When the Legion of Tomorrow's Development blasted a breach in Londinium's walls and led the adventurers and the Legion into the city, Lieutenant Colonel Lettou knew it was over.
The Victorian forces stationed in Londinium had been utterly crushed by the adventurers. The veterans were captured alive, their fates unknown. The city garrison fled in disarray, and even the Sarkaz of the Military Commission proved no match for them.
Did we make a mistake somewhere?
Lieutenant Colonel Lettou gazed at the city consumed by chaos and warfare, doubt surging within him. Wasn't Duke Wellington the one who most desired to enter Londinium by legitimate means? Wasn't he the one most eager to acquire Sarkaz technology? Why had his vanguard not arrived at such a critical moment? Was he preserving his strength? Or did he intend to play the mantis stalking the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind?
But did he truly possess the ability to be that hidden predator?
Lettou stared at the shattered wall of District Seven, blasted apart by an Originium cannon, and fell into deep confusion. At that moment, his instincts told him that Duke Wellington did not dare come to Londinium.
Dare not? For mighty Victoria to fear stepping into its own capital? What an absurd thought.
"Lieutenant Colonel!"
He heard hurried footsteps behind him. His subordinates' faces were pale with fear and uncertainty.
"Lieutenant Colonel, what… what should we do now?"
They were waiting for an order, any order, that would allow them to push aside reality, to numb themselves against the pain of a fallen city.
Lettou opened his mouth, then drew in a long breath.
"The Duke's army will not be coming. Take all the grain prepared for the army and deliver it to Tomorrow's Development."
"…To Tomorrow's Development?"
The soldiers of the city garrison murmured among themselves. None objected, nor did they question him further. Instead, they moved swiftly to carry out the command.
Lettou continued staring at the smoke rising from the battlefield ahead. Confronted with Tomorrow's Development warships, he had lost all will to resist. With the Military Commission itself teetering on collapse, the only path left was to seek forgiveness from Tomorrow's Development.
___
Saviadel advanced at the forefront, marking each house and outpost as it was secured. Rhodes Island operators followed behind, selecting suitable locations as temporary treatment centers for the wounded. Compared to the heavily armed legionnaires, Rhodes Island Pharmaceuticals had far more medical personnel present.
Together with the operators of Tomorrow's Development, they pushed deeper into the city.
Until blood appeared before them.
A crimson tide capable of devouring everything.
The Sarkaz of Saviadel all lifted their gazes toward the gray-blue sky.
The heavens slowly shifted into a blood-red hue. The expressions of the Vampire members within the legion changed drastically. They sensed it clearly, a suppression emanating from deep within their bloodline.
Luna's face turned solemn. She inhaled sharply and commanded, "Defensive formation!"
In the next instant, an endless sea of blood surged toward them, accompanied by the agonized screams of the Sarkaz from the Military Commission.
Mudrock stepped forward without hesitation. Her Gargoyles formed the front line, and a wall of stone and earth rose before them, blocking the encroaching tide. The blood crashed against the barrier, and Mudrock could feel the structure shuddering under wave after wave of arts assault.
"Snipe!" Asuna ordered at once.
Meliras and the others raised their charged weapons, aimed toward the source of the caster, and fired without hesitation.
Boom.
A massive crater erupted in the ground ahead. The legion members remained steady, unmoving, while many of the Military Commission's Sarkaz screamed as they tumbled into the pit. Some were so shaken they could barely stand. The sudden collapse forced the sea of blood to flow backward into the crater.
Kal'tsit was perhaps the calmest presence on the battlefield. Yet when she observed the strange Sankta manipulating their weapons, she noticed a brief, unnatural pause.
Could it be that Felix had truly stepped into that realm of technology?
Constructing a machine was not difficult. Even creating one capable of independent thought might be achievable within a month or two. But to conceive, design, and build the carriers themselves, and then produce a thousand machines endowed with their own consciousness, was something else entirely.
The realization struck her like an earthquake.
When had Felix begun preparing for all of this?
