The name resonated in the air, heavy with weight and significance, as if merely mentioning the machine was enough to command respect. Drake observed the scene with a mix of awe and hope, wondering if they had finally found something capable of stopping his brother.
"B-12! Are you serious? What creativity!" came a cheerful voice from behind them. It was Leila, her characteristic playful tone accompanied by a mischievous smile spreading across her face. She crossed her arms and tilted her head slightly, as if teasing an old friend. "Isn't that also the codename of one of the agents working with us, Mr. Drake?" she added with a wink before stepping forward.
Drake sighed, but before he could respond, he said, "Well, he was the one who suggested I use the same letters he employs for his squadrons. I just added a number to each agent to differentiate them," Drake explained, shrugging as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Then, turning to his right with a hint of reproach in his voice that didn't quite mask his curiosity, he asked, "Hey! Where were you, Leila?"
"Oh, I stayed behind to protect the other kids," Leila replied casually, gesturing over her shoulder to downplay the matter. Maria, Elena, and Billy remained silent, their pale faces and glassy eyes reflecting the weight of the horror that still enveloped them. They couldn't forget the image of the great wolf being torn apart before their eyes—and worse, inside that shredded body, they thought they'd seen their friend Aiden, whom they now presumed dead. Their bodies remained tense, and the uneven sound of their breathing filled the air, evidence that the battle's images were etched deeply into their minds like fresh scars.
Drake turned to the General with curiosity.
"General, what are you doing here? The time limit you gave me hasn't expired yet."
The General exhaled a cloud of smoke from his cigar, his single eye gleaming intensely under the dim light.
"True, but I saw you were having trouble according to the transmission we received. I decided to step in and lend a hand… figuratively speaking, of course," he added, casting a meaningful glance at Drake's missing arm. He coughed lightly, trying to brush off the awkwardness of his words with a casual gesture, though his discomfort was barely perceptible.
"Sir, we have it under control," one of the soldiers reported, firm and professional.
"Excellent, soldier. But you'd better increase the dosage and bring out the other eleven weapons to neutralize him completely," the General ordered authoritatively. With a decisive wave of his hand, he added, "Immediately!"
From the hole in the ceiling, more weapons began to descend, each one the same size as the first, accompanied by soldiers moving with military precision. They positioned them strategically around Milo, forming a perfect circle. The constant hum of the machines filled the air, creating an atmosphere that was both tense and oppressive.
Seeing that all the weapons were in place, the General raised his hand and gave the order:
"Activate them and set them to maximum power! Keep the subject neutralized with no possibility of movement."
The weapons emitted a bluish glow, almost supernatural, as they charged a combined beam aimed at their target. Milo screamed in pain, a gut-wrenching sound that echoed throughout the space, reverberating off the walls like an endless lament.
"Your useless plans end here, foolish child," Bronjort declared coldly, his voice booming like thunder.
Billy, observing the scene intently, broke the silence:
"Now I understand... That's why it has the number twelve and the initial B."
The General heard him and responded calmly:
"Exactly. It was the result of the two hundred times we tested with the letter A until we moved on to series B. Number 12 was the one that worked, so we created twelve weapons with the same power, along with smaller ones stored in Warehouse B-12, just to reinforce the name even further." The General spoke with a hint of pride, as if unveiling a great technical achievement. "I didn't plan to use them, but given the situation, it's good to know they work."
"Yeah, you guys are really original with names, as Leila said," Billy quipped with a mischievous smile, unable to hold back his own sarcastic remark, though he softened it with a friendly tone to avoid sounding too insolent.
Drake frowned, visibly irritated.
"Damn it, Bronjort. You had this up your sleeve in case something went wrong with the powered individuals, didn't you? Your ace in the hole."
The General looked directly at him, unwavering.
"As you can see, kid, this weapon is insurance in case the METALUX people go out of control and there's no way to defend ourselves."
