The end had come.
Garrick's body trembled violently, his muscles failing, his breath shallow, and yet, he still fought to move. Blood pooled beneath him, mixing with the shattered debris and molten steel that had once been part of Doitand's streets.
His spear, the weapon that had been his lifeline, burned dimly in his grip, its power flickering like a dying flame. He had exhausted everything—his strength, his essence, his life force—all spent in a futile battle against the abyss.
And yet, he had fought.
His body screamed with pain, but he still swung his spear, releasing bursts of fire whenever he could, the energy roaring against the overwhelming tide of metal. Yet, every attack came at a cost.
A sword of steel pierced through his thigh.
He staggered but did not fall. Not yet.
A jagged spear ripped through his side, a blade slashed across his back, the wounds piling up, each one tearing away what little he had left.
Yet, he did not stop.
His spear flared, releasing another destructive blast. But it was weaker.
The Ashborne merely laughed, watching with giddy delight as his body crumbled under the weight of her unrelenting assault.
Then—his legs buckled.
His body collapsed, multiple blades lodged into his flesh, his blood painting the battlefield.
The Ashborne levitated downward, her armor peeling away piece by piece, metal shards falling to the ground with dull clangs. She walked toward him slowly, each step echoing ominously in the quiet devastation.
Garrick gasped for breath, his vision swimming.
She knelt before him, her head tilting in mock sympathy. "So that's it, Garrick?"
Her voice was laced with sarcasm, her grin wide and mocking. "So that's how much your life is worth?"
She clicked her tongue, shaking her head as if disappointed. "Just a single round. Damn. That's insulting."
But then—a sound.
A single footstep.
A deep, masculine voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Enough with the silly play. Wrap it up."
The Ashborne froze.
Then—she fell to her knees.
Garrick turned, every fiber of his being screaming as he forced himself to look.
Then—he saw him.
A man.
A face he knew too well.
His blood ran cold.
Garrick's lips trembled as he tried to form words, tried to force the impossible truth out of his mouth. "You… you are a part of them? You are an Ashborne, Sir—"
He never finished.
Cube-like lines appeared across his vision.
Then—
His head was diced apart.
The skill was instant. Unseen.
The man had not even moved.
A little circular pendant fell out from his pocket as it open up, a little picture of himself and Zara on a date on it soaking up his blood.
The Ashborne turned her head, grinning at the spectacle. "Awww, you know that skill of yours gives me the creeps." She shuddered dramatically, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off a chill.
The man simply stepped back to avoid being stained by Garrick's blood, before reaching for his mask. A simple, white smiley mask.
"Not an Ashborne." His voice was smooth, cold, absolute replying as though to correct a mistake "An Infernal."
The Ashborne pouted. "Sweetheart, is there any need to put your mask back on? It's over." She teased, gesturing toward it lazily.
The Infernal tilted his head. "You know you also look horrible with that face disguise of yours, right?"
The Ashborne's lips curled into a pout, her fingers brushing against her cheek in mock insult. "Hmph. That was uncalled for."
The Infernal ignored her, his gaze shifting to Dr. Ferris Isadore.
The scientist, still kneeling, lowered his head in reverence. "Oh great Infernal—"
The Infernal raised a hand.
"If you start, you wouldn't finish."
Dr. Ferris shivered, nodding furiously. "Y-Yes, sir."
The Infernal's eyes flicked to the glowing Vat Container, where the Scion experiment remained in a fetal position, pulsing with unnatural energy.
"Tell me about the progress."
Dr. Ferris's face lit up with enthusiasm, his fear replaced by pure scientific zeal.
"This, sir, is our greatest breakthrough. I call it the Perfect Scion."
He gestured to the creature inside, his eyes gleaming with fanaticism. "A perfect disaster. A force unlike anything before it."
The Ashborne crossed her arms, her smirk fading slightly. "How perfect?"
Dr. Ferris laughed. "Imagine… a disaster with Alpha Rank strength or beyond."
The Infernal's mask tilted slightly. "Beyond?"
Dr. Ferris nodded fervently. "This Scion, unlike others, will grow without limit. Every opponent it faces, it's strength begins to rise exponentially. Given time, in a battle it could stand above even the Alpha ranks."
