The barrier was still vibrating—on the edge of breaking—when the silence between them shifted.
It wasn't the usual silence of a pause.
It was something denser.
More alive.
Almost conscious.
The dust suspended between Éreon and the Crimson Lady seemed to hesitate in the air, as if afraid to touch either of them and be destroyed in the process.
The crimson energy of the blade pulsed in irregular intervals, responding to her breathing.
The purple energy around Éreon contracted and expanded in micro-fluctuations—like an invisible muscle about to react.
They both remained motionless through a second that stretched, vast enough to be inhuman.
Her red visor didn't blink.
Éreon's eyes did—slow, deliberate, like someone observing the inevitability of a natural phenomenon.
The crack in the barrier hissed one more millimeter.
That was when he smiled.
A short, sharp, almost indifferent smile—brutally contrasting with the violence surrounding him.
When he spoke, his voice came out quiet—steady, clean—with that sharpened irony that didn't need to be announced to be felt.
"You're right…" Éreon said, tilting his chin just enough for her to notice the provocation embedded in the gesture. "The gods have fallen again."
The blade glowed brighter, responding.
A brief pause.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile that sounded more like commentary on fate than humor.
"But it won't be by your hands."
The purple glow in his eyes intensified.
The energy around him trembled—not like power, but like age, like something ancient waking after a long silence.
Éreon opened his mouth for the next word…
…and the air around him folded inward, as if swallowed by a vacuum.
His voice came out different.
Heavier.
Deeper.
Older.
"Vha-rul! (Fly!)"
The draconic tongue didn't sound—it happened.
The word wasn't spoken.
It was launched.
The sound tore across the space like a physical impact, exploding toward the Crimson Lady.
The world reacted before she could.
The concrete cracked beneath her feet.
The air twisted in a brutal rift.
And her body was hurled straight back—ripped out of her offensive like an invisible giant had struck her with a single movement.
The blade burst in a violent flare as it was torn from the point of impact.
The crimson armor screamed in light.
The Crimson Lady vanished into debris with force enough to destroy the entire structure.
But Éreon… did not leave unscathed.
The echo of the ancient word burned down his throat like fire.
The draconic pulse recoiled through his nerves, leaving microscopic tremors in the air, making the purple energy falter for a second.
He felt the ancestral weight of it pulling him downward—not exactly pain, but a fee.
His vision shuddered for an instant, split between the now and a memory he refused to let return.
A price.
The air around him wavered, too dense, too hot.
The controlled soldiers staggered for a second, as if their mental command had momentarily failed.
The echo of the word still vibrated inside him—like his bones were hollow and filled with ancient fire.
And Éreon had to inhale slowly just to stabilize his posture.
The draconic tongue charges.
It always charges.
The Crimson Lady stepped out of the wreckage in crooked footsteps, visor split in half, as if fighting against clashing commands.
"...sys… tem…" her voice snapped, distorted.
The crimson lights returned—but not all at once.
They flickered.
Failed.
Restarted.
A crimson beam slashed through the air—unstable, trembling—as if her armor were trying to rebuild energy it no longer possessed.
Her visor blinked again, the red shifting between three tones before stabilizing into a glow that looked almost desperate.
"…a…no…ma…ly… de-tec…ted…"
Another metallic click—like gears chewing into each other.
"…you…"
Her body convulsed.
"…should not… exist…"
A sharp noise burst inside the helmet, and her voice distorted entirely:
"Delta-Ruin Protocol."
"Restore dominion."
"Neutralize draconic anomaly."
The crimson glow ignited violently, trembling, unstable.
And then:
"…I…"
Her voice shifted back to the broken, almost human tone.
"…I cannot… fail…"
She advanced.
Step by step.
Awkward.
Convulsing.
But determined.
Éreon only watched her—not with fear, but with razor-focus, like someone measuring a broken weapon that could still kill.
The purple energy around him wavered again, reacting to the weight of what was coming.
The Crimson Lady took another step—
—and the ground trembled.
Not a distant quake.
Not shockwave tremor.
The ground beneath all of them moved.
A thin line split between the metallic plates, lit by a deep blue glow that pulsed like an underground heart.
The sound didn't come from above.
It came from below.
A colossal mechanism awakened, spiraling, shifting the plates with surgical precision.
Metal against metal.
Magnetic releases.
Layers descending like inverted petals.
The floor literally opened, revealing a fortified platform rising slowly, imposing, as if refusing to hurry in the face of chaos.
Blue light rose in columns through the steam.
When the platform finally completed its ascent, a figure emerged from its center—first the glow of a bioluminescent eye, then her full silhouette, solid and imposing.
A woman.
Left eye: vivid red, pulsing like a ruby under tension—an experimental military implant, scanning everything across a spectrum humans didn't possess.
Right half of her face: covered by a mechanical bronze mask, held by micro-gears turning in silence.
A symbol of survival.
And of absolute authority.
Silver hair, short, tousled by snow carried down from upper sectors.
Her expression—a crooked smile—looked half charm, half threat.
Her black-and-gold uniform resembled imperial officers of the past, with Hive insignias embroidered along the sleeves.
An inner crimson cape, exclusive to high command.
