Chapter 50 - The Dawn of Battle

Alfons sat upon his throne, high above the bones of hundreds of fallen soldiers, his head resting lazily against his hand. Suddenly, he lifted his gaze toward the cavern's roof and murmured:

"He's here."

In that instant, the entire cavern was obliterated by a colossal explosion that lasted no longer than a fraction of a second. Every bone, every creature that lurked in the shadows, every stalactite and stalagmite, every crystal, everything, melted away. The fire's claws stretched outward into the forest surrounding the cave, scorching it as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the inferno.

Lazrael walked forward, hands tucked casually into his pockets, his pace unhurried as he approached the apocalyptic scene he had just wrought.

"I don't imagine a little thing like that killed you, Alfons," said Lazrael, stopping before the flames.

"Ye really think I'd die from somethin' that petty, child o' the Twelfth Kindu? Or should I be callin' ye by yer true name... Lazarus?" came Alfons' voice from beyond the fire. His silhouette emerged through the inferno, untouched, no wounds, no burns, only calm defiance.

"Good. I finally found you. Now I'll have the pleasure of burning you alive," Lazrael said, his tone sharp as he readied himself for battle.

"For a so-called scientist, ye're bloody hopeless," Alfons retorted with a smirk. "Ye've been twistin' the wills o' gods themselves, yet ye couldnae find one mortal in all these years? I'll wager yer dear mum lent ye a hand. Pity, really."

"The pity's yours. If it weren't for that egg you're hiding, even a demon whore would be worth more than you," Lazrael shot back coldly.

"Says the weakest bloody dragon ever born," Alfons muttered, slamming his staff into the ground.

The force of the impact was so immense it extinguished every flame in the forest, leaving only drifting ash and the ghost of life's color fading into grey.

"Heheheheh... HAHAHAHAHAHA!" Lazrael's manic laughter filled the air as golden rifles materialized around him, dozens of them, aimed straight at Alfons. In unison, they fired, unleashing waves of air that tore apart everything nearby.

Alfons spun his staff, its motion so swift it became a blur, deflecting the barrage with graceful precision. The shockwaves shattered the ground beneath both combatants, turning earth, trees, and stone alike into chaos.

Lazrael dove behind a massive boulder, then launched himself at Alfons, drawing a gleaming knife from his pocket in mid-air. Alfons, descending through the collapsing earth with his arms crossed, waited in eerie calm for Lazrael's approach.

With a sudden burst, Lazrael summoned angelic wings, accelerating toward him. Alfons thrust his left fist into the ground behind him, causing colossal stone pillars to erupt and scatter in violent confusion. Lazrael tore through the debris, relentless, annihilating everything that dared block his path, until, in a blink, Alfons vanished from sight.

"What? I didn't even feel you move," Lazrael said in disbelief.

"Aye. That's 'cause ye feel nothin'," Alfons growled, suddenly appearing above him. He seized Lazrael by the jaws and drove him downward with brutal force.

The pressure of Alfons' grip shattered Lazrael's teeth and both his jawbones, grinding him through layer after layer of stone. Lazrael felt himself sinking deeper into the underworld's crust, dragged by the merciless strength of his foe. Finally, Alfons plunged them both into molten lava, heat so unfathomable that no ordinary being could withstand it. Yet neither seemed fazed.

"Don't get cocky," Lazrael's muffled voice echoed, as a metallic sphere became visible on his abdomen.

"Go on then. Give it yer best shot," Alfons said, smiling faintly within the lava's glow.

The bomb detonated, creating a cataclysmic void and releasing a roaring surge of magma skyward, as though Mount Vesuvius had erupted anew. Molten rain poured across the forest, melting and devouring everything it touched. Amid the falling inferno, Lazrael emerged unscathed, his wounds regenerating in an instant.

"Is that all ye've got?" came Alfons' voice, rising from the depths below.

"Tch! Draken Ragna — Stro—"

In that instant, Lazrael's technique was cut short, along with his body. His form was cleaved cleanly in two before he could even finish the incantation. From the depths of what could only be described as the pit of Hell itself, Alfons emerged, his eyes burning like dying suns. With one swing of his staff, he had sliced Lazrael in half.

