Wcience

The Elemental Reckoning

Deep beneath the surface, the walls of the EALA headquarters hummed with a cold, electric buzz. The neon logo of the organization flickered on the ceiling, casting eerie reflections along the metallic corridors. Ahead, the team could see the machine through a narrow window—a colossal, pulsing device radiating raw energy. Inside it, a figure writhed in agony as the leaders gathered around, oblivious to the pain they were inflicting.

“This is it,” Dore muttered, his voice tense. “We’ve got to stop them.”

Harth gritted his teeth, gripping his weapon tighter. They were deep underground, and escape was no longer an option. Qwerty, unusually calm, eyed the room, twirling a rusted coin between his fingers.

The door creaked open, and the three of them slipped into the chamber unnoticed. The moment they stepped in, alarms blared. Red lights flashed across the ceiling, and the EALA leaders turned in unison.

“Stop them!” one of the leaders shouted, moving towards the control panel.

Without hesitation, Harth charged forward. But before he could stop them, the process within the machine was disrupted. The person inside let out a blood-curdling scream, their body convulsing violently.

Dore acted swiftly, throwing a jagged metal shard at one of the leaders. It struck true, and the leader collapsed, dead. Chaos erupted in the chamber as the remaining three scrambled to regroup—one already clutching a bleeding arm.

Then, with a sudden and deafening pulse, the machine released a powerful shockwave. Harth felt it rattle his bones as a brilliant flash filled the room. The display on the machine flickered, revealing a mocking message:

“Good luck, EALA. You disrupted the process. Now the crystal is not safe for another use, or else. :) — Doan Skibids”

“Skibids!” one of the leaders shouted in rage. In desperation, they shoved one of their soldiers into the machine, screaming, “Master! Master!”

The soldier barely had time to react before the machine emitted another violent pulse. Light flooded the room again, and everything went white.

---

When the light dimmed, Harth found himself sprawled on the cold, metallic floor of the underground chamber. The air was thick with dust and the smell of burnt wiring. He blinked, trying to regain his bearings. Bodies lay scattered across the room—some reduced to nothing more than charred flesh. But not all had perished.

The leaders who had stood further from the machine were different now. Harth could see it in their eyes. They had changed. He could feel it too—the power coursing through him. Elemental power. But it was fractured, incomplete. He had gained something, but it was only a shadow of the full mastery the leaders now possessed.

The surviving leaders seemed overjoyed, playing with their newfound powers like children with new toys. One of them summoned fire with a flick of their wrist, laughing as flames danced in the air. Another conjured wind, sending gusts swirling through the ruined chamber. They reveled in their strength, paying no mind to the destruction they had caused.

Then, in an instant, they vanished, disappearing into the air.

Harth looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. He could feel the power within, but it wasn’t enough. He was a half-master—just enough to be dangerous, but not enough to wield the full force.

“We need to leave,” Dore urged, his voice tight. “The machine’s broken, but they’ve already gotten what they came for.”

As they turned to leave, Harth’s anger flared. He clenched his fists, and the ground beneath them rumbled. A tremor rippled through the underground chamber, knocking debris loose from the ceiling.

“Easy,” Dore said, pulling him back before the tremor could grow worse.

They ran through the underground corridors of the EALA headquarters, the weight of their actions sinking in. The machine lay destroyed, and the crystal that had once powered it was now blackened and cracked, useless. The EALA could never use it again. But they had already taken what mattered most—the elemental power.

Turning a corner, the team spotted a wounded soldier slumped against the wall. His uniform bore the insignia of the ZOF—the Zachian Opposition Force. Blood pooled beneath him, and he struggled to breathe.

“Help… me,” the soldier rasped.

Dore knelt beside him, checking his wounds. “He’s one of the ZOF. We need him.”

“Can you walk?” Harth asked, his voice strained.

The soldier winced, nodding weakly. “I’ll lead you to the nearest ZOF base. My name… Jade Skibids.”

Harth’s eyes widened. “Skibids? Doan Skibids is your brother?”

Jade nodded as they helped him to his feet. “Yes. We need to get out of here. I know a way.”

The group moved quickly, following Jade through the dimly lit halls. But Qwerty, in his usual manic state, charged ahead of them, only to scream in agony as a beartrap snapped around his leg.

“Get it off!” Qwerty howled, thrashing against the steel teeth biting into his flesh.

Jade, pale and trembling, grabbed an axe from the nearby debris. “There’s only one way,” he said grimly, his voice barely steady.

Harth’s stomach turned as Jade closed his eyes, raising the axe. Qwerty’s panicked screams filled the hallway, but there was no time. Jade swung the axe down.