Chapter 144: Manhattan Crisis - Part 11
The air cracked like thunder.
One blink and the man was gone from the window.
Next, he was right in front of Clef.
His hand hit Clef square in the chest, and the old agent flew backward like a ragdoll, crashing through a support pillar and tumbling across the floor in a heap of concrete dust and shattered glass.
"FUCK!" Clef groaned, spitting blood. "I liked that rib, asshole!"
Bright didn't hesitate.
He raised his rifle and opened fire.
BRRRT-BRRRT-BRRRT.
The man tilted his head.
Bullets curved mid-air, bending away from his body as if reality itself refused to touch him. Some stopped entirely, frozen, clinking to the ground like spent shells.
"I fucking hate when they do that," Bright muttered, tossing the rifle aside.
Lina charged in, bare-handed. Flesh pulsed under her arms. Her skin rippled with mutations as bone claws erupted from her wrists and her eyes glowed gold.
She slashed with everything she had.
The man dodged effortlessly, one step back, a tilt of the head, no wasted motion.
He grabbed her wrist mid-strike, twisted, and-
CRACK.
Lina screamed and flew across the room, rolling hard across the floor. She coughed, blood in her mouth, already pulling herself back up.
Clef was back on his feet now, dragging the remains of a broken shotgun with him. "Goddamn Giygas-wannabe bastard…"
Bright appeared beside him, eyes narrowed. "This guy isn't playing around."
"Yeah? Neither are we."
Clef threw the broken shotgun away and pulled a massive combat knife from his coat. Not a fancy blade. Rusted. Dirty. But it had history.
Bright cracked his neck and pulled out a combat knife of his own.
Lina was already circling again, one arm mangled but her other claw still intact.
The three of them surrounded the man.
He stood there, calm.
Unbothered.
And then, it began.
Clef moved first. A feint, low and dirty, sweeping at the man's knees while Lina lunged high from the left, and Bright flanked from the right, blade aimed for the ribs.
The man caught Clef's leg with his shin and slammed him into the ground, turning smoothly to duck under Lina's claw and punch her straight in the solar plexus.
Bright's blade connected but it only sliced fabric. The man vanished mid-blink, reappearing behind Bright and kicking him hard in the back. Bright flew, rolling mid-air, and landed in a crouch.
"Okay," Bright growled. "That was fucking rude."
Clef was already up again, nose bleeding, teeth bared like a junkyard dog. "You're fast. But I fight dirty."
He pulled a flash grenade from his belt and yanked the pin with his teeth.
"FUCK YOUR EYES, BITCH!"
BOOM.
The flash blinded the room for a split second and that was all they needed.
Lina leapt.
Her claws sank deep into the man's arm, blood spurting as she screeched and twisted. The man didn't scream but he moved, finally, reacting, slamming her into the wall behind him.
But Bright was already there.
He plunged the combat knife into the man's back, right between the shoulder blades.
And Clef?
He tackled the bastard from the front, driving him back toward the shattered glass walls.
"Get out of my fucking building!" Clef shouted, punching him repeatedly, knife flashing.
Blood flew.
The man grabbed Clef by the collar and smiled.
Then he headbutted him.
Clef went limp for a second.
Bright shouted, "CLEF!" and jumped forward but it was too late.
The man tossed Clef aside and spun, catching Bright with an elbow that cracked his jaw. Lina was back again, shrieking, clawing at his back.
He twisted, pulled her over his shoulder, and slammed her to the ground but she held on.
She bit his neck.
Blood sprayed. Dark, thick, oily.
"GET OFF," the man growled, for the first time showing something like emotion.
He grabbed Lina and threw her like a doll.
Bright caught her mid-air.
She was breathing hard, coughing blood, but still alive.
"Shit," Bright muttered, "this guy's built different."
Clef staggered to his feet again, nose broken, laughing madly. "I've had dates rougher than this. Bring it on."
The three of them stood, bloodied, bruised, but not backing down.
The man turned to face them again, dark mist rising from his shoulders, blood soaking his coat.
He smiled.
No words.
Just the silent promise of violence.
The temperature dropped-
And then rose sharply.
A dark pulse echoed from the man's chest.
