Sol bisected halves fell to the shattered dirt.

Everyone wanted to believe it would be his end, but it surprised no soul that the bodies of Sol Grandy bubbled into a new mishappened form and lunged at Luxinna. The elf craned her neck sideway, dodging the spear of crimson flesh lunging at her face. Luxinna’s [Overdrive] predicted the crimson glow before the beam emerged and she dove sideway — [Guard Flora] erected in full defense.

Sol’s exploded with a crimson area-of-effect pulse, sending the girl somersaulting into the air. But Luxinna learned from her fight with Wayward. She won’t get distract by an AOE again. Luxinna never lost sight of Sol the entire battle. She detected the World Enemy lancing his flesh in a particular direction, allowing Luxinna to conjure three [Assault Flora] and blasted away the sneak-attack before it formed.

Sol gritted his teeth. At least he deduced area attack work best against the elf. But the girl was too aware for him to capitalize on her disrupted rhythm, so much for copying Captain Wooden-plank’s anti-speedster tactic.

If the first method in Wayward’s book failed, it time to drop the second one.

Sol twisted his body into a lump of crimson flesh and grew into a giant pillar, branches of red flesh elongated from his body. More branches split as they grew farther from him. In a split second, Sol became a giant tree, covering the sky with a canopy of blood red-flesh stretching 200 meters radius from him.

Luxinna paled. Sol wised up. He couldn’t catch her, so he bombarded the area. Luxinna was confident of her [Guard Flora]’s ability to block the attack. Her problem laid on elsewhere — a huge number of elsewhere.

Luxinna released her limiter and rushed back to the nobles, conjuring the largest [Guard Flora] available. Kruger put the math together faster than Luxinna, being familiar with Wayward and Sol.

“Everyone huddle together!” Kruger shouted, raising his lone arm. “Chamomile! Defensive Technique!”

“W-Wha-“

The shell-shocked Chamomile missed her timing

[Grand Dynasty: Imperial Scale]

A golden circle, shaped like a humongous serpent, glowed to life above Kruger. A massive lotus of [Serene Glass] materialized on top of it. Luxinna dove under the dual barrier. Andries — the non-combative MVP — dragged a dazed Vice-Captain more familiar with desk-work than critical thinking under the protective umbrella.

They barely cleared the timing. Sol’s canopy blanketed the entire area with a shower of red glow, crushing everything beneath the hideous light to ash.

Chamomile finally got the clue. She twirled her sword and circulated her energy.

[Flash-Qi: Thousand Cut Wind barrier]

A dome of yellow air swirled around the group as the third layer of protection.

“Lady Chamomile, you are slow,” Andries looked at Chamomile with renew disrespect, conjuring a dome of water to help the fortification.

“Hey, I am having a miserable day.”

“Shut up, Lady Chamomile,” Eliza the fed-up also pitched in her spells to buff the defense. “Onee-sama, lord Kruger, can you stop the shower?”

“I am also here to help!” Chamomile protested to the deaf ear.

Kruger chuckled sardonically. His body was a mess after the fight with Wayward. He already counted scrounging enough Mana to help a minor accomplishment. It might be a different story at his full health, but his current battered state had no chances.

“I am out,” Kruger turned to Luxinna. “What about you?”

Luxinna made a determined frown. Her [Guard Flora] was holding, but withstanding the crimson lamp sapped her stamina at an alarming rate. She must settle this fast.

[Assault Flora]

Luxinna fired two rail-gun shots through the barrier as a test. The projectiles were too fast for the light to crush completely, but Sol’s blanket attack eroded enough of its mass that it bounced off the crimson trees without scoring major damage.

“Girls, boys,” Luxinna gestured the crowd. “Step back. I am throwing something bigger.”

Then she felt the familiar waves of power — an oppressive kind.

Luxinna released a long groan.

“Here come, the spot-light addict,” Luxinna complained and then yelled at the sky, “How the fuck did it take this long! Are you putting on make-up while I am fighting for my life, dairy cow!?”

