[Volume 1 | Chapter 39: Schweißhund (IV)]

Leila felt the bottom drop out of her stomach as the cerise steam intensified. Through her Empyrean-enhanced vision, she could see that the damage they'd inflicted wasn't nearly as devastating as they'd hoped. Where [Gran Grilletto] had torn reality asunder, Nemesis's flesh had... adapted. The spatial distortion still lingered, but it seemed to skate across his skin like water on steel.

"How?!" Panicked, Acacia barked. "We crippled your ability and threw chemicals into your body that would poison any human!"

"Ironhide."

Leila half-breathed, the realization hitting her like a sledgehammer.

"That's...your Birthright, isn't it?"

It wasn't a question; Leila's Empyrean could see the subtle shifts in his prana flow that marked the full activation of a Birthright—one she had researched for a while.

"Very good." Nemesis's voice carried genuine appreciation as he examined his metallic-sheened skin. "A little gift from the Eisenbergs of Wallachia—the ability to harden one's body beyond normal human limits. Not nearly as flashy as your Empyrean, but..." His smile stretched impossibly wider. "Quite useful for surviving impossible attacks."

Ironhide had a passive and active state. Passively, prana naturally bonds with the cells of an Eisenberg such that their skin becomes very difficult to penetrate as if it were iron itself. In its active state, they could consciously harden their prana to create a nigh-impenetrable defense that could even nullify most physical attacks and Base Order spells.

Nemesis had instinctively triggered Ironhide's active state in the moment of the spatial distortion, reducing the injury, but not preventing it completely.

"You know what's truly remarkable?" Nemesis continued, taking a step forward that left molten footprints in concrete. "Most people, when facing my Ars Magna, try to overwhelm it with raw power. More force, more prana, more destruction... as if they could simply punch through my adaptability. But you...you turned my own perfection against me. You used chemistry to create a scenario my enhanced cells couldn't process. Hahahaha...! Brilliant!"

The steam erupted from his form in violent patterns that hurt to look at.

"It almost worked too. For a moment there, I actually felt fear! Me! The greatest assassin in the world, brought low by a child who can't even use Thaumaturgy! Oh, this is going to be so much fun..."

It was a sonic boom.

"Leila!"

Her body became parallel with the ground; he threw her yards away from him. Acacia watched helplessly as she was sent careening to the bunker building wall.

It was a sickening sound. She collided with the building, but she was already unconscious. The collision was too great, and the force that sent her flying was too much. All Acacia could see was her crumpled form on the ground. Moreso, he blocked out the sight of blood on the wall from his mind as he didn't even want to think about it.

"Now...let's finish this." Nemesis's eyes ravenously gleamed.

Acacia's mind instantly raced. Without Leila's Thaumaturgy to provide the distraction, he knew he had no chance of defeating Nemesis in a head-on battle. His only hope lay in the hostages. But Nemesis stood right in front of the hostage building. If he tried to get past him, he would surely die. So, instead, he ran the other direction, his body moving almost on autopilot as he sprinted back towards the warehouse.

Another sonic boom.

Nemesis was already in front of him. His fingers closed around Acacia's wrist like a steel trap. For a moment, time seemed to slow, reality crystallizing into perfect clarity as those crimson eyes studied him with clinical fascination.

"You Irregulars are like cockroaches," Nemesis mused, steam coiling from his form in lazy spirals. "The way you compensate for your...deficiency. Always thinking, always calculating, as if only having brains could somehow match the power of Thaumaturgy." His grip tightened fractionally.

"But in the end..."

The crack echoed across the complex like a gunshot.

Acacia's scream died in his throat as white-hot agony lanced up his arm. The bones in his wrist splintered like twigs under Nemesis's casual strength, each fragment a jagged spike driving into nerve and tendon. The world blurred, then sharpened painfully into focus, all details of his shattered limb etched in stark relief against the night.

"...you're still just flesh and blood," Nemesis finished with a satisfied smile.

A single kick sent the Irregular sprawling. Nemesis walked leisurely towards the tumbling boy as if he kicked a soccer ball and not a human being.

How…

"Your pain threshold is pretty impressive." The assassin's voice carried that same terrible echo. "Most people would have passed out by now. But you're still thinking, aren't you? Still analyzing, still looking for patterns..." His other hand shot out, catching the Irregular's throat. "Still trying to find out how you're going to survive."

Did it come to this?

He punched his stomach. The boy coughed blood.

I didn't ask for much in life.

Nemesis punched again.

I didn't want to suffer.

The boy tried to defend himself, but his wrist was broken, and he couldn't move his limbs, and he was too weak. He was just an Irregular, and all he had was his mind.

I just wanted to live.

The red-eyed demon slammed him on the ground, cratering from the collision.

Without burdening others…

He stepped on his stomach. He could feel bones crack. He could feel his organs being pushed to the side. He could feel the blood vessels in his eyes explode, the tears run down his face.

Without deceit…

He kicked his chest. The boy coughed blood. He could feel his lungs wheezing and blood rising in his throat. His breathing became more erratic. He felt his tongue go numb, he couldn't feel his teeth, he couldn't breathe, and his body was in so much pain.

