Mystic Calling：Stone of Glory

Rhazek lowered his head.

He extended the tip of that weird weapon toward the group’s golden shield and gave it two light pokes.

Tiny ripples spread across the surface.

Then Rhazek turned to the crocodile beside him. His tone went solemn, like he was delivering sacred doctrine.

"Little brother, did you hear His Majesty?"

He warned him with a serious face.

"We can’t kill them. Got it?"

Naiseman lifted his head in irritation.

He was half a head shorter than Rhazek, but both arms had grown into razor-edged blades. Palace light slid across the metal, throwing off a cold glare.

His gaze landed on Ethan and the others—carrying the same unsettling obsession.

"Talk too much."

Naiseman didn’t even look at Rhazek.

"Next time, don’t use a body with a mouth. Switch to one that can’t speak."

Rhazek’s ears snapped upright.

He swung his weapon and slammed it down on top of Naiseman’s head.

Clang!

Metal met scales with an ear-splitting screech.

Naiseman’s head jolted down. His arm-blades scraped the palace floor, carving two deep gouges into the metal.

The brothers were about to keep arguing when Zareth II lifted his scepter from the throne.

It tapped lightly.

Thud.

A circular sand table appeared behind him.

It floated above the throne, filled with fine golden sand. At the same time, the palace ceiling opened into a perfectly sized round hole. A beam of outside light dropped through, landing right on the sand table’s center.

Rhazek and Naiseman immediately began to shrink.

Their huge limbs pulled in fast. Their weapons returned to their original size. In moments, both brothers were back to their starting forms.

They didn’t dare keep bickering. They hurried to Zareth II’s side.

Rhazek and Naiseman knelt together and murmured a rapid string of words toward the throne—language the group couldn’t understand.

The golden sand began to spin.

A stream of gold light poured down from the sand table and flowed into both brothers.

As they rose, their bodies grew again.

Bone and muscle swelled in a rush. Their weapons expanded with them. When the light faded, the two brothers had once again become palace-filling monsters.

This time, there was no more arguing.

Four eyes locked onto the group, sharp and focused.

Buffs?

Who said they were the only ones allowed to do that?

Seraphine stepped forward.

Blinding holy light burst from her.

The golden motes didn’t strike the enemy. Instead, they passed through the shield and seeped into every companion’s body. Once they touched skin, they kept flowing inward—coating energy cores, flesh, and limbs alike.

The first thing everyone felt was exhaustion draining away.

Then the power they’d burned in earlier fights started to return at a fast clip. Breaths grew stronger. Muscles and energy snapped back into a state where they could unleash everything again.

The pressure inside them finally found a way out.

For a heartbeat, everyone felt like they could release every last ounce of pent-up strength they’d been holding back.

Ethan condensed white lightning in his palm again.

Arcs spiraled into a sphere, its brightness steadily climbing. He watched Rhazek and Naiseman through the shield, then fed even more power into the orb.

One layer of white lightning wasn’t enough?

Fine—make it two.

Wind energy compressed behind the sphere, ready to serve as extra thrust. The spatial power he’d just taken and mastered flowed along the outer edge, stabilizing the trajectory like rails.

The sphere’s lethality doubled again.

Cradling it in his hand, Ethan called out, loud and clear.

"You two idiots."

He raised his arm high.

"Eyes over here!"

That single word—idiots—hooked them instantly.

Rhazek and Naiseman both lowered their heads.

Not only did they not keep their distance, they pressed their massive foreheads right up against the golden shield, curious, peering at the white orb in Ethan’s hand.

Their two heads almost squeezed together.

Foreheads lined up perfectly with the firing path.

Ethan’s lips curled.

Thank you, fate.

He shoved his palm forward.

The white sphere shot from his hand, slipping through a channel the golden shield opened for it. The instant it cleared the defense, the wind energy behind it detonated, boosting its speed again.

Boom!

A circular ring of sonic pressure exploded in front of the brothers’ faces.

The sphere pierced straight through Rhazek’s head, then continued along the same line and punched clean through Naiseman’s skull. White lightning sprayed from their eyes and wounds, and both massive bodies locked up in place.

The attack didn’t stop.

After punching through both heads, the sphere kept going—straight at the throne.

Zareth II didn’t stand.

When the white orb reached the final shield layer in front of him, its speed abruptly dropped.

A suction force opened from inside the barrier.

Strands of lightning were drawn out of the sphere, siphoned away and spread along the shield’s internal structure. The defense didn’t weaken under the hit—instead, it absorbed the white energy, its surface growing thicker, heavier with light.

The sphere finally stalled outside the shield.

It couldn’t advance another inch.

But Rhazek and Naiseman were already no longer under their original control.

Those two huge bodies still stood in the palace’s center, their skulls completely bored through by Ethan’s lightning.

Those bodies belonged to Ethan now.

He stepped out from the golden shield.

The moment his first foot hit the palace floor, walls, pillars, and ceiling lit up with dense red dots.

Infrared targeting.

Beams locked onto Ethan.

The red points crawled over his chest, forehead, and limbs. Every hidden weapon tracked his movement, adjusting angles in real time. Machine guns began to chamber. Magnetic cannons spun back into charge. Other devices slid into firing-ready states.

Ethan didn’t pause.

He walked straight toward the throne.

Zareth II stayed sprawled in that lazy posture.

Only after Ethan had moved a good distance from the shield did Zareth II lift two fingers.

They curled slightly.

From beneath the throne came the sound of metal reassembling.

A figure wrapped head to toe in golden armor rose out of the shadows. Helmet, breastplate, arms, legs—everything was sealed under thick metal, faint golden light flowing through the joints.

It stepped down from in front of the throne.

Each footfall was heavy enough to make the floor tremble.

The golden armor halted in front of Ethan—but its movements weren’t smooth. When it raised an arm, it paused midway, like something was lagging. Its steps were stiff, visibly unnatural.

"You..."

A broken, stuttering voice came from inside the armor.

"...bad slave..."

It lurched closer.

"You should accept our... guidance..."

Just finishing that sentence seemed to drain everything inside it.

The golden armor froze in place.

Its arm trembled nonstop, the lifted finger wobbling in the air.

In the end, all it could do was point at Ethan—shaking.