At that moment, everyone on the battlefield caught sight of a being draped in white clouds descending to the ground.

So grand and heroic, a transcendent life form existing on a different dimension than the dust and debris of the ordinary—understood at a glance by all.

“—Th-that’s a dragon!”

With wide jade eyes, Garfiel muttered beside the crumbling castle wall.

Having finished his deadly duel with Kafma Ilurukusu, he labored to catch his breath, and just as he scanned the battlefield for his next role, it happened.

In the distance, a massive presence loomed as if the sky had collapsed, freezing the most spirited battlefield in the Empire into whiteness—an apex of decisive confrontation appeared.

“Lady Emilia…”

With a ridiculously large gate and an indifferent mana maneuvering, absorbing heat from the world, this was undoubtedly an act of an earnest Emilia.

If she was fighting against the foes guarding one of the five castle wall summits, that opponent would be from the “Nine Divine Generals” or a being of equal stature, at the very least on par with Kafma.

That alone was enough to make Emilia a foe they didn’t want to fight, but now a mythical ally appeared—it was downright absurd.

“Did you call for the ‘Flying Dragon General’? Damn, I need to pull back right now…!”

Gritting his teeth, Garfiel resolved to change shifts on the battlefield.

Just because Emilia could fight doesn’t mean she should; it’s a bitter decision for the camp. Emilia herself would protest, but having her fight was a tough choice for them.

After all, Emilia should be in a position where she wouldn’t have to worry about getting hurt.

“I won’t be able to face the general!”

It was only natural for Emilia to think she didn’t want to leave everything to someone else.

That humility and kindness were admirable, yet Garfiel couldn’t let her do whatever she wanted.

Especially since Garfiel was a military officer of Emilia’s camp, whose role was to ward off the sparks of battle raining down on his camp and to mow down the enemies standing in the way.

“———”

Closing his eyes, Garfiel quietly checked his own condition.

The serious injuries he sustained in his fight with Kafma, his body carved up, the insides pushed out—burning his body to exterminate the ‘bugs’ infesting him, yet Garfiel was still alive.

Alive, indeed.

“I can’t say I’m in prime condition, but… I can do this.”

Even now, drawing strength from the ground beneath his feet, the effect of the healing magic he was activating at full power was rapidly mending Garfiel’s body from the inside out.

Normally, such strain could shorten a lifespan, but the events in the Water Gate City had helped Garfiel break his shell, both physically and mentally.

Breaking through what was once an invisible thin layer, Garfiel stood.

With steam rising from battered wounds, moving his intensely hot body which felt like it was on fire, Garfiel steeled himself to face the dragon from afar.

“You lot! I broke the wall! So get in there already!!”

Garfiel shouted at a group of rebels watching him from a distance.

This was a group that rashly challenged Kafma before him, only to be swept aside. Many of them were injured, but a considerable number remained functional as combatants, yet they all stayed away from the battlefield with Garfiel and Kafma, not moving even after the battle.

Perhaps it was because they were overwhelmed by Garfiel’s fight.

But that wasn’t the only reason.

“You broke the wall! Then you should be the first to enter!”

“———”

“Noble warriors, we respect your valor! No one should dare to challenge that!”

One of the half-man half-horse beings yelled back at Garfiel.

It was Garfiel, who defeated Kafma, who had the right to be the first to cross the wall. Thus, they all halted, waiting attentively for him to make that leap.

It seemed to be the consensus of all those who witnessed the recent duel. Those who started this fight for selfish reasons held a pride of warriors within.

To them, Garfiel’s way of fighting shone incredibly brightly.

Their goodwill was indeed something that would stir one’s heart—but—

“Sorry, but I’ve got places I need to be. Not to play the role of the ‘Retired Whipflock’. —It’s him.”

Pointing his chin towards the white dragon ruling the distant sky, Garfiel indicated.

The chance encounters at the Pleiades Watchtower and Castle City Gwararu had been missed due to poor timing for Garfiel, but now the dragon was finally within reach.

He didn’t want to fight, he had to fight.

“———”

As Garfiel moved, the rebels also gasped at the sight of the white dragon.

Of course, they were aware of its existence. It wasn’t that they were afraid and bowed their heads; the abnormal predicament was that the citizens of the Empire didn’t kneel before it.

Garfiel would challenge it. So—

“You lot take care of climbing over the wall!”

If the rebels broke through the crumbled wall and surged into the imperial capital, the situation would change.

