Cold. There was just so much cold. Flogged by the winds, the lass pulled her hood further down and glanced at the young man beside her with a mix of fear, concern, and hope.
His fierce red eyes were glaring intently at the fang shaped wooden pendant in the elder's hand, the vessel of their long-lost deity.
The Ice Spirit was more than a protector; it was the heart and soul of their village, a beacon of hope and strength during the darkest winters. The spirit's power ensured their survival, its presence a comforting whisper amidst the howling winds, guiding their ancestors through countless hardships. Without it, their village was incomplete, vulnerable. That old and damaged wooden pendant, though small and seemingly insignificant, held the weight of their history, their culture, and their very existence. The boy's eyes burned with a blazing and blind desperation, knowing that restoring the spirit would preserve the legacy, his legacy, that had been nearly lost to time and treachery.
All because some petty man with a foolish wish and his pockets full of money wanted a new toy for his promising slaves.
"Are you certain about this, brother?" the girl asked worriedly as she watched a man and his assistants mounting a strange device. "The extent and consequences of this program remain undetermined. What if it hurts the spirit? What if it endangers the village?"
"Stop asking stupid questions and just look around. We are rotting away. Without the Ice Spirit, we won't survive another year." The rude words silenced her.
"It's ready," the old man informed them.
"What are you waiting for? Proceed at once!"
…
The grand arena of the BBA headquarters buzzed with anticipation. Spectators filled the stands, their excited murmurs echoing through the dome. Amidst the cacophony of the crowd, as if the roaring cheers were but a distant storm, Tala stood at the edge of the battle platform, icy blue gaze focused and intense.
The memories of his devastating defeat to Garland during the BEGA battles a few months ago still haunted him. Humiliated by that arrogant fox, a pawn under Boris just as he himself used to be, that specific and shameful loss had etched a deep scar on his soul, forcing him to confront his weaknesses. The Blitzkrieg Boys sat quietly and relaxed on the bench, their watchful eyes locked on their captain's back. Bryan and Spencer understood the weight Tala carried; they had all faced their own battles and emerged stronger. Yet, Tala's determination burned brighter than ever. He had sworn that weakness would no longer be an option.
Since that fateful day, the captain of the Russian's most talented team had pushed himself beyond his limits. Every day began and ended with grueling training sessions, honing his skills and pushing Wolborg to its peak potential. He had vowed to harness the full power of his Bit-Beast, to ensure that the sting of defeat would never touch him again.
That day, a blazing Saturday in Bey City, the Blitzkrieg Boys were set to face a series of opponents in a high-stakes contest at the BBA. Like a wolf locked on its prey, Tala's eyes narrowed as he watched the first trembling opponent step onto the platform.
"Let's show them what we're made of," Tala muttered, gripping his launcher tightly. The Beyblade in his hand seemed to hum with energy, as if Wolborg itself was eager for the battle ahead.
With a swift motion, he launched Wolborg into the arena. The Beyblade spun with a fierce intensity, its movements precise and powerful. He could feel the icy strength of Wolborg flowing through him, a testament to the relentless training and unyielding spirit that had brought him to this moment.
He was no longer the blader who had fallen to Garland's might. His opponent barely had time to react before Wolborg struck with brutal precision. The force of the impact sent the opposing Beyblade skidding across the arena, sparks flying as it crashed into the barrier.
The crowd gasped, and whispers spread like wildfire.
"Did you see that? Tala's on a whole new level!"
"He's so much stronger!"
…
The young man covered his face, trying to block the strong light that suddenly rose. He lowered his hand to again face the pendant, the source of all the energy, vibrating potently inside the device. An excited grin grew on his lips.
"Watch out!" His sister suddenly jumped at him and threw themselves to the ground. Lost in his euphoria, the man hadn't realized that the powerful force was unsettling the mountain terrain around them, causing rocks, wood, and ice to hurl through the air, one of them narrowly missing him.
The group took shelter. After raging for a while, the spike emitted one last pulse of energy that ascended in the form of a ray of light.