Then Felix's military boots rolled across the shattered glass of Parliament Street. With every step, blue flames burst from beneath his feet. The marble paving crafted by Victoria's finest artisans softened and cracked, clinging to his soles like melted chocolate before being burned away and falling back to the ground in blackened fragments.
The crowd parted instinctively, clearing a path for their king.
The battle angels kept their eyes fixed on Felix's back. Gazing upon their creator, their king, the only being who existed in their hearts, they knelt on one knee and pressed their right hands to their chests, offering silent reverence and blessing.
The Sarkaz of Saviadel followed suit. They knelt as well, their eyes burning with anticipation as they looked toward the road His Highness had walked. In just a few short years, Kazdel had risen from a barren, impoverished wasteland into what it was today. They believed he would bring them yet another victory, that Kazdel would once again stand tall upon this land, and that they could continue to live with homes, food, happiness, and freedom.
In the distance, the throne of the Vampire Lord hovered above the city square. It was a living construct woven from countless blood vessels, Victorian soldiers' skulls embedded within its pulsing flesh. Each hollow eye socket burned with ghostly blue soul-fire.
The Vampire Lord, the Prince of Blood, Duq'arael, sat upon that throne, a graceful smile playing at his lips. His crimson eyes shimmered with unmistakable pleasure.
"You, Teekaz, truly delight me." Duq'arael rose slowly to his feet. He felt his long-stilled blood surge wildly again. His body screamed at him to bare his fangs, to devour the man before him, to drink his blood, tear his flesh, and consume him whole. "Every day you were absent from Londinium, I found myself thinking of you."
Luna looked as though she might vomit, his tone almost casual, as if addressing someone he knew too well.
"With a body like yours, do you truly believe you can bear the Sarkaz memories of ten thousand years?" Duq'arael chuckled softly. "Do you think you can endure them?"
"I've already overcome the physical burden," Felix replied, tightening his grip on Wildfire. "As for the spiritual side—your history, your so-called purpose—I have no interest in it."
"You think the Sarkaz, like the Feline, are merely a race bound by blood. You think our fury is nothing more than resentment at injustice, that our struggle against them is simply a war between nations." Duq'arael's voice flowed smoothly, almost elegant. "But is that truly so?"
He smiled faintly. "Look into my eyes, Liberation King. Listen carefully to the cries within the dark clouds above. They will tell you the truth."
"The Sarkaz and those despicable invaders, the so-called people of gods and ancestors, were never the same kind. Kazdel was never merely a capital or a country. In the ancient days, when the Sarkaz were still called Teekaz and still had a home, Kazdel referred to the entire world within our sight."
"Kazdel should be synonymous with Terra."
Felix lifted his gaze. "So you intend to wage war against all of Terra?"
"Exactly." Duq'arael's sharp fangs gleamed as he bared them. "Those despicable invaders must learn who truly owns this land, our promised land. They must understand the real power of the Sarkaz."
"King of Liberation," he continued, floating down from his throne into the open air, one hand extended, "you have reclaimed the bloodline of the Teekaz and rebuilt a homeland for Kazdel. But that is not enough. The Sarkaz homeland is Terra itself, not some fragment called Kazdel."
Felix's interest in the conversation faded. Speaking to Duq'arael felt like arguing with a stone wall. The man before him was nothing more than a war-crazed fanatic.
Flames roared to life. Behind him, Ifrit's phantom solidified into a translucent outline of crimson and gold.
"Oh?" Duq'arael licked his lips. "This temperature… it seems I'll have to use rougher methods to savor your blood."
The stained-glass windows of the city hall shattered with a thunderous crash. Countless razor-sharp shards hung suspended in the air like a crimson galaxy. The blood within the fountain surged upward, coalescing into grotesque monsters of congealed gore. They wore scarlet armor shaped from the robes of fallen councilors. When their heavy hooves struck the paving stones, they splashed not water, but corrosive droplets of blood that melted statues into twisted remains.
"Come," Duq'arael beckoned. "Let me savor the joy of being burned."
Ifrit's massive hand swept outward, and thirty blood-forged monsters were instantly reduced to vapor. Yet the rising blood mist did not disperse. Instead, it gathered above Felix's head, forming a bell-shaped cage.
