10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxcEwO7Jzw7She doesn’t wait for confirmation. Rose spins on her heel, cloak snapping behind her, and sprints down the spiral ramp toward the second story. Her boots hammer the wooden planks as she shouts the order again, pushing past maidens. Lanterns dim one by one behind her, plunging the yurt levels into a trembling dimness of closed drapes and curtains.
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On the upper platform, Kathryn stands with her bow ready. She paces before the sobbing women and children, her boots thudding softly on the wooden planks.
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Her eyes are sharp.
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Her jaw is set.
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Her breath is steady.
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A child cries, she glances back — then she steps out onto the balcony once again with wind tugging her hair.
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Her arrowhead glints.
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The wooden balcony creaks beneath her feet.
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Metro eyes Kathryn on the third story yurt house. Metro skids to a stop, chests rising, eyes wide with fear and fire.
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KATHRYN:
“What’s the move?”
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Metro grabs the railing, leans over the edge, looking toward the lower levels.
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METRO:
“Im going to meet Blake!.”
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He vaults over the balcony in one fluid motion, dropping three stories, cloak flaring like wings— landing in a crouch, then roll. Kathryn takes the stairs instead, boots pounding, bow already in hand, her movements sharp and controlled.
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THE BOTTOM YURT —
The bottom yurt glows a deep, hellish red.
Lantern ash drifts through the air like smoke from a dying fire.
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Paul stands in the center — a mountain of muscle and fury. Axes hang from each hand, mallets strapped across his back, he looks like a living threat. Around him, Blake, Cornelius, Archeus, Rodney, John, Kyle, and dozens of armored infantry form a tight circle. The air vibrates with the clatter of steel and the low rumble of men preparing for war.
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Metro pushes through the wall of iron bodies.
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Paul’s head snaps toward him.
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PAUL:
“THERE YOU ARE!!”
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Metro steps into the circle.
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Paul jabs a finger toward Archeus.
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PAUL:
“Archeus! GET UPSTAIRS WITH THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN!”
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ARCHEUS:
“Oh—yes. Certainly.”
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RODNEY
“That’s me too.”
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They scramble out, nearly tripping over each other. Paul turns back to Metro, eyes blazing.
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PAUL:
“Everyone knows their duties! I'll command the men and lead the smiths to the wall. Greg and Sam are already with the archers!”
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Then Paul roars — a sound that shakes the yurt’s beams.
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PAUL: (bellowing)
“LET’S GOOOO!”
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He charges forward, smashing through armored bodies like a battering ram. Some men follow shouting. Others follow trembling.
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Metro glances toward the gate — the wooden walls shake under the weight of the approaching bandits. He grabs a vine, snaps it in a pulling motion, and ascends toward the second story.
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Rose stands ready, dagger in hand, breath sharp and focused. Together, they sprint along the balcony, slicing the thick vines that hold the massive boulders suspended. Each cut sends a stone crashing onto the wooden platform, rolling into position with thunderous weight. Metro braces his shoulder against the last boulder and shoves it into place.
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Bandits roar in the distance.
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METRO:
“When you see their faces over that wall—
cut the rope and let ’em have it!”
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Rose nods, eyes blazing with a fire that mirrors his own.
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The horns blare again.
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The rainforest trembles.
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A soft misty rain begins to fall.
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Rose keeps her gaze set on Metro — crouched beside the boulders, mist gathering on his brown cloak, breath steady, eyes locked on the wall. He snaps the vine upward, reaching the yurts third story balcony. Kathryn and Blake fire back‑to‑back.
Arrows slicing through the mist, striking bandits clawing up the wall.
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Five other archers hold a five point formation on the circular balcony, firing in perect rythym with the giant crossbow machines.
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SHMP! SHMP! SHMP!
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Archers:
“RELOADING!”
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One reloads while the other covers, a seamless rhythm of survival.
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Metro sees it — the wall is breaking.
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Gregory and Sam stand atop the battlements with the dozen archers. Separated, strained, shaking — but unyielding.
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They fire.
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Reload.
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Fire again.
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Their hands tremble and their breaths come ragged. But they continue on. Bandits crash into spiked traps. Others fall screaming into deep pits. Vines snap upward, hoisting bodies into nets that swing bouncing in the air . But there are too many.
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Bodies pile.
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Bandits climb the stacked corpses.
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Some die hanging over the walls spikes like broken flags.
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Others use them as ladders, coverings, vaulting over the gate in a flood of masked clubs and rage.
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From the treetops above, yellow‑eyed reapers hurl smoke and flash bombs.
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The world turns white.
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Metro coughs, daggers drawn, eyes burning.
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A shape emerges — yellow eyes glowing like coals. It screeches, alien and sharp, and swings.
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SHRANG—Metro blocks, electrical sparks exploding. He backpedals, throws daggers — the reaper dodges all of them.
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Metro runs away, pivots, and casts a fireball behind him—His face twisted with fury.
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BOOM!
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The reaper falls off the balcony.
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Two more hooded reapers land behind him.
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YELLOW REAPER:
“We need him alive.”
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They rush.
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Metro grapples one — arms locked, muscles straining. He rams the hooded attacker against the yurts window, banging it, wobbling the yurts frame, the reaper pushes back, kicking off the frame. Metro then drives forward with everything he has one last time.
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CRASHHH—Glass shatters.
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and then Add to home screen.