…
It was clear who held the upper hand. With each strike, Wolborg demonstrated its master's newfound strength and determination. The opposing Beyblade wobbled, struggling to maintain its balance under the relentless assault. In a final, decisive move, Tala commanded Wolborg to deliver the finishing blow. The impact was devastating, shattering the opponent's Beyblade and sending frozen pieces flying. Silence fell over the arena along with newly generated snowflakes as the reality of Tala's victory sank in.
Bryan and Spencer exchanged glances, impressed and slightly unnerved by their teammate's transformation. The crowd erupted into applause. The redhead stepped back from the platform, his expression unyielding.
The whispers continued.
"He's a different blader now. More powerful... and merciless."
…
"Are we done? Did it work?"
Once the chaotic energy and danger receded, the group slowly abandoned their covers to approach the device.
The process was complete, but there was no sign of the spirit.
"No way… Curse you, incompetent old man!" The blonde lashed out at the small elder, grasping the frail man by his collar and lifting him off the ground as if he was just a light, broken, useless twig. "You said it was possible! You said you could bring it back!"
"I'm terribly sorry, young master!" the old man desperately tried to explain. "There is something odd, I… I believe the spirit is… resisting!"
"Resisting!?" As the news landed on his mind like a punch, the blonde released the elder and ran to the device.
…
"Wolborg?"
A quick recoil of his blade on top of his hand restrained Tala's steps towards the bench.
There was another, and another. He clenched one eye, feeling the metal strangely starting to heat, and then shake violently, to the point that he could barely hold it.
"Tala?" Bryan raised an eyebrow, seeing his struggle. "What's wrong?"
…
"Brother. Don't." The girl muttered in warning, her eyes darkened, following each small movement the lad made around the device. His rage, his inconsequence, his distasteful selfishness. His intent was crystal clear. "You wouldn't possibly force it."
"Force it?!" The words snapped him. His loud and outraged shout was like a lightning bolt in his sister's and the group's ears. His features were contorted with fury, crimson eyes blazing as if they could set the air around him on fire. The face of a monster, dormant for too long. "The Ice Spirit was never intended to be with those idiots! It was our village's very guardian and soul, our people's pride and faith! And it was stolen away!"
Then, he thrusted his hand inside the device.
The girl closed her eyes in distaste, unwilling to watch the sacrilege that was about to happen.
"The Ice Spirit," he shouted, consumed by rage, as his fingers curled around the core. "is OURS!"
…
"Tala, watch out!" Sensing the danger, Spencer tried to warn him and jump on him to remove the beyblade, but it was too late.
The crowd gasped in horror as a sudden, violent explosion erupted from Wolborg, accompanied by a long, piercing, soul-wrenching female screech.
Catching them off guard, the shockwave slammed into the boys with brutal force, lifting them off their feet and flinging them backward against the seats and the dish. Their vision blurred as they tried to shake off the disorientation, ears rang and muscles screamed in protest as they forced themselves to sit up.
"Everyone alright?" Spencer asked, checking on his partners, each muscle on his body and his both ears crying in pain.
"What just happened!?" Once finally back on his feet, Bryan supported his weight on his knees and pointed at the epicenter of the blast.
Half of the arena has been destroyed. The once-vibrant battle platform was replaced by a desolate expanse of ice, stretching out in all directions, a thick layer that shimmered coldly amidst debris. Frost clung to every surface, and a dense, chilling mist swirled around them, making the air frigid and hard to breathe.
Tala stared at the frozen ground, his heart pounding in his chest. The ice seemed to radiate from where his blade was, as if Wolborg had suddenly overloaded and unleashed a surge of uncontrolled, raw power. When the mist started to fade, he finally spotted the metal object lying motionless on the ground at the core of the ice. Approaching the blade cautiously, he picked it up, feeling the once overheated metal now cold against his skin as usual.
He turned it over in his hands, inspecting it for abnormalities or any additional damage.
"Anything wrong with it?" Spencer asked, stepping closer, still holding his own disturbed ears.
"I don't know. It seems fine, but-"
"Wait," the tall blader interrupted, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Wolborg. "Where's its sigil?"
Tala's eyes widened in shock. He turned Wolborg over again, more frantically this time. The spot in the chip where the emblem of his blade's spirit normally gleamed was empty, a hollow silver indentation left behind.
