The three warriors stand motionless at the edge of the abyss. They are bathed in the pulsating fuchsia and azure glow of the bioluminescent trees. The rushing sound of the inverted waterfalls fills the silence. Their gazes lock onto each other instantly. The atmosphere shifts in a single heartbeat from pure wonder to cold, icy focus.
“A few days, I reckon,” Aurelius breaks the silence. He narrows his eyes as he looks over the gigantic network of floating temples. “Then Nyx and the rest will be here. This is the plan: split up, come back stronger, and stay absolutely undercover!”
Before Silarias or Beat can even nod, a deep bow approaches from behind them. A servant of Mayor Ishna steps forward. The man labors under the weight of a massive wooden crate filled with garments.
The crate snaps open, revealing a bizarre collection of fabrics that fit the spiritual, mountainous environment perfectly. The three men immediately reach for the outfits that align with their undercover personas.
Aurelius pulls out a deep charcoal-gray, tight-fitting tunic, combined with flowing, wide robes that mask his movements. As he throws the fabrics over his shoulders, he strokes his fingers along the hilt of his sword. The weapon immediately begins to vibrate softly in its scabbard.
“I need to refine my pure sword-fighting techniques to the absolute limit,” Aurelius says while fastening the buttons of his new robe. Completely absorbed in his own thoughts, he stares at the vibrating blade. “Without the flashy shortcuts of my power. If I keep blindly relying on the brute force of my Ignition, this sword will consume me from the inside out. It eats my soul. I must adapt to this environment. I must become invisible in the shadows of the dojos.”
Beat examines a set of aerodynamic, asymmetrical garments. They are leather straps combined with light, breathable fabrics that cling tightly to his limbs so that not a breath of wind can be caught.
“I get what you mean,” Beat adds, pulling on the tight clothing with a smooth motion. He inspects his own hands, where faint purple sparks still dance between his fingers. “That new power in the arena… I don't even know what to call it. That cobalt-blue Oni form possesses a brutal overload. My whole body is still trembling from it. I need to learn to handle that insane speed and gain control over those arms before my own momentum simply tears me apart.”
Silarias grabs a heavy, soberly woven cloak that perfectly matches the ascetic monks of the floating sanctuaries. He pulls the large hood over his head, leaving his burning gaze completely in shadow. His focus shifts immediately to his internal fire and his spiritual foundation.
“I must strengthen my spirit,” Silarias says with a heavy voice. He clenches his fists, letting a small, concentrated plume of gold-black fire slip between his fingers. He looks at his two comrades defiantly. “I’m going into the temples. I’ll seek the spiritual depths to forge my willpower. But listen… let’s make a competition out of it. Just for the honor, as three comrades. Who makes the most progress?”
A short, raw laugh escapes the throats of Beat and Aurelius. Their eyes glisten with pure competitive drive.
“So what’s the drawback?” Beat asks with a wide grin. “What are the restrictions to keep it fair?”
Silarias looks at Aurelius intensely and points to his weapon. “Aurelius, for you: you cannot fully rely on your Photon Anting. No more easy light flashes to end your fights quickly. You must truly break that dependency and fight purely on your own sword skills.”
Aurelius nods slowly, accepting the challenge, and together with Silarias, directs his gaze toward Beat.
“And you, Flamo… de-tangle yourself,” Aurelius says, looking seriously at Silarias. “Go deep into that meditation and finally learn to figure out what that brute power of yours is truly about. No more blind rage.”
Then, the two turn simultaneously to Beat. A short, telling silence falls as they look him over, shaking their heads.
“And you, Beto… hmm,” Silarias begins with a teasing grin. “For you, starting now: nothing music-related. You’ll learn to use your speed without the buffs, and absolutely without your music. You’re going to be completely anti-music for this entire undercover period.”
Beat immediately pulls a dead-bored face and raises his hands theatrically. “No music? Are you trying to kill me? That’s like asking a fish to stop swimming!”
Aurelius and Silarias burst into loud laughter at his reaction.
“No excuses, Beto!” Aurelius laughs. “Purely on your own strength this time!”
They recover into a serious moment and simultaneously raise their hands. With a loud, rumbling smack, they seal their fate with a brutal high five that echoes loudly over the edge of the deep cliff.
Without another word, all three jump in completely different directions. Silarias activates his muscles and leaps with a gigantic bound toward the highest floating temples in the sky. Aurelius flashes away like a silent shadow, thundering over the rooftops toward the hidden dojos in the rugged mountain face.
The focus shifts immediately to Beat.
With a heavy, dull thud, he lands in his new aerodynamic undercover gear right in front of the entrance of a notorious underground pub. This is no ordinary tavern. This is the ultimate power and speed outlaw pub of the entire district.
