CHAPTER 2 - THE FINAL BATTLE
LYSANDER FARADEISS
"Humanity is fucked."
I whispered to myself, a sentiment shared by everyone in the hangar. Outside, the Final Sanctuary, once a symbol of hope and the safe haven for the world's last humans, now lay in ruins, claimed by the dragonoids. The proud institution had crumbled, leaving only smoldering remnants in the darkest of nights.
A resounding voice shattered the solemn silence, pulling my attention away from the desolate scene outside. "Attention, all skysoldiers! I will now brief you with our final operation!"
The words echoed through the hangar, but they felt hollow, a stark contrast to the former pride that used to fill these walls. Regret gnawed at me for having looked outside and seen the sanctuary's downfall, for it had only further dampened our spirits as we prepared for the impending battle. My loss of hope was mirrored by the expressions of the last three hundred skysoldiers standing alongside me, their eyes reflecting a palpable sense of impending doom.
All eyes in the hangar converged on the remaining beacon of the skysoldiers, General Wilhelm. Standing at a towering two meters, he bore a dark complexion and a slightly portly build, a contrast to the typical, finely-tuned physique of a skysoldier. Yet, his intellect and leadership were unmatched, having steered us through the dark days of humanity's decline.
"Our plan is as direct as it is perilous," General Wilhelm began, the weight of the world resting upon his broad shoulders. "We possess one final airship, while the enemy boasts a thousand. We cannot even be certain if Regression Magic will prove effective. But we stake every drop of blood on this desperate gambit, for it's the only path to wrest the world from those reptilian bastards. Every skysoldier, save for the Erudites Eight, will charge with unbridled determination toward the heart of the enemy's dominion: the Dragon's Fortress."
"Are you asking us to sacrifice ourselves in this battle?" stammered one skysoldier, fear etched across their face.
"Exactly," General Wilhelm replied, his expression as frigid as the void of space.
"If we refuse to obey your order and try to escape, will we survive?" another despondent skysoldier queried, their voice trembling with desperation.
General Wilhelm's response was unwavering, "Perhaps."
"Why should we even embark on this operation then?" challenged another soldier, their frustration mounting. "Isn't it only natural to prioritize our own survival? Why should we sacrifice our lives for the Erudites Eight or anyone else?"
The general maintained his composure, addressing the soldier with a level gaze. "There is no inherent purpose to this operation. You're free to choose your path, and I won't compel you to bear the responsibility of safeguarding us Erudites. However, you must also remember that safety no longer exists anywhere. The Dragonoids have conquered our world. With the fall of the Final Sanctuary, the last remnants of humanity might number less than a thousand. Human extinction is inevitable, a bitter truth we must confront."
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The demoralized skysoldiers clenched their fists in resignation, acknowledging the grim reality that General Wilhelm had spelled out. To them, the question of life or death had become irrelevant. The fight, as it stood, was a losing battle, no matter how valiant their efforts.
However, in that moment of despair, General Wilhelm's voice broke through, resonating within the confines of the airship one last time.
"But!" he thundered, a spark of determination kindling in his words. "To know you're close to the end is freedom. We may be outgunned. We may be outnumbered. We may even be on the brink of madness. Yet, the pitch-black skies will inevitably give way to the azure blue, and our blood will soak the earth. They will remember us skysoldiers for our relentless courage, for fighting until the very last breath. Our mission is simple: to empower one of the Erudites to wield Regression Magic in the ritual site and turn back time."
A renewed fervor ignited within the skysoldiers, reigniting the flames that had once burned in their hearts. Even I, who had been on the verge of surrender, felt a surge of resolve to confront the dragonoids, driven by a newfound sense of pride and a thirst for vengeance.
A gentle tap on my shoulder drew my attention, and there stood my best friend, Johnny, a handsome twenty-eight-year-old with a striking presence that matched my own age. His vibrant red hair was tied back in a ponytail, its fiery strands swaying as he flashed a determined smile and gazed at me with his piercing brown eyes.
"Good luck, Lysander. I hope you make it to the finish line," Johnny declared, his voice brimming with unwavering resolve.
I gave the yellow armband on my sleeve a firm squeeze, bearing the emblematic number 8—a testament to my status as one of the Erudites Eight, the last remaining skysoldiers renowned for our unparalleled mastery of magic.
"It hardly matters if any of us Erudites get the chance to unleash Regression Magic," I remarked, my tone tinged with bitter cynicism. "We're in the dark about whether it will succeed or fail. In the end, we're all destined to meet our demise."
"Don't speak like that! I've got your back, and I'll do whatever it takes to ensure you reach the ritual chamber, even if it means sacrificing my own life. After all, we're best friends!" Johnny declared, his unwavering loyalty and friendship serving as a beacon of hope in our dire circumstances.
Johnny's words were like a stark reminder of the impending doom that hung over us, a death flag we couldn't ignore. But in the face of our inevitable demise, I chose to embrace the flow of our conversation.
"Yeah, for the past ten years," I replied with a smile, reflecting on the journey we had shared.
Johnny clenched his fist and let out an exuberant shout, his excitement contagious. "Let's go kick some dragonoid ass!"
"Right," I nodded with newfound enthusiasm.
As the rush of motivation coursed through us, General Wilhelm slammed his fists onto a conspicuous red button, revealing that it was the switch to open the airship's hangar. The platform swung open, and General Wilhelm saluted the assembled crowd of skysoldiers now under his command.
"It has been an honor to fight alongside all of you. See you on the other side, or if we're fortunate, in the next timeline," he said with a hint of a smile before shifting into his resolute war face. "Skysoldiers, rule the heavens!"
With the call to action, the skysoldiers raised their pistols and swords in unison. "Skysoldiers, rule the heavens!" they chanted, their collective spirit infused with a determination to defy the odds and make their stand in the face of overwhelming adversity.
The king's move set the tone for the subordinates' actions, and it became evident as General Wilhelm leaped out of the airship, plummeting into the inky abyss of the night sky. Without hesitation, all the other skysoldiers followed suit, including Johnny and me.
As we descended, we channeled our mana, and with a collective effort, manifested our Wings of Light. These ethereal wings served as the ultimate emblem of our skysoldier prowess – a testament to our dominion over the heavens.
This was it, our final battle. With wings ablaze, we soared through the dark skies, prepared to give everything in our power to push back the encroaching darkness and seize one last glimmer of hope for humanity.