In the bright-dark ruins of Grip District, legions did battle with an angel.
Flung though the air by manipulated gravity, Rufus von Frostburn repelled a hand-swipe that could have wiped out an army -- and then fired out a beam of heat from his shield that boiled the messenger's chest. Praetorian One brought down its other fist to try and crush Frostburn before he could land, but a barrage of pinpoint Unworthy shots severed the thin arm at the elbow. The severed limb slammed down onto the ground, resting against a building -- forming the ideal bridge for four Silversaint Prototypes to charge up and ascend.
The two knights leading the charge were specialized for melee, wielding brightly-coloured swords in their metal hands. As a deluge of white-hot feathers rained down towards them, they swung their blades in unison -- and the resultant air pressure sent those feathers veering off course in every direction. Seeing their opportunity, the two Prototypes in the back -- one wielding a bow, the other a rifle -- kneeled down and began firing rapidly at the lower half of Praetorian One's body.
As a being that could float, the Praetorian’s legs were superfluous -- but the series of massive explosions that consumed the bottom half of its body produced great clouds of smoke that drifted up and obscured its vision. That blindness did not go unappreciated… or unexploited.
“Radiant Almighty!”
This time, Atoy Muzazi's aim was true -- the horizontal slash of light, perfectly focused, raced through the clouds and cleanly severed Praetorian One's neck.
The two head-wings fell for just a moment -- before twin feathered tendrils lashed out from the stump of One's head and pulled them back in, reconnecting the severed parts and repairing the decapitation. Roaring in anger, Praetorian One shook violently -- and a new arm of white soft flesh crawled forth from the stump of its severed one. It jabbed the new hand forward, moving to fire another beam of light at Muzazi -- but a javelin from one of the Prototypes struck it and sent the blast off-course.
A razor-thin line of white carved across the district… and a second later, that line erupted into devastation.
The moment of distraction bought Muzazi the time he needed to spit in the face of God a second time.
“Radiant…” he began, raising his shining sword high. “Al --”
ENOUGH!
Praetorian One threw out its arms -- and a wave of heavenly energy radiated out in all directions. Cars and corpses went flying as if they'd been caught in a hurricane. One of the Prototypes had been climbing up the angel's back -- and so the unfortunate knight was reduced to molten metal in an instant, splatting down onto the distant ground like spent chewing gum.
Taking advantage of the opening it had created, Praetorian One raised its hand high -- and began gathering countless feathers into its grasp. Its rage had reached its zenith. This would make every previous attack seem like the gentlest breeze.
This would end everything.
If the angel had a mouth, it surely would have been foaming.
SIN! SIN! SIN! SIN! SIIIN!
With a grunt of mingling effort and pain, Muzazi pushed away the debris that had landed on him. The Radiant in his hand was still shining, still retaining the energy it had gathered. Slowly, he staggered forward and raised it once again.
It was the tiniest flicker of a candle, faced with the mighty sphere of white light that was coalescing over Praetorian One's head. Muzazi let out a misty breath. He knew it could not equal what was coming… but what other choice did he have?
Once more, as he would until the day he died, Muzazi raised his blade to meet the enemy…
…but, just this once, it seemed he wouldn't have to.
The front of the Alyn Grace Memorial Shopping Centre exploded outwards -- and from the sudden eruption flew the gargantuan corpse of Praetorian Four. It was propelled by a blast of focused energy, limbs the size of houses flapping in the wind as it was propelled towards Praetorian One. Before the angel could react, the body of its comrade slammed into it, forcing it backwards -- and causing it to lose hold of the attack it was charging.
The effect was immediate.
With a sound like a screaming choir, the ball of light became a beam that blasted upwards, striking the feathered canopy above and opening a gaping hole in its surface. Praetorian One screamed in anger as it saw what it had done, tearing the body of Four in half and tossing the chunks aside like pieces of oversized trash.
The bayonet that had punctured the giant's brain-stem clattered to the ground and dissipated into crimson Aether.
MAJESTY! MAJESTY! MAJESTY! MAJESTY!
WHO?!
Its rabid fury bounced between targets -- its eyes flicking from Muzazi to the Prototypes to Frostburn to Mereloco, finally locking in on the ruins of the shopping centre’s first floor. Whoever had slain Praetorian Four. Whoever had thrown that trash at a messenger of light. They would be the one to taste heavenly wrath.
Without ceremony or dignity, Praetorian One thrust its palm down towards the building -- slamming it into a sequence of feathers and sending a beam of scorching heat into the darkness of the shopping centre.
A second later, the beam came back.