Fetid rain of blood dripped onto his shoulder armor, releasing curls of blue smoke as it corroded the surface. Heat began to build within his body, rising steadily, just as it had during his battle with the King of Nachzehrers.
The earth's ley line energy surged into his body like a volcanic eruption, and Ifrit's phantom fully materialized. The Diablo's horns pierced the clouds, scorching the twilight sky with spiderweb cracks of blackened space. The arc of the greatsword carved a trail of crimson-gold light through the air, cleaving the city hall's spire in two. The collapsing debris vaporized into a rain of molten lava before it could touch the ground.
The Vampire Lord only smiled, elegant as ever, his dark red robe billowing outward into a towering wave of blood.
The splintered liquid condensed midair into millions of blood needles. Ifrit raised a barrier of flame, and the shrill hiss of needles striking fire rang out like boiling oil poured over snow. Scarlet mist rose and spread, swallowing the battlefield within a hundred meters. The scattered blood reformed into scarlet blades. Felix twisted and leapt aside, and the floor tiles where he had stood were sliced into perfectly measured cubes.
Ifrit's phantom opened its massive jaws, unleashing a pillar of fire like a dragon's breath straight toward the dome. A blood-curtain barrier snapped into existence, blocking the inferno before it could reach the Vampire Lord.
Duq'arael did not see Felix darting forward behind the blazing column, sword drawn.
For the first time, his composure faltered. His gaze dropped coldly to his chest, where blood seeped from a clean sword wound. His barrier had been breached. He had been injured.
How long had it been since he last bled? Hundreds of years? Thousands?
He laughed softly, madness flickering in his crimson eyes. It was the same sharp pain he had felt when he plunged his hand into his brother's chest.
"Let me savor it once more."
He hovered above the blood-soaked city, his robes liquefying completely, reforming into vast wings of living blood.
"Do you see?" he spread his arms wide.
From the drainage channels of Parliament Square, a colossal wave of blood surged forth, crashing toward Felix. "Just a single drop of Teekaz blood grants me such strength. You are wasting a priceless treasure."
"Everyone, masks on!" Luna shouted. Amiya echoed the warning to the others.
Tomorrow's Development Legion and the Rhodes Island operators began an urgent retreat. Corrosive white smoke already rose from the medical team's protective suits. Kal'tsit's Mon3tr tore through two blood barriers, but it let out a pained howl. Kal'tsit narrowed her eyes and saw its claws sizzling, eroded by the corrosive blood.
Felix's flames suddenly contracted, forming a cocoon that sealed him off from the corrosion while melting a deep crater beneath his feet. Earth vein energy surged through the cracks, and magma solidified into twelve rotating blades of fire.
With a single thought, the fiery array spiraled toward the Vampire Lord.
The battlefield erupted into a storm of blood and flame. Duq'arael felt the advancing heat, and for the first time his calm expression shifted.
This was the power of Teekaz, the power to commune with the Terra. He was not merely standing upon the land; he was part of it.
In that fleeting instant of fierce combat, Felix understood. If Originium Arts meant drawing upon the Originium within a staff or the power embedded in an infected body, then Teekaz meant drawing upon the power of the land itself, the power of Terra. As long as Terra endured, Teekaz could continue to fight.
Duq'arael rose higher upon the blood fountain, his crimson wings fully unfurled. Black blood plasma seeped from the fractured ground of Council Square. The viscous liquid crystallized upon contact with the air, forming a thorned jungle that spread across half the city. Wherever Felix's flames swept, the blood-crystal thorns regenerated instantly, their sharpened tips spraying corrosive fluid that burned holes through Ifrit's phantom.
Blood roared like a tide. Felix's eyes blazed with molten gold. Behind him, Ifrit gripped the Flame Sword.
Enduring the searing corrosion gnawing at his armor, Felix and Ifrit drove their blazing blades beyond all physical limits. Wherever the swords passed, space warped, and everything in their path was crushed by overwhelming force. Duq'arael attempted to flee, but every drop of his blood was pinned in place by the oppressive pressure of the twin blades.
"Burning Star!"