Kiss of the vampire (volume 2)
" The Girl with the Sharp sword"
Mission 15: when the world blink
A silent blizzard rolled across the slopes.
Snow crunched under the boots of a thousand soldiers. Silver banners of the Frost Crown flapped in the wind, streaked with the blood-red emblem of House Valemorne.
Catherine walked ahead of them, her silver cloak dragging behind her like a trail of falling snow. Her expression was unreadable, lips sealed, gaze frozen.
But inside her chest, something old and buried stirred—fear, maybe. Or grief laced with rage.
Behind her stood her elites—vampire knights in full ceremonial armor, mages in cloaks of frost-lined silk, beasts carved from blood and cold.
"Formation stable," one of her commanders said. "We're two clicks from the eastern cliff path. From there, a direct assault on Hunter HQ is—"
She raised her hand. The line stopped.
"No. We'll wait here."
"But, Your Grace—"
"If Lancer wants a war… let him begin it."
She looked to the distant cliff.
He was mine to protect… not yours to destroy, Lancer.
(I will not let him take him again. Not this time… Even if I have to kill my own blood to stop it.)
—
Elsewhere—on the opposite ridge of the Hunter HQ—marching under no banner but death…
Lancer stood at the head of his monsters—not leading them, but belonging with them.
His forces crawled down the gorge like a flood: Chimerae with obsidian claws. Beasts stitched from werewolf and dragon bone. Fanatics. Possessed. Sinners. War machines leaking hellflame.
And behind him—four Primordial Weapons floated around his body like guardian wraiths:
Ifrit, crackling like molten steel
Alastor, glowing with spectral vengeance
Agne & Rudra, spiraling wind and fire
Artemis, aiming at the stars
"Wait until Ben Rayleigh arrives," Lancer murmured. "I want him to see it burn."
A glint. A plume of smoke. Then a roar.
Not of victory. But of something ancient breaking loose.
—
From the far southern ridge, Deyviel saw the sky flash—orange and red reflecting off falling snow.
"Captain Ethan."
"Yeah?"
"I think the base is under attack."
"Damn it. Black Knights! MOVE!"
The snowmobile engines growled as the Black Knights launched forward across the frozen path.
Deyviel rode up front, wind stinging his cheeks, his blade on his back. Behind him, the team followed:
Captain Ethan, shouting orders
Denver and Kliev, prepping ranged gear
Alicia, Emily, and Yumi, activating their suits
Andrew, tinkering with a comms pack mid-ride
Vice Captain Mizuno, already scanning battlefield layouts on his holomap
The lights of the burning HQ reflected in Deyviel's eyes.
(We're late… too late again?)
—
Smoke clogged the halls. The walls trembled from artillery impact. Screams echoed down the corridor as Ben Rayleigh moved through the wreckage, unbothered.
He walked like the fire wasn't real. Like time wasn't rushing. Like none of it could touch him unless he let it.
He helped a cadet stand—her leg broken, covered in frostburn.
"Get to evac point C," he said, calm. "Use the med rails—west exit's open for five more minutes."
She stumbled off.
All around him, chaos unfolded: wounded being dragged, automated defenses failing, chimera howls getting closer.
Ben stepped into the main junction—and stopped.
Across the corridor, a flaming arrow embedded itself into a steel panel—an arrowhead of obsidian laced with blood runes.
Lancer had begun.
Flames swallowed the northern wall.
Ben stood alone. Cloak torn. Eyes steady. Boots firm against the shaking ground.
Before him—Lancer descended like a god of death.
Hair white. Coat crimson. Smile razor-sharp.
Lancer: "There you are."
He landed lightly. Floating behind him were four blades, glowing with ancient power:
Ifrit — burning, lava dripping from its edge
Alastor — sparking with lightning
Agne & Rudra — twin blades orbiting like wings
Artemis — the sniper-sword watching from above
Ben: "You've come far to die here."
Lancer: "No, no… I came to dance."
—
Lancer struck first.
With Ifrit, he launched forward—flames bursting under his feet.
Ben sidestepped, barely avoiding the downward swing, the heat sizzling off his shoulder as the ground cracked open.