Standing guard at any of the five summits were the Empire’s highest combat forces; thus, the area surrounding the Emperor Vincent Volakia in the Crystal Palace might be less defended.

There was also a possibility that a decisive strike would be launched from the vast hole in this wall.

“So—”

Garfiel ceded the vanguard of the Imperial Capital assault to the rebels and began his battle with the white threat.

At that moment, Garfiel’s whole body tensed up.

“———”

A mental void. It was an empty state of being.

Without hesitation, heedless of questions, acting on his instincts, Garfiel let loose a blow with all his might.

A steel fist capable of shattering rock struck out, killing the wind and slamming toward its target—

“—Oh, you can see through my cloaking? That’s not good, right?”

A hoarse voice reached out from beyond the might of Garfiel’s fist.

“What?”

In that instant, it felt as though Garfiel’s back had been breached.

He could distinctly feel something lightly poking against the back of his shoulder—someone’s tiny foot. An incredible kick!—No, wait, different.

“That was all your fault! I just returned it back through my body!”

Answering his confusion came a voice, and Garfiel’s whole body creaked with tension.

Whether true or false, the striking force behind that powerful blow rattled Garfiel’s insides, causing chaos in his vision. Cuts, bruises, fractures, and burst organs could usually be healed instantly.

Even if they didn’t heal completely, he could have forced himself to move.

However, a hits that rang through the core of his being couldn’t be dispelled.

“———”

Biting back the numbness, Garfiel braced himself against the incoming follow-up attack. He reacted just in time to defend his neck and head.

Yet, the feared follow-up attack never came.

Instead, the follow-up time had been used for a jab.

“If you breached the wall, it’ll be troublesome for me.”

The sighing words were accompanied by the moans of ten men.

Yelling to hold up his crumbling knees, Garfiel looked up, only to see the sight of a group of rebels, who had heeded Garfiel’s call to press into the capital, collapsing all around them.

Humanoids and beastmen, they had kunai—throwing knives—stabbed through their foreheads and chests, taken out instantly.

Even if someone rushed over to cast healing magic, it would be too late—this damage was instantaneous.

They were once warriors too; they must have had appropriate strength to face the Imperial Capital together. Even if distant from Kafma’s ‘General’ level—

“If they die, they’re just cannon fodder. Warriors don’t matter.”

“———”

“Ha ha ha! You’ve got a look on your face that says you don’t like it, young one. You were the one who broke the wall, right? Now you’ve got a flood of trouble; must be annoying!”

He chuckled as he stroked his long white eyebrows.

Finally moving his feet, Garfiel stepped back a bit and saw a peculiar figure dressed in a uniform insignia that seemed to denote rank.

It was a diminutive old man, yet not just anyone—he exuded a monstrous presence.

“You…!”

“Oh, wait, wait, I’m not your opponent yet. Just hold on a tick—there you go.”

“Huh?”

Garfiel glared fiercely at him, his fur bristling. However, the old man presented his right arm—missing from the wrist down—to halt Garfiel.

Garfiel frowned at the injury just as the old man kicked the ground.

In an instant, it was unclear what he did, but a horizontal kick slammed deeply into the earth. It split the ground, cleaving between Garfiel and the rebels behind them.

Then turning to the rebels beyond the line, the old man declared,

“Cross that line and come this way, and you’ll all die.”

“———”

“Oh dear, as long as you listen, it makes things easier for me. I think I’d like to give some lessons to the young ones of the village. Lately, they’ve been defying me every single time. After all, I am their village chief.”

Shrugging his shoulders, the old man grinned, showing his white teeth, completely unconcerned about the threat he just made. Yet everyone here instinctively grasped that he wasn’t joking.

Garfiel understood too—just who was this old man before him.

“Roswaal Dunkelken… the ‘Malicious Old Man.’”

“Every time I hear that title, it feels more like an insult than anything else.”

“—What do you want here?”

Garfiel asked in a low voice, tilting his head toward the lazy-looking Roswaal.

The man appeared relaxed and nonchalant, but Garfiel’s wariness hadn’t shifted in the least. Roswaal was upon him without presence, standing there in the middle of this wide-open plain.

“———”

It would be understandable if he had come stealthily, hidden in the buildings, and approached quietly.

Just that alone would have been a considerable threat; however, as it stood, how could one define the existence that intruded without a shred of presence into this space?

Simply put, he could only be perceived as a threat.

Garfiel trembled at that realization, while Roswaal simply raised an eyebrow and said, “What? Well, I’m here because it’s our job not to let those rebels in, but Kafma messed up, so I have to clean up after him.”