Suddenly, black flames ignited around him, wrapping his body like a second skin. They danced unnaturally, defying wind, logic, or gravity, sinking into the fabric of his coat, weaving themselves into a living armor of heatless, howling darkness.
The glass of the observatory cracked. The floor rumbled.
Clef took a step back. "…Oh, fuck me."
Lina hissed through clenched teeth. "What the hell is that?"
Then he moved.
A wave of black fire exploded outward from him, vaporizing the air in an instant. The observatory's walls shattered, the ceiling peeled open like paper, and steel beams melted on contact.
Lina barely managed to raise a flesh shield over herself, but it burned, not like heat. Like hate. Like despair chewing through bone.
Clef dove behind a collapsed pillar, his coat catching fire despite the cover. He screamed as the black flame clung to him, eating away at the sleeves like acid.
Bright took the brunt of the blast.
It threw him through the air, spine-first into the metal railing. He rolled once, twice, blood splashing across the marble floor.
The man stepped forward, slow, composed, his footsteps leaving scorched black marks with every step. The flames didn't flicker, they hissed, whispering in a thousand voices.
"Demon?" Clef growled, coughing blood. "Or a warlock?"
The man raised his hand.
Another blast of black flame roared toward them.
Lina screamed and leapt to intercept but this time, the flames pierced straight through her shield. Her left arm disintegrated, bone and all, before she crashed backward against the far wall.
Bright was already on one knee, clutching his necklace, breathing hard. "Clef," he said, teeth red. "He's aiming for me. I think he-"
The man appeared behind him.
Not ran. Not moved.
Just appeared.
Bright turned, too slow.
A black blade of flame erupted from the man's hand and pierced through Bright's back, right between the ribs, straight through his chest.
His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Clef screamed. "BRIGHT!!"
Lina tried to crawl forward, clawing at the ground. "No- No-!"
The man held Bright in place for one long, silent moment.
Then he tore the black blade upward, ripping through organs and bone.
Bright crumpled.
Dead before he hit the ground.
And the moment he fell, the man bent down, no rush, no hurry and pried the necklace from Bright's bloodied neck.
He held it in his hand, examined it calmly.
For a second, just a second, the necklace shimmered.
Then the man pocketed the amulet.
Turned toward Clef and Lina.
And said nothing.
But that silence?
Was worse than a war cry.
The room was on fire, crumbling, smoke pouring into the sky.
Clef, shaking, eyes bloodshot, still stood. His knife was gone. His coat was half-burnt. But he stood.
The man stepped forward.
Again.
Still calm.
Still unstoppable.
And the two agents knew-
This wasn't a fight anymore.
This was a Battle for survival.
Walls melted. Steel frames screamed under the heat of the black fire. Beyond the shattered glass, Manhattan twisted into a battlefield of smoke and madness.
Clef crawled next to Lina, half-covered in soot and blood, reloading one of his hidden pistols with shaking fingers.
He leaned in close.
"Listen, little girl." His voice was hoarse, but sharp. "We must get back Bright."
He gestured toward the far end of the room.
Amid the destruction stood the man. He had his back to them, watching the horizon with quiet menace. Flames still licked his body like shadow serpents. In his left hand, gripped tight in his palm, was a small, scorched object, SCP-963. A simple amulet, with a gem.
He wasn't wearing it.
Just holding it.
Bright wasn't dead.
Not yet.
Lina nodded, her eyes locked on the pendant.
They moved in silence. Clef circled wide, stepping between corpses and debris with fluid precision. Lina crept behind upturned beams, veins in her arm glowing faintly as her mutated muscles pulsed for speed.
The man didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't notice.
Clef pulled a small fragmentation grenade from his vest, armed it with a flick, and tossed it low across the floor.
BOOM.
The blast tore into a pile of shattered monitors, erupting with a blinding flash. It was loud, messy, and it did its job:
The man turned.
His gaze was cold. Fire pulsed at his shoulders.
He didn't see Lina.
Not until it was too late.
She leapt from the shadows, arms extended, bones forming a jagged hook from her forearm.
She didn't aim for his chest.
Not for his throat.
She struck his wrist, the hand holding SCP-963.
CRACK.
Bone shattered. His fingers loosened.
