In the streets leading up to the palace, Zinnia and Ubitsa continued their battle. Ubitsa’s axe whistled through the air and the shockwave that followed was enormous, a shimmering arc of destruction that cleaved through an entire city block as though the buildings were made of paper. Windows shattered, walls crumbled, and the ground itself cracked beneath the force of his swing. Zinnia barely dodged, looked at the carnage, then turned back to Ubitsa with a blank expression on her face. Ubitsa’s blood started to boil.
“Dammit! Why won’t you stand still, ya crazy broad?!” he shouted at her as he tried to catch his breath.
“I am not sure what you would like from me, sir,” she responded, casually strolling around him with Meilong slung over her shoulders. “It is you who wanted to fight.”
People ran from the destroyed buildings, only to be greeted by other people running from the revolutionary forces. Zinnia noticed this, and said “hm, I wonder why those people are running in the opposite direction.”
Ubitsa brought his axe down on Zinnia’s head, only to be blocked again by Meilong’s helmet. Meilong hissed at Zinnia, who turned to face her attacker. “Sir, can we finish soon? I would like to see why there are two groups of people going in opposite directions.”
“Oh, we’ll finish alright…” Ubitsa said with an evil chuckle.
With a roar, Ubitsa channeled all his Aether into his arms, veins bulging as he ripped the remains of a building clean off its foundations. Dust and debris rained down around him as he hoisted the structure high above his head, leaping into the air with a feral grin.
“Let’s see you dodge THIS!” he bellowed, the building casting a massive shadow over Zinnia as he hurled it down.
Zinnia didn’t even flinch. She walked calmly to the side, her footsteps unhurried, as the building smashed into the ground behind her with an earth-shaking crash. A few bits of rubble landed at her feet. “Sir, I feel you would have better success if you did not announce your attacks beforehand.”
Ubitsa growled as he landed. He picked up his axe and began to spin, shouting “I’ll show you my ultimate technique!” Dust kicked up around him. Again, Zinnia just stood and stared.
Blades of razor sharp Aether began shooting out of Ubitsa’s dust storm. Zinnia stood there and stared as the razor wind tore apart her clothes and made deep gashes in her skin. Meilong hissed at her, at which point Zinnia started to block and wince in pain. Ubitsa laughed as he drew closer and closer to Zinnia with his spinning.
Zinnia whispered to Meilong, who was able to hear her despite the fact that snakes don’t have ears, and placed Meilong on the ground. Meilong slithered along the ground and under the rapidly firing razor wind. She then slithered up Ubitsa’s tiny leg and bit him, sinking her fangs in deep.
Ubitsa stopped spinning and began to howl in pain as Meilong slithered back to her owner. He fell to his knees and began to writhe in agony as his leg turned purple.
“What?! What did you DO TO ME?!” he shouted.
“Meilong’s fangs secrete a powerful neurotoxin capable of disabling most targets instantly. More likely than not, you will need to have that leg amputated, sir,” Zinnia casually explained as Meilong coiled around her.
Zinnia stood there and stared as Ubitsa continued to writhe and scream. Meilong hissed in Zinnia’s ear. “Hm? Yes, I suppose we should spare him his agony. At least so people do not have to hear his screaming.”
Zinnia walked forward and cracked her knuckles. She stood over Ubitsa as he wailed in agony and raised her fist.
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Andy sat in the clinic where Carne had been getting his bug bites treated. Roxanne and Carne lay in beds, freshly stitched and bandaged, asleep.
“Doctor, don’t you think an open-air clinic’s risky? Bugs, germs—feels like we’re asking for trouble here,” Andy muttered, glancing around at the exposed walls and tattered curtains swaying in the wind.
The doctor gave him a flat look. “You’re in the Shahari slums, kid. This is about as high-end as it gets around here.”
Andy blinked, finally taking in the dilapidated surroundings—the crumbling buildings, the beggars lining the streets, the stench of the slums thick in the air. “How did I not notice…?”
“Weird, though,” Andy said, scratching his head. “That restaurant across the street? Some of the best food I’ve ever had. And if that’s slum food, I can’t even imagine what the fancy places must serve.” His stomach growled at the thought, mouth watering despite the chaos around him.
Suddenly, screams erupted from the street outside. Andy’s heart skipped a beat as he heard the unmistakable crack of gunfire in the distance. He rushed to the clinic’s doorway, his eyes widening as a flood of people stampeded down the street, panic written across their faces.
“W-what’s happening?!” Andy grabbed the arm of a passing longleg.
“Run, short leg!” the longleg shouted, not breaking stride. “The Unclean! They’re rising up! Everyone in the city is in danger!”