Lancer switched to Alastor mid-strike. Lightning arced. Ben raised a broken steel pipe to block and was sent flying into a crumbling wall.
He stood, dusted himself off.
Ben: "That all?"
Lancer: "Not even close."
Agne & Rudra came next. Lancer caught them in mid-air, spinning into a dual assault.
He dipped low, blades whistling past his scalp. Ben pivoted on his heel, feeling the heat slice the air beside his cheek, then caught Lancer's next strike on the flat of the steel pipe—metal screeching as it bent in his grip.
Then Artemis fired.
Ben twisted, letting it graze his shoulder. Blood splattered.
They fought through collapsing corridors. Lancer switched weapons like breathing—Ifrit for power, Alastor for control, Artemis for precision, Agne & Rudra for chaos.
Ben kept up.
He moved before attacks were finished. Dodged before strikes fully began. And at times—he simply vanished.
When Rudra came down toward his chest—Ben was gone. Then reappeared six feet away.
Lancer (narrowing eyes): "How the hell is he moving like that?"
He switched to Alastor, charging with lightning fury. Ben twisted past each blow, parried only when necessary. Even when Artemis fired, he drifted out of range like he knew the angle before it was aimed.
Deyviel (watching from a snowy ledge): "That's not just reflex."
Mizuno: "Instinct at the edge of human."
Lancer snarled.
Spun with Ifrit again—aiming for a baited strike—but Ben vanished before the hit landed.
Then reappeared behind him, blade drawn across the air in a quiet, precise sweep.
He didn't cut him. Just let him know:
I could have.
Lancer stepped back. Serious now.
Lancer: "You're not just fast… That's something else."
"What are you really hiding, Rayleigh?"
Ben stood silent. Kigan hummed faintly.
His heart thudded once. Not from fear. From memory.
Lancer's gaze narrowed.
His smile faded—not from panic. From recognition.
That move... it was Kael's once.
A breath passed between them. The air thick with falling snow and ancient tension.
Ben (to himself): Not yet... don't show them yet.
And the flames raged on.
The wind howled atop the ridge.
Catherine watched the distant fire bloom, eyes narrowed, unmoving. She could feel it—that rising heat, that rhythmic pull of something ancient being stirred awake.
It wasn't just war.
It was history clawing its way back through the snow.
Her hands tightened at her sides. The frost beneath her boots cracked louder than the blizzard. Beside her, Balthazar shifted uneasily.
"Should we not intervene, Your Grace?" he asked, low and cautious.
She didn't answer at first. Her eyes remained fixed on that single thread of smoke trailing toward the stars.
"Kael… is that what you wanted?"
She saw the glint of red from Lancer's blade. The flash of silver where Ben parried.
"Deyviel… you better not get involved."
Her breath escaped like a wisp of winter. "Let the monsters dance first."
And so the Crown waited, silent atop the slope, as the heavens below it burned.
---
Hunter HQ – Collapsing Interior
Chunks of metal groaned and snapped from the ceiling as support beams failed.
Ben stepped backward, breathing steady, Kigan still humming in his grip.
Lancer cracked his neck, eyes gleaming like molten gold.
"You're not Kael," he said softly. "But you've been trained by him, haven't you?"
Ben didn't answer.
"I recognize that stance. That silence. That suicidal sense of control." Lancer's smile returned—cold this time. "He did that same shit the night I put him down."
A flicker in Ben's eyes.
Lancer caught it.
"Oh," he whispered. "So it is personal."
He surged.
Ben's blade met Ifrit in a clash that shattered the nearby wall. Sparks burst across their faces as flame and steel tore into each other. Lancer twisted mid-air, brought Artemis down like a guillotine—but Ben slipped under it, rolled, came up swinging Kigan across Lancer's ribs.
Lancer blocked it with his bare forearm—gauntlet searing from the contact.
"I see it now," Lancer said, backing away briefly. "You're afraid."
Ben's face remained blank.
Lancer continued, voice low and bitter.
"You've seen what I've become. What I had to become. And you're wondering if you'll be next."
Ben lunged. This time with speed that cracked air itself.