"It's gone," Tala whispered, his voice a mix of confusion and dread. "Wolborg's bit-chip… it's missing."
…
…
…
"Let's see what we've got here."
Inside the BBA engineering room, the chief engineer, a middle-aged man with a stern but kind face, murmured while placing the silver beyblade carefully under a series of sophisticated scanners and diagnostic tools. The room buzzed with the hum of machinery as data streamed across multiple monitors.
Not exactly an expert in waiting, Tala clenched his fists as minutes stretched into what felt like hours. After performing a thorough analysis, the gray-haired man finally turned to the boy, his expression serious. "Physically, your beyblade is in perfect condition," he said, handing the silver beyblade back to its owner. "Every component is intact, and there's no sign of structural damage."
"But?" A somber glint shone in the redhead's icy blue eyes.
The engineer shook his head, his expression grave. "I'm afraid there's no trace of your bit-beast. It's as if Wolborg was never there."
"That can't be right! Run the tests again!"
"We've run every test we have, twice," the engineer responded with a sympathetic but resolute tone. "I'm sorry, there's nothing more we can do. We can ask for a second opinion, but I'm afraid it will not stray from mine: at least for now, Wolborg is gone."
Tala felt a surge of emotions crash over him. Shock, confusion, and anger twisted together inside him. His fists clenched at his sides as he struggled to comprehend what he was hearing.
"This can't be happening," he muttered, his voice trembling with rage and desperation. Bryan and Spencer stood by, silent, their own faces etched with confusion and concern. Once the information was fully digested, his fist greeted the nearest table with a powerful punch, scaring the engineers. "Wolborg is part of me! How can it just be gone?"
"I think I know something about it, Tala."
The sudden voice, male and outworn by age, drew everyone's eyes towards the entrance. Stanley Dickenson, the chairman of the Beyblade Battle Association, stood there, his expression uncharacteristically grave. He walked in briskly, holding a piece of paper in his hand.
"Dickenson?" Tala's voice was a mix of surprise and desperation.
"Take a look at this, my boy." Stanley approached and handed the sheet of paper to Tala. "The headquarters have been receiving these for some time now," he began, his tone somber. "Anonymous emails, warning that you and Wolborg were in some kind of danger. At first, I dismissed them, thinking they were pranks or perhaps malicious messages from Boris trying to scare you. But after witnessing what happened in the arena today, and hearing what the chief engineer just said, I believe there's more to these warnings."
Tala's eyes scanned the printed email.
"I'm sorry I didn't take these warnings seriously earlier," the chairman continued, his voice filled with regret. "I thought I was protecting you from unnecessary worry. But it seems I was wrong. I should have trusted my instincts and looked into this sooner."
Tala's hands trembled slightly as he held the paper. The emotions swirling inside him intensified – anger, fear, and now a deep sense of betrayal. "So you knew?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Stanley closed his eyes and lowered his head silently and apologetic in response. The redhead's mind raced, trying to piece together what all this meant.
"Where in the bloody hell is this place?" he asked, his voice tinged with determination as he crumpled the paper and tossed it to the side for his teammates to catch and read it. "Novagraad."
"It's a small city located in northern Finland." Stanley nodded. "According to my quick research, it's a very cold and isolated town. It used to be a lively place and home to many artists, beybladers and farmers, but after an unknown incident years ago, most of the people left the city and its connections to nearby cities have been severed. Not much is known about it since then. It's almost as if the town has been erased from most records. But given the circumstances and the letter, it surely is the place where you are going to find your answers."
The room fell silent as everyone absorbed this new information. Tala's determination hardened, icy blue eyes now glinting with a steely resolve.
"We have to go there," Tala declared. "I have to uncover what happened to Wolborg."
Stanley stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on the Russian's shoulder. "I support your decision, Tala. I cannot stop the ongoing tournament, but I will arrange for your travel and cover all expenses. Consider it my way of making amends for not alerting you earlier."
Bryan and Spencer nodded in agreement, resolute and daring smirks in the boys' lips.
"We're with you, Tala," Spencer said.
"Yeah, we'll dig into this together, no matter how damn gnarly it gets," Bryan added.
