The mist churned around them, heavy with tension as Zeph surged forward, using Morro's body with an agility that was nothing short of astonishing. Every movement was fluid and precise, faster and sharper than anything Silbón had ever seen from Morro before—like Morro's natural athleticism had been cranked up to eleven. Zeph darted toward the Ijiraq, weaving through the swirling fog in tight, perfect arcs. His stormy energy rippled faintly around him as he leaped onto a fallen log, turned sharply, and landed with a grace that bordered on mocking.

Turning to face the Ijiraq, Zeph smirked and stuck out Morro's tongue, blowing a loud, unapologetic raspberry at the shapeshifter. "Come on!" he taunted, his voice carrying an edge of playful derision. "Is that all you've got? You're supposed to be scary, right? Don't tell me you're already tired!"

The Ijiraq hissed, its twisted form shifting uneasily in the mist as it lunged for him. Zeph darted away effortlessly, flipping mid-air and landing lightly on his feet, just out of reach. His movements were so confident, so utterly in control, that for a moment Silbón could only stare, slack-jawed.

"If I didn't know better," Silbón muttered under his breath, his dark eyes wide with amazement, "I'd be sure that was Morro. The sass, the stunts—it's uncanny. Well, minus the deeper voice and... whatever it is that's making him seem like he owns the place."

Zeph shot Silbón a quick glance, his stormy green gaze glinting with amused acknowledgment. "Not bad, huh?" he called out, his smirk widening. "But don't get any ideas—I'm not here to play dress-up. Now, climb that tree and start planning our next move!"

Silbón blinked, startled for a moment, but he quickly nodded, sprinting toward a nearby tree with branches sturdy enough to support him. He scrambled up with ghostly agility, his translucent form flickering faintly as he perched on a high branch and looked down at the chaotic scene below.

Meanwhile, Zeph continued to dance circles around the Ijiraq, his taunts growing more pointed with each pass. "What's wrong? Can't keep up?" he jeered, throwing in another mock raspberry for good measure. The Ijiraq snarled, its frustration evident as its form began to ripple unnaturally, the edges of its twisted shape growing unstable.

High above, Silbón called down, "What's the plan, Zeph? How long do you want to keep playing tag with that thing?"

"Not as long as it thinks," Zeph replied, his tone calm but calculated as he darted sideways to avoid another lunge. "The Ijiraq can only shapeshift so many times before it burns out. Each form it takes drains energy—use up too much, too fast, and it won't just stop. It'll collapse."

From his perch, Silbón's dark eyes narrowed with growing understanding. "So, if we keep it busy, force it to keep shifting..." he mused aloud.

"It'll hit its limit," Zeph confirmed with a sharp nod, his gaze never leaving the Ijiraq as it twisted and morphed, trying to regain control of the fight. "We make it waste energy on forms it thinks will work—forms meant to trick or overwhelm us. And when it can't keep up anymore, that's when we go in for the finish."

Silbón smirked faintly, his spectral form flickering with renewed determination as he nodded. "Got it. Keep the slippery creep busy. I can do that."

"Good," Zeph said, a grin tugging at Morro's lips as he dodged yet another swipe. "Because it's about to learn what happens when you mess with a pair like us."

With Silbón ready to back him up and the Ijiraq growing more unstable by the second, Zeph's stormy determination burned brighter. The game was on—and the Ijiraq's time was running out.

From his perch in the tree, Silbón called down, a smirk twitching at the corners of his spectral lips. "So, what's the play, Zeph? We play this thing like a deck of cards? Maybe deal it a bad hand?"

Zeph groaned audibly, narrowly dodging another swipe from the increasingly unstable Ijiraq. "Really, Silbón? That's the best you've got?" he muttered, his tone laced with playful exasperation as he cast a quick glance upward. "I know Morro would have something snarky to say about that, but trust me—this thing is no joke."

He twisted mid-leap, landing lightly on his feet again, his stormy green gaze fixed firmly on the Ijiraq's rippling form as it struggled to maintain its shifting facade. "This creature," Zeph continued, his voice sharper now, "is so dangerous that even Seto Kaiba—the showboat that he is—would faint dead away if he ever came face-to-face with it."

Silbón blinked, caught off guard by the casual drop of the name. "Seto Kaiba?" he echoed, his voice tinged with incredulity. "The same guy who'd probably try to duel an active volcano just to show off?"

Zeph chuckled softly, his faint smirk reappearing. "Exactly," he said, sidestepping another clumsy lunge from the Ijiraq. "And let me tell you, if this creature were in his sights, even he wouldn't stick around to puff his chest. The Ijiraq isn't about grand displays—it's about patience, persistence, and turning your own mind against you."

From his vantage point, Silbón's smirk widened slightly, his spectral form flickering with a mix of humor and resolve. "Well, maybe we'll do Seto a favor by taking this thing out before it crosses realms. If he can't handle it, no one else stands a chance."

Zeph shrugged lightly, dodging yet again as the Ijiraq roared in frustration, its movements growing more erratic. "One thing at a time, Silbón," Zeph said calmly. "But at least now we know for sure—whatever hand this thing tries to play, it's going to lose."

And with that, the chase continued, Zeph's agility and Silbón's wits working together to keep the Ijiraq on edge, its energy slipping with each failed attempt to regain control. They were running it ragged—and the endgame was in sight.

