The runaway will stared up at the figure upon the carriage—a gift born of darkness itself. No mortal strength could ever hope to resist such a force.Berau… Berau had no chance at all.
And just as Galahad was about to tear him apart, a crushing gust hammered down from above.Only after that deafening pressure hit did the sound of mountains collapsing arrive, slow and distant.
A strike from afar—laden with the force of a thousand engines—detonated into rippling shockwaves.A projectile weighing thirty kilograms, fired at impossible speed, slammed into the berserk Galahad.Such power rivaled being struck head-on by the newest heavy armored locomotive.Even that ominous strength inside him could not devour the sheer momentum.Galahad's body warped grotesquely as he was hurled away.
Dragged like a ragdoll, he crashed into the ground—and then the warhead detonated.Explosive heat surged from the charge,igniting the embedded second payload within.Liquid mercury vaporized in an instant,deadly silver vapor billowing thick around the blast crater.
Berau's heart pounded violently.To use himself as bait… an absurd risk.One misstep, and Galahad's wings would have shredded him into meat.
At the other side, smoke drifted from a smoothbore cannon.Its recoil had bent the very frame of the vehicle supporting it.Soldiers scrambled to reload—a weapon meant for colossal beasts, now turned against one of their own.
"Reload! Don't give him a chance to recover!"
Mercy had died the moment Galahad lost control.Berau no longer saw in him the person he once knew.
Another roar.A second heavy round crashed into the figure that had barely risen,milk-white mercury vapor spiraling upward with the roaring fire.No matter how terrifying the demons were—they were still biological beings.And physics remained merciless.
Galahad's body twisted under the impact.A human's organs would have liquefied long ago.But monstrous vitality puppeteered his flesh.Shattered bones realigned, forced back into place.He rose again—awaiting the next volley.
Another blast.Sword fragments tore through the smog of mercury vapor,the gas useless against him.The God-Armor controlled him—and protected him.
Explosions continued relentlessly.Not only Galahad—the entire underground hall groaned under the destruction,its decades-old structure crumbling,collapsing like a tomb intent on burying all that filth beneath the earth forever.
Berau lifted his silver-white rifle,loading a special round.Through the scope, he gazed into the crater.
What he saw…a demonic vitality,a life no longer human—wrapped in the blessing of the God-Armor.
The Black Angel unfurled his wings again.Even those catastrophic blows had only snapped feathers.New blades of bone and steel sprouted from his elbows,regrowing his wings anew.Beneath the metal feathers, muscle-like fibers split open into dark red seams,and boiling steam vented from within.
Steam surged higher—until the crater vanished behind it.
"Keep suppressing him!"
Berau's voice shattered into panic—cannon thunder drowned the rest.
It was a sight no mortal eye should perceive.Yet in that instant between life and death,Berau's senses sharpened beyond reason.
He saw him.
The Black Angel, wielding a thousand blades,charging like a comet of white fire and gray steam.His metal feathers screeched—a razor glide over stone.In front of him, a deadly projectile spun toward his heart.
Galahad twisted—a casual sweep of his arm—and a thousand blades ripped into the incoming shell.
A blinding eruption—the shockwave flung Berau off his feet.
In the fading blur of his vision,the Black Angel strode through the burning inferno,milk-white vapor trailing from his razor wings.Eyes black as death—a herald of annihilation.
The next heartbeat—he descended upon Berau,wings of steel falling like a cage,sealing every path of escape.
A silver muzzle pressed against Berau's chest.With a crushing weight on his mind, he forced himself to look up.
Galahad's face was now scaled,his pupils bottomless pits of night.On that pallid face—a sorrow no one could decipher.
Wake up, Galahad…!Berau could only scream within.His spirit frayed, no voice left to speak.The blade fell—piercing him like a crucifix nail.Warm blood seeped slowly from his body.
Perhaps sensing Berau's grief—Galahad seemed to recognize this friend once dear.He bowed his head gently…and embraced him.
A thousand blades plunged down.
Shrieking steel scraped through the air,a knife repeatedly carving his eardrums.
Berau was going to die.Killed by Galahad's own hand.
Strangely… fear never came.Only sorrow.Galahad had slain Robin.Now him.His comrade—a man who once fought the monsters—now became one himself.
What a cruel joke…
The swords in his eyes grew larger—then—
A spear lined with lightning circuits tore through the iron cage,striking Galahad.It failed to pierce the armor—but barbed hooks burst out, locking tight around him.
"Little bird! Time to fly!"
A damned familiar voice rang in his ears.A madman's voice.Before Berau could dredge the memory—more spears struck,their hooks clamping like chains, immobilizing the fallen angel.
A streak of blazing fire cut past his eyes—metal feathers melted and snapped,molten iron raining upon Berau,searing pain forcing a growl from deep in his throat.
But—he was alive.
A hand reached through the warped metaland yanked him free.
"Birdie is safe. Now—reel Galahad in!"
The man wore a white coatand a gas mask with filter canisters.He noticed Berau staring—his dark-ringed eyes lifting with manic excitementas if greeting an old friend.
Then—a tingling charge in the air.
Particles around them flickered—glowed—and died.Berau's hair rose as though stroked by phantom fingers.
Lightning erupted.A flood of light devoured everything—the coming of a thunder god.
The fallen angel's wings hummed,a thousand swords springing forth—
But he could not reach them.Not with those chains.
Because in the final step—a colossal surge of electricityravaged Galahad's body.
The light flared, casting its glare into Berau's exhausted eyes. Those spears—each one trailed with coiled cables—had never been meant to pierce Galahad. Their purpose was to connect him to power.