“Uh oh…” said the doctor, looking at Roxanne and Carne’s unconscious, wounded bodies.
“What are we going to do?!” Andy cried, holding his wife’s hand.
“I do not know…” the doctor replied as the horde of Unclean drew closer.
“...there’s also the matter of your bill,” the doctor added.
“Is this really the time?!” shouted an exasperated Andy as he picked up Roxanne bridal-style and began to run.
“Doctor! Get Carne and run!” he exclaimed. “We’ll pay extra if we survive!”
The doctor obliged and grabbed Carne, and they took off together in search of a hiding place.
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“Gone?!” Samudra’s voice echoed through the panic room, his disbelief morphing into fury. “What do you mean the army is gone?!”
Ta’Gup leaned back against the wall his tone disturbingly casual. “The army has lost its will. After the horrors of the Great War, morale was shattered. Then Uncle Barabar’s spies… well, they did the rest. Poisoned their minds with his revolution.” He waved a hand as if it were nothing. “Now they march to Baagee to take him out. What remains of them, anyway.”
“So you’re leaving Shahar to BURN?!” Samudra roared, his fists clenched tight. “You didn’t see this coming? No intelligence? No plan? Do you have any idea how many innocent lives will be lost?! How many people will be slaughtered because of your negligence?!”
Samudra smacked his forehead. “Ta’Gup! What is wrong with you?! You did not used to be like this!”
“It’s not my concern how many of the lower classes fall,” Ta’Gup replied with a dismissive shrug. “The system will survive, even if they do not. It must.”
“THEN WHO WILL KEEP THE COUNTRY ALIVE?!” Samudra roared. “A country is its citizens, not its ruler!”
“The class system must stay alive, at any cost.”
“Do… Do you hear how you sound right now, Ta’Gup?! You… You’ll let your capital city burn for the sake of tradition?!”
“The police will mitigate the damage,” Ta’Gup responded. “You seem to not understand the point of tradition, Samudra. The collective wisdom of our forebears is–”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing!” Samudra interrupted. “You’ll disown me for being even remotely associated with a city being destroyed, but you’ll let a city five times that size burn for your own ego?!”
Samudra staggered back, his mind reeling. His throat tightened, words failing him as he stared at the brother he once admired. After a long pause, Samudra finally found his voice. “What happened to you, Ta’Gup? You were supposed to be a ruler like Father—a king with wisdom, with kindness…”
“What are you even talking about, Samudra?” Ta’Gup responded. “I have always been like this. It is you who must have forgotten, with your constant dalliances around the world. The lower classes were born to serve the royal family. That is why the gods chose our family. Honestly, Samudra, this idea you’re thinking of, you’re sounding like Barabar. Or even worse, a Serenist.”
“I…” Samudra was once again lost for words. “I am starting to think maybe Uncle Barabar is right. If nothing else, he’s right about you, Ta’Gup. And I… I will not do anything to stop the assassins coming for your head. The prophecy designates me as the one who will save this kingdom and–”
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“Please, do not tell me you actually believe that prophecy tripe,” Ta’Gup interrupted.
Samudra turned around, shaking his head as he did so. “I will reform this country with as little bloodshed as possible. I am the chosen hero the seer spoke of. I will pacify the Unclean forces, and if you survive, I will do everything I can to remove you from power peacefully. You are not fit to be king, Ta’Gup.”
He left without any further words. Silence rang over the panic room.
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Shaska walked through the streets of Shahar, bruised and bleeding from her encounter with her daughter. She puffed her cigar and stretched, listening to the sounds of gunfire and screaming in the distance. She cracked her neck and began talking to herself.
“Alright, so…” she said, looking around at the people running for cover. “The war is on. And Tributelle…”
“Should I really leave my own daughter for dead like that? She wants to send me to federal prison, all because I don’t like the government stealing from me. Add on the alleged mass murder, and I’ll certainly face public execution…”
A longleg citizen sprinted up to her, panic in his eyes. “Hey! Fish freak! You gotta get out of here! The Unclean—they’re marching on the city! They’re gonna kill everyone!”
Shaska’s eyes narrowed. She exhaled a cloud of smoke in his face, not even bothering to slow her pace. “I’m fine. And don’t call me a damn fish freak.”
“But, you’re injured!”
“Go away,” she said, blowing smoke in his face.
The longleg shook his head, then ran off to find shelter. Sounds of violence and screaming grew ever louder. The stench of blood began to fill the air even more than it already had previously.