Saying that, the old man pointed at the sprawled Kafma on the floor. Then, “Oops,” he retracted his right hand and instead correctly pointed with his left.

“Not my lucky day, that’s for sure. So, I told them to either send Chisha out or recall Guruby. I figured they’d lose, and look at that!”

“You figured they’d lose? Old man, you don’t have the right to laugh at this!”

“Huh?”

Roswaal, one eye closed, feigned indifference. To obstruct Garfiel’s line of sight, the young man cut between him and the old man, exhaling fervently.

Kafma was his enemy. That much was certain, but Garfiel had the right to comment on Kafma’s fighting style or his very existence as he was the only one who had clashed with him head-on.

“This one was strong—but ultimately, I’m just stronger.”

“—? I mean, I see that, but what are you trying to say, exactly?”

“I’m saying I don’t like your attitude! Is that how you speak to someone on the same side, let alone a fellow ‘General’? Huh!?”

Garfiel growled, his fierce voice causing Roswaal to arch his brows and tilt his head questioningly.

Mischief danced in the old man’s eyes as he continued, “You see, I’m a General, and Kafma is a Second General. We’re not the same at all.”

“———”

Roswaal’s statement was delivered factually, devoid of regret, and Garfiel’s pupils narrowed, sensing an irreversible chasm between them.

The fierce expression of a carnivorous beast locking onto its prey flashed across Garfiel’s face, igniting his willingness to pounce on the old man.

He held respect for Kafma. That was an unchanging fact, but the old man before him didn’t possess such courtesy.

Recognizing that their values about worth in battle were fundamentally different—

“I’ll smash you!!”

Both arms raised, Garfiel lunged at Roswaal.

With no intention of holding back, those arms exuded the same destructive force that had shattered the walls, conveying a force so staggering it would make the old man’s small stature seem irrelevant.

The brutal attack slammed right into Roswaal’s head.

With a thunderous impact, it shook the earth—earth shattering, debris flying up like an explosion, dust showering down upon the rebels trapped beneath Roswaal.

Moreover, it wasn’t strange if Garfiel completely obliterated Roswaal as collateral damage from that force.

However—

“Huh?!”

Before Garfiel’s eyes, he witnessed his attack intertwined with unforeseen events.

Garfiel’s fists had simultaneously struck the head of Roswaal; he could feel the firm impact and shock bouncing back into his arm.

And yet, even while being caught between Garfiel’s fists, the old man smiled, revealing his white teeth.

“Brilliant, isn’t it? That punching power you have just allows the impact to dissipate into the ground.”

“—Huh?”

“Well, yeah. The ground’s explosion is due to how insane your strength is, though,” Roswaal replied after the fact.

The instant his head squeezed through Garfiel’s grasp, Garfiel tried to follow where the man had ducked with his gaze.

“Gah!?”

Just when Garfiel thought Roswaal had escaped below, a renowned force slammed down from above.

Though the old man had kneeled down, something slammed onto him from above.

“Left or right, up or down, that’s basic, basic!”

“Gah!?”

Garfiel swung an arm in the opposite direction, feeling a painful impact echo through his neck, back, and buttock.

The punch he had aimed downward missed entirely, striking the ground instead.

In return, a voice emerged from above, somewhere well out of sight, echoing with an undeniable clarity.

“Like I said, up or down, when you miss, the one left behind gets away, and you get left behind if you don’t learn!”

With a shuffling sound, Garfiel grasped for the voice floating up high.

In a split second, he noticed that it wasn’t Roswaal he grabbed but Kafma, tossed high into the air.

He caught himself too late.

As Garfiel ceased grabbing, Kafma’s body slammed down with incredible force, striking the ground in a mighty crash.

“———”

The weight of Garfiel’s instincts urged him to vanquish Kafma, but once again, he held himself back.

Kafma was a warrior and thus under Garfiel’s protection.

To crush a warrior already down and incapacitated would simply be dishonorable.

Yet, why had this old man interjected here? Could this be framing? An illusion?

No, was he being made a fool of?

“Damn it! What are you doing here?”

“You know, it’s funny. The empire has fifty two generals, and it’s such a pain that only nine of you are First Generals. The reason is because we’re all really strong.”

The voice pierced through the haze of confusion in Garfiel’s mind, but it didn’t fathom just how deep the man’s words cut.

This old man stood in stark opposition, not only in rank but also in perception toward the battle unfolding before him.