The Ashborne whistled. "Well, now I'm interested."
The Infernal's voice remained unreadable. "Any flaws?"
Dr. Ferris hesitated. "Yes… currently, its durability is unstable. Before reaching Rank 4, it will begin to disintegrate. But! But I can stabilize the process in time!"
The Infernal was silent for a long moment. Then, he nodded. "Good. But we don't have time."
His gaze lifted toward the ruined sky. "Reinforcements will come. And I have no interest in dealing with Lucien right now."
He turned to the Ashborne. "We're done here. Set the Scion loose. Wipe this town off the map."
Dr. Ferris's breath caught in his throat. "Wait—you mean to—?"
"Burn it. Leave no one alive."
The Ashborne grinned. "Now you're speaking my language."
________________________________________
Back in the Duke's office, Lucien sat at his desk, quill gliding across parchment with meticulous precision. Despite the presence of advanced technology—computers, holographic displays, and digital archives—he preferred the quiet art of writing by hand. The glow of an elegant desk lamp cast a warm light over his documents, the occasional flicker of neon lights from the city skyline outside reflecting against the vast office windows.
The night was still.
Then—
Something felt off.
A shift in the air. A faint, indescribable wrongness.
Lucien's hand froze mid-stroke. His gaze darkened slightly, an almost imperceptible frown forming on his face. The feeling—elusive but suffocating—tightened around him. Then, at that very moment—
The telephone rang.
The sharp sound cut through the silence, ringing out with an eerie weight. Lucien reached for it slowly, lifting the receiver to his ear.
The moment he heard the words spoken on the other end, his entire body tensed.
Then—
BOOM.
His aura erupted.
A force like an unseen storm surged outward. The entire manor trembled violently, as though struck by an invisible calamity.
________________________________________
Outside the manor…
The estate was a blend of modern architecture and traditional grandeur. Sleek black cars lined the illuminated driveways, their surfaces gleaming under the glow of automated street lamps. A few personal guards patrolled the perimeter, their suits pristine, earpieces blinking with faint blue lights as they received updates from security feeds.
Beyond the main roads, stables housed not just elite horses but also high-speed hoverbikes and sleek private vehicles, a testament to the fusion of old and new within the Duke's domain.
In the courtyard, servants moved efficiently, finishing the night's last routines. Groundkeepers tended to the lavish gardens, drones hovering quietly overhead, scanning for imperfections in the estate's vast greenery.
Gerald, the manor's head steward, stood near the flowerbeds, tending to the vibrant array of roses with careful precision. He was an older man, dressed in a well-pressed suit, his posture one of quiet dignity.
As he clipped a few stray stems, he offered a nod to a passing security officer. "Good evening, Samuel."
The guard, adjusting his tie, nodded in return. "Evening, Sir Gerald. Working late again?"
"As always," Gerald replied with a faint smile. "The garden does not tend to itself."
The moment was peaceful.
And then—the world shattered.
The very earth trembled.
A deafening shockwave tore through the manor grounds.
The air itself seemed to scream as reinforced windows across the estate exploded into shards, raining glass onto the sleek pavement. The weaker structures—outer storage units, vehicle garages, stables—collapsed instantly, crumbling into dust and debris.
Time stretched.
What was only a moment felt like an eternity.
Maids screamed as trays and data pads clattered to the ground, dishes shattering upon impact. Guards stumbled as their earpieces shorted out, overwhelmed by the sheer pressure of the surge. Automated security drones sparked, some falling from the air as their circuits overloaded.
The lights flickered.
The power grid surged.
Even the cars in the driveway shook, alarms blaring as their systems rebooted from the shockwave.
Gerald, however, did not move.
He merely lifted his head, his calm eyes tracing the trembling walls of the great manor. He did not flinch at the breaking glass, nor at the collapsing structures. He simply turned, his gaze lifting toward the office window above.
There, at the highest chamber of the manor, the faint outline of Lucien was visible.
Gerald's fingers tightened around his garden shears.
His expression did not change.
But deep within his eyes—
There was great concern.