Their blades sang through the corridor—too fast for the chimera watching from the edges. One unlucky beast tried to leap in, but Artemis fired without Lancer even looking—blowing its skull apart mid-pounce.
Ben ducked a cross-slash from Agne and brought Kigan up in a savage upward arc. Lancer caught the blade between Agne and Rudra—but Ben kicked him straight in the chest, sending him crashing through a corridor door and into the burning hangar beyond.
Smoke poured in. Fire devoured broken machinery.
Ben followed, slow now. Calculated.
He stepped through the ruined door, boots crunching glass and embers.
Lancer stood inside the hangar, blood on his lip. He wiped it away, looked at it—then grinned wide.
"You got sharper," he said. "Faster too."
Ben stopped ten meters away. "You're slipping."
Lancer laughed. "That's the thing with gods. We don't die from slipping."
He raised a hand. Behind him, a massive shadow moved.
The hangar doors buckled—then tore open.
From the blizzard outside, a beast stepped in. Ten meters tall. Black fur laced with steel. Eyes glowing with the sigils of hell. Its hands were swords. Its breath leaked fire.
Lancer's Chimera Champion.
Ben's eyes narrowed. "You're calling in help?"
Lancer shrugged. "You said I came to die. I say I brought company."
The beast roared.
Ben stepped forward.
Then vanished again.
BOOM.
He reappeared mid-air above the beast's head, Kigan gleaming—then struck downward with everything he had.
The blade carved through the beast's crown, but not all the way. It shrieked, flailing. Lancer launched into the air with Alastor, lightning and fury spinning as he intercepted Ben mid-fall.
They clashed mid-air.
Again. And again.
Below them, the chimera stumbled, blood spraying in arcs onto the floor. Fire licked the walls. Alarms wailed.
Deyviel skidded into the hangar with his team—stopping cold.
Denver: "The hell are we looking at?"
Alicia: "That's not a fight."
Emily: "That's something else entirely."
Deyviel stared up at the blurred dance above. Between strikes, between sparks, he could feel something. Familiar.
A heartbeat.
Faint. Slow.
But it was Ben's.
Still steady.
Still calm.
Even now.
Even with death clawing at his feet, that man hasn't changed...
Deyviel's eyes narrowed.
"He's holding back."
Mizuno looked at him. "Why?"
Deyviel's voice dropped, as if afraid the wind might hear it.
"…Because if he stops holding back, we won't be able to look at him the same."
The clash was relentless.
Ben and Lancer tore across the ruined hangar like twin comets—one fire, the other silence. Sparks erupted as Kigan met the ancient blades, every blow carving scars into steel walls and bone alike.
The Chimera Champion roared again, swinging its massive bladed arms in fury, but Ben ducked beneath the arc and used the beast's leg as a springboard, launching himself high.
Lancer met him mid-air.
Alastor's lightning flared bright as it struck against Kigan—twisting sparks between their locked blades.
"Still hiding it?" Lancer snarled. "You think restraint will save you?"
Ben didn't answer. He parried, then flipped mid-air, dragging the side of Kigan across Lancer's shoulder.
The hit left a burn mark—shallow, but real.
Lancer hissed, more annoyed than hurt. "You've been touched by Kael's madness. All of you. Even now, you're still hoping there's a right way to do this."
He hurled Agne forward, spinning it like a saw. Ben stepped sideways. The blade grazed his shoulder again—drawing more blood. His coat was nearly shredded, and Kigan's edge hummed like it could barely contain its own weight.
But Ben's breath never broke rhythm. He didn't charge.
He waited.
Watched.
Calculated.
Below, Deyviel stood frozen beside Captain Ethan, eyes locked on the battle above.
"He's bleeding," Mizuno said. "He's getting slower."
"No," Deyviel muttered. "He's... measuring."
"Measuring?"
"He's been counting Lancer's moves."
Emily adjusted her visor. "That's... impossible. Lancer swaps weapons mid-combo."
Deyviel didn't blink. "That's why Ben's dangerous. He doesn't adapt to your rhythm—he becomes it."