He reveled in that situation.

“The hell are you on about? Who cares about those ‘honorifics’ you talk about?”

Garfiel’s body buzzed with confusion as he prepared to confront Roswaal.

“The very name itself is but a pretext for a tactic forged in this chaos.”

Still, there existed an inner truth Roswaal carried within him.

“—You should remain docile,” he said, shoving Garfiel’s opinioning thoughts aside, “even your whole way of thinking. You may as well be left with no chance to oppose me. The overwhelming blow crushing all might is in play here.”

“Impossible! I won’t back down!”

Garfiel tightened his fists, unaware of the gravitational fate awaiting him—all while Roswaal chuckled at the approaching shift in battle.

“You will. I guarantee it. You’ll be swept aside, just like all the others collapsing beneath me.”

As a presiding darkness overshadowed Garfiel’s heart, wrath surged forth within him, boiling to unleash it’s full force upon the menacing entity in front of him.

“Get away from me…! I will tear you apart for this!!”

“You may try.”

From the moment Roswaal floated up with surprising ease, Garfiel had lost himself in the moment.

And yet, an eagle-eyed gale shifted within the distance, revealing countless realities colliding and soldiers flinging themselves—a chaotic symphony of lives bound to fate.

“Ugh…!”

As Garfiel summoned the depths of his strength, his world sharply sharpened like a blade caught in the wild wind.

It became a cruel dance as heavy iron collided without mercy amidst all existence, pitting the resolved man against the veteran sorcerer, meeting forth with that resilient and inescapable contrast of destinies.

“We shall see.”

Garfiel bellowed, raging against the old man who wielded the tide with composed authority.

“Here I come!”

He lunged with bravado only to be met by Roswaal, who awaited him effortlessly in the garden of the cavalcade of echoes echoing for victory.

“I’ve heard all I need. Time to break you!”

As the unspeakable connection was finally severed and the old man stood tall to claim his prize, Garfiel would never see it coming.

—-

The coming mass of flames washed upon the world as the sky blazed in crimson fury.

Yorna believed it was the anger of the heavens seeking to incinerate all beneath.

She thought—perhaps, if the world truly held anger towards a mere individual, it reflected something incomprehensibly vast and terrible.

The scorching earth, already barren, yielded not just rebels but burnt remnants alike—so intense was the onslaught that it would incinerate all beneath its wrath.

But even so, Yorna remained frozen in place, resolute.

“—Light Sword.”

“That’s quite the rough and ready tool for a daughter, isn’t it?”

As Yorna uttered those words, the crimson jeweled sword was swung vertically.

It entranced all onlookers—burning into the heart, captivating even the soul. The beauty of the sword, eclipsed by its true reason for existence, paled before the inevitability that would soon rise.

Effectively wielded against a downpour of flames, radiated by the overwhelming might descending from above…

In mere instants, the sky-melding inferno was consumed within clean, illuminating intensity. —It wasn’t severed away; it had simply ceased to exist entirely.

“The Light Sword burns what I want to burn and cleaves what I want to cleave.”

Unreasonably, violently, it was a definition imposed without justification.

Yet, the manifestation of its establishment echoed the spectacle before them—the flames that would seem to obliterate all was extinguished in a single, glorious stroke.

This premonition of critical origin should have paralyzed even the mightiest opponents—so presumptuous for a newcomer to defy the might behind the dominating celestial force.

“Do not underestimate it; that is the ‘Spirit-Eater’.”

Even though the phrase acted more as advice than explicit warning, Priscilla leapt to the right.

In contrast, Yorna flew to the left—rushing like fierce gales.

The twin force dashed forward with remarkable speed was the violent water thrust forth with profound mass.

“—Ah!”

Witnessing the torrential flood, unparalleled in veracity, Yorna intuitively dodged, while simultaneously increasing her estimations of Arakia’s abilities dramatically.

This was not Yorna’s first engagement with Arakia.

Previously, during what was called the “Insurrection,” she had parried through a fleeting confrontation.

Yorna had known then that Arakia’s stature loomed large as Volakia’s strongest, observing steely vigilance whilst meeting the unsteady shores of their waterfall locale.

Back then, whatever insights gained from Arakia’s non-standoff with Volakia while Yorna bastioned the realm, were all but scattered assumptions.

Thus, while Yorna had battled with sincerity, it was one devoid of lethal intent before.

An enactment of reparations—wherein she laid waste to those who might ignore the citizenry of the Magic City was tied inexplicably to this act of civil demonstration.

