SKY_0408

Sun City, once the heart of the greatest kingdom, burns under the hand of a masked villain. The man behind the silver mask — once known as Jaren — was betrayed by the very empire he served. Now, he brings ruin to the land that cast him aside.

As the city falls, young Prince Aron escapes with nothing but his will to survive. Hunted, broken, and alone, he swears to one day tear the Puppet Master’s mask from his face.

But in this game of shadows, who is the puppet — and who is the master?

Villain Mask: The Puppet Master’s Game

The sun rose blood-red over the battlefield, its light struggling through a sky choked with smoke. The quarry, once a place of quiet stone and shadow, was now a fortress battered by war.

Aron stood at what remained of the outer wall, his sword planted in the earth, his eyes fixed on the hills. Jaren's army waited there — a sea of masks, steel, and hate.

Beside him, Lina strung a fresh cord on her bow. Her fingers were raw from use, her face smeared with soot.

"Look at them," she muttered. "Like wolves circling the wounded deer."

"And we're not dead yet," Aron replied, his voice low but strong.

Garron strode up, his axe resting across his broad shoulders.

"They're moving again," he growled. "Siege towers this time. And ladders enough to climb the sky."

Aron nodded. "Then we break them. As we've broken everything they've thrown at us."

"But we're tired, lad," Garron said, his voice softer. "The walls won't hold another night."

"Then we'll hold in their place," Aron said. "Stone can fall. We won't."

The enemy came with a roar that shook the ground.

Siege towers rolled forward, massive and iron-shod, bristling with archers. Ladders rose like skeletal arms, thrown against the broken walls.

From behind the towers, Jaren's Scourge charged — their masked faces hideous in the morning light, their blades eager for blood.

Garron's axe shattered ladders and skulls alike. Lina's arrows flew true, felling men and beasts before they could cross the breach.

Aron led from the front, his sword flashing, his voice lifting the hearts of those around him.

One tower reached the quarry's heart. Scourge soldiers poured down its gangways, their blades biting deep, their shields forming walls of death.

The rebels fought like cornered lions, but the line wavered. The stone fortress was now a battleground of mud and blood.

Amid the chaos, a horn sounded — deep and cruel.

Upon his black horse, Jaren advanced at last. The silver mask glinted in the smoke, watching, waiting, as his army sought to crush the last breath from the defenders.

"Now it ends," Jaren whispered. "Now the storm takes all."

But Aron, though bloodied, stood firm.

He raised his sword high, his voice ringing above the clash.

And his people answered — broken, weary, but unbowed.

The storm raged. The day burned. And the fate of the quarry balanced on a blade's edge.

Chapter 35 — The Storm’s Claws