—
Above, Lancer roared and dove again. All four Primordial Weapons surrounded him now, rotating in a perfect storm of flame, lightning, wind, and voidlight.
He wasn't dancing anymore.
He was hungry.
He slashed down with Artemis, then swept sideways with Alastor. Ben spun away—but this time, Lancer followed.
Ben landed on a steel catwalk.
Lancer crashed down a second later—metal exploding under his boots.
"You're still just a man!" Lancer shouted. "Just a mortal trying to pretend!"
He struck again. And again.
Ben blocked each blow—but his legs slid back, boots grinding against blood-slick metal.
Finally, a hit landed.
Alastor smashed into Ben's side, sending him crashing through the catwalk and slamming into the floor below with a dull crunch.
The ground cracked beneath his body.
Smoke curled from the impact.
Silence.
The Chimera Champion loomed again, ready to finish it.
Lancer raised his hand—
Then froze.
A sound cut through the chaos.
A hum.
Low. Deep. Rising.
Kigan pulsed with light.
The floor beneath Ben shattered—not from weight, but from pressure.
Air warped. Snow evaporated mid-fall.
Lancer's eyes widened. "...You're kidding."
Ben rose slowly. Blood dripped from his lips. One arm hung limp, shoulder likely dislocated.
But his eyes?
Clear. Focused. Quiet.
"I told you," he said, voice softer than wind. "You came far to die here."
Lancer's face twisted—not in rage, but something closer to fear.
Kigan shuddered in Ben's hand. The glow wasn't mana. Not magic. Not divine.
It was something colder.
Older.
—
On the Ridge
Catherine felt it.
The moment the hum pierced the mountainside, the snow stilled—just for a breath.
A second of unnatural silence.
Balthazar's head snapped toward her. "Did you feel that?"
She didn't answer.
Her gaze drifted toward the hangar far below, where flames had started to die... smothered by some invisible force.
The battlefield wasn't warm anymore.
It was sterile. Empty. Void of feeling.
"…He's opening it," she whispered. "Kigan's seal."
Balthazar's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Catherine finally moved—her cloak snapping behind her as she turned to her troops.
"Formation Alpha-3. Prepare frost descent units."
"But Your Grace, you said we were waiting for—"
"No more waiting," she snapped. "That thing in the hangar isn't Ben Rayleigh anymore."
She looked to the valley.
"He's about to unmake something. And we need to survive long enough to regret it."
—
Back in the Hangar
Lancer hesitated. Just once.
Ben's blade lifted. Not fast. Not flashy.
Effortless.
And the Chimera Champion—still roaring—froze mid-charge.
Not from fear.
From lack of command.
Its sigils blinked out.
The beast fell dead without being touched.
Just like that.
Ben hadn't moved.
But something had.
Lancer's jaw clenched. "You... bastard."
He stepped back. For the first time since descending, he looked like a soldier, not a warlord.
Ben stepped forward.
Not rushing. No rage.
Just inevitability.
Deyviel gripped his blade tighter, watching the scene unfold.
"...I've never seen that side of him before," he muttered.
"Neither have I," Ethan said. "What the hell is he?"
Mizuno swallowed hard.
"Not what." He shook his head.
"Who."
Hangar – Minutes Later
The battlefield changed.
The fire had died. The walls no longer shook. Even the alarms had stopped.
What remained was a stillness too heavy to be silence. Like sound itself was afraid to exist near him.
Ben Rayleigh stood at the center of the ruined hangar, sword lowered, breath calm.
The sigils that once flickered across the Chimera Champion's body were gone—extinguished in an instant. The creature collapsed with a dead thud behind him, like a puppet whose strings had been sliced mid-pose.
Lancer stared.
Not at the beast.
At Kigan.
It was no longer humming.
It was singing.
Faint, melodic. A low vibration echoing through the air and bones like a requiem.
And beneath that song—whispers. Countless voices layered into the sword's core, speaking in tongues no longer spoken.
Ben lifted it, just an inch.
The ground around him cracked outward—not from pressure, but absence.
Like something real was being erased from the world.
"You broke it," Lancer said, quietly. "The seal."
Ben didn't respond.