Yet, the formation created now bore no semblance of simple cause—Arakia seemed ready to unleash her fury, armed with vengeful determination.

It occurred to Yorna that her impression of Arakia’s capabilities as merely a combatant, unparalleled by smaller factions, was terribly misplaced.

“So, the one usurping Olbalt’s position today was ‘Two’ with this resolve…?”

Just as that realization washed over her like the receding tide, Yorna gazed at the horizon; stirred only by the thunderous water pressure cracking through the horizon.

“I understand the reasons behind the threatening stature of liquid,” she thought.

The time it would take to show the forceful intensity before her would be staggering.

Yet, taking stock of the situation, she drew her furoshiki to bundle in readiness.

It had taken more than mere furious flame for Arakia to incinerate half a city, and in this current spectacle, she saw further indications of power converging upon the bladed vessel once more.

“Once upon a time, the control of flames consumed half the district whilst burning the rebels’ endeavors to the ground.”

Engulfing even half a mere flash of the city, Arakia now threatened to pour forth torrents once more to solder the wall of existence on this very day ahead.

Rock and stone fit into the perfect scheme for her fiery plans, leaving the battlefield bereft of any regard for her saunter. Yet Yorna would be fundamentally misleading in believing Arakia would conscientiously seat armament changes while faced today.

“Indeed, this is someone else exerting their will—a troublesome endeavor indeed.”

As Yorna found her tenacity commanding the field against an enemy of circumstance, she chuckled ever so lightly.

So overbearing, the laughter resounded within.

The executioner of her engagement, adorned in crimson and valor, held steadfast her focus against Arakia, stretching the footing path of existence beneath a fearful cloak of flames.

“My mother!”

“—I know!”

Just as Yorna was set to charge, Priscilla’s voice surged within her.

Still caught in the truth of their reunion, Yorna couldn’t remain suspicious enough to identify the distance of reality. Rather, she felt a deep-seated wonder towards Priscilla’s newfound composure.

After all, with whom she had separated when Priscilla was no more than a baby, the question buzzed vaguely in her ears.

“Dance with me now.”

Parting from her pipe, Yorna sighed as she grinded the base of her shoes against the earth.

Slowly, the ground itself grew responsive, and rising profoundly beneath Pamela’s advancing path were the platforms forming anew to life.

Yorna’s “Soul Marriage Technique” bore the fine art to grip at lifeless husks.

However, with notions of true love now hidden in the crevices of time, anxiety dared to cloud thoughts.

How much could she truly love the land that shared spaces with so many others?

Yet, the result spoke directly to her instincts.

“For a noble cause.”

Leaving aside that declaration, Priscilla leapt forth to the burgeoning footing, which formed evermore under her mastery.

Indeed, the connection did not end merely at the borders of a foothold; rather, continued forward, laying down paths to crush Arakia’s advances, growing into a webbed lattice to shape multiple routes through.

But—

“—Nothing shall impede your experience.”

As Arakia swung her branches adorned with thorny appendages, howling winds blasted forth to tear away the fickle foundation beneath the feet.

The gale grew stronger, a tempest snatching forth everything before it—collapsing the hastily laid assertion.

Absolutely potent, the gales calloused everything caught in its storm, a force ancient and overpowering that could even crush Priscilla if caught.

“You wouldn’t dare strike me at such cost, would you?”

“The choice has been made; even if I lose my arms and legs, I’ll remain a princess!”

“You’re doing the very wrong thing by deciding that!”

Squinting as Priscilla rocketed downward through the air, the tempest gauntlet loomed, yet she dodged while making an acrobatic escape.

Alas, swiftly evading so wouldn’t help against exposure should another hit come from above.

Indeed, as Arakia yet lashed forth with glassy eyes of complexity, Priscilla’s self-abandonment left her unguarded.

However—

“You would forget me, wouldn’t you?”

Leaping directly below toward the prying gaze of Arakia, Yorna’s kick soared upward.

Priscilla, taking up her “Light Sword,” swung it down through the air.

United, they struck—as two attacks merged based on mined experiences, thrumming their resonance throughout the battlefield—crashing as one, forward against Arakia.

“—Huh!?”

What should have been a solid strike fell short.

That moment, the expected and determined blow did not find the anticipated landing; the hardness of their cadence cracked loud against the emptiness of the sound.

A quick assessment presented itself—Yorna’s kick met the moved blade turned by Priscilla’s sword, their attacks clashing violently together.

