Despite fighting with everything they had, Derek’s squad was utterly unable to withstand the assault of the elite Janissary. What began as a balanced skirmish quickly devolved into a one-sided slaughter, grinding their courage into dust.
Every strike from the Janissary had purpose, every thrust was the result of years of training shaped by a doctrine of perfection. They didn’t fight like men—they were living war machines.
One member of the Band of Massiah tried to block an attack from the left, but a long spear pierced through his shoulder from behind. He screamed, staggered, and a metal shield slammed into his skull—ending him instantly.
Another fighter stepped in to shield Derek, but two Janissary struck from opposite sides. Their blades crossed through his chest, blood spraying into the air like a crimson mist.
His body dropped to its knees, still gripping a sword he never had the chance to swing. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, breath gone before it could leave his lips.
Derek staggered back two steps, eyes wide, sweat pouring. He watched his friends fall one by one—not for lack of skill, but because the enemy was faster, crueler, far beyond expectation.
Behind him, a female fighter threw two knives at an approaching Janissary. One bounced off, and the other stuck into the armor—futile.
The Janissary lunged forward, slicing diagonally from shoulder to hip. Blood sprayed like a fountain as her body slammed against the marble pillar.
Now only three remained: Derek and two others, standing shoulder to shoulder. They had backed as far as they could—now the wall was at their backs.
The Janissary didn’t rush. They advanced slowly, like hunters confident their prey was already caught in the trap.
One of the elite soldiers swung his sword low and wide. Derek ducked, then slashed at the attacker’s knee. His blade struck armor—but it made the Janissary step back.
The moment of success was brief. Another enemy came from the right and kicked Derek aside. He crashed onto the floor, his shoulder slamming hard, the world spinning around him.
He tried to rise, but his body trembled weakly. Blood trickled from his temple, and his vision blurred with dust, smoke, and unshed tears.
Through the haze, he saw his last remaining ally grabbed from behind by two Janissary. A short scream—and a clean blade sliced across the throat, ending him in a flash.
Blood arced in the air before splattering the already-red marble floor. Derek froze, his knees finally buckling as he collapsed into a seated heap.
His hands trembled as he tried to support himself. "It’s over... this is the end," he whispered—not to anyone in particular, just to himself and the crushing weight of the moment.
But just as he started to close his eyes, the ground beneath him trembled—not like a typical quake, but as though something massive was tearing through the world itself.
Cracks shot across the floor like a spider’s web. "What...?" Derek could only watch. Then—BOOM!—a massive explosion flung him backward.
A gaping hole tore open in the center of the chamber, obliterating the Janissary formation and launching several of them through the air. Smoke surged high, swallowing everything in a cloud of ash and flame.
From within the smoke, a bright blue light shot skyward, piercing the roof and striking the Samsara sky—like a meteor launched in reverse, blazing with fury.
A screech echoed—not human, but beastly. From above, a massive, bat-like creature swooped toward the light, letting out a piercing cry.
But the light twisted sharply, and two capsule-like mechanisms unfolded from its shoulders. Twin smart missiles launched with a smooth whistle, locking onto the creature with terrifying speed.
The sky above the Golden Palace erupted in waves of blue and orange light. The explosion rocked the rooftops, casting glimmers across the trembling columns of the palace.
Derek stared up at the sky, eyes wide, breath caught in his chest. Even the Janissary, who had moments ago been preparing to end him, froze—transfixed by the light above.
Then, from the hole in the floor, a figure descended slowly. Twin metal feet touched the cracked marble, and a body wrapped in titanium-mithril armor absorbed the lamplight with elegant menace.
The chest plate opened briefly, revealing a glowing ring—the TAF core pulsing in rhythm with each step. Steam hissed from the shoulder vents as the sleek black-blue helmet scanned the room.
Silence. Everyone stood frozen. Derek remained slumped on the ground, breath caught between fear and a strange, overwhelming relief.
Then from within the helmet came a voice—gruff, furious.
Ren. Rentaro Takamura. Or as they knew him—Nico Mustang.
At the same time, deep beneath the palace, the clash of weapons and monstrous roars gave way to a heavy silence. The stone walls, once echoing with screams and stomps, now stood quiet—leaving only the heavy breathing of the surviving members of the Band of Massiah.