He paused, then added in a sterner tone:
"But I see that your team is a bunch of weaklings compared to this guy… your brother." He shrugged. "No offense."
Leila immediately interjected, her tone defensive:
"Hey!"
But Drake cut her off, lowering his head and accepting the criticism with resignation.
"He's right. We lack experience and strength. We need to keep improving," he said, his voice heavy with determination.
"Well, let's get to the point, Drake," General Bronjort said in his deep, authoritative voice, breaking the tense silence that hung heavy in the air. "Where is the portal boy? Or rather, your grandson. I understand if you don't want to hand him over, but rules are rules."
The General slowly pivoted on his heels, scanning the area with his penetrating single eye as his scar glimmered under the flickering light.
"Where is he? I don't see him," he asked, his tone impatient yet controlled.
Drake lowered his gaze, his expression weighed down by pain and resignation. With a heavy sigh, he pointed to the shattered remains of the giant wolf scattered across the floor like fragments of a tragedy.
"Sir, as you know, I'm not handing him over—not just because I've only just learned he's my grandson, but also because even if he weren't, I wouldn't give up a child." Drake spoke firmly, though his voice began to crack as he continued. "But… I doubt I could give him to you regardless. Look at those pieces of a giant animal torn in half." Drake gestured toward the mangled remains of the wolf, his hands trembling slightly as his gaze drifted among the bloodied fragments. "That's where my grandson was. Unfortunately… he died inside that wolf."
His final words were barely a whisper, almost inaudible, laden with a grief so profound it seemed to reverberate through the air. He bowed his head, unable to meet the General's gaze, as silence stretched over the group like a shadow.
The General remained silent for a moment, stroking his chin thoughtfully. His eyes reflected a mix of understanding and strategic calculation.
"I see," he finally responded, though his thoughts appeared divided. "That complicates things… or perhaps it's a relief."
Elena and Maria exchanged disapproving glances at the General's cold remark.
"How heartless you are," they murmured almost in unison, their voices filled with reproach.
The General glanced at them briefly, unfazed.
"Calm down, girls. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not evil; I'm just a straightforward person," he replied calmly, as if accustomed to facing criticism.
Then, in an attempt to ease the tension, he changed the subject:
"Hey, Drake, have you found the device to deactivate those rogue robots wreaking havoc across the world yet?"
Drake shook his head.
"No, but two of my men are on it," he responded firmly.
"I see," the General said, nodding slowly. "Well, maybe one of mine will lend a hand. Though, honestly, I'm not worried. I think they'll manage against a couple of robots."
In the distance, Gabriel supported Aragon, whose arm rested on his shoulder as both struggled to move forward. Their armor was broken and battered, held together only by the last remnants of their AURA power. They observed the newcomers and then turned their gazes toward Milo, whose agonized screams echoed like a haunting refrain throughout the place.
"He deserves it, that bastard," Aragon muttered through gritted teeth, clenching his fists in frustration as he tried to walk.
Piti moved with the others, carrying Benjamin in his arms; the young man was unconscious. Ezequiel carried Riota, while Eduard supported Floud. Gat and Mukio were hoisted onto Adora's shoulders, and Amaya advanced, riding a gentle, swaying candy worm. Adia, meanwhile, used a levitation spell to carry Azulema's entire team, along with Adrian and Rafael. Despite her own pain, Azulema kept Mark suspended in the air with her telekinesis, persevering with unwavering determination.
One by one, they began to gather where Drake and the General stood, forming an exhausted but resilient group. The General surveyed them with a mix of satisfaction and disdain.
"Well, you're all here now, but your presence isn't necessary," he declared coldly. "We've neutralized the threat. All that's left is to deactivate those rogue robots."
Upon learning the purpose of the B-12 weapon, Adia frowned, visibly irritated.
"So that thing… was intended for use against us? What a despicable person," she remarked, crossing her arms.
Drake quickly approached, trying to calm her down.