“Alright, focus,” Shaska muttered, shaking off the pain as she surveyed the streets. “There should be a Smoky Mart around here somewhere. Maybe I can rally some of those Smoky Merchants. If they don’t want to die, they’ll help defend the city. Strong-arming them shouldn’t be too hard.”
She grabbed one of the longlegs who was running away from the fighting.
“Hey, you, where’s the Smoky Mart?” she asked.
“That’s in the direction of the war! Are you insane?!”
“Maybe a little,” she bluntly responded, flicking ash off her cigar.
The longleg hesitated with a worried expression on his face, then pointed and said “two blocks down that way, on Dhuaan Street.”
“Thanks,” Shaska said, letting him go. She headed toward Dhuaan Street, still covered in blood with her wounds opening up even more from the running.
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The rukh bird fleet soared over Shahar, preparing to land at the rukh bird airport. Franco and Johnson stared down at the chaos below from the cabin windows. The once-proud streets of Shahar were drenched in blood, bodies strewn across the city like broken dolls. Buildings burned, and the distant cries of the wounded and dying reached their ears even from the sky.
“This isn’t a war… it’s a massacre…” Johnson muttered, his hand instinctively covering his mouth to stifle his nausea. “We can’t just watch this happen—we have to help them!”
“Our main goal is catching Shaska,” Franco responded. “Getting involved in the war is outside our jurisdiction, remember?”
“And let countless civilians be slaughtered?!” shouted an astonished Johnson.
“We have our orders, and as your superior, I order you to stay with me to find Shaska!”
“Surely, we can send some of our men to help quell this! This isn’t right!” Johnson exclaimed.
“That’s what the Panipuri Army is for,” said Franco. “And don’t call me–”
Johnson smacked Franco. “Do you see a Panipuri regular army down there?!”
Johnson stood up and shifted partially to his ostrich form. He went over to the door of the cabin and opened it. As the air rushed past, he shouted at Franco “I can’t just sit here while people die, Franco! I don’t care about the orders anymore! I’m stopping that army!”
Without waiting for a response, Johnson leapt from the cabin, wings spreading as he glided down toward the chaos below, his form cutting through the air like a spear aimed straight for the Unclean.
“Ugh… that kid’s gonna get us both fired and prosecuted,” he muttered as the bird made its final descent toward the airport.
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In the palace foyer, Schwarz launched strike after strike, his blade cutting through the air in a blur, but Cazimir blocked every blow with frustrating ease. Every block from Cazimir’s sheath was accompanied by sparks, somehow.
“Dammit!” Schwarz cried as he landed. He began to huff and puff from exhaustion. “Why won’t you die?!”
“Tell me, child, why are you so angry?” Cazimir asked casually.
Schwarz couldn’t help but just stand there with an exasperated and confused expression on his face. “Are… are you serious?!” he asked, nonplussed.
“You say I took everything from you?”
“You murdered my entire family! The Eisenberg steel magnate family from Sylpen!”
“I’ve murdered plenty of rich families. It’s part of my job as a hitman,” Cazimir responded. “But any survivors usually know better than to seek vengeance against me. You’re either brave or stupid, kid.”
Schwarz lunged at him, but Cazimir sidestepped and slashed at Schwarz with his sheath, leaving a deep gash on Schwarz’s chest.
“H-how…?” Schwarz choked out. He dropped his sword and clutched his bleeding chest. The sword landed with a clanging on the ground.
Cazimir picked up a bit of dust off the ground and blew it in Schwarz’s face, causing him to start coughing up blood after he breathed it in.
“Allow me to explain my potentia,” he said calmly. “It’s called Ultima Gladio; anything I touch can become sharper than the sharpest sword, cutting through anything except nixanium.”
Schwarz fell to his knees as he continued to bleed and cough up blood.
“Kid, you barely seem to know how to manipulate Aether. It’s impressive you have a potentia ability, but you’re not even close to being able to take me on. If I had used the actual blade of my sword when I slashed your chest, you would be dead. Sliced clean in two.”
Cazimir turned around and started to walk away. “You’re lucky I don’t kill anyone without good reason. I used to only kill for money. But now, I seek a higher goal. I seek utopia. Those guards? They tried to stop me, but you? You’ve intrigued me for now.”
“You… bastard…” Schwarz coughed.
He picked up his sword, then spawned a hole under himself, then one above and behind Cazimir. He dropped through, sword out, but Cazimir sidestepped and drew his own sword. As Schwarz fell, Cazimir impaled him through the side
“Stop struggling, child,” he said. “Accept your fate that you’re not able to defeat me. Maybe next time you’ll have better luck.”