The pendant flew out of his hand, tumbled across the floor, burning red-hot from the contact with his flesh.
Lina hit the ground hard, rolled once, then dived for it.
She reached out-
Her fingers closed around SCP-963.
A shock hit her spine, cold, not hot. A flicker of someone's voice echoed in her skull. Laughter. A joke. A memory not hers.
She screamed through her teeth.
The man roared behind her and sent a lance of black fire surging toward her but Clef tackled her away just in time, the bolt vaporizing the floor where she had been.
They slid to a stop behind a collapsed pillar, Clef breathing like a man who'd cheated death one too many times.
He looked at her. Then at the amulet in her hands.
A small, smug grin spread across his bruised face.
"Heh. Told you. We don't leave our lunatics behind."
But the battle wasn't over.
Because now the man knew.
He'd felt the power of 963 leave his grip.
And he wanted it back.
He turned, slowly, and began walking toward them.
His eyes burning.
The man stepped forward.
The floor groaned. The glass cracked under his foot. Flames dripped from his arms like living tar.
Lina clutched the pendant tight, feeling it pulse like a second heartbeat in her palm.
Clef raised his pistol, cocked it once, and shouted:
"Alright, you bastard! Let's dance!"
He fired.
The bullet tore into the man's shoulder and bounced off.
A ripple of black fire surged out as retaliation, tearing through the floor, slicing a trench between Clef and Lina.
Lina moved fast. Her body twisted in a blur of flesh and tendon. She launched herself across the gap, claws scraping against the walls, hissing with raw rage.
She slashed-
-He caught her arm mid-air.
No effort. No tension.
He crushed her second wrist.
"Agh-!" she screamed, her elbow snapping from the pressure.
He flung her like trash into a wall. The concrete shattered.
Clef fired again, buckshot to the chest, then the knee, then the face.
Still nothing.
The man was bleeding, yes but it didn't slow him down.
He waved his hand. A jet of black fire engulfed Clef.
"FUCK!" Clef rolled, coat on fire. He tore it off, smoke pouring from his beard. "That's it. I've had enough of this My Chemical Romance bullshit!"
He pulled a belt of grenades from his vest.
And another.
And another.
From his jacket.
From his pants.
From a boot.
"You wanna see a magic trick, asshole?" he shouted, eyes wide. "I'll make this whole fuckin' floor disappear!"
He threw a flashbang directly at the man's face.
It didn't hurt him.
But it blinded him, just enough.
Clef ran for Lina, scooped her over his shoulder like a sack of angry meat, and kicked open the last window panel still standing.
Behind him, the man screamed something inhuman.
Flames erupted across the ceiling. Glass melted.
"Yeah yeah! Scream louder, you satanic IKEA lamp!" Clef shouted, holding Lina tight as he leapt onto the ledge.
He looked down.
Eighty-six floors of air.
"Fuck it."
He pulled his sidearm.
Pointed it back into the room.
At the pile of explosives he'd stolen from the armory two floors below.
He'd rigged them as he ran.
They were all connected.
All ready.
He winked.
"See ya in Hell, motherfucker"
He pulled the trigger.
BOOM.
The entire top of the Empire State Building erupted in an inferno.
Flames shot into the sky. Shattered stone and steel fell like meteorites.
Clef and Lina dropped into the chaos, swallowed by wind and gravity and ash, spiraling down into the abyss.
As debris rained around them and smoke swallowed the sky, Clef screamed over the howling wind:
"LITTLE GIRL, NOW!!"
Lina didn't hesitate.
Her fingers split, grew, twisted, becoming a massive, sinewy hand of flesh and tendon.
She jammed it into the glass surface of the Empire State Building and began to slide, anchoring them with sharpened claws that screeched and sparked the whole way down.
Steel tore.
Glass shattered.
Flames above surged into the sky, the building groaned in protest.
Their descent slowed just enough.
At the 10th floor, Lina leapt.
She soared through a broken window frame, flipping through the air, her body distorting mid-flight to adjust their weight and impact.
They crashed into the street.
Lina landed in a crouch, Clef still on her back.
Ash swirled around them.
They were alive.
But the street wasn't empty.
A perimeter team, half Foundation, half GOC, snapped their rifles up, startled by the explosion and sudden drop.