"Here. Put this on."
As though merely appreciating a passing landscape, the man handed Berau a gas mask identical to his own—then gunfire erupted.
Electricity surged, locking Galahad's body in place. Metal canisters clattered to the ground around him, bursting open with pale yellow anesthetic that flooded the air. That terrible figure—so fierce moments ago—found his movements slowing under the suffocating dosage, like a beast cornered and fighting a hopeless struggle.
"What in hell are you doing here, Nikola?"
Berau felt no thrill of survival at seeing this madman again.
Nikola pointed toward the figure convulsing in the lightning, his voice strained and uneven, as though his throat had been burned raw.
"Galahad can die for all I care. But his Old-Era God-Armor is expensive… and we still need data."
More soldiers descended from the steel serpent at their backs—fully armed, meticulously equipped.
Only then did Berau realize the depth of his mistake. The Old-Era God-Armor was never meant to be worn by a single man. These lunatics had been hiding inside that vehicle all along. For their so-called 'progress,' they never hesitated to sacrifice lives. Tonight's battle had been nothing more than a weapons test.
"What are youdoing?!"
Berau's roar was full of fury—but Nikola remained utterly unmoved.
"These Knight-Commanders are all… enhanced. They can endure far higher nerve contamination than a little bird like you. But even so, not everyone is Lancelot. Aside from him, none of the others have been able to control the armor. Galahad failed utterly—he's being controlled by it instead."
There was not a trace of remorse in his tone. To Nikola, every human here was nothing more than a laboratory rat.
Lightning reflected off Berau's mask, illuminating the monstrous silhouette ahead. Soldiers wearing garments made of interlinked iron chains—walking, human-shaped Faraday cages—dragged the cables forward and began pulling Galahad like a rabid hound.
The Black Angel who had massacred his enemies moments earlier was swiftly subdued by professionals. Then a coffin—black as the void—was lowered from the steel serpent.
Its frame was forged from some unknown metal, with a dark golden sheen etched in grotesque relief. Copper tubes lined the edges like veins feeding a slumbering demon. It looked like a divine artwork—an angel descending from the heavens, or a legion of devils rising from shadow.
Six silver-white bolts snapped free. They resembled nails—or perhaps mechanical locking spines. The coffin opened, exhaling a torrent of frigid white vapor. The superheated air around it dropped instantly below freezing; frost raced across the metal surface.
Galahad was dragged toward the edge like a dead dog. Hundreds of meters of cable fed from the steel serpent kept blasting him with current, paralyzing his muscles and holding back his explosive strength. But just as they tried to force him into that frigid tomb, he erupted again—power beyond reason surging through his failing flesh.
Those pitch-black eyes twisted to glare at something unseen. Dark-red muscles clenched with a hideous tremor.
Steel feathers tore through chainmail in an instant—then the electricity burned a man into charcoal. The blade swung, severing multiple power-lines.
"If you can move—get over here!"
Even Nikola's voice cracked with panic. According to every test result, the Old-Era Armor should have been immobilized by now. Yet reality mocked their theories—the sword rose again, reaping the lives of those who bound him.
A final, thunderous blast sounded—an iron serpent's smoothbore cannon fired point-blank. The projectile smashed into Galahad… but the weapon's mounting finally failed. The war engine tipped and crashed onto its side.
Berau staggered to his feet. In desperation he hefted his silver-white lance, slamming it into Galahad's body. The weapon bristled with hooked barbs—like a crown of thorns.
The cannonfire, the impact—freed from constant electrocution, Galahad faltered. At that moment, fresh electrified spears struck home. Like torches driving back a beast, Nikola drew his heavy revolver. His body was gaunt, fragile—but he held fast against the monstrous recoil. Shot after shot landed, each round a hammerblow driving Galahad back step by step.
The final chamber emptied. Galahad—stumbling, overwhelmed—was forced inside at last. The coffin slammed shut. Silver bolts locked one after another, sealing it twice over.
A dull pounding shook the metal, like a devil hammering at the gates of hell.
Nikola exhaled heavily. Removing his mask, his pale, sickly face bit down on a cigarette. He sat atop the frozen coffin, and his fingers brushed the icing metal as though caressing an artifact.
"Galahad secured. Begin withdrawal. Leave the rest to the Purification Directorate."
The pounding continued, cracking frost. Countless pipes extended from the steel serpent and locked onto the coffin's sockets. No one knew what they were pumping inside. But after several long minutes, the coffin grew still. Even the shrieking Geiger counter silenced—at last, the raging demon was pacified.
"Nikola… I want an answer."
Berau rose again, barely conscious. Blood streamed from every wound—but he did not care. Beneath the mask, fury twisted his features beyond anything he'd felt before.
"No need to rush. Arthur and the Grand Master approved all of this."
Nikola seemed almost amused by Berau's rage.
"In about a month, under the Shattered Dome, Arthur will convene the Round Table. Every one of your questions will be answered there. Until then—Berau, try not to die."
Berau's expression shifted—he wanted to speak. But the world dissolved into chaos before his eyes. The blood loss, the trauma—it all crashed onto him at once.
As Berau collapsed, Nikola sighed. Soldiers lifted the fallen Knight with practiced efficiency. As an upper-ranked Purifier… Berau was far too valuable to die here.
Engines roared to life. Nikola strolled casually through the charred battlefield, his gaze drifting across the burning world—until only a lone white silhouette remained beneath the smoke. On the back of his lab coat, a black serpent devoured its own tail, coiling endlessly—
an eternal cycle without escape.