His eyes were pale. Not glowing. Not unnatural. Just… cold. Like he'd shut off the part of himself that could feel.
Lancer stepped back. For the first time in years, his grip on the Primordial Weapons faltered. They hovered more slowly now, responding not to fury—but hesitation.
"I've fought gods. Demons. Kael. Catherine." Lancer's smile faded into something grim. "But you? You're still just a man."
Ben took another step forward.
The air shimmered behind him like heat haze.
"I was," he replied. "Then you killed my teacher."
And he moved.
It wasn't speed. It wasn't teleportation.
It was precision.
One blink—and he was behind Lancer.
Another blink—Kigan swept across Artemis, sending it spinning into the ceiling, metal shattering on impact.
Lancer's eyes went wide.
He spun, slashing with Alastor and Ifrit together—
Ben ducked, parried, and tapped Lancer's chest with the flat of his blade.
And Lancer was sent flying through three walls.
No explosion. No blast.
Just momentum.
Ben didn't chase him.
He exhaled, and his shoulders loosened—as if that strike had cost something deeper than stamina.
He looked down at Kigan.
And for a brief second, he whispered, so quietly no one else heard:
"...That's enough."
The glow faded.
Kigan's hum dulled.
Ben dropped to one knee, breathing hard. The hangar darkened again.
But his eyes never left the direction Lancer vanished into.
He knew.
It wasn't over.
---
Mountain Ridge – Frost Crown Descent
"Move!" Catherine's command cracked through the air like thunder.
The Frost Crown forces descended the icy slopes with coordinated precision. Snow-adapted war sleds and hover units carved through the blizzard, vampire elites riding wolves of frost and armor.
Catherine rode a six-legged frostbeast of her own, silver cloak fluttering behind her. Balthazar flanked her, his halberd glowing with pale light.
Below them: smoke, ruin, firelight.
Ben's aura had dimmed, but Catherine could still feel the wound he had left in the battlefield.
She clenched her fist.
Kael's teachings. It's not just technique anymore. He passed on the burden too.
"He's not stable," she said.
Balthazar nodded. "Should we restrain him?"
"No," she said, narrowing her eyes. "We shield the others from what happens next."
—
Ruins of the Southern Wing
Lancer stumbled from the wreckage, coughing blood, wiping dust from his face. The Primordial Weapons flickered around him like failing sparks.
Alastor cracked.
Agne's blade was chipped.
Rudra spun unevenly.
Only Ifrit remained steady—but even it trembled, as though resisting Lancer's grip.
"...That sword," he muttered. "That man."
He leaned against the wall, chest heaving.
Ben hadn't just hurt him.
He'd taken something from him.
Control.
For the first time since Kael, Lancer was not the strongest man in the room.
Footsteps crunched behind him.
He turned, blade raised—but stopped.
Deyviel stood there.
Calm.
Unbloodied.
Blade sheathed.
And for a moment, it was just the two of them.
Deyviel: "You're limping."
Lancer: "You're in the way."
Deyviel's hand hovered over his hilt.
"I'm not here to fight."
"Good," Lancer spat, wiping blood from his mouth. "You'd lose."
A beat of silence passed between them.
Then Deyviel asked, quietly:
"Why are you retreating?"
Lancer froze.
The word stung more than any wound.
He wanted to lash out. To strike Deyviel down just for saying it.
But instead—
"…Because I've seen enough," Lancer said.
He turned, began walking away.
"Tell your precious Ben Rayleigh: he wins this one."
Deyviel didn't stop him.
But just before Lancer vanished into shadow—
Deyviel said:
"You never beat Kael. And you won't beat his legacy."
Lancer paused at the edge of the burning corridor.
"…He never beat me either," he whispered.
And then he was gone.
—
Hangar – Aftermath
Ben sat on the floor, leaning against a broken crate, Kigan laid across his knees like a sleeping beast.
Deyviel entered slowly.
Ben didn't look at him.
"You were watching," Ben said.
"From the start."
"You see it now?"
Deyviel nodded.
Ben finally glanced at him, and the fatigue in his eyes wasn't just physical.