"CONTACT!" someone shouted. "Mutant entity, 9 o'clock-"
"STAND DOWN!" another voice barked. "That's Dr. Alto Clef, Commander of the Anti-Divine Strike Force 1st Group!"
Weapons lowered.
A GOC sergeant stepped forward. "Sir, what the hell happened up th-"
The sky screamed.
The sergeant froze.
Everyone looked up.
Above them, at the broken, flaming crown of the Empire State Building…
A silhouette.
Wreathed in black fire.
Wings of flame unfurled behind him like a raven made of death.
He hovered in the smoke, staring down.
The street filled with a pressure like a vice on the lungs.
Concrete cracked underfoot. Radios hissed and died.
Someone whispered: "What… is that?"
Then he descended.
Like a fallen god.
Straight down.
Right at them.
A roar of defiance echoed through the street.
GOC and Foundation operatives snapped into combat formation. A dozen thaumaturgists began chanting, glyphs flickering under their hands.
The dark-feathered man hovered above them, flames licking from his arms and shoulders, eyes glowing red as he descended like a meteor of vengeance.
Clef spat blood and gripped his rifle high. Lina lashed out beside him, flesh tentacles , still healing but still lethal, carving arcs through the smoky air.
"Open fire!" shouted the GOC sergeant.
Rifle fire erupted. Pulses of silver-blue slammed into the man's armor of black flame. Bullets fragmented into ash and vanished. Smart rounds exploded at his ankles, he walked through them. The ground beneath cracked, smoke coiling upward.
Thaumaturgists wailed binding chants; their sigils shimmered in veins across the pavement. Flames met wards and sizzled. Two of the mages burst into hollow light. Flame ignored binding spells like wind…
Clef dove forward beneath the barrage. He fired point-blank, slug rounds into the man's knee. The bullet shattered steel plating; the man lurched. Black flame guttered. For an instant, he stumbled.
Lina seized it. She leapt, using skeletal tentacles to wrench at his flank. Bone tore against flame but the man only slid through her grip, slicing her arm in retaliation. She shrieked, bone blades snapping, regenerating as she pulled free.
She spat shards of bone across the street. Flames tore at her wrists. But she moved on.
Foundation snipers fired from rooftops. Bullets chewed at the air around him. The black flame parted to avoid them. He raised his hand, flame roared overhead and spiraled down like a tornado of smoke and heat. Concrete pillars shattered. Three operatives died mid-step.
Clef shot his custom grenade pistol, sticky explosive adhered to the man's arm. Lina tackled him the moment it stuck. Ka-BOOM! Had the blast been larger, it might've stopped him. Flames surged violently outward, scorching the surrounding soldiers. But he rose. Smoke engulfed him. Flames crawled over his skin as if alive.
The street became chaos incarnate. Burned bodies, shattered gear, choking dust. Bullet-fire, explosions, cries, collisions, a cacophony. All aimed at one man with dark and burning wings.
Clef vaulted over a burned car, reloading on the move. He yelled, "You insane bastard, time to die!"
He stole a shotgun from a soldier and blasted slugs into the man's torso. The impact sent him through an armored HUMVEE. Twisted steel and fire engulfed them both.
Lina sprinted through rubble, approaching from his flank. Two tentacles lashed his back. One clawed at his shoulder, another at his throat. Flames flared, but she held. She drew him toward the GOC line.
He shoved her off, flicked his wrist and a wall of dark flame erupted up the block like a violet inferno. Every soldier behind it staggered, shields overloaded, nerves overwhelmed. The man slid through the inferno, unburnt, drifting toward the core of the skirmish.
The tide seemed to turn, Foundation/GOC casualties mounting but at that moment, reinforcements arrived.
From side streets and subways, hundreds of GOC strike troops poured in, white-armored and armed with cutting-edge weapons, anchors humming, exos activated, mortar launchers firing lock-on energy shells at the man's wings.
The newly arrived strike teams formed corridors of fire. Together with the thaumaturgists' final wards, they boxed him in.
He hovered, center of a killing circle.
Black flame rippled. Wings unfurled wider, crackling embers drifting downward.
But for the first time, he hesitated.