With Stanley's support and the team's resolve solidified, they prepared to abandon the tournament and travel to this eerie hole lost in some frozen hell, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead in their quest to recover Wolborg.
…
…
…
"To Stanley Dickenson, chairman of the Beyblade Battle Association.
It is with great concern and utmost urgency that I write to you regarding a recent development that has come to my attention, pertaining to a young blader of great renown, Tala, and his team, the Blitzkreig Boys, whom I understand you hold in high regard within the Beyblade community."
…
The Russian's most renowned team packed their belongings, preparing for the unexpected journey ahead. The captain meticulously checked his beyblade equipment, his mind focused and sharp with a blend of resolve and unwelcome anxiety. Bryan and Spencer double-checked their travel documents and tickets, ensuring everything was in order.
The room, once a temporary sanctuary during the tournament, was now filled with a palpable tension. The air was almost suffocating, as the gravity of the facts settled over them. Icy blue eyes flashed with a steely resolve as the captain zipped his bag, ready to confront whatever awaited him.
There was a car waiting for them outside. Stanley kept true to his word, providing them whatever they needed for the trip ahead.
Tala took one last look around the room, the modest space that had been their base during the recent battles. Now, it felt foreign and abandoned, a stark reminder of how quickly things can change.
With a decisive click, he turned off the light, casting the room into darkness.
…
"Certain individuals in the remote town of Novagraad have been actively pursuing means to retrieve the spirit of ice that currently resides within Tala's beyblade, known to all as Wolborg.
The Ice Spirit itself hails from Novagraad, where it was once revered before it was tragically subtracted by the infamous Biovolt Corporation.
These individuals are in the process of developing a device purported to be capable of summoning the spirit back to Novagraad, its rightful place, using its old vessel as anchor."
…
The plane ascended into the sky. Bryan joined his hands behind his neck and leaned back, his eyes closed in a semblance of relaxed rest, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his restless mind. Spencer reviewed a map of their destination, his brow furrowed in concentration. Tala stared out the window, watching the ground fall away as they ascended into the night sky, the vast expanse of darkness outside mirroring the uncertainty that, for a moment, was stationed in his soul.
…
"I express my deep concern not only for the safety and well-being of Tala and his associates but also for the tranquility of our own town.
We are uncertain of the full extent of this machine's capabilities, or the potential ramifications it may have on both ends, the summoning process and the spirit itself.
Its safety is imperiled."
…
The cold air bit at their faces as they disembarked in Finland. The journey by car that followed was long, arduous to the body and mind, the snow-covered roads winding through desolate, frostbitten forests.
As they entered the small, isolated town amidst the northern Finnish fields, the biting wind seemed to carry whispers of unease, and wary eyes followed their every move. The townspeople watched them with suspicion and hostility, murmuring between themselves, heaving the very air they breathed with mistrust and secrecy.
The cold was more than just a temperature; it was a tangible presence.
The Blitzkreig Boys felt the weight of those stares. It didn't take sensibility to immediately understand that their presence was not welcome.
Ignoring the animosity, the redhead raised his eyes for a moment. Somehow, he could feel it – Wolborg's presence, wavering in the air, like a faint sound greeting his ears.
It was close.
…
"I implore you, sir, to take heed of this warning.
Please ensure that this message reaches Tala and his companions.
They must exercise utmost caution in their endeavors moving forward."
…
A young man, seemingly the village's leader, approached them, flanked by several stern-looking guards. The people nearby immediately retreated a few steps, either making way for him or avoiding his perception, nevertheless demonstrating how respected, or feared, he was. Conveying some strange kind of royalty, he wore beneath his cape heavy compounds of expensive fabrics and fur which protected his entire body, except for his face.
His crimson eyes immediately narrowed with extreme disdain at the trio's sight, as if forced to stare at the most disgusting insect alive.
"So, the thieves return to steal what is rightfully ours once again." Contempt dripped like poison from his voice. "Your presence here is an affront to our people."
The Blitzkrieg Boys' captain felt a surge of anger and defiance rise within him, shared by his peers, but he forced himself to stay calm, knowing that they needed to tread carefully in this hostile environment.
…
"May this message serve as a beacon of vigilance in these uncertain times.
Yours faithfully."