It lashed out like a tongue of fire, carving a deep groove through Praetorian One's body and even scorching its hardened carapace. Bracing itself with all the defensive abilities it could muster, One was still sent flying backwards -- and soon enough, it slammed into a skyscraper that collapsed on top of it a moment later. Limbs flailing as if it were trying to swim in the air, Praetorian One dragged itself out of the rubble.
WHO?! WHO?! WHOOO?!
It got an answer soon enough.
A demon.
It floated out of the smoking rubble with deceptive grace, rising so smoothly -- as if it were being delicately transported by an invisible hand. Crimson wings of cloth spread through the air behind it. The visage of a skull grinned sightlessly at Praetorian One through the mists of humiliation and rage.
Ruth Blaine and her Monarque Set had come to play.
HE… RE… SY…
Looking at the egg of hell before them, Praetorian One's eyes -- all of them -- could not help but twitch.
HEREEESY!
And, as the last of its reason crumbled into dust, the angel charged forward like a wild beast.
----------------------------------------
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
Mereloco had a sure-fire way to win.
He'd confirmed it when he'd seen Atoy Muzazi cut the beast's head off. Clearly, there was no brain controlling the body there, or else that would have been the end of the battle. But if this was a puppet with no weak points at all, then there would be no reason for it to waste energy defending itself.
So the brain had to be somewhere else.
Mereloco suspected it was within the creature's chest, where the heart would rest in any proper being. It seemed to have gotten pissed off when that area got attacked, too. There were worse odds to bet your life on.
Besides, he had Damon beside him again now. It was his job to gamble. Mereloco smirked.
He'd just need one chance. He'd need a wound to open up that chest, to create an entrance, to give him the chance to dive in…
…and unleash Unthroned between the bastard's ribs.
----------------------------------------
Gretchen Hail had a sure-fire way to win.
Inspecting the creature from a distance with her green Oz-Goggles, its nature became obvious. It was a Praetorian from the Hive of Malkuth, stuffed with so many abilities that it had ascended to a truly absurd level of power. The Queen had outdone herself. Despite the situation, Gretchen couldn't help but admire the work of a fellow craftswoman.
Usually, forcing more than ten or so abilities into a Malkuth body would cause it to destroy itself, in a similar fashion to an Aether burn. The Queen had gotten around that with a plethora of healing abilities -- devoted to nothing but constantly healing the damage the body now suffered just from existing. Even so, it was a losing battle: within a few hours, the Praetorian would lose its bodily integrity. The resultant explosion would probably take out a good chunk of the landscape, too.
Of course, they didn't have a few hours. That was why Gretchen would help the process along a little.
In her hand, she held a weapon like an oversized jousting lance, covered in red-and-blue stripes like it was some kind of plastic toy. Flames drifted off of it as she finally finished her adjustments with Ragnarok Forge. She'd taken a page out of the Queen's book -- she'd stuffed this weapon, this Aether Armament, with a plethora of useless abilities she'd harvested over the years. The ability to tell sugar apart from salt with a glance, the ability to sense the speed of nearby traffic, perfect pitch, strawberry-flavoured teeth… it didn't matter.
What did matter was the fact that, once Gretchen pierced the Praetorian’s body with this, those useless abilities would flow right into it. Right now, all that was keeping that thing alive was the delicate balance of power…
…so Gretchen would just go and push the scales down herself -- and finally be done with all this bullshit.
----------------------------------------
Rufus von Frostburn had a sure-fire way to win.
The idea had come to him when he'd blocked that first attack with Bastardborn. The force of it had been nearly overwhelming -- if it wasn't for Mereloco, he surely would have been sent flying -- but more than that, the heat it generated in his Aether Armament had been ridiculous. If he hadn't immediately released it in a counterattack, he wasn't sure what would have happened.
So he'd just have to find out, wouldn't he?
Rufus suspected that, if Bastardborn couldn't release that energy, the shield would eventually be unable to contain it and detonate -- blasting heat in all directions and destroying a good chunk of the district. The more precise attacks Rufus had unleashed so far had only been able to inflict superficial damage on the big bastard, easily healed… but if he hurled this shield at the enemy right before it popped, struck at its entire body at once, couldn't that be a different story?
He'd lose Bastardborn in the process, but that was fine. Metal was metal, and blood was blood. If it was for the sake of human lives…
…he'd gladly throw away this shield.
----------------------------------------
Atoy Muzazi had a sure-fire to win.
It wasn't glamorous, but he was confident in it. To the untrained eye, it would appear that his repeated uses of Radiant Almighty were having no effect on the giant… but he wasn't quite so sure about that. The arm that had been severed had regenerated, to be sure, but the limb that had grown in its place was soft and fleshy. Just from looking at it, it was obvious that it didn't approach the strength of its predecessor.
