Helial's position clearly reminded Alexander of something, although the King couldn't quite put his finger on it. It was something he had experienced so many times that his memory could hardly remember, but his bones recognized easily. Something his body had experience with, but only now did he see it replicated by someone else.

Having lived for so many years, even for a being of his calibre, remembering every single detail of his life had begun to be difficult. Moreover, what he had in front of him seemed only a blurry picture of what he had already experienced.

But, as if he had suddenly been caught at the throat by a noose, Alexander felt something block his stomach.

In his last military campaign, the one in which he had died because of a poison that had nearly killed half the universe, all his dearest generals had died with him. Only a handful of them remained alive and had died trying to divide the empire their King had left behind.

Alexander looked at Helial very carefully, so carefully that a well-known figure slowly overlapped on Helial's silhouette. The King was catapulted into the past. As if it were a vision, Iblis, Helial and the battle in the Colosseum began to disappear.

Screams flooded Alexander's ears, while gigantic creatures crushed several Immortals with disarming ease. His generals fought like beasts, renouncing to every last ounce of honour in exchange for just another dead enemy at their feet.

Alexander and his men had been ambushed.

After conquering territories never explored and never submissive, Alexander had disbanded his army. It was at the time when he was weaker that the empires that survived his expedition had turned against him, betraying the peace pact that would spare thousands of lives.

And if Alexander had decided to put a stop to his insatiable desire for conquest, it was only for his generals and his soldiers, who knew only a life of toil and battle. Some of them were born, lived and raised to Immortality within the army. The only moments of peace they had enjoyed were brief and were spent training continuously for the next siege.

No one could go on any longer.

And now, after dismissing almost all his warriors and being left with just a handful of men, Alexander had been attacked by an army of monsters.

Alexander had never seen them before, but he had already heard of them. Who had never heard of them?

The most mysterious mercenaries in the Universe, the origin of horror legends even among the Immortals.

The Empuses.

Their soft and curvy female bodies had something so abominable that the eyes of the watchers refused to recognize it as such. Above the cadaverous and semi-transparent white skin stood a series of external Meridians, a duplicate of their inner ones. A web of gnarled blood vessels covered at least three-quarters of their body, forming two bat wings on their backs.

The Empuses had been able to fight the dragons, defeating them in more than one inter-species war, before becoming extinct at the hands of a woman who considered them among the most evil and filthy beings in the universe. Although the most cheeky claimed that this genocide was, for the great warrior, only an excuse to vent; it was said she had decided to turn her fury against an entire race because she had not had the courage to kill a monster with bat wings.

But you know, these are just gossip.

The control that the Empuses were able to exert on Mana and their mastery of weapons, combined with their lean and perfect physical shape, made them unstoppable deadly machines.

However, Alexander was too powerful to be killed in an ambush. If getting rid of the King of Kings had been so simple, then Alexander should have been dead for more than a few millennia. Instead, he was still there, haunting the nightmares of his enemies.

But non much longer.

Alexander had been stabbed by the Queen of the Empuses, Tariata. Certainly a simple stab would not stop Alexander, so the blade of the weapon had been impregnated with a very powerful poison, whose distillation cost an amount of resources equal to half of all that could be found in the universe, so that it could be powerful enough to eliminate even the greatest Immortal ever, the King of Kings.

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Alexander was aware of all this, and yet he had not backed down, hoping to defeat the monsters and triumph once more over his enemies. But, when the dagger had sunk into his unprotected forearm, the King understood that there would be nothing left to do and had ordered the few men who followed him to leave the ranks and flee.

The hopes of the Empuses were becoming a reality.

Although only one handful of the army remained, the most powerful Generals were still with Alexander, ready to escort him to the Royal Palace; once they got there, even if the rest of the universe had attacked at the same time, the Formations would pulverise any enemy. Even the Empuses would not have been able to penetrate that impregnable fortress.

In fact, they had to act before Alexander was reunited with the rest of his men.

