Like a digital scanner, the Supreme Masterpiece swiftly analyzed Hermes's condition in precise detail. At the same time, the blade in its hand clashed against Hermes's massive horn. Yet with the protection of the magic particle compression shield, the impact left little effect on the red mecha.
Aslan, however, refrained from inflicting heavy damage during the scan. His restraint gave Hermes the illusion that the confrontation was at a stalemate.
Though the Supreme Masterpiece could have easily used its mobility to break away and strike from another angle, Aslan had other priorities. He wanted to study Hermes's underlying structure in detail, salvaging the useful parts to integrate into his own creation. Preserving the integrity of Hermes's body was far more valuable than destroying it outright.
This hesitation became the seed of Hermes's false hope. To him, it seemed the red mecha lacked stamina. After all, Hermes could not imagine that a mere human could ever create something on par with the gods.
Even though he sensed a divine aura from this opponent, Hermes dismissed it. Whatever it was, it could not be one of them. It was something similar—yet alien, opposed to their kind. Humans, he believed, could never rise to the seat of the gods.
With that conviction, Hermes's once-frenzied assault slackened. What had begun as a desperate struggle to the death softened into hesitation.
Aslan noticed immediately. Data streamed across his console, and he realized Hermes's forward momentum had faltered. Though he couldn't guess the reason behind this sudden relaxation, he welcomed it.
The reprieve gave him more time to analyze, to lock onto Hermes's core. It was, in fact, the ideal situation—though he knew he could not afford to linger. Other Mecha Gods might notice the battle and intervene. Time was still against him.
Lines of data flashed rapidly across the display. The burden of processing so much information pressed heavily on Aslan's mind. A thin trickle of blood ran from his nose.
Sensing its pilot's strain, the Supreme Masterpiece momentarily paused, then accelerated its scan of Hermes. It worked faster now, concealing the adjustment from Aslan, who remained focused on organizing the flood of information in his head.
The strain was not without benefit. Aslan's regenerative half-dragon body recovered quickly, and the overload sharpened his concentration. At last, he locked onto Hermes's core.
He wiped the blood from his nose, then evaporated it with a flicker of magic. Dragon blood—even from a mere nosebleed—was a treasure, far too precious to leave behind.
What? You look down on nosebleeds? Nosebleeds are dragon blood too!
In the Far East, even a dragon's saliva was considered a treasure. Could the blood of Aslan—the half-dragon, heir to the White Dragon Tyrannosaurus—be any less? Even diluted, it could extend life, strengthen the body, perhaps even awaken rare draconic traits.
His flesh as well was no less a treasure. While not equal to the fabled monk of the Tang dynasty whose body was said to grant immortality, consuming it could grant strength beyond ordinary men.
But there was no time for such idle thoughts. With Hermes's core located, Aslan had no reason to prolong the battle.
The stalemate shattered. The wings of the Supreme Masterpiece spread wide, blasting torrents of mana as it shot skyward. Hermes, caught mid-charge, could not stop himself and crashed clumsily into the ground.
Above, the red mecha raised its weapon high, pouring mana into its frame. The Ship-Slaying Sword expanded, reshaping itself into an even larger form, radiating overwhelming power.
On the ground, Hermes struggled to rise. His systems blared incessant alarms:
[Warning! Danger!]
[Warning! Fatal threat detected!]
[Warning! …]
Cold dread filled his core. No matter how he calculated, there was no escape. The red mecha's speed had already proven absolute; dodging was impossible.
I don't want to die!
Low as his station among the Twelve might be, despised and trampled by his peers, Hermes still clung to existence. He did not want to vanish here.
The battered god lifted his gaze to the crimson figure descending from the heavens.
"Wait! I surrender!" Hermes cried out, voice breaking. "I was wrong! My words—too harsh! My actions—reckless! But I see it now, I admit my fault! Please—ceasefire! Let's end this!"
Aslan listened, but his expression did not change. The gods had long since lost their reason. There was no point in showing mercy.
"Hermes, do you know? I traveled the continent, crossed mountains and rivers, endured countless years of trial and failure to finally complete my masterpiece—Justice. I forged it in the image of the gods, to declare that your era has ended. Humanity can now stand as your equal.
But until now, the Supreme Masterpiece has never faced a Mecha God in battle. Today, that chance has come. Tell me—do you think the creation that surpasses the gods will heed your plea?"
The red mecha dove. The giant blade pierced Hermes's core in a single, decisive strike.
"That is the end, Hermes."
-End Chapter-
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