Chapter 30 — The Greatest Mission of All

The dragon’s body hit the ocean like a falling continent. The impact sent waves rolling toward every vessel in the fleet, the sea itself convulsing in protest. The world trembled — but no one dared to breathe until Kohaku’s voice broke the static of the comm line.

“Fire everything we have. All batteries. All ships. Now.”

From the horizon, missiles arced through the clouds like burning comets. The air filled with the thunder of humanity’s final defiance — rail cannons roaring, artillery shattering the air, bombers diving in perfect, suicidal formation. Honolulu glowed like a second sunrise made of steel and fire.

Angra — the colossal, winged monster — screamed as the blasts tore into its flesh. It was not just a cry of pain, but of disbelief: that something so ancient, so sure of its dominion, could finally be hurt.

Inside USS Saratoga Mark II, alarms wailed as the ship’s massive rail cannon began to charge. Engineers shouted status updates through the chaos:

“Power at five percent—twenty—fifty—seventy—ninety-nine—!”

“Rail Cannon ready to fire!”

“Fire!” Kohaku’s voice thundered through every channel.

The world went white. The railgun’s beam split the horizon, a spear of blinding energy that slammed through the monster’s skull. For an instant, the ocean boiled. Then — silence. The beast’s head burst apart in a plume of molten fire and black mist.

“Direct hit! Target collapsing!” cried the gunnery officer.

All around, the carrier fleet opened fire in unison. A thousand guns roared; the sea became a battlefield of smoke and thunder. One by one, the cannons found their mark — chest, spine, wings — until the dragon was nothing but fragments of darkness dissolving into light.

Then it happened.

The sky — long choked with smoke and ruin — began to clear. From the remains of the fallen dragon, lights rose like drifting stars. Souls, countless and luminous, broke free, ascending into the heavens. And not only above Hawaiʻi — across the globe, every battlefield glowed. Souls once trapped within the monstrous forms of the Soul Beasts began to rise, returning home to whatever awaited them.

In Okinawa, Rika and her grandfather stood on the balcony of their command tower, staring at the miracle.

“It’s over,” Rika whispered.
Then louder, tears streaking her face: “He did it! Kohaku did it!”

She turned and threw her arms around the old general, laughing and crying all at once. Across the world, sirens turned to cheers, weapons dropped from trembling hands, and every surviving soldier raised their voices to the same cry:

“WE WON!”

News feeds flared alive. Sakura Koyomi’s voice cut through the airwaves, solemn and alive:

“This is Sakura Koyomi, reporting from Okinawa.
Humanity has done the impossible.
The Soul Beasts are gone — every trace of them purged from our world.
For the first time in centuries, Earth breathes freely again.
Survivors call this day the Dawn of Liberation.
And to those who still hide, to the remnants of the darkness —
know this: you will be hunted. You will be erased.
Humanity has chosen to rise.”

Beside her, Brad Lucas adjusted his camera with trembling hands. The world had been saved, and yet the silence that followed victory felt almost too vast to fill.

On the battlefield, Kohaku fell to his knees, the railgun slipping from his hands. His armor was cracked, blood pooling beneath him. For the first time, his breath came slow — not from exhaustion, but relief.

He pulled off his helmet. The sea breeze hit his face. He hadn’t felt wind on his skin for years.

Agnes ran to him, her uniform scorched, eyes glassy. She knelt beside him and cradled his head.
“It’s over, Kohaku-san,” she said softly, her voice trembling between exhaustion and joy. “You did it. You can rest now.”

Kohaku tried to speak, but only managed a faint smile before his eyes closed. For the first time since the apocalypse began, he allowed himself to sleep — not as a soldier, not as a commander, but as a man who had finally kept his promise.

A week later.

Tokyo.

The city was alive again. Children laughed in the streets. Hybrid races walked freely beside humans. The sky was clear, and the rivers reflected a blue unseen for decades. Kohaku stood on a bridge, watching it all with quiet disbelief.

For the first time in years, he smiled — a small, unguarded smile.

Agnes, standing beside him, caught it and froze.
“That’s... the first time I’ve ever seen you do that,” she said, her voice gentle.
Kohaku chuckled softly. “Guess I finally remembered how.”

From behind them, Rika’s cheerful voice rang out.
“Hey! You two! Don’t just stand there looking dramatic — we’re celebrating tonight!”

Kohaku turned, and for once, there was no mask, no armor, no war between them. Just the faint laughter of people who had survived the impossible.

But far away —

In another world, beneath a blood-red sky, rain fell on a silent battlefield.
A woman with white hair and crimson eyes knelt among the bodies of her fallen comrades. Her breath came slow, ragged.

She looked up toward the endless storm above and whispered, “So this is how our story ends.”

Behind her, a shadow moved — a Soul Beast, blacker than night, jaws open wide.

And then — darkness.

END