Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 100: Commando

Chapter 100: Commando

The room had collapsed behind them. Fire curled up from shattered beams. Masonry moaned above. And in the center of the wreckage—where smoke and ember danced like a funeral veil—stood Maverick.

His blade rested on his shoulder, scorched and heavy.

Across from him, the strongest of the searchers stepped out through the haze. Broad-shouldered. Gauntlets thick with embedded crystal. His breath left steam in the cold air, and as he moved, the earth beneath him followed—carving low rumbles through the broken stone floor.

Name: Drenn.

Unco:Corebind — the ability to absorb, amplify, and manipulate raw material within his environment, strengthening his own body or shaping weapons from the debris around him. He fed off stone, ore, metal—turning terrain into armor, terrain into power.

The two locked eyes.

"You’re the leader," Drenn said, stepping forward, boots cracking tile. "Then you’re mine."

Maverick didn’t blink. "Took you long enough."

Drenn lunged first.

The floor shattered under him as he launched forward, gauntlets now plated with iron drawn from the rubble, glowing faint red. Maverick raised the Bastion Blade, blade locking horizontal—CLANG—the hit sent vibrations through Maverick’s arm.

He staggered slightly. Caught himself.

Drenn went for a sweep—stone columns burst up from the floor, trying to box Maverick in. Maverick muttered low under his breath.

"Drop it."

The Command Voice rippled.

The rising column hesitated in the air just long enough for Maverick to leap over it and slam his blade down on Drenn’s shoulder. Sparks flew, metal scraped metal—but Drenn absorbed the impact with a shoulder of rock-hard skin.

He grinned.

"You’ll have to try harder, Commander."

Drenn’s body morphed—drawing ore from the walls and floor, metal veins threading into his arms and ribs, wrapping like armor. He barreled forward.

Maverick swung wide and shouted—"Stagger!"

Drenn twitched, his left knee buckling slightly—but he pushed through the command, cracked Maverick across the chest with a heavy punch that sent him skidding backwards.

Maverick coughed, blade scraping the ground. Blood welled in his mouth.

"You can take orders from stone," he panted. "But not from me?"

Drenn flexed his fists. "Stone doesn’t lie. Men do."

Maverick switched tactics—he began weaving commands into rhythm.

"Step wide," he muttered at Drenn’s foot.

Drenn stepped.

"Twist back."

He obeyed—partially—catching himself halfway through.

But Maverick had already moved, blade sweeping in hard. It collided with a pauldron of forged tile, knocked Drenn sideways.

Yet Drenn used the stagger—slammed both fists into the ground.

The floor collapsed beneath them.

They fell together into the lower level of the safehouse—stone, steel, and fury following after them.

They landed on opposite ends.

Both panting. Both bleeding.

Neither backing down.

Maverick gripped his blade tighter, eyes sharp.

Drenn cracked his neck. "Still think you command the field?"

Maverick spit blood.

"Doesn’t matter if I do."

He raised the blade again.

"I just need to command you."

...

(Shylo)

The smoke whispered around them, light trying to cling to places shadow refused to let go.

Shylo moved like night itself—body low, almost disappearing into the burning edge of the safehouse ruins. His spear extended in his hand, wrapped in the breath of shade. His mask was cracked from earlier. He didn’t care.

Across the clearing, someone dropped into view—silent, barefoot, shirtless except for woven bindings along his arms. His skin was pale, faintly glowing beneath exposed ribs. He cracked his knuckles, and something inside his body shifted.

His bones warped.

Muscle twisted.

Skin morphed into a jagged armor of obsidian-black plates, crawling over his arms and torso like growing bark.

Name: Kael.

Unco: Vesselshift — he could morph parts of his body into weaponized extensions. Bone, sinew, plated scales, sharpened ridges. A walking arsenal of flesh and war.

Kael tilted his head.

"You don’t talk, do you?" he asked, voice low, almost amused. "That’s fine. I talk enough for two."

Shylo didn’t answer.

He just stepped forward—and lunged.

Shylo’s spear whipped forward in a blur, aimed for the space beneath Kael’s shoulder.

The man let it connect.

It clinked off his shifting armor with a sharp snap, barely piercing. Kael pivoted and slammed a spiked elbow toward Shylo’s ribs. Shylo ducked, spun out, vanished into the nearby shade.

Kael grinned.

"Cute."

He drove his heel into the dirt, and twin spines erupted from his calves—anchor plates, locking him in place. He twisted his torso and threw one arm forward like it was rubber. It extended unnaturally far, the elbow mutating mid-flight into a clawed arc.

Shylo barely dodged.

The claws raked across his shoulder, tearing fabric, drawing blood.

Shylo phased from one burned beam to another, using the collapsed safehouse’s angles to stay mobile. He struck again—two fast jabs, then a lunge for the throat.

Kael shifted—his skin at the throat rippling, becoming plate instead of flesh. The spear bounced. Kael used the momentum to grab the shaft and twist it, pulling Shylo forward into a brutal knee.

Shylo grunted, rolled off, and vanished again—his shadow flickering under the stairs, buying him space.

"Stop hiding!" Kael barked, arm extending again—this time forming into a long black blade, heavy and jagged. "Or I’ll tear the whole place apart until there’s nowhere left for you to run!"

Shylo appeared behind Kael, struck fast—his spear gliding through the one soft spot under Kael’s left arm. It hit. Drew blood.

But the second strike was too slow.

Kael turned, and his arm grew a jagged shield mid-swing, blocking the counter. Then he elbowed Shylo in the gut, hard, sending him crashing through a burnt table.

Shylo didn’t rise immediately.

His cloak was smoking. His mask cracked further. He pulled it off now, tossing it aside.

Kael grinned and stepped closer, his body shifting again—

The air shimmered with heat. Somewhere upstairs, part of the ceiling groaned and gave way. But down here—under the ruin and the ruiners—Shylo and Kael moved like myth, clashing in the fragments of something once whole.

Kael’s body kept shifting—plate turning into blade, limbs forming strange angles that weren’t meant for human movement. His back pulsed now with jagged, bone-like fins that pulsed with every breath.

Shylo ducked low under a wide sweep and slashed forward—only for Kael’s forearm to twist mid-strike, growing a sharp hook that caught Shylo’s shoulder and tore backward as Kael pivoted.

Shylo hissed silently, blood dripping from his side.

He stumbled, but caught himself. Slid back into the dark.

Kael chuckled. "Come on. Keep slinking around. I can do this all night."

He drove his palm into the dirt—sending a ripple through his own skeletal frame, which jutted up around him like a shield of warped armor. His body was becoming its own fortress.

Shylo appeared again at his flank—striking toward the exposed hip.

This time—Kael spun fast, and his leg morphed into a whip of jagged spine, cracking Shylo across the jaw and hurling him into a pillar.

The wood split behind him. Dust rained down. His spear clattered somewhere across the floorboards.

Still, no sound from him.

Kael tilted his head. "You’re still breathing? Tough little shadow."

Shylo leaned on his palm, lifted himself slowly. His lip bled, and his cloak was nearly torn in two.