It was the same with its head-wings. They'd been reattached after Muzazi had chopped them off, but now they hung limp and flimsy, their eyes staring off into space. A half-hearted repair effort.
So, in short, this was a battle of attrition. If Muzazi kept hitting the enemy, it would eventually die. There was no need to make it more complicated than that. There were countless people keeping the creature busy, so he'd just keep swinging this sword of his…
…until his arms fell off.
----------------------------------------
Morgan Nacht had a sure-fire way to win.
As he emerged into the white night that the Praetorian had conjured, he looked in astonishment at the sheer destruction that had gripped the district in the last few minutes. The buildings were rubble, and smoke drifted up to blind the red eyes above. Even the shopping centre was half-collapsed, the roof and entrance wrecked by the battle.
He'd done what he could for Nael Manron -- the King of Killers had suffered a truly grievous wound, and Morgan truly didn't know if the Amplified Heal/Hurt he'd used would be enough to keep the man alive.
Was Muzazi still alive? Fear thundered Morgan's heart for a moment -- before he saw the distant glow of Radiant Almighty, and let out a sigh of relief. It was funny. He'd run all this way to beg for Wu Ming's help, but now -- after vanquishing the man's shadow -- all thoughts of chasing his teacher had vanished from his mind.
Right now, all that existed was the enemy before him.
F. A.
Fog poured into his hands, forming once again the shapes of a bow and arrow. Pointing his new weapon at his distant foe, Morgan pulled the smoke-string taut --
G. A.
-- and let the power of his shot build.
Morgan was silent, standing on the edge of the building, one eye closed as he lined up his shot. Yes, he had a sure-fire way to win. Right now, he felt like any enemy he stood against… could be defeated without fail.
He let go of the string.
“Radiant Almighty…” Morgan Nacht whispered.
----------------------------------------
Ruth Blaine was a battleground.
It was funny. As the Monarque Set flew around the flailing form of the shining monster -- weaving through its swipes and punches -- she couldn't help but feel like she could breathe for once. Right now, one wrong move could mean her death… but that was always where she'd done her best work, wasn't it?
The events of the last few weeks seemed to crash over her all at once.
Ellis. Alice. Rex.
Dragan, firing a Gemini Shotgun right into Bruno's chest. Dragan, winning the Dawn Contest. Dragan… becoming Supreme.
In that moment, when she'd seen Bruno fall, what would Ruth had done if Dragan's minions hadn't shown up? Would she have turned her claws against him? Yes… she was sure that she would have.
He'd betrayed Bruno, and Serena.
He'd betrayed her.
He'd betrayed… he'd betrayed Skipper.
More than anyone else, he had betrayed Skipper. Skipper was a hero who had wanted to see the Supremacy destroyed utterly, who had wanted to change the shape of this world for the better. If he could see Dragan taking the throne he'd worked so hard to shatter, he'd be rolling in his grave.
That was right. That was right, wasn't it? So why couldn't she truly imagine that happening?
And why couldn't she yet bring herself to hate Dragan Hadrien?
You've got something planned, haven't you, you asshole? You've still got me waiting for the other shoe to drop. Damnit.
Goddamnit.
Those thoughts ran calmly through her head as the Monarque Set bobbed and weaved around the Praetorian, firing blasts of absorbed force that opened up huge cracks in the enemy's carapace, avoiding lethal blows by mere inches. And yet, even with all that, Ruth Blaine wasn't afraid. She had no reason to be.
After all, she had a sure-fire way to win.
A swipe of the Praetorian's hand just barely caught the front of the Monarque Set as it swooped in -- and the face of death's egg shattered open.
Something emerged.
----------------------------------------
Even through the haze of its collapsing consciousness, Praetorian One felt a moment of confusion.
Dead Eyes was still active. Just by looking at someone, Praetorian One instantly knew their name. It was something of a gimmicky ability, but it had been installed in One's body due to the slight ocular durability it also provided. It had seen countless names tonight, and not one had given it reason to pause.
But now… this small blonde girl who had leapt out of the shattered egg like a bullet being fired… she made it hesitate.
That name… wasn't right, was it?
That name… it recognised it.
That name… didn't belong to her.
Johan Blackbird.
----------------------------------------
The arms of Annatrice del Sed were lifted by the will of another, and purple Aether manifested the shape of a rifle between her hands as her cold eyes were locked onto the angel before her.
“Der Freischütz,” said Johan Blackbird -- and he pulled the newborn trigger.
Bang.
For a moment, there was silence…
…and then, the giant of light was devoured in an explosion that dwarfed any radiance it might have had.