Schwarz coughed violently, blood spilling from his mouth as he hung helplessly on Cazimir’s sword. His vision blurred, the edges darkening as his strength ebbed away. He wanted to curse, to scream, but all that escaped him was a ragged gasp as his body slumped forward.
His mind began to fade, the world slipping into darkness. The last thing he saw was Cazimir’s cold, calculating eyes watching him like a hunter sizing up his prey.
Cazimir withdrew the sword, wiped the blood off, and sheathed it, then let Schwarz fall to the ground. “One last word of advice: try to be more creative with your potentia. Your attacks were quite predictable,” were the last things Schwarz heard before completely losing consciousness.
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At the northern edge of the country, at the base of the mountains, a massive airship landed, with special landing gear on its gondola that enabled it to land on the unfavorable terrain. It resembled a flying castle, bearing the words “DIE GLEICHHEIT” in huge, golden letters on each side. On the envelope of the balloon was a logo resembling a world map with a huge line drawn through it. Countless red flags flew on the airship, whipping in the warm wind and bearing the initials “MW” written in gold, along with a set of golden gears crossed with a wrench.
Soldiers dressed in red filed off the airship in an orderly fashion, with gear-shaped hats and MW emblazoned on their uniforms in gold. They saluted by holding their right palms skyward as a massive man clad in black armor with a red and gold cape disembarked. Standing at a daunting ten feet tall, his mere presence exuded power and authority. A great sword hung at his side, and a metal band circled his head, half-obscured by his shaggy brown hair and the imposing shadow of his goatee. He descended from the ship followed by a young woman of above average height with long brown hair in a pink, blood red, and gold dress. She had a gear and wrench charm in her hair.
“Brother! I wanna kill someone today!” Rusila’s voice rang out with gleeful excitement, a disturbing mixture of childish enthusiasm and adult intent. Her thick Dammerungian accent only heightened the dissonance between her innocent tone and the violent desire behind her words. She skipped after the imposing man, her long brown hair bouncing in the breeze, a twisted smile on her face as if the thought of murder was a delightful game.
“Only if you are good, Rusila. We must make our appearance known to the world today, but we shall only kill when necessary,” said the man in a deep, imposing voice and similarly thick accent.
“Brother! I! Wanna! Kill!” Rusila whined.
“Rusila, you will behave yourself. If you whine like that any further, you will not kill anyone,” to which Rusila nodded and giggled gleefully.
“At ease,” said the imposing man. The soldiers relaxed their arms.
One of the soldiers approached the man in black armor and bowed. “King von Ragnar! We have confirmation that the agitation force led by Sir Barabar has entered the city! They’re slaughtering everyone in sight!”
“I gave Barabar explicit orders,” Balthasar von Ragnar growled, his voice low and simmering with annoyance. “He was to eliminate the military threat and convert the people. Slaughtering the civilians? A waste.” He sighed. “Oh well… as they say, one death is a tragedy, a million is a statistic.”
“My liege! How shall we cross this mountain?” the soldier asked.
“Not to worry, subject. I shall dispatch with this mountain. It is what the collective wills.”
The king’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his eyes narrowing at the towering mountain before him. With a slow, deliberate breath, he unsheathed the blade. In a single fluid motion, von Ragnar swung the sword, and the air itself seemed to tremble. The mountain before him shuddered as a glowing line appeared, splitting the earth in two. The colossal rock formation groaned and cracked, beginning to slide apart, sending an avalanche of stone and snow hurtling down toward the airship.
Unfazed, von Ragnar watched as the mountain came crashing toward them, his eyes cold and unmoving.
The soldiers began to panic as it started sliding toward them and the airship; tens of thousands of tons of rock and snow began hurtling toward them. Von Ragnar sheathed his sword. Then, with a single hand, he caught the mountain at its base. He grabbed with both hands, and with all his might, lifted the mountain over his head and threw it behind him, clearing the airship (the Spirit of Liberty) and crashing on the foothills behind them, shattering with a tremendous noise.
The soldiers watched in stunned silence as their leader, with both hands now gripping the fractured mountain, hurled it behind them with a thunderous crash. The ground shook as tens of thousands of tons of stone shattered in the foothills behind the airship.
The soldiers erupted into wild applause, their cheers echoing across the mountain range. King von Ragnar stood tall, his expression unreadable.
Meanwhile, Rusila giggled, chasing after a butterfly that had fluttered past, her attention completely diverted from the monumental act her brother had just performed.
“Hmph. Now, let us bring the light of equality and utopia to the citizenry of the Panipuri Kingdom,” the king said coldly.