But he did not stop there. In a blur of impossible motion, Alfons split Lazrael's head, stomach, legs, arms, and chest, each stroke faster than sight itself. The force of those strikes tore through the surrounding forest as well, shearing trees and boulders into hundreds of pieces.

Yet before the dust could even settle, the scattered fragments of Lazrael's body were drawn magnetically toward Alfons, fusing around him in a blinding explosion. Fire and smoke swallowed the forest whole, turning it into a battlefield worthy of gods.

From the heart of that chaos, Lazrael reformed, his body restored to its original shape. Though the blast had leveled half the forest, Alfons stood untouched, unscathed, as if the flames themselves feared him.

"I see that didn't do a thing to you, Alfons. Tell me where you're keeping the egg, and maybe I won't have to kill you," Lazrael said darkly.

"Heh, that's rich," Alfons replied, his voice thick with scorn and the rough roll of his Highland tongue. "Ye couldnae kill me if ye wielded every cursed technique ever dreamt o' by gods or demons alike. Yer weak, Lazarus. Pathetic, even."

Lazrael's aura flared wildly, an immense surge of blinding green light that devoured the air around him. Alfons, however, remained perfectly still, utterly indifferent.

"A god against a mortal?! I think we both ken who's the weaker one here!" Lazrael shouted, summoning hundreds of cannons above the sky.

The heavens filled with golden fire as every cannon discharged at once, darkening the sun beneath their storm of burning shells. Each blast tore through the clouds, descending like divine punishment upon the earth. The forest quaked, the air screamed, and the very light of day was devoured.

Yet Alfons did not move. He stood motionless beneath the apocalyptic deluge, surrounded by explosions powerful enough to obliterate the soul itself.

"Impossible... those shells can split even gods in half, and still they've no effect on you!" Lazrael shouted, disbelief twisting his voice.

Alfons exhaled, and a dense black aura unfurled from his body like smoke from a dying star, forming a barrier that consumed the divine bombardment without effort. He hadn't even flexed a muscle.

"Told ye already... ye're weak," Alfons said quietly, his crimson eyes gleaming with disdain as he gazed upon Lazrael.

"Tch! Hahahahaha! Fine then!" Lazrael howled, his laughter echoing through the burning woods. "Let's destroy this wretched world, you and I!"

The air around him erupted in green flame as his aura multiplied again, shaking the heavens themselves. All the cannons in the sky converged into one singular point, a titanic weapon that hung beneath the sun, nearly two hundred meters long.

"Draken Dragna — Mutuëa na asama!"

The cannon's charge reached its peak, ready to unleash a cataclysm that could split the very crust of the world in two. Alfons stood beneath its light, staff in hand, waiting calmly as the earth trembled under the weapon's sheer force.

"Aye," Alfons muttered with quiet amusement. "It'd be a wee bit o' a problem if those blasts hit this poor, dying land... but—"

In the next instant, he took flight, bursting upward with such speed that the ground beneath him cratered from the force. He ascended like a meteor, closing the distance to the colossal cannon before Lazrael could even blink.

"What—?!" Lazrael gasped in disbelief.

"Yer grown now, lad," Alfons said grimly, his accent cutting through the roar of magic. "Toys are still for bairns."

He drove his fist into the side of the divine cannon, and the impact was cataclysmic. The weapon shattered into countless fragments, exploding across the sky before it could ever fire. The shockwave tore through the heavens, echoing across the lands of mortals, before turning continents into graveyards that whispered the names of the dead.

Three hours earlier...

In the battalion stationed near the kingdom of Altars, the soldiers were holding a feast, more a matter of tradition than celebration. They drank beer in excess, laughed loudly, and danced to the sound of the varidine, a stringed instrument much like a mandolin, crafted from green elven wood. They roasted meat over open fires, their chatter mixing with the crackling of the flames and the rhythm of the night.

A little apart from the others sat Aldes and Atbara, who enjoyed the feast in their own quieter way.

"Have you thought about what other orders Queen Kaliga might have given the general?" asked Atbara.

"I doubt there's anything else," Aldes replied, taking a long sip of beer. "His task was to organize these battalions, nothing more."

"I can't shake the feeling she told him something extra," said Atbara, his tone carrying a hint of conspiracy. "Something that gives this whole movement a deeper purpose."