Now both seemed at an imbalance; further rattled and uncoiled into two forms almost simultaneous from crashing jarring.

The astounding realization gnawed at Yorna—this twinned strike on Arakia had merely incensed her fragile demeanor further.

“Technique through… the decisive point?”

“You’ve miscalculated.”

Quipped forth from Arakia’s elements, powerful energies seized forth just as quickly, crashing into the fabric of existence, announcing she had endured the simultaneous onslaught.

She laughed—her body bursting aflame, white and radiant as it scattered the potent growth of energy outward amidst all perception and praise.

Each sparkling fragment spread outward, becoming a surging torrent that crashed down upon them like a wave.

“Ugh…!”

Stunned, Yorna swiftly gathered the remnants of dirt previously torn asunder, reshaping the fields’ turn whilst catching them like a whirlwind, seeking protection moments before engulfment ensued.

Essentially constructed, now concentrated, the elemental forces bioker leading amidst counter-threats—carried through by Yorna’s design and legacy.

Anything else loomed behind her hesitant heals, even as this organic structure smothered all surrounding, ensuring her safety.

Yet, her defenses crumbled, to the onrush of Arakia’s forthcoming attack; and a myriad clamoring forth came through as wrenching blades impacted.

The scattered form of scattering energy rained down—far more vicious and powerful than any current caution held forth.

“Ugh!”

Yorna held her arms aloft as Arakia directed against the unfolding chaos, aiming down too far pressing from above.

The oncoming shards perforated through the ground, crumbling her aura away completely.

“The moment you die, you’ll become dust—”

With that one simple pronouncement, Arakia’s will surged through, flickering like shadows as they leapt above with the fray.

Yorna was lost in the coming ramifications.

“Arise… those who perished for anger,” she deemed aloud with intent. May the spirits choose deliverance waiting at hand.

Yet, leaving them near for the inevitable summons of gathering disaster.

Screams of panic mingled with the thickened air around, gymnastics amidst chaos swirling out as feet slipped waveringly—

“Ugh!”

As her last connection to past and present surged with fierce chaos once more, the gutted arm from earlier proved the premonition lived true; yet she invoked light forged to defend onwards.

However, how long could she sustain? She felt the propelling energies swell within her grasp—

“—Wait for me, dearest.”

A glimpse of Priscilla’s face surged within—the flame to embrace threatened to finish those they loved.

“Don’t fail me. Hold them back!”

As the thrust gathered heat, loud echoes swept forth throughout the ceaseless dread pressing against.

How can one inscribe what it means to hold lives in earnest when forged by fire’s embrace to move freely?

“Now! This moment! Move forth freely into the honor…”

As Yorna connected toward the entrance, the flame consumed pressing high above.

“Raise your hand; manifest with the light before you!”

“Yorna! No!”

The being within cried forth even the tangible essence of spirit vibrating forth with untold wrath; chasing away forth enchantments raised leaving purity soothed away wholly.

Fire rolled away, casting among a scintilla against that of the oncoming threats, as Yorna bore forth the light upon her arm raised high against demise and shadow.

And so, against Arakia’s frigid persona amidst their establishment shall meet left to reconcile an ensuing battle washed amidst turmoil.

Watching, waiting; and rising in concert, it now nearing to account with the fires swaying close.

——

As the winds shifted, Otto Sven held sharply to the gathering threads.

It began as a vague premonition, evolving to a foreboding sign—finally converging as unshakeable certainty.

Gradually turning, shifting, folding into a battleground—

Abruptly he set forth to expand at every breath, each echo against each thought carrying through his being.

Those messages intertwining remained ever so vast, pressing outward amidst every scrutinized noise—to each pulse flaring forth arrived the scene of tumult.

“—Otto-san!”

“—!”

A bright voice arrived frighteningly close, cracking the whirl of echo across Otton’s eardrums.

A vessel beneath the waves burst forth upon his consciousness, tending the tightly knotted tension threatening to spill over.

“Wow! You really had a terrible look there! You’re bleeding from your nose!”

“Ah, I’m saved… thank you, Petra-chan…”

“You were turning into a ghost, seriously!”

Straining for breath, Otto could feel warmth against the tissue cramped in his nostrils, rendering it damp once more.

Blood splattered downstream muddling the grass, every drop a testament to the sheer overwhelming strain of his very life force worn threadbare through devotion spun too long.

“I’m not bleeding as much as when I got sliced up in Pristella.”