Without despair…

He kicked him again.

Is that…

Ending his brutalization, he picked the boy up by the shirt.

Really so much to ask for?

The boy could barely see. His eyes were filled with blood, but his ears were working just fine.

"I'm a simple man," Nemesis said, "and there's one thing I hate above all else."

He could see the stars, and they were beautiful.

"I hate arrogance."

He could see Leila's crumpled body. He could see her Novascope on the floor and her body against the wall.

Everywhere I go, I cause others pain, and yet, I have no power to protect them.

"I hate arrogant, stupid fools who don't know their place in the world."

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

What a joke.

"I hate arrogant, stupid kids like you."

If this is the world I live in…

"And that is why..."

Then…

"Tonight..."

I reject it.

"...you die."

Time stood still.

The stars above seemed to freeze in their celestial dance, each point of light crystallizing into perfect clarity. Steam hung motionless in the air, Nemesis's calculations suspended like insects in amber. Even the assassin's iron grip on Acacia's throat seemed to lose substance, becoming distant and unreal.

Then came the light.

It started as a spark deep within Acacia's mind—a fragment of crimson wholly unlike Nemesis's bloody steam. It was something older, that existed before calculation, enhancement, and Thaumaturgy. It unfurled like a flower made of pure negation, petals a denial of what reality claimed was absolute. For that singular breath between moments, Acacia felt it manifest, not as steel or spell, but as concept given form that denied Nemesis.

"What—" Nemesis's voice carried genuine confusion as his grip loosened fractionally.

But reality was already reasserting itself. The moment passed, the concept faded, and time resumed its merciless flow. Yet something had changed. In Acacia's eyes, barely visible through the blood and pain, flickered an ember of that impossible crimson—a reminder that even in a world governed by rationality, some things remained beyond computation.

Nemesis's smile returned, but now it carried an edge of uncertainty.

"Interesting," he mused, steam coiling more tightly around him. "For a moment there, I almost thought..." He shook his head. "No matter. Let's continue your education in pain, shall we?"

His fist drew back, wrapped in murderous steam.

Acacia closed his eyes, happy at least for a moment…

He rejected fate.

The punch that followed should have ended it. At point-blank range, with Nemesis's full power behind it, there was no room for anything but death. The world seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the inevitable impact.

But the blow never landed.

"I really hate it when people get so impatient."

A familiar voice cut through the night like a blade of frozen mercury.

Steam erupted from the point where a hand emerged through Nemesis's stomach—a strike so precise it parted his enhanced flesh like paper. Blood vessels that had pulsed with calculations now spasmed frantically, trying to process this new impossibility. The [Prana Edge] rewrote the space it passed through, turning his perfect defenses into so much vapor.

Nemesis's grip on Acacia dissipated as he staggered forward, steam wavering for the first time. An ebony woman with silver hair catching moonlight-like strands of starfire stood behind him. Her golden eyes blazed with something beyond mere anger—a cold fury that turned the very air to crystal.

"Did you really think," she continued, twisting the blade of concentrated prana, "that you had the upper hand?" Her voice was a razor that sliced through the night, each word dripping with icy contempt.

The [Prana Edge] dispersed, leaving a perfect hole through Nemesis's enhanced biology. He lost his grip on Acacia, body frantically trying to adapt to damage that shouldn't have been possible. His perfect calculations, already shaken by the glimpse of that impossible crimson light, struggled to process the new variable.

"Dora...you're late to our appointment." He smiled through gritted teeth.

"And you're bleeding on my boots." Her voice was cold like winter. "We really must stop meeting like this."

The blade never reached its mark.

A sound like shattering glass filled the night as crimson circuitry erupted across a fist that materialized between Malleus and her prey. The punch connected with her jaw like a maul—the concentrated fury of a father's wrath. [Sturm]—an offensive derivative of [Fließen's]—cobalt blue patterns blazed like blood vessels beneath skin as decades of military discipline transformed muscle and bone into an instrument of divine retribution.

Malleus flew.

Her body carved a path through solid concrete, leaving a trench of molten stone in her wake. The second skin of stolen flame flickered and wavered, struggling to maintain coherence against an attack carrying enough kinetic energy to shatter the sound barrier.

"Father..." Elias managed through bloodied lips, his vision swimming as he struggled to focus on the figure that stood between him and oblivion.

Rudyard Scryer cut an imposing figure against the hellfire-lit night. His military uniform, usually pristine, bore scorch marks from crossing Malleus's field of corrupted flame. In the moonlight, his face was an impassive mask of duty, the same mask that had guided his blade through countless battles. But in his eyes—eyes that burned with an inner fire—Elias saw a glint of emotion that transcended simple anger.

"Stand up. A Scryer does not die on his knees." The words carried neither warmth nor mercy, only absolute command.

Blood trickled from the wound below Elias's heart, each drop sizzling where it struck superheated ground. The corrupted energy of Fiamma's Edge still burned through his system, trying to rewrite the very essence of his being. Yet something in his father's voice reached past the pain, past the despair, demanding response.

