Raised From The Wild-Chapter 449: The Prelude To The Finale

"Uncle Marx," the transmission crackled through the speakers—thin, strained, but urgent. It was Ren. "I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. There’s a lot you need to see. Things we missed before." A brief pause, breath catching. "Something’s happening. I caught a glimpse of Sister Amaya—her signal was locked to a fixed position—but then it vanished."

Marx’s hands stilled above the keyboard. For a heartbeat, he did not move. Then he straightened slowly, the laptop’s glow catching the hard, sharpened light in his eyes.

"Send me everything," he said, his voice low and controlled.

Outside the car, rain began to fall—soft at first, then relentless—drumming against the roof in a steady rhythm, like the pulse of a storm reclaiming the sky.

"Uncle..." Ren’s voice wavered, stripped of its usual confidence. "Sister Amaya is in grave danger."

Marx turned slightly, tension coiling through his shoulders. "Explain."

"Ava and I ran projections using the data point of her last knownl ocation," Ren said. "Every model leads to the same conclusion. Wherever she is... it’s a place no one is meant to find. And it’s extremely dangerous."

Marx tapped his watch. A ripple of blue light flared to life, resolving into a holographic image of a teenage face framed by luminous and intelligent eyes.

"Be precise," Marx said. "What aren’t you telling me?"

"The reason her signal disappeared," Ren continued, "is because she’s underground. Several meters beneath the surface. Deep enough to evade all conventional detection. I’m certain she was taken there deliberately."

Marx’s jaw tightened. "Then we storm the site and rescue her. Nothing will stop me."

"It’s not that simple, Uncle." Ren leaned closer to the projection, urgency sharp in his expression. "Hacking their systems nearly exposed me. And even then, I don’t believe what I saw was accidental. They let me see what they wanted me to see. I think I walked right into their trap."

"You’re saying it’s a trap."

"Yes. It’s a stronghold—one designed to remain invisible. Even the most powerful figures couldn’t enter without permission."

"Where is it?" Marx demanded.

"It lies beneath what used to be Mount Paraiso."

Marx’s eyes widened, just slightly. "That’s impossible. Athena’s intelligence network has no record of such a facility. Since when does Ra-iya operate there?" His voice hardened. "They must have someone exceptional backing them."

"They do," Ren replied. "More than one."

"Send me the coordinates."

"I don’t have the coordinates, Uncle. But I have a way to get in."

"I can’t," Ren said. "I don’t have them." He hesitated, then added, "But I know how to get inside."

Marx stared at the flickering image. "How?"

"We need to discuss it in person," Ren said. "Please. Come back to Maharlika Palace."

The rain intensified, hammering the car roof as if urging him onward.

...

A week later.

In a concealed chamber buried deep within the bowels of Mount Paraiso’s ruins, Amaya stirred awake from a heavy, fractured haze. Stone walls pressed in around her, damp with age and secrecy. She had been held there for days—drugged into submission—but somewhere along the way her body had adapted, slowly forging an immunity that her captors never anticipated.

A figure draped in a crimson hood stepped into her blurred line of sight, the light catching on scarlet fabric like fresh blood.

"It’s you..." Amaya rasped.

"How are you, First Princess of Lireya?" The voice was silky with contempt. "I never imagined I’d see a day like this—the proud jewel of Liraya reduced to a trembling thing at my feet."

Sofia lowered her hood, her smile sharp and triumphant.

"Do you truly think this ends well for you?" Amaya said, forcing steel into her voice. "Karma will find you. Every crime—yours and King Ralden’s—will be answered for."

Sofia threw her head back and laughed, the sound echoing wildly through the chamber, unhinged and cruel.

"Karma?" she scoffed. "I don’t believe in it, Princess. Even karma fears me."

She advanced with slow, deliberate steps, savoring every inch of Amaya’s helplessness. "Do you know how much effort it took to mislead King Ralden?" Sofia said softly. "Convincing him you were safe here, tucked away and protected?"

She stopped inches away and extended her exquisitely painted fingernails, lifting Amaya’s chin with chilling intimacy.

"Your dear Uncle Sapiro helped, of course. His theatrics over Zanzara’s health bought me days—days I used to seed this place with my people." She withdrew her hand and smiled, dark and satisfied. "Now all I need is an accident."

She turned slightly. "Take her to the Hypogeum."

Six men clad in black emerged from the shadows like phantoms. Amaya tensed, assessing them in a heartbeat. Her strength had returned, but numbers would overwhelm her. She allowed them to close in while waiting for the right opportunity.

The moment they passed a blind corner, she moved.

Bone met bone. Breath left bodies. In a blur of precise, ruthless motion, all six men crumpled to the ground. Before their echoes faded, Amaya stripped a jacket from one of them, pulled up the hood, and masked her face.

She moved through the corridors with practiced calm, retracing half-remembered turns, counting steps, listening for danger—

—and collided with a figure in red.

Sofia clapped slowly, each sound deliberate and mocking. "Impressive. Truly. To incapacitate six trained men while still recovering from sedatives?" Her eyes gleamed. "You have skill."

Then her smile hardened.

"But I plan for contingencies."

She tilted her head, studying Amaya like an insect beneath glass. "There’s a tracker embedded in you, Princess. You could flee to the ends of the world—I would still find you."

The ground seemed to vanish beneath Amaya’s feet.

Acting on instinct alone, she lunged forward, grabbing the hem of Sofia’s robe. Sofia screamed—a shrill, piercing sound—as the floor gave way beneath them.

They plunged.

For a few terrifying meters, they fell straight down before striking stone and tumbling, rolling endlessly through darkness. The descent seemed to last forever—ten brutal minutes of bone-rattling impacts, spinning shadows, and gasping breath.

At last, they slammed into stillness.

They lay within an ancient-looking holding cell, its walls scarred and stained. In ancient times, the place was once used to confine gladiators and beasts before blood-soaked battles.

"Ah—someone, get me out of here!" Sofia screamed, slamming her wrist against the stone as she activated the communicator embedded in her cuff.

Static answered, which threw her into panic.

The arena was shielded with a magnetic field humming faintly through the walls, swallowing every signal whole.

Her breath hitched. "No... no, this can’t be happening," she whispered, then shouted again, louder, more desperate. "The fight begins in ten minutes! I am not supposed to be in here!"

Silence pressed in, heavy and merciless.

Then, from somewhere in the darkness behind her, metal scraped against stone.

Sofia froze.

A slow, steady breath echoed through the cell—calm, controlled, and far too close.

"Sofia, how does it feel to be shot in the foot?"

The floor above them began to rumble open.