Leylin reached out and closed the glowing holographic report projected across his vision, the data dissolving into faint motes of light before vanishing entirely.
At last, the answer was clear. Project SKYEYE had failed not from miscalculation or poor design but because the very void beyond this world was hostile to existence itself.
With Serholm's legacy of bloodline experiments and knowledge of astral gate construction, he now understood some truths of the magus world's outer reaches.
Space here is unlike the one in his previous life as John Connor. It was not the empty, peaceful expanse waiting to be explored but a realm of chaotic, raging mana storms, so dense and violently turbulent that even Rank 3 Magi would be torn apart the moment they left the atmosphere.
Beyond the storms lay the scorching radiance of the myriad worlds, searing and blinding, where all but the most powerful bloodlines and defensive artifacts would be reduced to ash.
And beneath that terrible light lay the endless, crushing pressure of the void itself, where even mana could not flow freely, and spiritual force withered and died.
This was why no one had ever simply flown to the stars. Only Rank 4 existences or beings who had shed their mortal shells could endure such an environment for a limited amount of time.
'So this is the truth…' Leylin mused calmly. 'Without the strength of a Rank 4, or a secret technique capable of warding against such terrors… it is pure folly to waste effort reaching toward the outer void.'
He shook his head, unbothered. "No matter. It's not like there's no other way to work around that problem. At most, it will require a bit more effort. Well, I have far more important work close at hand."
He turned his gaze to the woman standing quietly beside him. "Report. What is the progress on Project Divine Kingdom?"
Neela stepped forward, her posture respectful yet glowing with quiet confidence. She had once been merely a Rank 2 acolyte at Abyssal Bone Forest Academy until she had seized the chance to place herself under Leylin's service.
Now, bearing his mark and access to resources no academy could offer, she had advanced straight to Rank 3 in mere weeks.
Every day she thanked her foresight in choosing to follow him; it was obvious to her now that it was only a matter of time before Leylin rose to rule this domain and soon enough, the entire South Coast.
"Sir," she replied clearly, "projections and simulations for anchoring Dylan Gardens into a permanent, self‑sustaining spell model show 96% probability of success. Actual construction and inscription of the formation network currently stands at 70% completion. The estimated completion is not within the coming months without breakthrough on the current rune studies."
'I suppose that path is closed for now…' Leylin mused, setting aside the star‑ward plan with calm resolve. He rolled a polished, deep‑crimson bloodline crystal between his fingers, its facets catching the light and glowing faintly with contained, volatile power. He lifted his gaze to Neela.
"Very well. What of Project Apocalypse?" Neela's posture remained steady, though her tone carried the quiet gravity of the subject. She bowed her head slightly before answering clearly.
"Sir, the Apocalypse strain has been fully synthesized, stabilized, and is standing by. It is ready for immediate deployment upon your authorization."
Leylin turned the crystal slowly in his palm, its warmth seeping into his skin. To call it Apocalypse is nothing of an exaggeration but a possible reality waiting to happen.
Leylin glanced over the array of active project markers floating across his display. Mecha Knights, Astral Gate, Bloodline Legion, all advanced in nature, all promising, yet none quite fit the precise shape of what he needed. Even the great successes carried clear limitations.
Project Transmigrators had proven invaluable, planting his people deep within every major academy across the South Coast and flooding his databases with knowledge he could never have gathered on his own. But control remained loose.
Jayden, his most gifted subject, still hovered only at the threshold of Rank 3; others in the program with equal opportunity but lesser talent lagged far behind. In such a short time, they could grow, learn, and contribute but they could not yet seize power or control.
Project Infiltrators, by contrast, was a resounding triumph. Poolfield Kingdom now answered to him.
With its resources fully opened, the flow of materials, mana, and wealth had surged to staggering levels, for this single kingdom spanned an area comparable to entire continents from his past life.
Still, consolidation remained a delicate affair. Abyssal Bone Forest Academy still held invisible reins over the land.
Leylin no longer feared a direct clash with a single academy, but he still preferred to dismantle such powers slowly, quietly, from within. It would not be good if these old powerhouses banded together just to get rid of him.
What he needed now was chaos, a wildfire spreading beyond Poolfield's borders, where his influence was still thin.
War, panic, collapsing authority… a perfect veil beneath which his agents could strike, rise, and replace those who fell.
And so Project Apocalypse was born.
It began as a tailored viral strain designed to create the most perfect organisms. A weapon that is microscopic, silent, and nearly undetectable.
Upon entering a living body, it did not simply sicken or kill. It read the host's genetic and bloodline blueprint, absorbed every trait, strength, and innate resonance, then rewrote itself into a new, perfectly adapted organism.
It grew deep within the host, feeding, refining, and maturing until the moment it reached full growth. That is when it will come out bursting violently outward from within, leaving its vessel broken and itself ready to vanish into shadows to complete its maturation which would usually take a few hours.
The very first of these creatures would ripen into a Queen. And from her would come an endless tide as she produces eggs that can be deposited directly into the bodies of the living, seeding new growths that would repeat the cycle, each generation stronger, more ravenous, more perfectly adapted to whatever they encountered.
These killing machines would only know to kill and multiply. Given time, they would spread like a plague of shadow and fang, tearing through every kingdom, academy, and wilderness.
They will not stop until the entire South Coast burned in emergency and ruin. Leylin turned his gaze to the monitor.