"…If I stop holding back," he said, voice low, "I might stop coming back."
Deyviel didn't speak right away. He walked closer, sat beside him, watching the snow blow through the broken walls.
After a moment:
"Then don't stop," he said.
Ben looked at him, tired.
Deyviel added, "But don't carry it alone either."
The two of them sat there in silence. Just for a moment. Just for now.
Outside, the snow continued to fall.
And in the distance, Catherine's army arrived—drawn not by victory, but by the cost of it.
The air turned jagged.
So many powerful presences in one place—the hangar barely held itself together. The walls groaned. The broken glass trembled. Snow froze midair, caught between fire and frost.
Catherine's voice cut through it all like a knife:
"Stand down, Maya."
Maya's grip on her sword tightened.
Her eyes didn't waver. "You murdered her."
Catherine's gaze sharpened.
"Say her name," Maya hissed.
Silence.
"…Althea," Catherine finally said. Quiet. Bitter. "My twin."
"You didn't just murder her," Maya said, voice cracking. "You murdered your own reflection."
Catherine raised one frost-laced hand. "She chose him over me."
"She chose love. You chose power."
They moved at once.
Maya dashed in low, slashing upward with Yamato, the sword Kael passed to her before his death. Catherine flowed back, summoning a barrier of jagged frost, which shattered as Maya's blade cut through it like silk.
Their movements were fast—but personal. Every strike screamed history.
Maya lunged again, and Catherine parried, but sparks flew as Yamato scraped past her shoulder—drawing a thin line of blood.
"You look just like her," Catherine whispered.
Maya's blade pulsed with rage.
"Then bleed like she did."
She spun, dragging Yamato across the floor in an upward arc. Catherine leapt back, hurling ice spears in a flurry, but Maya twisted mid-air, slicing each one down with clean, practiced fury.
Balthazar moved to intervene—halberd humming—but Catherine raised a hand without turning.
"No," she said sharply. "She's mine."
---
Across the hangar, Lancer watched with mild amusement. Catherine and Maya's grief-clash was painting the snow red.
"Family reunions," he chuckled, eyes flashing. "Always messy."
He cracked his knuckles and turned to face Ben.
"And what about you, Rayleigh? Still playing protector?"
Ben stepped forward.
Deyviel mirrored him—blade in hand.
Ben's tone was flat. "If you came here to die, we'll grant the request."
Lancer tilted his head. "Two against one?"
Deyviel scoffed. "Two's enough. For a wounded dog."
Ben glanced sideways. Something still off about Deyviel's presence—but there wasn't time to question it.
Deyviel clicked his tongue.
"Tch… damn it. I got a bad feeling about this."
And then—
They moved.
Ben struck high. Deyviel swept low.
Lancer parried Ben's overhead slash with Alastor, but Deyviel was already behind him, blade slicing toward his side—Ifrit spun around, intercepting just in time, flame screaming as steel met steel.
Ben vanished.
He reappeared behind Lancer, stabbing low—Lancer turned, blocking with Artemis, but Deyviel was already twisting under his guard, elbowing him in the ribs, blade darting like a serpent.
Lancer stepped back—and both blades grazed him.
A line of blood dripped down his jaw.
He grinned.
"You've practiced this."
Ben didn't reply. He just advanced again—and Deyviel matched his pace.
Not a word spoken. But every movement fell into rhythm:
Ben blocked a rising strike, spun outward—Deyviel passed behind him and used Ben's shoulder as a step, vaulting over Lancer, flipping mid-air, and slashing downward with a cry.
Lancer caught the blade—but Ben swept his leg, dropping him to one knee.
A burst of lightning erupted from Alastor, sending the pair back—but they rolled with it, hit the ground, and rose again in unison.
Ben's breathing didn't change.
Deyviel's glare was locked.
They weren't attacking like two people.
They were fighting like one.
—
Nearby, Maya drove Yamato into a frozen pillar—shattering it to dust. Catherine hurled a barrage of icicles, but Maya deflected them all mid-spin, landing a cut across Catherine's thigh.
"Still fast," Catherine hissed. "But not faster than guilt."