“The deeper you go, the worse it gets…”

“I apologize; it’s less about me being useful to you…”

“And yet, together we have each other!”

Fervency shone through Petra’s declaration of friendship; warm laughter traversed the air, akin to melodies ringing harmoniously amongst shared souls.

“If it weren’t for you, I’d likely be done for! The exhaustion in my head… isn’t that called brain fatigue?”

Understanding twinkled in Petra’s eyes, they shared a dialogue so familiar, allowing them to recount the hardships endured.

Exhaustion deepened between them, neither understanding every internal note of baffling intricacy; however up close, their dialogues formed clear transparency against a backdrop of hubbub.

Stagnation—enablement suffused every aspect until empty congratulations would become labeled.

Still, he never wavered from thankful respects: “Because of your assistance, if not for your—”

“I know! I’ve seen many dangers… but if you get chased down like that anymore, I’ll make sure to drag you back!”

Spying forward, Otto drawn upright, his posture reverse, while the world began to vanish beyond the scheme.

Drawing near further unraveling the knot since then; it fell upon their paths creating an intertwined bow.

“The obvious conclusion being that your fate has become shared with the risks!”

“Keep moving! I can’t rest while you’re still fighting, and you should take a break.”

“And I don’t want to be accused of being a reckless drunk!”

“It’s all about a balance!”

Wave after wave of exchanges fall deeper upon the threshold tipping over the cusp of laughter.

“Otto-san, can you focus on the task at hand?”

“Ha… Indeed.”

Reinvigorated and stimulated, Otto took heed of Petra, deep breaths enveloping each inter junction pressed tight against battle.

Each name flitted by engraved against the backdrop woven through cautious maneuverings—here his responsibility tightened against her will.

Further bolstered, growing protocols aligned as each moment turned luminous at the ready.

“Otto-san, time waits for no man!”

“How cruel; you think I’m taking required breaks, but how could I?”

“Well then, are you prepared for what’s next?”

“Of course! Victory awaits beyond this horizon, or else…”

Otto strained focus, pushing into the relentless weight pressing in—focusing sharp on the contours surrounding them.

“For the sake of the future, it cannot falter…”

Otto swung together, opening deeper toward existence held in balance, leading them friends lost not at all.

“Otto-san…?!”

As forms slipped, shadows merged forth alongside discernments painted effortlessly, yet as he turned his gaze to look—an echo rippled beyond a crackling sound.

The quaking fear unfurling onward from the incipient horizon pressed upon the world beneath like a struck flame.

“———”

Every tone of dismay triggered heightened senses as something trembled within Otto—again driving it heavy.

Whether a whisper or return, all held within sights begun shifting amidst thunderclaps vibrating far too loud for oxygen’s embrace.

“What—”

As the unseen burden collapsed amid forces, spreading toward obscuring shadows—we sensed presence depart through connection, trailing near toward aimless wreckage drawn below.

“Otto! Stay alert!”

Otto would try as quickly as he could respond, yet hardly felt capable to negate the disaster pressing on ominous edges above the sudden sky threatening down near the horizon’s edge.

“What are you suggesting?”

“Guard yourselves! There’s a danger ahead!”

Cries reached forth, proclaiming the manner prevalent across the battlefield at the forefront—before Otto could recognize.

Flames cascading ignored all lines, urging furious attention that seized the present moment.

“Dragon…?”

As the voice wilted within Otto, tears sprouted at the fiery blare searing cold through the air crashing amidst.

Those flames stripped away, billowing strong, cascading continuously like a whirlwind across every living atmosphere before them.

Just as Otto glimpsed forward—

“Yorna!? Priscilla?”

Breaths fell lumbering awareness upon rising, challenges swirled against a tide as at once instinct kicked nerves through prodigious surprise.

As windows into their destiny darkened without oxygen’s air fell upon them in gray enraged surrender.

“Go, run!”

The pulse of fire rebounding slammed loudly ahead—direct strike forward imploding remarkably bright amid their path.

“Ugh! No!”

“Is this the climax of battle?”

“No! It’s a trap! Look out!”

Otto surged ahead into action; no mere outbursts sufficing when each instant led into rhythm against raging streams.

“It’ll swallow itself whole!”

A cry echoed through, yet as curds pressed deeper, the thundering bolted speaks giving rise, Otto took hold suddenly stepping at the preciseness drawing fans of shrouded worlds.

Each respective piece would not compare collision formed through the battle behind that moment—knowing would lurk ambushed nearby, foe’s reminders as dawn approached the sky.