“Shut-up, spark-head!” A voice echoed from the heaven. “If you read more book, you won’t be in this position, idiot!”

Every blinked.

“Who is that?” Andries asked.

“A bitch,” Luxinna answered as a draconic presence smothered the sky.

“No way! How could a dragon be here?” Kruger had experienced a dragon hunt, so he was familiar with such tyrannical aura, but contemplating the possibility of Orwell resurrecting a dragon to kill them nearly made him ran to the metaphorical hill.

“A dragon!” Chamomile laughed with tears of despair and knelt to destiny. “WE ARE GOING TO DIE!”

“Yes,” Luxinna agreed. “Death by annoyance.”

Andries blinked.

“Miss Ace, you know this dragon?”

“Dragon?” Luxinna rolled her eyes. “I wish she is that much of a graceful loser.”

Sol realized something wrong with the elf’s reaction. Then he felt sunlight warming his back. Before he asked where in the god-forsaken barrier was that sun, a column of plasma swallowed his tree-shape form whole. The attack hurt. Sol unleashed a painful scream that rocked the entire quarter. The ray of scorching sun-fire reminded the by-stander of the summer — a memory out of place in this hell.

That single burst of flames shut off the crimson canopy, but Luxinna wasn’t grateful.

“Showy like always,” Luxinna snide. “An epic entrance up next.”

Right on the elf’s remark, a girl landed before the crowd in a three-point landing. A Draconian wing, blacker than the cosmos and dotted with star unfurled majestically. A bladed tail lashed and the masked girl wearing the ornate crown of bone stood. Her draconic formed melted away, revealing the crimson hair demoness wearing the proud emblem of the man embracing the sun.

“Guys, this is Me-“

“It Empress,” Melody glared at Luxinna. “And don’t use that nickname, spark-head.”

“Suit yourself, dairy cow.”

The bystander blinked. There were two of them? Where did this people come from?

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Kruger recognized the girl.

“You are—”

“No need to thank me,” Melody answered the man she saved. “You already paid that debt by getting out alive. I need no thank for doing what I believe.”

“Thank you,” Kruger replied anyway, no matter how redundant it was.

Melody smiled softly.

“Weak,” Luxinna commented. “You turn feeble at the first sign compliment.”

“Oh, shut up,” Melody glinted. “Aha, as expect, that is why he survives this long.”

Those words caught Luxinna’s undivided attention.

“You figure him out?” Luxinna facepalmed. Trust the [Heavenly Eye] to boost the demoness’ ego to the exosphere.

“Sure do,” Melody sent her hair dancing amidst the wind with a hand flicker. “In fact, it will kick into gear in a few seconds.”

Swirl!

“Great! One more toy to break,” Sol pieced himself together from Melody’s roasting. “What is it with snot-nose brat interfering with my business! Did your parent ever teach you the virtue of giving and die!”

Sol malformed body stitched itself together, but every person presented noticed several yellow bumps on his flesh. Melody — the perpetrator herself — grinned smugly, as her theory proved true.

“Are you feeling well, Grandy?” Melody mocked the World Enemy. “Or does the mighty royalty suddenly catch a cold?”

Sol Grandy growled, growing out his arm into a massive flesh canon. To his horror, instead of a smooth barrel of crimson flesh, he got a tumorous bundle of yellow, orange meat. The World Enemy eyed the Empress with newfound fear.

“What is this?” Sol screeched, yellow boils surfacing across his flesh. Some even emerged from his infernal eyes, blinding few of his countless sensory organ. “How? What curse is this!!!”

Melody answered with theoretical flairs.

“It elementary. Don’t you wonder how did you regenerate from the spark-head’s Mach-speed nails, survive a siege-ending penetrator arrow and being bisect in half? The answer is because of your Amalgam-flesh is a constantly shifting fluid. Your body isn’t form out of metal or organic, but solidified Mana string with soul imprinted Amalgam and those endlessly interesting rocks, Spiritium, isn’t it?”