Beat regains his breathing and stares at the heavy doors. No music, then. No rhythm to lean on. Only my own raw reflexes against the scum of this Ward. Let’s see what this undercover grind is worth.
He pushes the heavy, iron-reinforced wooden doors open and steps over the threshold. Inside, there is a suffocating, hot vapor of heavy alcohol, burning spices, and the sharp scent of ozone. The room is packed with the most insane, dangerous, and fastest outlaws this world has to offer.
At the heavy wooden tables sit speed demons. Their bodies constantly tremble and glitch in reality due to the pure kinetic energy coursing through their veins. Next to them are the speed pirates, rough sea-rovers of the floating currents, recognizable by their deep scars and the mechanical upgrades on their legs to artificially pump up their reflexes. Everywhere, there is loud shouting, dice being thrown so hard they burn holes in the tables, and strong liquor being downed that looks like pure liquid fire. It is a chaotic, bizarre den of pure adrenaline and illegality.
Until the heavy doors slam shut behind Beat with a loud, vibrating bang.
In a fraction of a second, everything stops. The loud roaring dies out immediately. The rolling of the burning dice halts abruptly. Glasses hang halfway to the mouths of the outlaws.
The entire room falls icy, dead silent. Every single look in the pub, hundreds of pairs of predatory, hyperactive, and deadly eyes, turns synchronously and locks with lethal precision onto the newly arrived Beat.
A large speed demon at the bar sets his glass down with a trembling hand, spits on the floor, and breaks the silence with a hissing voice. “What does this fresh blood want here? You look like you’re lost, snot-nose.”
Beat steps further into the pub with a wide, arrogant grin. He puts his hands on his hips, throws his head back, and roars with a voice that makes the glasses on the bar vibrate: “Uh-hum, I AM BEATO, AND WHO IS THE FASTEST HERE?!”
It echoes against the wooden beams of the ceiling. It remains dead silent for a fraction of a second, until the entire room erupts in loud, mocking laughter. The scum pound on the tables in amusement.
“Look at that clown!” a pirate shouts from the back. “Thinks he’s something!”
From the corner of the room, a blur of movement suddenly shoots out. Before the laughter of the crowd fades, a terrifyingly fast pair of twins surrounds Beat. They move in synchronous, jerky flashes and begin circling him, their faces a blur of pure speed.
“Hahaa, you’ve got guts, you’ve got guts!” giggles the left half of the twins.
“Do you even know who we are and where you are, snot-nose?” the right half adds immediately.
Beat just nods very dryly, calmly looks around at the trembling outlaw faces, and says in a completely calm voice: “Seems like a fun party. I’m new here.”
The twins burst into hard laughter. With a sudden, sharp gesture, they simultaneously make a stop sign with their hands. In one blow, the sound in the whole pub dies away again. The silence returns instantly.
“We are the Pandavas,” they say synchronously, standing with their chests out. They immediately begin to explain the art of speed and their superior techniques with a great display of arrogance. “Speed isn’t a matter of running, little man. It’s an art form. It’s manipulating the kinetic currents around you. You possess none of that. You’re slow. A snail.”
They look him up and down and end with a condescending glare. “Your ambition is nice, Beto, but can you actually just sprint?”
Beat feels his blood boiling. His ego screams to show them all the corners of the room right there on the spot, but he swallows it completely with a large lump in his throat. Undercover. Stay calm. Completely composed, he steps forward and shakes their hands firmly. “You’ve told me a lot already… can you teach me more?”
The Pandavas stare at his outstretched hand and immediately burst into mocking laughter again. “Hahaha! Teach you? You’re not even worth the teaching yet, little man! Let’s run first! See what you even are before we waste our precious time on you!”
At those words, the whole pub begins to shiver with tension. Even the large barkeep behind the counter gets a wide, sinister grin on his face. He leans over the bar and laughs deeply. “You can still leave now, kid. Haha, save your skin while you can, before they break your legs.”
Beat interrupts the bartender immediately with a tight, unmoved gaze. “One shot, please. And the explanation of where I need to go. I’ll see you all outside.”
The whole room erupts in wild cheering. This is the ultimate entertainment. The twins look at each other, and for a moment, they soften just a little bit due to the pure brutality of this moment. “Come on, haha, you’re at least starting to entertain us! Just follow us!”
Together, they walk out of the heavy doors to a gigantic outdoor field that borders the abyss. The Pandavas point to a starting point, but their faces immediately cloud over.
“There is only one problem,” the left half explains, while kicking a rusty mechanism. “The main generator and the central crystalline battery have been broken for centuries.”
“Despite being ruthless outlaws, we do have our honor,” the right one adds with a deep sigh. “We would have loved to show you that legendary course to humiliate you, but without power, the gigantic crystal doesn’t work, and the entire race course simply cannot be projected. There’s nothing to race.”
