CHAPTER 134 :The storm was relentless, whipping the arid mountainside into a frenzy of jagged ice and swirling dust. Billy’s boots barely touched the ground as he stumbled forward, his senses splitting between the world around him and the chaos unfurling in his mind. The relic, perched on his chest like a living thing, pulsed erratically, thrumming with a raw, invasive energy that seemed to reach deep into his memory, his very essence. The air around him felt heavier, each breath a labor, as if the storm itself sought to choke the life out of him.His vision blurred, and suddenly the landscape melted away entirely. Billy wasn’t walking anymore. He was falling—through space, time, and consciousness, tumbling into a realm where light fractured into shards of memory. The relic had taken him. It dragged him somewhere between reality and something else entirely, somewhere dark and infinite. He saw the volcano in the distance, its crater glowing like molten amber, but it felt farther than

CHAPTER 136 :The jagged cliffs rose like teeth against the stormy sky, the wind whipping Billy’s coat against his chest with relentless force. Rain stung his face, cold and sharp, but the heat of the looming volcano ahead burned in his chest hotter than any weather. Every step was a battle, every misstep a potential fall into the chasm-lined ravine below.Owen led the way, boots crunching over wet stone, flashlight beam slicing through the darkness. His usual calm demeanor was tempered with urgency. “We can’t let the Curator reach the star-point first. Every second counts.”Billy’s legs ached, every muscle trembling from exhaustion and the lingering effects of the relic-bond. It pulsed now, subtly syncing with the environment—almost as if the volcano itself were alive and reacting to him. He clenched his fists, trying to ground himself, but every pulse sent a jolt through his body that threatened to throw off his balance.Behind him, Tyla’s breaths came fast and ragged. Her hair plas

CHAPTER 138 :The wind tore at Tyla’s jacket, snapping it against her shoulders, mixing ash and rain into a gritty paste across her face. Lightning split the sky above the volcano, illuminating jagged ridges and rivers of molten rock with stark, brief clarity. She could hear Billy’s ragged breaths, each one a struggle, each one a battle against the relic that threatened to consume him.He was on his knees, fingers clawing at the scorched earth, the relic embedded in his chest pulsing violently. Each pulse seemed to drag him further from the world, a siren call of energy and darkness that threatened to override his body and mind. Tyla’s first instinct was to scream, to shake him, to force him back into reality—but she knew better. That approach would only provoke the bond further.Instead, she knelt beside him, letting her fingers hover above the faint glow of the relic’s surface. “Billy,” she whispered, voice steady despite the storm, “you can hear me, right? Focus on me. I need you

CHAPTER 141 :The volcano’s roar swallowed everything—sound, breath, thought. It was like standing inside a giant’s furnace, every tremor a reminder that the mountain had turned into a living, furious thing. Billy, Tyla, and Owen barely had a second to brace themselves as the ground beneath them lurched violently, buckling under the pressure of the Curator’s manipulation of the star-point.A fissure snapped open at Billy’s feet, glowing like the mouth of hell. Instinct—not human, not alien, but something in between—yanked his body backward. Even with the supernatural reflexes, his heart jolted; that drop would’ve swallowed him whole.“MOVE!” Owen yelled, grabbing Tyla’s arm as a shockwave barreled across the crater floor.The blast hit like a physical shove. Ash spiraled. Fire spat upward in wild pulses, the molten veins under the mountain now completely unrestrained. The Curator had lost all pretense of controlled activation—this was raw, unfiltered release.And Billy felt every atom

CHAPTER 143 :The star-point chamber burned with an otherworldly glow — not fire, not magma, something older. The air vibrated like the walls themselves were whispering. The floor—if you could still call it a floor—was a fractured plate suspended above a churning abyss of volcanic energy, arcs of gold-red light slashing upward like living lightning.Billy Anderson staggered forward, breaths ragged, sweat stinging his eyes. The relic embedded in his sternum pulsed in painful, uneven beats. Each throb crawled up his throat, choking him with a metallic taste, like he was breathing in molten iron. Behind him, Tyla’s voice echoed from somewhere in the chaos, but the chamber swallowed her words whole.The Curator stood at the center of the glowing platform, cloak shredded by heat, hair wild from the storms of energy he had unleashed. But his eyes—those cold, analytical voids—were steady. Almost calm. The kind of calm that made Billy’s skin crawl.“You’re late, William Anderson,” the Curator