Clef staggered up, limping, shotgun empty again, pistol in hand. Lina circled. GOC lines tightened, pulse rifles aimed. Explosive bolts launched.
Shockwaves of silver-blue light converged.
And suddenly, he looked at the sky and roared in defiance.
"PALE EMPEROR, RESPECT OUR CONTRACT AND LEND ME YOUR STRENGTH!"
The man's voice tore through the air like a blade through silk, deep, commanding, and soaked in madness. Then, the world broke open.
A massive red circle ignited beneath his feet, inscribed with hellish runes and pulsating like a living heart. The air grew thick. Soldiers staggered. Eyes widened. Guns were raised, trembling in human hands.
And then, it emerged.
First, a colossal clawed hand tore through the circle. Then a second. With a thunderous growl, a creature ripped itself out of Hell. Towering over two meters tall, muscle-bound and burning with malice, it stood like a mountain of war and flame.
Its skin was obsidian-black and cracked like volcanic stone, with molten heat radiating from within. Upon its horned skull sat a twisted, jagged crown with three blood-red gems, the center gem far larger, glowing like a miniature sun.
Its eyes were endless pits of crimson fire.
"Oh fuck," whispered one of the Horizon Initiative knights, clutching his holy staff. "That's an Archdemon."
The beast let out a roar that shattered windows across the block. Cars flipped. Concrete cracked. The air ignited.
The battle erupted.
The joint GOC-Foundation task force opened fire, unleashing railgun bursts, plasma bolts, anti-demon rounds, and concentrated thaumaturgic barrages. Energy flares painted the sky as the Archdemon charged forward, each step a thunderclap.
A wall of flame erupted from its mouth, consuming a whole APC in seconds.
Clef ducked under a slab of concrete, skin singed, and screamed: "HE'S SUMMONING SOMETHING, STOP HIM!"
Too late.
The Archdemon stabbed a claw into the infernal circle still glowing on the pavement, and a horde of minor demons began to crawl out, things made of ash and hate, some winged, some four-legged, some nothing but screaming mouths.
The battlefield was overwhelmed.
A GOC soldier with a powered exosuit shouted: "Hold the fucking line!" before being impaled by a demon lance.
Clef reloaded his shotgun mid-run, the barrels already glowing red-hot. "Alright, tall dark and infernal, time to play 'kick the demonic asshole!'"
He leapt forward, firing point-blank into the Archdemon's knee. It barely flinched, but it noticed him.
With a guttural snarl, it raised a flaming greatsword, summoned straight from its chest cavity, and slammed it down.
Clef rolled just in time.
But the Archdemon didn't care. It was carnage incarnate. It turned its blade sideways and swept, slicing through an entire platoon like they were paper.
The GOC thaumaturgists tried to hold a barrier, chanting with trembling hands. The demon laughed, then spat hellfire through the cracks. Screams followed.
Above them, the original man, the summoner, watched from the shattered window of the Empire State Building, arms crossed, face unreadable.
"They bleed so easily," he murmured.
Suddenly, the street trembled again, but this time with boots and engines. A massive GOC armored convoy surged in, backed by helicopters.
A voice thundered over the comms:
"ALL UNITS: OPEN FIRE ON NEWLY DESIGNATED UTE-1109 CARCINOMA-MALEBRANCHE. LEVEL 5 RESPONSE AUTHORIZED."
Multiple missiles streaked through the sky. Artillery shells slammed down around the Archdemon. It shrieked in fury as explosions engulfed it, sending it stumbling backwards.
But it didn't fall.
It raised its sword high and absorbed the fire into its blade. Then it screamed, and every minor demon on the field surged forward like a tsunami.
The real battle had just begun.
Clef spat out blood and lit a stick of dynamite with his cigarette.
"Lina, little girl, looks like we're dancing with the devil tonight."
The Archdemon towered over the battlefield, its obsidian-black skin glowing with molten veins, the three-gemmed crown pulsing ominously atop its horned skull. Flames roared from its mouth, scorching the air. It was a force of destruction beyond reckoning.
The joint forces of Foundation and GOC fought desperately, weapons blazing, thaumaturgists chanting in strained voices to hold their wards against the infernal onslaught. But the Archdemon was a living conflagration, immune to pain or hesitation.
