs!"

A merchant nearby chuckled, tallying his bets.

"I knew the east would strike first. Watch—she's already farming herbs between hits."

ZONE D: The Twin Blades – Malo & Serra (D12 & D13)

Two siblings danced like wind and fire. One wielded a wind-type Fellcape, the other a fire serpent Emberail. Together, they moved like they'd rehearsed it for years.

"Team D12 and D13 showing exceptional coordination!"

The crowd whistled as their combo Gale Spiral melted a frozen slope, unearthing a hidden badge. The announcer's voice boomed:

"That's three steals in ten minutes! The twins are not here to play!"

ZONE C: The Falling Comet – Soren (C01)

Near the edge of a cliff, Soren stood alone — C01 badge glinting. He was calm, shirtless, arms tattooed with glowing glyphs.

His pet — a floating iron comet with fiery tails — orbited him like a moon. Meteolux.

A challenger charged. The comet ignited midair, then slammed into the challenger's Whisp, exploding like a miniature sun.

"Meteolux!!" the crowd screamed.

The enemy was gone in one hit.

Even the nobles blinked.

ZONE E: Whispered Chaos – Red-Haired Rykarn (E07)

"Is that magma leaking from his coat?!"

Rykarn, the infamous red-haired boy, laughed as molten rock sizzled around his snail-like magma Whisp. He grinned like a demon.

He'd just flattened two water-type trainers with sheer heat pressure.

"That kid's unhinged," someone muttered.

Another added:

"But he's still top 10. Don't mess with E07."

ZONE B: The Silent Duelist – D27

Only a flash of fog was shown. D27. The mysterious eyepatch boy. No Whisp visible. Only a fading badge counter: 177 points.

The screen shifted quickly, skipping commentary.

No one needed an explanation anymore.

"He's moving again. Let him be," muttered a girl in the VIP box.

High Platform – Commentator's Booth

The emcee, a white-suited host with spiked blue hair, twirled a wand of projection light.

"AND WHAT A BLOODY HOUR IT HAS BEEN! Already 29 eliminations confirmed!"

"A14 with a double strike!"

"C01 melting hearts and cliffs!"

"Twin blades D12/D13 building momentum!"

"AND rumors of Zone F movement coming in…"

He paused. Cleared his throat.

"And for our most esteemed guest—High Lady Selvaria Nocthallow of the Whispering High Council—may your gaze find pleasure in the bloom of blood and brilliance this trial shall unveil.""

A regal woman in obsidian silver nodded calmly, sipping crystal nectar.

"Quite the harvest," she said softly.

Betting Halls – Basement Level

"I put everything on A22—he was supposed to be a trap master!"

"He got outwitted by herbs!"

"C01 is too OP. Should be in Advanced League!"

"No no—watch E03. She hasn't shown her second Whisp yet."

People screamed, drank, gambled. Posters with odds and death-rates spun like lottery wheels.