Months and months of conjecture and plans were materialising before their eyes, or rather, dematerialising. Alexander's body had begun to disappear, starting from his forearm, while Bucephalus, in his Human form, clutched his King in his arms. He was trying to heal Alexander's body by injecting all his Mana into his Meridians, while tears fell copiously down the cheeks of the king's trusty companion.

Bucephalus's grip was so strong and rigid that Alexander wanted to tell him something irritating and laugh, because he knew his life was coming to an end. But, out of respect for his friend, he stood silently and tried to look at his equine face before disappearing forever.

Bucephalus was wearing himself out, and he blamed himself for not saving Alexander, the person closest to him. If he could trade his life for Alexander's, he would have done it in a split second.

His King had saved him from the certain death of slavery, cutting off the bite and reins that Philip's slaveholders had use to chain him. Since he was only a reckless young steed, Alexander had always treated him with the same respect as one of his Generals.

By time, Bucephalus had become one of the most powerful warriors, along with Crater. Bucephalus was Alexander's bodyguard, the companion always by his side. Not even when he slept did he walk away from his King, close to him like a twin. He had watched continuously over him, foiling direct attacks and taking arrows to his chest in his place.

It was Alexander who had given him freedom. And freedom was worth all this, and even more.

Bucephalus's bloodied tears continued to bathe Alexander, while all around the warriors, as if they had been wounded in the heart, struggled with all the life that had remained in their body.

Not only had Alexander put an end all his ambitions to bring them home safely, but now, after being ambushed, he had ordered them to leave.

But could they obey such a last order?

Definitely not.

It was as if that poisoned dagger had struck in the heart all of them, who had insisted on going home. If they hadn't insisted, would Alexander have died?

While this question deafened their ears and hearts, the Generals carried out unprecedented carnage. The death of their King could hardly be erased, but no one could deny them the redemption of vengeance.

Yes, the Empuses were powerful. Yes, Tariata was more powerful than the King of Dragon and the warrior that would later become Kirin. But this was the army of Alexander, the man who had subdued the entire universe.

While each of his men fought like a hundred and his Generals like a thousand, the deployment was open in a circular manner around two terrifying figures.

Crater was covered from top to toe in his own blood, while his eyes expressed pain beyond the limits of what we can all understand. Crater had lived with Alexander from an early age, when they were both beaten by their teacher for skipping military tactical lessons and instead went to beat each other with wooden swords. His King was also his brother, a brother who had been chosen, and therefore the bond between them went beyond any blood bond.

The bond between Crater and Alexander was as indestructible as a wire of steel.

Crater looked at Tariata with an anger that no living being had ever felt before. The Empusa, with a pitch-black carapace on her Meridians, responded to the Madoni warrior's gaze with a sneer and prepared to attack.

…

Alexander kept watching Helial through the screen in a vacuum.

Helial stretched his legs, flexing them slightly, while his left arm was carried forward to give more momentum to the body.

Frankenstein observed that position, wondering why Helial had adopted such a simple form to attack, instead of pointing to the monstrous Aura that surrounded him and besieging the Prince of Darkness from multiple sides.

Helial's attack was so basic that anyone could see clearly what the outcome the fight would have. Frankenstein didn't understand the point of putting himself in danger like that.

And the King of Kings watched, increasingly immersed in nostalgia, the figure of Crater form before his eyes. With his legs slightly flexed, Crater's left fist was in front of his body, while the right was tightly close to his side.

The monstrous figure of the Prince of Darkness was replaced by the indescribable figure of Tariata, clutching two Chakrams made of dragon tusks, excellent for catalysing Skills and so sharp to cut through anything like a red-hot knife into a block of butter. That's why those creatures were deeply hated by the whole Race of the Dragons.

Alexander watched that move with a sweet sadness that brought him back to their childhood.

A tremendously simple shape, a blow so easy to intercept.

But what does it matter if you can predict where it will hit, if you are able neither to block it nor able to survive it?

Skill Activated:

Crater's Uppercut!