Maya's eyes were glassy. Her voice cracked. "You don't get to say that."
She surged forward again—Yamato blazing.
—
Back in the hangar, Ben and Deyviel circled Lancer like wolves.
Ben threw a feint, Kigan snapping forward—Lancer dodged right, only to step into Deyviel's upward strike.
But it missed. Lancer twisted at the last second, slamming his elbow into Deyviel's ribs. The younger fighter grunted, skidding back—but Ben was already there, intercepting Lancer's follow-up with a vertical block that sent sparks flying.
Then: silence.
All three stood still.
Breathing.
Watching.
Ben's voice was quiet.
"Ready?"
Deyviel's smile was thin. "Always."
They moved together again—this time with force.
Lancer blocked left—Ben struck right. Deyviel faked low—then kicked off the wall and went high. Their movements overlapped, flowing in and out of each other like practiced choreography. It wasn't just teamwork—it was a storm with a rhythm.
Lancer's grin finally slipped.
He was losing ground.
Step by step.
Strike by strike.
His Primordial Weapons couldn't keep up with their flow.
Ifrit burned wild. Artemis missed its mark. Rudra couldn't find its opening.
Ben parried and struck. Deyviel followed and swept. They moved like one heartbeat, one blade split between two bodies.
And Lancer?
He bled.
Hard.
He stumbled back, panting—eyeing both of them now with a new expression.
Not fury.
Not amusement.
Caution.
"…This isn't how it was supposed to go," he muttered.
Ben stepped forward, Kigan glowing faintly once more.
Deyviel's sword shimmered with frost and heat—his aura pulled tight around him like a noose.
And for the first time, side by side:
Ben Rayleigh and Deyviel Valemorne stood united.
Both ready to finish what started long ago.
BOOM!
An explosion of frost and crimson flame sent chunks of ice and debris flying. The ground cracked from the force of Maya and Catherine's clash—an elegant duel poisoned by hatred and blood.
Catherine's cloak was in tatters now, streaked with blood. Her breathing was slow, but steady. Calculated. Cold.
Across from her, Maya burned—not literally, but in presence. Yamato pulsed in her hand like a heartbeat refusing to die.
"You look tired," Maya said, circling.
Catherine flicked blood off her cheek.
"You look like a mistake."
Maya lunged.
Yamato roared.
Catherine met her with a wall of spears—but Maya cut through each one, breaking through with raw fury. She slid low, struck upward in a rising slash, and Catherine only barely spun away, the edge grazing her ribs.
"You killed her."
Maya's voice cracked. "You killed my mother. My queen. The only one who ever loved you."
"I did it because I loved her!" Catherine shouted back—her composure cracking. "And I couldn't stand how she pitied me. I couldn't stand what I became."
"You became a monster."
Yamato shone with Kael's lingering essence. Catherine raised her frost-dagger. Their blades clashed—
—and both screamed.
---
Elsewhere—
Ben and Deyviel were a blur.
Lancer fought like a beast—swinging Alastor with chaotic force, using Ifrit to ignite entire sections of the hangar. But it wasn't enough.
Not against two warriors who moved like one mind.
Ben parried high. Deyviel dodged low.
Deyviel baited a strike—Ben countered instantly.
Their rhythm was vicious.
Effortless.
Like they'd trained together for years, or danced this dance a thousand times in a dream.
"HAH!" Deyviel twisted into a spin, blade flashing toward Lancer's side.
Lancer blocked, snarling—only to catch a brutal elbow from Ben, followed by a sweep that knocked him down again.
CLANG!
Ifrit skidded from his grip, slamming into a wall and sputtering in flame.
Lancer coughed blood and pushed off the ground.
"You're—cheating," he rasped.
Ben didn't answer.
He dashed forward, Kigan crackling again—but Lancer threw out Agne and Rudra like twin storms.
One spun with fire. The other with wind.
They separated Ben and Deyviel for the first time.
Ben ducked under Rudra's cleave, only to catch a shockwave that threw him back into a pillar. Deyviel slid under Agne's fire spiral, feeling the heat bite his skin. He growled, dug his blade into the ground, and skid to a stop.