Melody heartily laughed.

“All those backgrounds to the side, it translated to a delicate flesh sew together by a sophisticate thread. Lucky you, those threads are resistant to physical attack and elemental discharge. They are akin to a molecular bond. But — like a friend taught me — a counter exist for every punch. Yours came in two forms; either a reactant to rearrange those sophisticate bond or a high-energy radiation that tear it apart.”

Melody’s palm lighted on fire.

“Suck to be you,” Melody boasted. “My flames are radioactive emissions producing high-density gamma-ray and Ultraviolet wave alongside plasma. How do you think your Amalgam’s bonding will fair after getting baths in my flames, Sol Grandy?”

Sol tried to deny the reality, but his heart realized the truth. Unlike the elf, that masked demoness attack was lethal to him. It took him seconds to plan an alternative — run the fuck out.

“You will regret this?” Sol tried to escape, but the strength in his gelatinous body went out.

“Oh, I forgot to inform you another information you need to know,” Melody mocked Sol with a condescending empathy. “Your energy source is external. You probably created that body out of Orwell’s Spiritium factory, right?”

“What?” It was the first instance Kruger heard about Orwell’s game-plan.

…

In the Water-quarter, Orwell Mehest finished his reprogramming the Spell-crafting interphase.

“I have you now, son of a bitch,” Orwell meant every word he said. “I don’t care if you scum kill each other, but I am not paying for it.”

The magic-circle in front of Orwell unbind itself with a reconfirmation cipher warning him about the self-destruction sequences.

“Yes please,” Orwell clicked his finger, severing the main Spiritium crystal in the Fire-quarter from the Leyline powering it. As a bonus, the self-destruction sequence just launched. Orwell regret that he won’t be there to rub it in Sol’s face, but it was still a win on his chalkboard.

He ordered more Amalgam troops into the Fire-quarter. It took forever, but Hal Jordan’s subordinates finally poked their head from the shell. As a host, he needed to arrange some hospitality — a lethal kind.

…

“Truth is, Sol is loaning energy from Orwell’s Leyline. If Mehest pull his plug, Grandy’s only choice is to capture you guys as a Mana factory,” Melody watched Sol crumbling before all eyes. “Even if he guns for that goal, it is too late. Mehest cut of his energy supplies a second ago. With all the damage he took and insufficient calories to heal, that thing is scrounging on fumes.”

Andries recalled the last ten minutes — a barrage of supersonic bombardment, the unstoppable arrow, a bisection by a giant blade, and — lastly — a bath beneath a sun column. She paled. Andries didn’t want to imagine how disastrous their battle against Sol would go without those leverages. The Venistalis’ nobles weren’t a fighter. Chamomile was too compromised, and Kruger couldn’t come close to Ace’s destructive might. After witnessing the fight, she realized how close she was to being impregnated by that thing and turned into a Mana farm. There was no doubt their fate would be worse than death if Ace and Empress didn’t arrive when they did.

Which beg a question, where did the two monsters who mindbogglingly outperformed every metric emerged from. Kruger asked himself this question. Chamomile screeched this question in her brain. Half the nobles also reached this singular mystery. Another half was too grateful to care.

The dying Sol didn’t reach that conclusion, he was too busy yelling at the heaven.

“Why? Aren’t they your enemy, Mehest? Why bother to stop me? Why?”

Luxinna stated the obvious.

“Isn’t your family wipe out the Deathless Clan? Do you believe Orwell will stomach having his revenge taken by the person who symbolizes every disgusting thing about the Grand Empire?”

“Shut up,” Sol was rejecting reality. “You talk just like that bastard. Every time? Why does nobody give me the respect I deserve? Not the royal-mages. Not Father. What makes that bastard superior!? What is so special about that fucking Wooden-plank!”

…

Fear was the only respect Sol received.