"Our job's to follow orders, not question them," Aldes said firmly. "What's gotten into you today, Atbara? You never talk like this."

"But what if she finds out about our connection to Lazrael? What happens to us then?"

Aldes immediately covered Atbara's mouth with his hand.

"Shhh! Have you lost your bloody mind? The Queen's eyes are everywhere! Don't ever speak of such things again. You know what'll happen to us if she learns even a fragment of that truth."

Atbara looked down, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry... I don't know why I feel so uneasy today. Maybe it's because I don't have my rapier with me. It feels like I'm missing a part of myself."

"The soldiers gave you a standard sword, didn't they? More practical than your fancy rapier," said Aldes. "I know that sword means something to you, but maybe it's time you moved on. Don't worry about things beyond your control. Enjoy the feast, follow orders, and you'll be fine. You should count yourself lucky they even let us stay here in the first place."

Atbara said nothing more and took another drink beside Aldes in the corner of the tent.

"Still," Aldes muttered, "Lazrael left quite the impression in the Queen's vision."

"His hair being faintly green..." Atbara said. "You've told me more than once he doesn't feel like a demon... but neither an angel, for that matter."

"A dragon," Aldes said quietly. "I knew he'd have a complicated identity, but not that complicated. Now it feels like we've been dragged into something far beyond our grasp. So much is happening around us, and we're just two guards in this cursed forest."

"Two mortals caught in the quarrels of gods," said Atbara, swallowing another mouthful of beer. "Couldn't have chosen a worse time to exist."

"I thought maybe I could give this duty of mine some meaning by adding a little joy to it," Aldes sighed, "but with each passing day it feels emptier. Maybe I'll leave once the conflict ends."

"Leave? Where to?"

"Somewhere far from all this," Aldes said dreamily. "Maybe one of the Zagros Islands, untouched nature, a new life, a mystery to live through. I think I'd die of boredom in the gods' home. Too much irony in that."

"We both thought this was the most perfect, prosperous place in the world," Atbara said, finishing his beer. "Turns out we were wrong."

Aldes studied the vampire carefully as he drank the final foam from his mug. At that moment, a soldier approached them.

"Her Majesty requests your presence. Follow me."

They exchanged puzzled looks but obeyed. Outside the tent, they found another soldier holding a mirror, through which the reflection of Queen Kaliga appeared.

"I've given the soldiers a heavy dose of ototoxic narcotics," said the Queen calmly. "They can't hear a word I'm saying. The plan has failed."

Aldes and Atbara froze in shock.

"I didn't think I'd resort to this," she continued, "but I see no other choice. From now on, you must use every ounce of magic at your disposal."

"Your Majesty," said Atbara cautiously, "what exactly do you intend to do?"

"You two, along with General Igorus, will destroy the angels."

The words struck them like a thunderclap. Neither could find breath to respond.

"You'll infiltrate their nations and kill as many angels as possible," Kaliga continued coldly. "I've grown tired of this cat-and-mouse game we've played for years."

"But... just the three of us?" Atbara asked, incredulous. "Isn't that suicide?"

"I understand your concern," said the Queen, her expression grave, "but you must trust Igorus." Her sharp hazel eyes glinted with determination.

The two men exchanged bewildered looks, trying to make sense of what they'd heard.

"Does the marshal, or the rest of the army, know about this?" Atbara pressed.

"Of course not," said Kaliga. "The plan is for the three of you to strike first. Then the army will march toward the Tower of Virgiel. I can't guarantee your safety, but it's the only way to fight the angels right now. Uanamangura is still a child. The angels have stronger forces and know how to counter us. We don't even know if Bakabali has awakened or if the Spheres have activated now that the paradox is broken. The Tower of Virgiel, the Nine Guardians of Hell, and Xael together form a power beyond imagination. There is no other path forward. I explained this to the general as well."

"And he agreed..." murmured Atbara, deep in thought.

The Queen nodded.

"When does this plan go into effect?" asked Aldes.

"Once you reach Tamasi. Meet with Igorus there and devise your strategy," said Kaliga.

"Your Majesty," said Atbara hesitantly, "do you truly believe this act will make the angels' rule collapse?"

"It's less about victory," Kaliga replied. "Think of it as a terrorist strike; a way to delay their advance and weaken them. I doubt you'll exterminate them all, but if you succeed... you'll be remembered as true heroes."

