The smell of grilled geckos and ozone hung heavy over the sweltering marsh. Ness took a shaky breath, the end of his cracked baseball bat digging a nervous trench in the black mud. Across the smoldering clearing, a creature of living flame and raw, screaming savagery gnashed its teeth.

The lion prince of the Fire Armada wasn't just a rival. He was a cataclysm. His fur was a cascade of dying embers, his mane a roaring inferno that warped the air around his scarred muzzle. Every time he exhaled, a puff of superheated ash and contempt billowed towards Ness.

It caught Zetterburn in the open mouth.

Zetterburn.

Ness tightened his grip. The psychic pulse of this strange, elemental world was a chaotic drumbeat compared to the steady hum of Eagleland. His PSI felt… muffled. Sluggish. Like trying to shout through a pillow. But the fire in Zetterburn’s eyes was real. The heat on his cheek was real. And the quiet, desperate courage that had made him face Giygas was still real, too.

He was right. The PSI Magnet was cracking. Ness felt the psychic feedback lancing behind his eyes. He couldn’t hold. He dropped the shield.

Not wood on bone. Wood on superheated, rock-hard claw. The bat shattered. But the impact was perfectly placed. It drove Zetterburn’s weight onto his haunches, stopping his forward momentum cold. The lion snarled in surprise.

Ness lowered his hand. He was trembling, his nose bleeding from the strain of focusing PSI in this alien place. He held the broken remains of his bat like a spear.

He lunged.

Crack.

The psychic cryo-blast erupted from his forehead, a needle-thin lance of absolute zero. It wasn't the wide, powerful blizzard he used on Starmen. It was a surgical strike, honed by desperation.

Ness didn't run. He stepped in . Close. Too close. He could smell the sulfur on the lion's breath, feel the individual points of heat radiating from his mane. He pressed two fingers to his own temple.

Zetterburn lowered his head, a gesture that was not submission, but respect. He spat a single, frozen tooth onto the black mud.

"The rift you fell from," he growled, his voice still hot but no longer mocking. "It wanders. Near the Rock Wall. I will take you there."

"You're wrong," Ness said, his voice steadier than he felt. He lowered the bat, pointing its splintered tip at the prince. "I’m not bullying anyone. I’m just trying to get home."

Rivals Of Aether Ness Now

The smell of grilled geckos and ozone hung heavy over the sweltering marsh. Ness took a shaky breath, the end of his cracked baseball bat digging a nervous trench in the black mud. Across the smoldering clearing, a creature of living flame and raw, screaming savagery gnashed its teeth.

The lion prince of the Fire Armada wasn't just a rival. He was a cataclysm. His fur was a cascade of dying embers, his mane a roaring inferno that warped the air around his scarred muzzle. Every time he exhaled, a puff of superheated ash and contempt billowed towards Ness.

It caught Zetterburn in the open mouth.

Zetterburn.

Ness tightened his grip. The psychic pulse of this strange, elemental world was a chaotic drumbeat compared to the steady hum of Eagleland. His PSI felt… muffled. Sluggish. Like trying to shout through a pillow. But the fire in Zetterburn’s eyes was real. The heat on his cheek was real. And the quiet, desperate courage that had made him face Giygas was still real, too.

He was right. The PSI Magnet was cracking. Ness felt the psychic feedback lancing behind his eyes. He couldn’t hold. He dropped the shield.

Not wood on bone. Wood on superheated, rock-hard claw. The bat shattered. But the impact was perfectly placed. It drove Zetterburn’s weight onto his haunches, stopping his forward momentum cold. The lion snarled in surprise. rivals of aether ness

Ness lowered his hand. He was trembling, his nose bleeding from the strain of focusing PSI in this alien place. He held the broken remains of his bat like a spear.

He lunged.

Crack.

The psychic cryo-blast erupted from his forehead, a needle-thin lance of absolute zero. It wasn't the wide, powerful blizzard he used on Starmen. It was a surgical strike, honed by desperation.

Ness didn't run. He stepped in . Close. Too close. He could smell the sulfur on the lion's breath, feel the individual points of heat radiating from his mane. He pressed two fingers to his own temple.

Zetterburn lowered his head, a gesture that was not submission, but respect. He spat a single, frozen tooth onto the black mud. The smell of grilled geckos and ozone hung

"The rift you fell from," he growled, his voice still hot but no longer mocking. "It wanders. Near the Rock Wall. I will take you there."

"You're wrong," Ness said, his voice steadier than he felt. He lowered the bat, pointing its splintered tip at the prince. "I’m not bullying anyone. I’m just trying to get home."