"Ben!" he called out.
Ben grunted and pulled himself up. "I'm fine."
Lancer stood between them now, battered, bleeding—but grinning like a devil.
"Not bad," he said. "Not bad at all."
He raised both hands.
The remaining Primordial Weapons—Artemis, Rudra, and Agne—hovered around him in a triad.
"Let's even the odds," Lancer snarled.
And suddenly—
he split them.
The weapons shot forward independently—
Artemis fired a barrage of blood-marked energy rounds.
Rudra spiraled like a sentient storm, slicing the air.
Agne roared with heat, leaving molten trails in its wake.
Ben and Deyviel moved. Together.
Ben leapt first, deflecting Artemis' first shots with perfectly timed slashes—while Deyviel intercepted Rudra mid-air, redirecting its force into a pillar.
They crossed in midair—Ben and Deyviel back-to-back, rotating in sync, blades flashing in counter-beats. One blocked. One struck. Then reversed.
Artemis fired—
Ben vanished.
He reappeared above Lancer, blade aimed downward.
Deyviel landed behind him.
"NOW!" Ben shouted.
Deyviel struck from below—Ben struck from above.
Lancer tried to shield himself with Agne—
But it wasn't fast enough.
CRACK!
Blood splattered across the broken hangar floor.
Lancer dropped to one knee.
His breathing ragged. His vision swimming.
"You… bastards…"
Ben exhaled, shaking off ash and soot.
Deyviel's hands trembled—just slightly.
---
And then... it happened.
Deyviel's blade shook.
A pulse.
Just a flicker—deep inside his chest. Like something waking up.
Ben turned.
He saw it.
Deyviel winced, grabbing at his chest like he couldn't breathe.
"Deyviel?"
His aura was changing. Just for a moment. A ripple—like time itself bent around him.
But then it faded.
Gone.
Deyviel forced his stance. "I'm fine."
Ben didn't believe him.
But now wasn't the time.
---
Not far away—
Maya roared, slamming Yamato down in a vertical strike. Catherine caught it with a crossed-guard block, but her knees buckled.
The floor split beneath their feet.
"Maya, stop—!" Balthazar shouted.
But neither woman listened.
Catherine countered with a frost spike to the ribs. Maya screamed and pushed through it, stabbing forward and tearing through Catherine's side.
Blood flew.
Catherine staggered back—
Only to see Lancer, crawling toward her, one weapon left: Alastor.
Bleeding. Grinning. Mad.
"You ready for the curtain call, Ice Queen?"
Catherine, gasping, turned.
And for one second—
All five of them were within range.
Maya.
Catherine.
Lancer.
Ben.
Deyviel.
Everyone poised.
The hangar shook as power built up from all sides.
No more words.
Just the edge of collapse.
The world blurred into fire and frost.
Catherine clutched her side, blood dripping between her fingers. Maya limped forward, Yamato dragging sparks from the ruined floor. Lancer crawled up from rubble, eyes wild, Alastor trembling in his grip.
Ben and Deyviel stood ready, chests rising with effort.
Then—Lancer roared.
"DIE, THEN!"
He lunged.
Faster than he had all battle.
Alastor screamed through the air—crackling with death.
Straight toward Deyviel.
Ben's eyes shot wide.
"Deyviel—!!"
Deyviel turned—too late.
There was no time to dodge.
No time to block.
And then—
The world glitched.
A sudden, sharp distortion—like glass cracking inside their vision.
Ben blinked—everything froze.
A flicker.
The attack passed through empty space.
Deyviel was no longer standing there.
He now stood several feet to the right, calm, breathing heavy.
He hadn't moved.
He had been moved.
Ben turned slowly, stunned.
Deyviel was untouched. His blade still drawn. His eyes dazed—like he hadn't noticed what just happened.
And behind him—
Alastor's arc slammed into the floor where he should have been, splitting the ground with a burst of lightning and fire.
Ben's voice shook.
"…What the hell?"
His gaze locked on Deyviel—
And then his eyes widened in pure horror.
He saw something.
Just for a second.
Something not human.
Something wrong.
---
To Be Continued...