Black pelts of extinct animals draped her shoulders.
And at her hip, a holstered weapon she had no intention of touching.
The Higan Sabre, carried with the posture of someone who never needs to unsheathe it to prove anything.
The commander lifted her head, assessed the destruction, then Éreon.
Without blinking.
Without hurry.
Without fear.
"Crimson Lady 0-13," she announced, voice firm and sharp as polished steel. "Subroutine C-0. Activate Crimson Silence."
The reaction was immediate.
Internal Crimson Pulse
0-13's armor released a red pulse, abrupt, dry—like a metallic heart being forced to stop.
The visor blinked three times, the red sinking into a deeper, almost blood-soaked shade.
A synthetic voice glitched inside the helmet:
"Com-mand… re-cog-nized… Pro-to-col C-0… ini-tia-ting…"
The Lady trembled where she stood.
Not by her own will.
Fall of the Crimson Energy
The glowing slits in the armor began vibrating… then fading.
First losing brightness.
Then turning into the red of nearly-dead embers.
And, finally, dark coal.
Energy lines receded like veins drying out.
A muffled sound ran through the exoskeleton:
fssssss—THNK
The Crimson energy drained down to the core, where it went inert—silent.
Exoskeleton Depressurization
Plates relaxed.
Locks opened by millimeters, releasing black steam.
The aggressive glow died.
Surface matte.
Spikes retracting.
Mechanisms shutting down one by one.
clack—clack—clack—tchsssss
Neural Release
The pressure at the agent's nape vanished.
Her mind went too quiet for an instant, as if an internal scream had been abruptly cut off.
Conditioned memories slid backward—hibernating.
The armor announced:
"Neu-ral link sus-pen-ded…"
The voice died halfway through the sentence.
Dead-Armor State
Four seconds later:
No lights.
No systems.
Crimson Lady 0-13 stood, but she was a hollow shell—heavy, cold, and inert like an abandoned military mannequin.
One last echo sounded:
"C-0… com-plete… Crimson Silence."
And then nothing.
No audible breath.
No glow.
No threat.
Only the silence of a weapon turned off.
Éreon didn't move.
Didn't speak.
He only watched it all—from the Lady's fall to the commander's rise—with that cold, ancient gaze that offered no answers.
The commander's bioluminescent red eye rotated through an internal gradient as it analyzed him.
Her smile sharpened once her scan was complete.
"So…" she murmured, almost like a venomous invitation. "Shall we talk."
Éreon tilted his head, the purple glow still pulsing in his eyes.
A slow, dry smile.
"If I'd known all it took was breaking her…" his voice slid out, ironic, razor-edged. "I wouldn't have wasted so much time."
The commander let out a short laugh, more air than sound.
"This unit wasn't designed to face superior deities," she said, almost like a technical observation. "And ever since you entered our radar…"
She surveyed him from head to toe, the bioluminescent eye making a faint autofocus adjustment.
"…it became clear this was going to happen."
The two faced each other at the center of the vast open platform, like two ancient forces measuring ground.
She shifted her gaze just enough to acknowledge the soldiers behind Éreon.
"You could release my men," she said, as if presenting a logical request.
Éreon raised an eyebrow, almost amused.
"Why would I?"
The commander didn't seem irritated—only satisfied.
With calculated calm, she reached inside her uniform and retrieved a small bronze-and-glass device, where a single red button glowed like a hungry eye.
She lifted the object between her fingers.
"Because I have mines planted." Her smile curved, soft, cruel. "Do you know what this does?"
She turned the device slightly, letting it catch the blue light rising from the pit beneath her.
"I imagine your era didn't have toys like these… so I'll explain."
Her bioluminescent eye narrowed.
"If I press this little button…" she tapped it with the tip of her nail "…the bodies of your army will start flying apart. No warning. No poetry. Just flesh against trees."
She tilted her head, studying his face.
"And something tells me," she went on, with a nearly gentle smile, "that you're not the type who enjoys picking up human pieces."
Éreon smiled—a dry snap of his fingers echoed like an invisible command.
The soldiers behind him collapsed to their knees, gasping, confused, as if they had just awakened from a suffocating dream.
One of them lifted his face, voice trembling:
"D-Dr. Ekaterina…?"
The commander didn't move.
But the soldier's gaze met Éreon's.
And a single second of that gaze was enough.
The man stumbled back instinctively, as if he'd seen teeth in the dark.
Éreon lifted his chin, satisfied.
"I've already released them," he said, with the calm of someone commenting on the weather. "So… I imagine this is the moment when you'd invite me for a cup of tea?"
The commander tilted her head, watching Éreon like someone evaluating a forbidden artifact.
Her smile returned—thin, dangerous, full of unreadable intentions.
"Tea…?" she repeated, as if tasting the word. "I would invite you. But I doubt your palate can handle something that simple."
Her bioluminescent eye drifted to the Crimson Lady… then back to him, slowly.
"Besides," she continued, "we both know you didn't come here for warm drinks."
She stepped forward.
The wind slipped between them, carrying the scent of burned metal and shattered energy.
For an instant, Éreon and Ekaterina stood face-to-face—motionless, measuring each other like two forces that were never meant to meet.