With that, Phaga swept his gaze across the surroundings, confirming one final time that there were no other rebels nearby.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No one.
Certain nothing had been overlooked, Phaga withdrew his gaze and closed his eyes, shutting down his vampire vision as well. His breathing lengthened, syncing with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His left leg slid back, center of gravity dropping low.
Then he drew in a deep breath.
His heart thundered like a war drum.
With each beat, a button on his butler uniform popped free.
Thump!
One.
Thump!
Two.
…
Five.
The butler's uniform was flung into the air.
Phaga slammed his foot down. The immense recoil launched him forward like a cannonball. Midair, his wings snapped open and beat once, then again—his speed surging as yellow sand exploded upward, his figure already blurring beyond sight.
By the time Ellen ran back from the off-road vehicle with her giant shears, Phaga was long gone, leaving behind nothing but a crater large enough for four people to sit down and play mahjong in.
"Huh? Seriously… that guy's always forgetting things."
Ellen suddenly sensed something. She lifted her gaze and, in a single glance, caught sight of the butler coat drifting in midair. She snatched it up, hugged it to her chest, and continued chasing after Phaga's trail.
…
"Wake up! Wake up! Did any of you hear something explode just now?!"
Behind the massive rock, one of the dozen rebels—lighter sleeper than the rest—was jolted awake by a distant roar. He scrambled up, shaking his companions frantically.
No one responded.
One of them even swatted his hand away like a mosquito, rolled over, and snapped irritably,
"Enough already. There was no explosion."
"And even if there was, so what? This is the Outer Ring—explosions are normal here. You don't seriously think the army would come all the way out—"
BOOM!
A thunderous blast shattered the rock.
Crimson light—distinctly vampiric—flared amid the storm of yellow sand.
Most of them didn't even manage a scream before blood-soaked fragments and shattered stone punched straight through their throats. Blood poured out as bodies were shredded, twisted like cloth dolls dragged through a meat grinder, then buried beneath the sand without mercy.
The sand surged again, rolling violently toward the last survivor.
He lay flat on his back, as if chosen by fate—the only one flung clear by the shockwave when Phaga burst through the rock.
If he had turned and run at full speed right now, Phaga might have needed an extra half-second to catch him.
Unfortunately, his trembling legs stole away that final half-second of life.
He could only stare as a winged demon looked down at him with crimson eyes. The wings folded. The figure descended slowly, seized his collar with one hand, and drew close—close enough for the rebel to see the pale, refined face before him.
"Where is your rebel headquarters?"
Phaga's voice was quiet, but to the rebel's ears, it was the whisper of a demon.
Terror crushed him. His Adam's apple bobbed uncontrollably, pupils shaking, fear clogging his throat until he couldn't force out a single word.
Phaga frowned slightly and tightened his grip.
The rebel's eyes rolled back, legs kicking uselessly in midair as he flailed at Phaga's hand in blind desperation.
After what felt like an eternity, Phaga loosened his grip just enough.
He watched coldly as the rebel gasped for breath, despair in his eyes paler than the sweat pouring down his face.
"Where is your rebel headquarters?" Phaga asked again.
This time, the rebel didn't stay silent. His lips quivered as he stammered,
"I… I don't know the headquarters… b-but the branch is in—"
…
Woooo—
Across the endless sea of sand, an alarm finally rang out—something unheard of for rebels who had only recently entered this Hollow.
They rose instinctively, movements stiff and dull, staring blankly at one another. Confusion mirrored confusion. No intelligence had mentioned New Eridu deploying troops. There had been no thunder of artillery, no clash of blades.
So why had the alarm sounded?
Then footsteps echoed from the stairwell at the end of the corridor.
A frantic figure burst out, scrambling up the stairs as if wishing for extra limbs, nearly crawling on all fours.
Everyone saw it clearly—
His clothes were shredded, soaked in blood, as if he'd been fed through a meat grinder, dumped into a blood pool, then dragged back out.
At last, the blood-soaked rebel spotted his comrades. His eyes lit up like he'd found family, and he screamed with a hoarse, broken voice,
"Save me! Help—help me! Save—"
The cry cut off abruptly.
His throat locked as if stuffed shut. He froze, then slowly lowered his head—just in time to see a blade protruding through his chest.
The pale steel reflected the light.
He watched as the color drained from his pupils, darkness swallowing the edges of his vision until nothing remained.
Only cold.
He'd left one alive on purpose. It saved him from searching room by room.
The blade withdrew.
The body fell.
Phaga's icy gaze swept across the remaining rebels as he advanced. With a slight flex of his grip, the blade tilted—and purple-black flames burst to life along its edge. Reflections of human silhouettes flickered across the steel, burning as they appeared.
"Fire! Open fire!"
At last, the rebels no longer wondered what had triggered the alarm.
Death was right in front of them.
They screamed at the top of their lungs, unloading their weapons in blind panic, trying to drive it away.
Gunfire thundered nonstop, mixed with the sharp, almost cheerful clicks of grenade pins being pulled. Explosions bloomed, hurling fire and shrapnel toward the intruder.
Phaga raised his brow slightly.
In an instant, countless bullets tore through the air toward him, the whine of their passage filling his ears like a chorus from the underworld—like someone waving from the far bank, calling him over.
Ceiling above.
Walls to either side.
No cover ahead or behind.
In a single burst, the rebels dumped over a hundred kilograms of firepower.
Phaga—wings, muscles, clothes included—didn't even weigh that much.
The figure across the river seemed to wave more eagerly now, smiling, ready to serve soup to a young vampire.
But—
It wasn't enough.
The next second, Phaga moved.
The ground shook as if struck by an earthquake. The entire corridor trembled, and every rebel lost their footing at once, staggering and crashing into one another.
They couldn't even hold onto their guns.
Before they could recover, the sound of blades rang out in rapid succession.
They looked up—
A streak of fire flashed past.
Bullets were knocked aside midair.
The rebels at the front collapsed, swallowed by steel and flame.
Someone finally reacted, spinning around and shouting,
"Quick! Trigger the Level One al—"
Darkness fell.
Looking down, he saw an Ether crystal piercing straight through his body.
Around him, the rebels who had survived the blades and flames were all impaled by similar crystals, their deaths grotesque and varied. Blood pooled across the floor, flowing like a red river that slowly crept over their boots.
In his final moments, he heard a calm voice beside him.
"Don't worry. I'll activate the Level One alert for you."
Phaga walked past him and looked up at the wall ahead.
Behind a transparent glass cover sat a red button.
So this was their Level One alert.
He rubbed his thumb against his index finger. In moments, a tiny Ether crystal formed—no bigger than a sewing needle.
"After all," Phaga said lightly, "I don't want to hunt people down one by one."
He flicked his fingers.
The crystal shot forward, pierced the glass, and punched straight through the red button.
The next instant, alarms blared throughout the facility.
[Attention all units. Attention all units.]
[A high-risk individual has breached the camp.]
[Order: Eliminate immediately!]
[Order: Eliminate immediately!]