"I..." He struggled to rise, legs trembling with the effort. "I can't..."

"You can, and you will."

Before either could say more, a column of blood-red flame erupted from the impact site. Malleus emerged from the inferno like a demon ascending from hell, golden eyes blazing with something beyond mere anger. Blood ran freely from where Rudyard's [Sturm] had connected, yet she made no move to wipe it away. Instead, she watched it flow with that same terrible reverence as before.

"How touching." Her voice carried that unnatural echo, multiplied now by fury. "The great Iron General himself came to save his precious spare." The blood rising from her wounds began to glow, preparing for another conversion. "Tell me, does he know? Does your perfect little knight understand why you push him so hard? Why nothing he does will ever be enough?"

"Silence." Rudyard's command cut through her words. Cobalt blue circuits spread across both fists as [Sturm] manifested in duplicate. "You do not speak of my sons, Bloodhound."

Malleus's laugh held no mirth. "Sons? Oh, that's right—there were two of you once, weren't there, little knight? But big brother Zachary had to play the hero, had to—"

She never finished the sentence.

Rudyard moved like lightning given form.

The distance between them vanished as [Sturm] blazed across both arms, turning his strikes into forces of nature. His first punch caught Malleus in the stomach, concentrated prana displaced the very air around his fist. The second followed before she could recover, catching her jaw in an uppercut that sent shockwaves through the night.

The scarlet witch tried to bring [Fiamma's Edge] to bear, but Rudyard was already inside her guard. Another [Sturm] strike shattered her defense. The blow caught her sternum with a sound like thunder, lifting the Bloodhound off her feet and sending her hurtling back through the air. Elias heard bones crack beneath the impact.

"You, who steals the essence of others to fuel your perversions. You, who twists life itself into corruption...!"

Malleus's second skin of stolen flame tried to resist, but Rudyard's assault was relentless. Each blow carried decades of battlefield experience, each strike placed with the kind of precision that only came from countless life-or-death encounters. The Iron General's movements flowed like water—devastating torrents contained within perfect form.

"Do you honestly think even you understand power? Well, allow me to educate you, creature."

Another blow sent Malleus reeling, her stolen flames sputtering as they tried to match Rudyard's overwhelming force. She attempted to gather the blood floating around her, to trigger another conversion, but the Iron General gave her no chance to complete the transformation. His knee drove into her solar plexus, yet another [Sturm] amplifying the impact.

Blood flew from Malleus's lips as she crashed into scorched concrete. The stolen prana coating her form flickered and wavered, struggling to maintain coherence. Her golden eyes blazed with desperate fury as she tried to rise, tried to match the absolute monster before her.

"You dare lecture me about sacrifice?" She spat blood that glowed with unnatural light. "You, who would sacrifice his own son in pursuit of some imagined destiny?"

Rudyard's response came in the form of destruction. His palm shot forward, Aero erupting with enough force to create a vacuum. The compressed air struck Malleus like a battering ram, sending her tumbling end over end through the night sky. Buildings shuddered in her wake as the pulse of devastating wind carved a path through Windsor's outskirts.

But the Iron General wasn't finished.

His longsword cleared its sheath with a sound like tearing silk, moonlight catching the blade's perfect edge. Prana gathered around the steel in waves, blue spreading from handle to tip as he channeled power that made the air taste like metal. A Strategic Class Spell that in the realm of military—a technique crafted specifically for those who had proven themselves worthy of wielding absolute ruin.

The blade hummed, a deep resonance that set teeth on edge and made windows vibrate in their frames.

"[Ruptura.]"

The word carried the weight of judgment as his blade fell.

Reality split.

A crescent of pure prana erupted from the sword's arc, turning night to day as it screamed through the air. Where it passed, matter simply ceased to exist, space itself protesting its violation. The energy slash found Malleus's falling form, and for a moment she was silhouetted against its light like a moth in a bonfire.

Then it detonated.

The explosion turned the world white. Shockwaves rippled outward, shattering windows and setting off car alarms for blocks. The blast expanded upward like an inverted mushroom cloud, carrying with it the scent of scorched air and violated physics. The very ground shook, as if the earth itself recoiled from the display of power that had just been unleashed. When the light faded and the dust settled, Malleus was gone. Only a massive crater remained, its edges still glowing with residual energy from [Ruptura's] passing. The destruction spread outward in a perfect arc, as if someone had taken a massive bite out of Windsor's outskirts.

Rudyard then sheathed his blade, sangfroid he was, though his uniform hung with dirt from the backwash of his own attack. Sweat beaded on his brow—the only sign that unleashing such power had cost him anything at all. He turned to where Elias still knelt. Those mint-green eyes, reminiscent of his son's but devoid of warmth, gave the wounded "knight" a calculating stare.

"Zachary was better at your age."

The words fell like ice between them, a reminder of what Elias could never be. Despite surviving a clash that had reshaped the landscape, despite facing down one of the most notorious assassins in the world, Elias felt smaller than ever beneath his father's unyielding gaze.

And he lost consciousness.

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