Beat remains very calm and looks at a gigantic, ancient stone structure in the distance that is as large as an apartment building. Thick, dead cables lead to it. Quite calmly, he points to it. “Is this… it?”
The twins nod, deeply disappointed. They try to hide their disappointment. “Yeah, that’s the core. But come on, there’s nothing we can do, let’s just go somewhere else—”
“Wait a second,” Beat interrupts them.
Suddenly, the air around him begins to crackle. Blue and purple sparks explode with a hissing violence around his feet.
“Haha, let’s juice it up,” Beat grins.
“No, Beto, this is going to go wrong! Stop! You’ll blow the whole thing up!” the Pandavas scream with wide eyes.
No music, no Oni-arms… but my internal current is mine, Beat thinks determinedly. Completely focused on the purple electricity in his core, he lets the generator see what real tension is.
The energy around him immediately shifts into deep, nuclear purple electricity. His light undercover clothing mutates on the spot and transforms into glowing, electric fabric that crackles with high voltage. Without using his extra arms, purely on his own internal reserve, Beat slams his palms flat against the massive stone housing of the generator.
“Let there be light!” he roars.
BZZZZZZZZZT!!!
In a fraction of a second, everything around them begins to light up terrifyingly bright. The gigantic, ancient stone structure shakes to its foundations. The huge crystal on top of the structure connects with a loud bang to the brutal surge of power. Everything in the wide vicinity gets its lighting back in one blow.
The twins stand in complete disbelief, mouths agape, looking at the pulsating energy. The brutal current and the vibrant colors travel in a lightning-fast wave through the ground plates, straight to the outlaw pub behind them. Everywhere you look, the windows light up, while the crystal lighting inside the rooms clicks on with loud taps.
And the restored power ends inside the pub, right at the old music installation, which begins to howl over the field with a hard bass.
The Pandavas turn around, wanting to thank Beto profusely for this miracle, but Beat interrupts them immediately. His purple form flickers dangerously, teeth clenched as he fights against his instincts to move along with the rhythm.
“MUSIC OFF!!!” Beat roars across the field. He slams his hand against his forehead and lets out a deep, frustrated sigh. Damn it, those idiots don't get it. “No music. I’m not allowed to use music, otherwise I lose the bet. I… sigh… No music, if possible. Please. Turn that shit off.”
The twins stand there, stunned, along with the dozens of outlaws who have by now swarmed outside to watch the spectacle. The bartender is there too, looking startled at the heavy purple energy of Beat, eyes wide. “Uh… um… one moment!”
The bartender sprints back into the pub with full, insane speed. Inside, you immediately hear a gigantic racket of breaking wood, falling chairs, and the sound of the amplifiers being dismantled with brute force in every room.
A few seconds later, the bartender comes sprinting back out, completely out of breath, sweat thick on his forehead. “Phew! Heh… heh… no music to be heard! What are you talking about?! Everything is silent!”
At that exact moment, the entire audience looks to the left in unison. On a wooden crate sits a very small, mechanical music box that has been activated by the power surge and continues to play a cheerful, shrill melody in the silence.
The bartender looks at it, and his face contorts in pure panic. “OH HELL NAH!!”
He pulls a massive wooden club from behind his back, sprints toward the box, and smashes it to invisible powder with a brutal blow. “There! Absolutely no more music! Nobody sings here today!”
Beat’s eyes shift slowly to the twins. The Pandavas both quickly make a hushing gesture with their hands to signal him to ignore it.
Together, they turn their gaze back to the huge, restored crystal. The spiritual energy pulses brightly, and suddenly, a gigantic, three-dimensional beam of light shoots into the sky. The entire race mountain is mapped out digitally: an insane, razor-sharp race course that cuts through the entire city in impossible turns, circles around it, and crosses the entire district twice. It is a labyrinth of pure speed over floating rooftops and deep abysses.
Beat’s eyes bloom immediately with pure excitement. An intense wave of joy flows through his veins. Finally, a worthy place to test my speed. Without music, purely on my own limits. He looks at the twins with a wild gaze. “Once again… thanks. This is exactly what I was looking for.”
The Pandavas look at him with a challenging, hungry gaze and dig their feet deep into the starting blocks. “Take it easy, maniac. We haven’t even started yet! Don’t you think that power surge is going to save you from defeat!”
“Show us what you’ve got, Beto!” someone from the crowd shouts.
The entire outlaw audience bursts into loud laughter from the pure tension. The atmosphere is electric. The twins and Beat take their positions, muscles tensed, gazes fixed on the shimmering starting line. They stand ready at the starting blocks, breath held, ready to run straight through the sound barrier…