Among the twisted, fallen bodies of the takwin, thick black blood oozed like acidic syrup. A few still twitched—but stilled quickly after the final precision shots from the Mark II’s arm-mounted cannon found their heads.
Ren stood at the center of the ruined chamber, smoke rising from his armor, scorch marks lining several plates. His arm remained raised, weapon barrel steaming hot, as his eyes scanned the room with cold calculation.
"Clear..." he muttered, then turned to his team. "Any casualties?"
"Five with minor wounds, two unconscious... but everyone’s alive," replied Arfan, the fighter leading the left flank.
Ren gave a curt nod. "Good. Stay sharp. We’re not done yet." But before he could finish the sentence, a loud, unnatural crack echoed from the far end of the room.
Everyone spun around. A wall of flesh that had fused into the stone began to pulse—like the heartbeat of something just waking up. Two biological pods started to twitch.
The pinkish membrane split open, revealing inner layers that pulsed like living muscle. Cracks formed down the middle, and with a sickening tear, both cocoons opened slowly.
From inside emerged two towering figures, over two meters tall—part reptile, part human, part insect. Their skin was coarse, their eyes glowed red, and their jaws opened like petaled traps lined with teeth.
"Oh, come on..." Ren muttered. The frustration in his voice came through his helmet clearly—not fear, but time slipping through his fingers.
His helmet’s eyes flared blue, the circular HUD spinning faster. In his augmented reality display, a system window flickered open—a projection from Ultro, his combat AI.
『Master, I detect weak life signs approximately 16 meters above our current position. Heart rates unstable. Number of individuals... less than three.』
Ren glanced up. Cracks lined the ceiling, weakened in several spots. Ultro displayed a 3D structure map—and the location matched Derek’s group.
"Derek... Don’t you die on me," Ren muttered, clenching his fist. But before he could react further, the first takwin lunged, its mouth gaping like a sea worm’s trap, ringed with teeth.
Ren bent his knees and launched upward, his body spinning like a steel-tipped bullet. His foot slammed into the creature’s jaw, launching it into the air.
While airborne, Ren’s thrusters ignited fully. He surged after it, firing two energy blades from his wrist, crossing them mid-flight like scissors.
The creature was sliced clean in mid-air. Black blood rained down in thick trails. Before Ren could land, the second takwin struck from the side, tail-blade aimed like a lance.
Ren twisted, letting the blade scrape across his shoulder, sparks flying. He grabbed the creature’s wrist and hurled it downward with full momentum into the nearest wall.
The wall shattered—but the takwin lived, roaring as it dug into the stone with clawed hands and lunged back.
But Ren wasn’t waiting.
"Ultro, calculate vertical trajectory! I need a path!" he barked, tapping the side of his helmet.
『Marking structural weak points. Optimal breach path projected. Standing by to detonate.』
Mark II crouched low, posture set like a sprinter at the starting line. Then, with full power, it launched—both foot and back thrusters firing at once, propelling him upward.
The ceiling burst like wet paper under a cannon shot. Ren shot through like a blue comet. As he breached the floor above, the second takwin leapt in pursuit.
But Ren was ready. Still upside down mid-air, he pointed his arm downward. Two shoulder pods opened—releasing smart missiles with smooth, high-pitched whistles.
The missiles curved, homing in on the climbing creature—and in a split second—BOOM!—it exploded in the air like a ruptured sack of meat.
Chunks of flesh and bone sprayed around the blast site. Derek, barely conscious, looked up with wide eyes, watching the glowing silhouette descend from the smoky hole in the ceiling.
Ren landed in the throne room on one knee, the floor quaking beneath him. From within his helmet came a raspy, furious voice: "Hey..."
Derek lay on the ground, breathing heavily, his body smeared with blood and dust. Around him, his fallen comrades were scattered—some motionless, others groaning weakly.
The smoke from the earlier explosion hadn’t fully cleared. But the glowing figure that had just burst through the ceiling now stood before him—clad in futuristic armor, imposing, cold... and yet, it felt like a miracle.
Ren stared at Derek through the sensors in his helmet, then slowly stepped forward. The mechanical hum of the Mark II’s movements echoed softly in the half-ruined chamber.