The Ijiraq snarled, its twisted form writhing furiously in the swirling mist as its energy dwindled, each attempt to strike growing more erratic. Yet its anger only intensified, the oppressive malice radiating from it like a storm on the verge of breaking. Silbón darted through the chaos, his translucent form flickering as he climbed higher into the tree, his dark eyes wide with alarm.

"Zeph!" Silbón called frantically, his voice sharp as he looked down at the Alternate below. "This thing is getting angrier by the second! Can't you—can't you bring in backup? Like... Yugi and Yami or something? They're practically pros at this kind of stuff, right?"

Zeph twisted sharply, dodging yet another lunging swipe from the Ijiraq as he turned to glare up at Silbón. "Whoa, whoa!" he exclaimed, his voice carrying a mix of incredulous humor and unflinching resolve. "Say what? Bring in backup? Silbón, even Alternates have their limits!"

He leaped onto another fallen log, spinning mid-air and landing lightly on his feet before sidestepping the Ijiraq's next clumsy attempt to grab him. "I can't just summon another Protector and Alternate duo from a completely different realm-system!" Zeph said, his voice edged with playful sarcasm. "This isn't some kind of cosmic multiplayer game. Yugi and Atem might be legendary, but trust me, they've got their own battles to fight."

Silbón groaned loudly, throwing his hands into the air with theatrical exasperation. "Then what do we do?" he demanded, his tone dripping with frustration. "Because at this rate, I think the Ijiraq's gonna implode from pure rage before we even get the chance to take it down."

Zeph smirked faintly, his stormy gaze glinting with quiet determination as he ducked and rolled, his movements effortlessly keeping him out of the creature's reach. "If it implodes, that makes our job easier," he quipped, his tone light despite the tension. "But don't worry, Silbón. This thing isn't as unstoppable as it wants us to think. Keep its shapeshifting busy—force it to burn through its energy. When it hits its limit, we'll finish this."

Silbón perched himself securely on the branch, his expression thoughtful as he nodded. "All right," he muttered, his tone reluctantly trusting. "You know what you're doing. Just... don't get yourself—or Morro—killed. Got it?"

"Crystal clear," Zeph replied, his smirk hardening into a focused line as he turned back to the Ijiraq, ready to push it to its breaking point.

Suddenly, Zeph's stormy agility faltered as the branch came out of nowhere, catching him across the forehead with a sharp, echoing thud. He stumbled back, clutching at Morro's head as dizziness swept through the shared form, blurring his vision and leaving him vulnerable in a way that felt unfamiliar—and deeply unsettling. The mist swirled tighter, oppressive and mocking, as the Ijiraq's presence loomed closer.

Silbón perched in the tree above, his dark eyes wide with alarm as he saw Zeph stagger. "Zeph!" he shouted, his translucent form flickering erratically. He moved as if to leap down, his ghostly body tensed to intervene—but before he could make a move, the Ijiraq twisted and morphed, its cold malice dissolving into something... soft. Something painfully familiar.

From the mist stepped a child, small and fragile, no more than five or six years old in appearance. She had long black hair that shimmered faintly, streaked with strands of pink and blue that gave her an ethereal glow. Her wide blue eyes looked up at them, innocent and bright, shimmering with unshed tears. Her delicate frame trembled slightly, as though she'd wandered into the wrong place entirely.

Zeph froze, his stormy gaze softening as the dizziness faded just enough for him to focus on her. His breathing hitched, a ripple of recognition sparking within him—recognition that wasn't entirely his own. It came from deeper within, from Morro's buried memories, fragments of an essence intertwined with his own. "Sylph," Zeph murmured, Morro's voice trembling as he took a halting step forward. "It... it's really you?"

The child's lips quivered, her voice small and fragile as she whimpered, "Big brother?" Her blue eyes filled with tears, her trembling hands reaching out toward him as though for comfort. "I... I was looking for you. I thought you left me behind."

Zeph's stormy energy flickered faintly, his resolve faltering as his shared connection with Morro surged with emotions—grief, longing, and the faintest trace of hope. "Sylph," he whispered again, his voice breaking. "I—" He took another step, reaching out, his guard crumbling despite the warning signs that should have screamed at him to stop.

"Zeph!" Silbón shouted, his voice sharp and panicked from above. He leaped down from the branch, landing lightly and rushing forward, his translucent form flickering with desperation. "Don't let it fool you! That's not her!"

Zeph hesitated, his gaze locked on the child's tear-streaked face, the vulnerability so perfect it sent a pang through his shared form. "It's her," he murmured, his voice trembling. "It has to be."

"No, it doesn't!" Silbón snapped, grabbing Zeph's arm and yanking him back, his spectral grip surprisingly firm. "Think! What would she be doing here? What are the chances? This—this thing knows what would get to Morro. It's playing you!"

Zeph stiffened, his stormy gaze flickering with doubt as he forced himself to take another look, to search beyond the perfect illusion. The child's expression didn't falter, but the faintest ripple—a crack in the facade—began to show at the edges of her frame, her movements too calculated, her emotions too precise.

And then Zeph's stormy energy surged back, his resolve solidifying as he stepped back, his jaw tightening. "You almost had me," he muttered, his voice colder now. "But I don't fall for tricks. Not when it comes to him."

The child's face twisted suddenly, her innocence dissolving into malice as her form shifted again, the Ijiraq's jagged edges reemerging. "You're clever," it hissed, its voice sharp and mocking, "but you'll slip eventually."

"Not a chance," Zeph replied, his stormy presence brimming with renewed strength as he squared his stance. "One body, two minds. What you think would fool him will never fool me."