On one screen, Perry and Ashley were secured aboard a transport craft. On another, two powerful energy signatures pursued the craft like hounds on a leash, drawn straight toward him.
A faint, amused glint lit his eyes.
"It's time we reel them in," he murmured.
"They've chased long enough. Let us give these Magi who supposedly came from the Central Continent… the welcome deserving their station."
*****
Two shadowy figures raced unerringly after the faint beacon of Ashley's tracking bug that is still broadcasting from within the aerial Hunter‑Killer transporting her and Perry.
"Elder Barxia… how much longer until this strange flying craft touches ground?" Andrei asked, keeping pace beside the elder.
'If only the elder had been there in Extreme Night City… Ashley and Perry would never have been taken.' He thought privately, asking the elder of his affairs would only displease the man.
Elder Barxia moved with a steady, grim stride, his expression sour with irritation. "Soon. This land is vast, yet finite. It must land eventually."
'Its just those meddling hounds of the Ouroboros Clan chose this exact moment to stir trouble. Without their interference, we would already have secured the 'Rising King' of prophecy and been halfway home to the Central Continent by now.'
Andrei kept his silence, though his thoughts were sharp. 'If only Ashley had followed orders… none of this would have happened. She is far too spoiled, and her grandfather far too lenient.' He instinctively glanced sideways towards Elder Barxia who was indeed Ashley's grandfather, and Andrei knew better than to speak such thoughts aloud.
"The flying vessel… it has stopped!"
They froze instantly, hovering motionless, scanning the terrain below.
"I do not like this…" Barxia began.
Before the words faded, a rune‑etched metal rod tore through his barrier with the might of a rank three magus' spell. The impact drove him backward hundreds of meters, carving deep furrows through rock and earth before he could anchor himself.
He glanced at Andrei whose own shield had shattered without even slowing the projectile. Impaled and vomiting blood, whether he lived or died is not important.
Elder Barxia sighed, then turned his gaze toward where the attack had originated.
[Cloaking Disengaged]
[Runic Railgun — Recharging]
[Hyper‑Kinetic Projectile — Chambered]
[Fire at will...]
More rods struck in rapid succession. Barxia's barrier flared, holding, but only just. The strain alone was becoming a crushing burden as every impact shook his defenses and more rods began to accumulate making it look like a pin cushion.
"There are more?" He lifted his head, awe warring with dread as the sky darkened.
Dozens of sleek, silent forms emerged from concealment, circling, spreading, locking on to his position. "Impossible… I refuse to believe that this entire swarm holds Rank 3 might…"
He vanished.
In an instant, he reappeared directly beside one Hunter‑Killer. Eight radiant, ethereal arms blazed into existence and struck hard.
The metallic craft crumpled, twisted, and came apart like scrap metal in his ethereal hands. Barxia reached into the wreckage. What he found turned his blood cold in an instant.
He found a coffin‑like chamber, and within it… a living Rank 3 apprentice, pale yet intact, woven directly into the machine's core.
His voice shook. From what he could gather, he could only come up with one thing. "They are using living magi as their power source?! How… how can constructs fueled this way strike with such terrifying force?!"
He retreated instantly. Being targeted by things that struck, vanished, and struck again like a swarm of assassins was a nightmare he had not prepared for.
He lured several into range, flashed among them, and destroyed them one by one.
Yet for every one he shattered, two more struck. He had counted and perhaps only a few dozen remained. But the cost was his own reserves of spiritual force drying up fast.
Spiritual force that should have been endless began to dwindle. The great Rank 3 Magus, an elder of the Eight Arms Radiant Moon, now found himself hounded, harried, and worn thin by mere constructs powered by apprentices.
He began to weigh the unthinkable idea of having to retreat.
"Can't you feel it?" A young man stepped casually into view, his tone light and amused, dressed in noble finery that seemed entirely out of place amidst the ruin and metal.
Barxia's eyes widened sharply. "It's you!"
Andrei's reports had been clear, according to Ashley's bloodline tracker this was the one who carried the highest percentage of Kemoyin Serpent Bloodline within the South Coast. The Rising King. The very figure they had crossed the sea to find.
'Perfect!' Elder Barxia's mind raced, already channeling his spiritual force for a killing blow. 'If I cannot save them… then at the very least I shall take you with me to the central continent. Ashley will understand. She will understand that her grandfather had no other choice.'
Power surged within him before it suddenly faltered.
His limbs grew heavy.
His mana stalled, thick and sluggish, as if turning to lead.
He staggered mid‑gesture, nearly stumbling to one knee.
"How about now?" The young man smiled, tilting his head.
"Wha... what have you done?!" Barxia snarled, panic mixing with rage as he fought desperately to command his own spiritual force. It responded slowly, weakly, as if shackled by invisible chains.
"Cursed you, obviously," Marcus replied, his amusement fading into a stern, serious gaze.
"You struck at me without rhyme nor reason. You destroyed our new toys. Do you have any idea how costly these things are to build? How exactly do you intend to compensate us? And who sent you? Why are you attacking?"
Barxia's eyes flashed with sudden, sharp hope.
'Who sent us…?'
If these strangers knew nothing of the Ouroboros Clan, then they knew nothing of the prophecy, the mission, or why they had come.
This gap in knowledge was a weapon. He could twist the truth. Invent enemies. Sow suspicion. Buy himself leverage and time.
Barxia drew himself up, masking his failing strength behind a scowl, and prepared to lie.