The battlefield was silent.
Not the quiet of peace—but the stunned, suffocating hush that follows a clash too powerful for words.
Veil energy still flickered in the air, unstable threads crackling through ruined stone and ash-covered earth. The sky itself had fractured—clouds spiraling above like torn fabric, light bleeding through rips of thunder.
All eyes were fixed on the two warriors at the center.
Kairo and the White Howl.
Daeho stood at the edge, hands clenched, sweat dripping down his temple. His legs ached from tension—not from battle, but from watching.
Watching something beyond his understanding.
A fight between monsters.
He swallowed.
"...If he had fought me like that," Daeho muttered, his voice almost drowned by the wind. "If he had used that spear... or even just his sword... I'd be dead."
Juno nodded silently beside him. His earlier confidence was gone—devoured by what he had witnessed. "We're not ready," he whispered. "We were never ready."
At the heart of the battlefield, both fighters stood still.
Kairo—his obsidian spear trembling in his hand, veins of gold fading, his cloak torn to ribbons, his body riddled with bruises and slashes.
The White Howl—shirtless, skin scorched with lightning scars, chest heaving with each breath, blood trickling from his mouth and nose, eyes glowing faintly red from Veil overcharge.
One had his weapon drawn across the other's throat.
The other had his fist pressed to the opponent's chest, fingers humming with lightning.
A draw.
Or rather, what should have been.
But then—
Kairo exhaled.
His legs gave out.
He dropped to one knee, spear clattering against the dirt. He wasn't out cold, but the last strike had pushed his body past its limit. Muscles locked. Veins overflown. Breath shallow.
He fell forward, barely catching himself.
The White Howl stayed upright a moment longer.
Then his knees wobbled.
He fell backward, collapsing onto the cracked earth, gasping for breath like a man drowning on land. Blood streamed from his chest, and his arms shook violently as he tried to prop himself up.
Neither could fight anymore.
The clash of Aces—
Was over.
"The winner..." Juno whispered.
Daeho didn't answer.
Because the truth was clear:
Victory belonged to the White Howl.
But it was a victory bought at the edge of death.
And the war was far from over.
---
From the opposite side of the field, black-cloaked soldiers of the Obsidian Faction—the self-declared heirs of the old world, the so-called bringers of true order—began to rise.
Dozens at first. Then hundreds.
Eyes burning with rage.
Their ace had fallen.
But their bloodlust hadn't.
"Kill him!" one snarled. "While he's down!"
Swords raised. Guns charged with Veil cartridges. Shadows stretched long and sharp as they advanced.
The White Howl struggled to rise.
He couldn't.
But others moved before him.
Daeho stepped forward.
Followed by Juno. Ayen. Then a hundred more soldiers of the Dawnfront Rebellion. Their weapons drawn, forming a line in front of their fallen warrior.
Daeho didn't shout.
He just raised his blade.
"If you want to kill him... you'll have to kill all of us first."
A shock ran through both sides of the battlefield.
The Obsidian soldiers paused, uncertain.
And then the screams began.
From behind them—
A second force charged in. Rebel reinforcements. Veil beasts released from containment. War banners flying through the scorched sky. Arrows rained down. Ice Veils cut through their ranks. A wave of flame erupted from the left flank.
The enemy was surrounded.
The final battle had begun.
---
The War of the Veil, as it would later be called, lasted eleven days.
And its final day was the bloodiest.
Swords clashed against bone. Veil energy turned air into chaos. Bodies fell like leaves in a storm.
Juno fought a six-man squad alone, using explosive shockwave fists powered by internal Veil bursts.
Ayen split the battlefield with a dual-scythe rhythm, spinning like a hurricane of black steel.
Daeho fought three Obsidian Commanders at once, deflecting whip-based Veil strikes and redirecting them with calculated fury. Each movement was less a motion, more a philosophy.
Amid the chaos, the Obsidian elites activated banned tech—Veil-augmented exosuits, mind-override helmets, and summoning glyphs drawn from forbidden bloodlines.
But nothing turned the tide.
Because something had changed in the hearts of the rebellion.
They had seen two monsters fight.
And that fight had reminded them what they stood for.
Not domination. Not superiority.
But survival.
And freedom.
Hours passed.
Screams faded.
The last wave of Obsidian resistance fell beneath the rebel banner. Their generals slain. Their weapons scattered. Their gates breached.
The sky cleared.
The Veil Tears above them began to seal.
---
Daeho limped across the ruined field, his shirt soaked in blood—not all of it his. He walked past the mountain crater, past smoking mechas and shattered flags.
Until he reached the place where Kairo and the White Howl had fallen.
Kairo was still unconscious.
The White Howl had sat up, coughing, but alive.
Juno tossed him a water flask.
He drank without a word.
No one spoke for a while.
Then finally, Ayen asked the question they all had on their minds:
"...Was it worth it?"
The White Howl stared up at the now-blue sky.
He answered without looking.
"It has to be."
Daeho nodded slowly.
The war was over.
The Veil had devoured many.
But for now—
Humanity had won.