Every bullet, every blast of thaumaturgy was swallowed by the flames. Soldiers fell like wheat before a scythe. The ground trembled beneath its steps, concrete shattered under its weight.
Clef fired his shotgun relentlessly, each blast swallowed by the hellfire. Lina's mutated limbs struck with lethal precision but were met only with unyielding, scorching flesh.
The Archdemon swung its flaming greatsword in wide arcs, crushing vehicles, smashing barricades, and sending soldiers flying like ragdolls. Its flaming wings beat the air, sending waves of heat that forced the troops to stagger back.
Hellspawn poured from the infernal circle, thousands of demons swarming across Manhattan's ruined streets, answering their master's call. The soldiers' lines faltered, overwhelmed by the tide.
Then, from the North, a thunderous rumble grew louder.
Hundreds of GOC/Foundation troops surged in.
They formed a tightening ring, weapons firing in a ceaseless barrage, surrounding the Archdemon.
The demon roared, unfurling its wings, molten embers raining down.
It accepted the challenge, unyielding and unbroken.
Two GOC attack helicopters tore through the smoky dome sky, their rotors slicing the thick, burning air. Mounted cannons and missile launchers locked on the Archdemon's massive form, firing salvo after salvo.
The missiles streaked forward, streaks of deadly light cutting through the ash-filled haze, aiming for the infernal beast's glowing crown and flaming wings.
But the Archdemon didn't flinch.
With a furious roar that shook the shattered city streets, it spread its hellfire-wreathed wings wide. Black flames surged outward in a roaring blast, a volcanic inferno that enveloped both helicopters.
The first chopper exploded in a massive fireball, shredded by the demon's flame as metal twisted and shattered into burning debris.
The second helicopter tried to evade but was caught in a flaming gust. Its engines seized with a shriek before it slammed into a crumbling skyscraper, exploding into a cascade of sparks and flame.
The roar of destruction echoed across the battlefield.
More reinforcements poured in: Foundation and GOC squads swarmed through the streets and alleys beneath the dome, firing rifles, launching grenades, and casting spells.
Thaumaturgists chanted furiously, their sigils glowing with desperate energy, trying to contain the fiery tide of demons and their archfiend leader.
The demons answered with savage fury, leaping, clawing, and swarming the joint forces in snarling packs.
Clef and Lina pushed through the chaos, relentless as ever.
Clef's shotgun barked in rhythm with the screams of demons dying in fiery bursts.
Lina's mutated arms slashed and tore, her flesh-tentacles grappling with the hellspawn, dragging them into lethal holds.
But everywhere the Archdemon went, devastation followed.
Its flaming greatsword cleaved through armored troops like paper, its massive wings casting shadows of death as they swept flames and ash across the battlefield.
The joint forces fought tooth and nail, holding their lines amid the infernal onslaught.
The battle beneath the dome raged on, blood, fire, and magic clashing in a brutal symphony of survival.
Under the blood-red skies trapped beneath the shimmering dome, the battlefield roared with chaos and fire, until, suddenly, a wave of sanctity rolled through the corrupted streets of Manhattan.
Out of a shattered alleyway emerged a disciplined column of Horizon Initiative warriors, dozens of knights clad in silver-gold plate, carrying halberds, swords, relics, and luminous staves. At their head stood Montfort, his armor dented but polished, eyes resolute beneath his helmet.
Beside him strode another man, regal and calm amid the storm, a towering figure in radiant robes laced with armor and scripture. He carried a longsword that shone with blinding white fire, pulsing with divine authority.
The demons in the vicinity recoiled instinctively.
The man lifted his blade to the heavens and bellowed, his voice thunderous and filled with sacred power:
"Rise, creations of God. Our war against the Devil is not yet over!"
A surge of holy energy erupted from his blade, a dome of pure light, expanding outward in a shockwave of divine force. The wave washed over the torn battlefield, pushing back clouds of smoke and burning away the foul stench of sulfur.
Several lesser demons lunged toward the light, snarling, screeching, clawing. But as soon as they touched the sanctified field, their bodies were thrown backward, igniting in pure white fire before crashing into ruins, twitching in agony.