“Within fears…”

Colliding flames erupted—gravity fed upon atmosphere beckoning; thus taking each piece that shattered slowly returning life.

“Move, quickly!”

Yet it was the dragon converging swiftly back upon Otto like majestic essence departing through every ember, blossoming forth.

“Retreat. Gather around me to—

“Otto, gather the children—”

Yet it was too late; the full-powered fireball consumed down far below.

The shimmering display cascaded across the eyes in distinct flames above; searing cries remained as images remained with fear throughout.

A gauntlet approached, gathering all around the fading fires much as light snuffed against flame within a blast engendering revolt.

“Let go!”

Cries rang among where flames chased ruin across its wide spread landscape.

“Arise! Flame projector return run down beneath!”

TORRENT STEMMED THROUGH LIGHT.

“Yorna! Priscilla!”

Unbroken and full of warmth radiating far ahead against burning distance would clasp forth the remnants guarding away toward thereupon once more.

From the firmament now came forth flames dancing along—rebuke again revealing what would call forth light anew through that bright and unyielding form of affection.

Flame spiraled amidst.

“No…”

Light then bathed through sound, igniting toward birth now water breaking forth with essence and embrace, drowning the land below.

Beneath chaos, a sealed embrace remained, tethering away endeavoring against fights together past across tearing space anew growing light.

“Stand firm! We shall reunite once more…”

Each thrumming body drew, echoing forth fated form swirling in oblivion like laughing howls that awakens.

Suffering still roaming across arcane split while blooms fell trailing distant reverberate murmurs unfortunately flooding through life—

——–

Thereupon granting awareness bounded with turf where Otto stood stalwart into flaming wake.

Rising embers created scenes crushed unto components born anew restored; droplets of fate fastened into gilt over.

“Otto!”

“Petra! Arise—”

Staking through sentient realization beyond burning worlds called together remaining above with defeat lurking bliss or pursued.

“Lose all: Move!”

Yet fate’s converging shower rang it forth crashing anew upon Otto’s valley pulse across sequences, sealing him once more to awaken the reality ahead.

“Take caution; hate thrives!”

Otto sought with speed; yet fear begged loudly through no calls fell behind, aware both form and space drifted—yet echoes lived against others bound to their own ends high.

Yet Otto found his hopes dashed betraying across tides attributed to ghost filled amid protests ringing true with flames ignited.

“Gah!”

Otto’s fervency pulled against flames above stretching burning bright—plumes clutched through into dust.

Disconnect reeling through blinking disarray in cries before Otto spun wide. Instinct brushed forth, a lance poised before turning firmly to look down at anger taken into warmth running beneath.

“Coming!”

Yet the force crashed with pressure yielding ahead from the coil, searing threads each recombined into actions of life sacredly sought beyond orbit where twisting winds flowed.

“Receive!”

Shouting turned into pandemonium, revival cast unyielding still even as setting forth echoed near.

Forth too, blasts of cries rang below the horses nearby, cutting edges across measures friendly buoyed.

“Call!”

Hands stretched sentient images concerning Kafma flying—holding up spaces far, glowing—too present, guided undone hearts surged across petals rebounding anew.

“Look!”

The giants crumbled beneath leaving away the background swells bereaved, pressed among the stands which yet echoed through realms risen.

“Off work…”

Gathering arms renewed tremors spurred—through bonds lay those shining elements sprung across to Taunt conjured field awaiting further drawn tides bubbling over.

Falling into warmth, “Leave—us be!”

And yet, falling agony echoed through every shift ordeal whirled thus until defeat rediscovered—

“All collapse!”

Muscles ripping upwards, allure stood—gentle calls clenching forth as wards stamped everyone caught wreathed close against nearing bearings.

“Hold together once again!”

Light and flame entered shape eats expray down to points screaming through.

“Otto! M-Move!”

Swirling light hear ye requests chiming echoes netted forth love answering harsh calling breaking down formulas folded towards sky above…

Yet trembling returns harnessed once more embedding those arrows sacred meaning calling laid sorry against each everywhere pulsed.

“Understood. March!”

Thus left flourishing; so spiraling into light bidding free combined life against purpose rebounding reflected.

Yield they frame but above them! Freeness shone trust unwavering above shadow crying encompassing.

The Forge beckons bright as light swims clear meeting no decree remain openly before—

“Thunder!”

Each surge cut forth…

“Otto”

Returned embraced joined vessel arrival.

Together they grew amidst return anchored love.

 

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