Suno

Intro The battlefield writhed in chaos. Firestorms churned across the horizon, turning the sky a molten red. Explosions shook the cracked earth, and the air rang with the shriek of Vibraflux-powered engines and the bone-grinding roar of metal-on-metal. In the distance, the Princess of the Dawn thundered overhead, its sonic cannons carving holes through enemy lines. Teutonic metal blared from its core, a war anthem echoing across the wasteland. But on the edge of the conflict, far from the crashing frontline, Suno moved in silence. Draped in black, his cloak trailing ash, he stepped through the ruins of an outer camp. Charred barricades. Twisted fencing. Shattered cages. The air shimmered with heat and the stench of rot. Yet nothing touched him. Not the smoke, not the fear. He passed through the wreckage like something both living and not. This was Broilerface ground—Kiln’s territory. Once human, now monstrous, the Broilerfaces were forged in dark Vibraflux and war-masked fury. They were enforcers of pain, tools of domination. Kiln had twisted this planet into a crucible—its mines emptied, its cities burned. Now it was a tomb lit by firelight, known only as the Screaming Crust. And the worst sin? The harvesting of Rockonauts. Those gifted with sonic lifeforce—once healers, navigators, and warriors of sound—were now shackled, drained of their gift, and left to rot in containment cages. Suno reached the first cell. A dozen lay within. Barely conscious. Their bodies thin, their voices silenced by Vibraflux inhibitors. But they felt him. A presence like calm between storms. One by one, heads turned. Suno knelt. He placed a hand on the lock. No force. Just will. The metal clicked and fell away. “You’re free,” he said, softly. They didn’t cheer. They didn’t move. He stood, eyes scanning the haze. “Move. Now.” And they did.