The child of the evilest couple in Grand Empire royal history. The son of Willow Heart Street board member. All feared Sol Grandy from the first step he walked. No child played with him. Adult avoided him. The loneliness crushed him at first, but the warped teaching of his parent eventually morphed the sadness into a satisfaction and ego. Some people coped with crushing loneliness by music or work. Sol Grandy handled such emotion by associating loneliness with superiority.

It worked until that thing arrived.

Samael Mother-fucking Wayward.

He was brilliant. Charisma. Professionalism. Dedication. Will. Wayward possessed every quality Sol lacked. Both of them started their career in the same period. But while Sol amassed a fearful and unsavory reputation from the deprave and bloody nature of his contract, Wayward’s works awarded him with recognition and respect for his efficiency and precision. Sol left a string of victims and mass-grave of collateral damages. Wayward only handed a coffin and nothing more in each job.

Sol never understood why people preferred Wayward's cleaner and surgical method over his. Times after time, Sol tried to prove himself superior, but he never succeeds. Combat? He lost. Strategy game? Public humiliation. Popularity contest? The worst smackdown in history. Worst was the undeniable fact that Wayward had friends and admirers, despite his superiority over Sol Grandy. That Wooden-plank acted like a living fire, burning the veil of coping mechanism Sol used to deal with his faults.

But the final straw was that order.

…

A month ago, in Willow Heart Street secret hideout, they were brief with a mission to help Orwell Mehest destroyed Venistalis.

“I heavily disagree with this direction,” Wayward spoke after hearing the detail.

“What? Chicken out? I don’t know you are such a coward, Samael,” Sol sneered.

Wayward ignored Sol and continued talking to his superior — a board member call Pallax.

“I must speak out my mind, Mr. Pallax,” Wayward replied. “We are now sacrificing every infrastructure and asset to influence the Grand Empire over a single ruin city. That move is too costly and it will do irreversible damage to the Willow Heart Street’s reputation.”

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” Sol giggled. “What the hell, Wayward? We are an assassin! When are we bothered by reputation? You are just trying to protect those low-born dolts you are so fond off. If you don’t to, I can—”

“I understand, Wayward,” Pallax sympathized, brushing Sol’s existence to the wind. “But the majority is clear. I can’t overturn the decision.”

Wayward sighed.

“Mr. Pallax, you know my reputation will suffer from this assignment,” Wayward said. “I can help weaken the royal-mages by resigning and taking some of them with me, but I am an assassin, not a mass-murderer.”

“Oh, come one. We are a killer. Do we—”

Clank!

Pallax tossed a metal plate on the table.

“Would this payment a sufficient remedy for the damage to your reputation?”

Sol stared at the plate in disbelief.

The Plate of Absolute command. It was a symbol traded for an unrefusable request in the Willow Heart Street. The members were honor-bound by oath to fulfill the order given with the plate. However, its unrefusable nature went both ways. Wayward could use this plate to grant himself an amnesty or even demand a promotion to board member or buy a vote to be one. It was a wish-granting device of the Willow Heart Street.

Wayward silently took the plate and glumly walked out of the hideout. He needed to pick between his moral and his words. It was a horrid decision, but one that he must live with.

Sol picked that moment to lose it.

“Why?” Sol screamed.

“Sol, celebrated assassin like Wayward have a brand and artistic pride to maintain,” Pallax explained. “We are asking a professional cake-maker to put poison in his wedding cake. It will irreversibly taint the costumer’s image of him. Thus, a sufficient compensation must be paid to make the job acceptable.”

“What about my plate, uncle?” Sol screeched like a spoil-brat. “If Wayward get one, I should have it too!”

“Wayward’s brand is quiet and subtle assassination with no innocent casualties. Yours is wholesale slaughter and intimidation. Who do you guess will suffer more customers’ loss after this mission?”

Pallax walked out, leaving Sol clenching his fist on the table.

…

“Why?” Sol screamed to the heaven. “Why the hell nothing works for me?”

The Sol saw a symbol in the sky, and a torrent of purifying lasers bathed him.

[Holy Force]

It was a sign of Hikma’s arrival.