The light grew stronger around the leader of the Horizon Initiative, and the knights behind him lowered their weapons in perfect synchronization.
He turned to three of his sub-commanders.
"Samuel! Take the Wolves and charge! Aid our allies in the thickest of the fight!"
Samuel, a broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar across his cheek and two burning axes on his back, pounded his chest in salute.
"Yes, my Lord!" he barked. Then, turning to his cavalry, he shouted, "Wolves! With me! Cleanse the abyss!"
With a battle cry that shook the air, a detachment of heavy infantry and war mounts, led by Montfort et Samuel, charged forth into the infernal horde, crushing and cleaving as they went.
The leader then called to another figure, Adnan, a tall, dark-skinned man wrapped in embroidered clerical armor, his hands crackling with blue divine fire.
"Adnan! Gather all the Shepherd Corps! Protect the Scribes! Kill every Wicked that draws too near!"
"Understood!" Adnan responded with conviction. He immediately signaled his formation, dozens of disciplined fighters forming a protective semicircle as they rushed to flank the most vulnerable units in the joint force.
"Bernard!" the leader finally called. A hooded man with radiant scripture floating around his body stepped forward.
"Take the entire Scribe Corps. Support the wounded, purify the damned, and protect the sacred."
Bernard's response was calm and unwavering.
"God's word shall not falter. We move."
He raised a glowing tome and led the remaining clerics into the warzone, chanting spells of healing and sanctification. Fallen soldiers of the Foundation, the GOC, and even The Horizon Initiative gasped as holy energy mended flesh and banished corruption from their limbs.
Only one tight phalanx of elite knights remained at the side of the THI's supreme leader.
His gaze now turned toward the colossal Archdemon towering in the distance, locked in combat with the remnants of the joint forces. Fires raged. The air shimmered with heat and power.
The Lord Commander of the Horizon Initiative narrowed his eyes.
"This battlefield belongs to Heaven now."
And with that, he stepped forward, glowing sword humming in his grip, as the Holy Knights flanking him drew weapons and prepared to march straight toward the heart of Hell's avatar.
Clef, crouched behind the wreckage of an overturned APC, spat out a chunk of rubble he'd been chewing like it was gum. His coat was torn, blood on his temple, his hat long lost. Watching the waves of holy knights surge into the battlefield like a divine tidal wave, he gave a low whistle.
"Great," he muttered, brushing dirt off his shirt. "Now it's a Sunday school crusade. All we need is an angel playing the harp and a marching band led by Moses."
Beside him, many agents from the Foundation, gun low, body tense, glanced at him sideways.
Clef stretched his shoulders, pulled a slug out of his side like it was a splinter, then rolled his neck with a loud crack.
Then he stood, squinting toward the shining field where the THI leader's energy still pulsed in defiance against the infernal tides.
"He's crazy," Clef added, gesturing at the leader. "The good kind of crazy. I like him."
Without waiting for a reply, he tapped the Foundation agent's chest with two fingers and grinned and called Lina.
"Well? Let's go play prophet."
They broke into a sprint, weaving through the scattered frontline as the light of the THI's field embraced them. A scribe tried to stop them, startled by Clef's lack of armor and obvious irreverence but the old man just waved him off.
"Relax, choirboy. I'm a friend."
The two finally reached the vanguard where the holy knights had formed ranks around their commander, just as he raised his sword again, its brilliance now almost blinding.
Clef barely slowed his stride.
"Hey, boss!" he shouted over the roar of battle. "Hope you don't mind if we join your apocalypse!"
The leader didn't look back, but he raised his free hand and opened it in welcome.
Clef chuckled, then muttered to the Foundation agent, "Now that's hospitality."
With a flash of movement, the knights surged forward and Clef and his comrades were among them.
Together, a shining wedge of holy warriors, Foundation agents, and two absolute maniacs charged through the hellfire and into the storm. Their target: the 200-meter Archdemon that towered over the ruins of Manhattan like the final boss of Revelation.
The ground quaked under their feet. Black lightning surged from the Archdemon's form. The air screamed with pressure as thousands of demons converged to protect their master.
Clef grinned wide, pistol in one hand, a stolen blessed blade in the other.
"Let's dance, big guy."