"Calm down, Adia. The General is higher up in the chain of command. I'll explain everything later," he whispered, though his words did little to ease the tension.
Leila, still distrustful, interjected:
"Are you sure this will hold him? That he won't break free and cause trouble again?"
The General responded with absolute certainty:
"With this weapon, there will be no issues. He's completely neutralized."
Milo, trapped within the force field generated by the twelve turrets, screamed in desperation. His voice was a roar laced with pain and fury.
"Maos! Where are you?! Come turn these things off!" he shouted, but from the other side came only static, as if his cries were lost in the void.
The great Zeus fell… Milo repeated to himself, incredulous at his predicament. This can't be how it ends. I am the lightning bolt that descends from the sky, the power that reforms everything in its path and reshapes the world in my image. It can't end like that! He thought desperately.
Amidst his inner turmoil, a voice echoed in his mind, dripping with sarcasm and contempt:
"Look at you, thinking you're all-powerful, huh? But just look at yourself—you can't even break free from this simple power-inhibiting ray. You're useless. You absorbed my power, and yet here you are, giving up so easily. You should be ashamed of yourself," said Geros—or rather, a mental manifestation of him—his mocking tone cutting like a knife into Milo's psyche.
"You? What are you doing inside me?" Milo growled, his voice a mixture of anger and confusion.
"I'm part of you… well, more accurately, a piece of me stood behind me when you absorbed my power," Geros replied calmly, as if explaining something obvious. "You can't do anything, can you? This ray is draining you. Pathetic. Giving up so easily… You disgust me, boy. Well, I suppose I'll have to do something, or they'll kill me too."
Geros paused before continuing, his voice adopting an almost amused tone:
"I'll make you unleash all your power and destroy these insignificant fools. Your strength rivals that of a Lux Guardian—perhaps even surpasses what Urion ever was. Maybe you're the second or third strongest among them. Anyway, here goes… This is going to hurt even more than those silly rays," Geros warned, dissolving into dark smoke that left behind demonic eyes gleaming with malice. A maniacal laugh echoed in Milo's mind, sending chills through his blood.
Suddenly, Milo let out an earsplitting scream, far louder than any he had emitted before. The sound was so intense that the glass in the area shattered into a thousand pieces, sending razor-sharp fragments flying in all directions.
"General, this is going to kill him!" Drake exclaimed, visibly worried about his brother despite all the damage Milo had caused.
General Bronjort looked at him calmly, though his words betrayed a hint of tension:
"Calm down, it won't kill him. It's just to neutralize him."
A soldier interrupted the conversation, pointing urgently at Milo:
"Sir, look at the subject's eyes! They're completely white—no color at all!"
Drake approached the General, calling him by name in desperation:
"Enough, James. This is killing him. He's suffering and has gone into shock. Turn off your machine—it's already reached the point you wanted. Please…"
The General frowned, but before he could respond, bolts of lightning began to surge from Milo's body, short-circuiting the turrets. The soldiers stumbled back, bewildered.
"Sir, something's happening!" one of them shouted. "The turrets aren't working!"
"That's impossible!" the General snapped, his voice firm but with a slight tremor betraying his unease. "Check them and reactivate them immediately!"
The soldiers obeyed at once, but before they could do anything more, a brutal shockwave erupted from Milo's body, hurling everyone through the air like leaves caught in a hurricane.
"Major Mike!" the General called out, addressing a man with short red hair and brown eyes who came running from the turret station.
"I don't know, sir! Something came out of…!" Major Mike started to respond, but before he could finish his sentence, he was flung through the air, slamming into one of the nearby walls with a deafening crash.
A thick cloud of dust began to rise, surrounded by crackling electrical sparks that sizzled in the air like lightning trapped within a storm. Amidst the dimness, a pair of furious eyes glowed with intensity, followed by a deep, commanding voice that thundered like a roar:
"Prepare yourselves! Your judgment has arrived!"