"Understood, Your Majesty," Aldes said in an unnervingly calm tone. Atbara glanced at his companion, unsettled by his composure.

"I expect results," the Queen said before vanishing from the mirror's reflection.

The soldiers who had brought them outside suddenly fainted, clearly under Kaliga's control.

"Do you really think we can kill them, Aldes?" asked Atbara quietly.

But Aldes' expression had changed, twisted into something dark and unrecognizably cruel. The murderous aura around him was so strong that even Atbara felt it pierce through his skin.

"At last," Aldes said, grinning, as he pulled a platinum deck of cards from his pocket. "I can have a little fun before I'm done with this cursed place."

"You've been waiting for this chance, haven't you?" Atbara replied, his eyes glowing a deep, sinister blue. "Very well then."

It was clear now, neither of them intended to hold anything back.

In the present...

The entire Garges Forest, lying in the southern reaches of the mortal supercontinent Zagros, had turned into a wasteland of molten rock and shattered war machines. Alfons descended from the sky, while the debris of a colossal cannon rained down around him like a storm of burning steel.

"Hmph! You may've destroyed one cannon," Lazrael said, clasping his hands together, "but what makes you think you can face all of them?"

"Draken Ragna — Barazanar Da Kisa."

At once, the clouds dissolved into nothingness as dozens of titanic cannons, each the size of the one Alfons had obliterated, materialized from the heavens.

"The beauty of Draken," Lazrael continued, his tone rising to near-madness, "is that it knows no limits! Not like Fernia, Lapis, Lagus, Magic... In the end, you are inferior in every possible way, Alfons. You have limits. I do not. I can be smarter, stronger, superior to you in everything! IN EVERYTHING!!"

The cannons hummed with a divine resonance, their energy gathering until the very ground trembled beneath them. Their golden beams illuminated every ridge of the ruined terrain, burning the earth with sacred fury. Alfons stood still, eyes reflecting the blinding light above.

"Aye," he muttered, his voice low but steady, laced with a faintly mocking tone, "reckon it's time I show ye that limits mean nothin'... when yer facin' a power that breaks the very laws o' reason."

Lazrael laughed, a sound between thunder and madness.

"Hahahahaha! Only gods are beyond reason!"

"Then ye ain't no god," Alfons replied, his aura darkening, yellow fading into black, rippling outward like a storm of corrupted sunlight.

The cannons unleashed their fury. The combined impact of their energy clashed with Alfons' spreading aura, and the collision birthed pure devastation. Fire and smoke tore through the horizon, boulders were flung skyward like pebbles, and the world itself seemed to scream.

Miles upon miles were reduced to ash. The sky burned red and gold, as though the sun itself had descended to bear witness to this apocalypse. Sulfurous smoke choked the air; the scent of scorched metal lingered like a curse.

Lazrael stood amidst the ruin, surveying the pitiful remains of what had once been a forest.

"The problem," he said coldly, "is that I can't feel your energy anymore. That makes it... rather difficult to find you, and kill you, Alfons."

"I knew ye'd say that," came Alfons' voice, echoing through the sulfurous haze.

"Hm?" Lazrael frowned, scanning the burning horizon.

"The third armor was more'n enough," Alfons's voice echoed again, closer this time.

"The... third armor?" Lazrael murmured in confusion.

"Aye," Alfons answered, his tone grimly amused. "Armor number three — Mukade no Yokai."

As the smoke thinned, Lazrael's eyes widened. The figure emerging from the haze was monstrous, terrifyingly so.

Alfons' armor was deep violet with veins of molten gold. From his back jutted segmented spines like the ridged body of a buried centipede. His chestplate gleamed with an organic, skeletal sheen. A demonic mask, forged in the likeness of a wrathful Japanese oni, covered his face, its jagged teeth bared, its hollow eyes glowing faintly beneath the visor. From the back of his helmet flowed long yellow hair, rippling like fire.

"What... what in the blazes is that?" Lazrael whispered, his voice trembling between awe and disbelief.

Alfons tilted his head, and beneath the mask, a cruel grin curved his lips.

"This," he said in his low, gravelled accent, "be the last bloody thing ye'll ever see..."