Jasmin's breath came shallow and uneven as he slowly pulled himself upright, his body trembling with exhaustion. Every muscle ached, yet his senses remained sharp, instinctively scanning the ruins of the battlefield.
His gaze locked onto the distant maelstrom of combat where Nebula and Naritsa fought like forces of nature against a transformed monstrosity.
Margaret.
Or at least… what remained of her.
Jasmin barely recognized the creature now—a twisted fusion of human and beast, wrapped in raw power and seething malice. And yet, despite her unnatural strength, the princess and the gunslinger met her power with unwavering precision.
Naritsa, in particular, burned like a goddess of fire. Her sapphire flames coiled around her like a divine inferno, her guardians moving in perfect synchrony with her devastating attacks. Each strike was like judgment itself, each movement a masterpiece of destruction.
Nebula, ever the sharpshooter, moved in perfect synchrony beside her, weaving between bursts of sapphire flames and striking with lethal precision.
(As expected of a talented gunslinger and a Guardian Vessel) Jasmin thought, gripping his bow with renewed focus. He had to help them. He had to—
A rustling noise.
His body reacted before his mind did, his honed instincts snapping into action. To the left. The nearby forest. The darkened trees swayed ominously, obscuring whatever was moving within them.
Jasmin didn't hesitate. In a heartbeat, his bow was drawn, his arrow aimed with deadly precision at the shifting silhouette emerging from the treeline. The air between them grew heavy, pregnant with the tension of an impending kill—
"Don't shoot! It's me!"
Jasmin stilled.
The voice was familiar. Panicked, breathless—but familiar.
Daryl.
The boy's form took shape as he stepped fully into view, his face pale, sweat beading along his brow. His wide, unsettled eyes flickered between Jasmin's weapon and the weary archer himself.
Jasmin exhaled sharply, lowering his weapon as his chest rose and fell with the remnants of his adrenaline.
"It's really you, kid." He shook his head, his voice rough with relief, though his gaze quickly turned sharp with suspicion. "For a second, I thought you were some sneaky foe creeping up on me."
Daryl swallowed hard but quickly tried to compose himself. "No… it's just me," he replied, voice laced with something unreadable.
Jasmin narrowed his gaze. "Where the hell have you been? One moment you were with us, and then you vanished."
Daryl, still panting, hesitated—just for a fraction of a second. Then, with forced nonchalance, he scoffed, "I sought refuge from the chaos. You should know better, sir Jasmin."
Jasmin's brow furrowed.
"In the forest?" His voice was low, calculating, and edged with doubt. "You know damn well it's just as dangerous out there. What if the Bounty Priest or some other lurking enemy found you?"
Daryl's face twitched slightly, as if he hadn't considered that. Then, his frown deepened. "But the Bounty Priest is already long dead."
Jasmin froze.
"Dead?"
The word left his lips in a whisper. His mind raced, trying to reconcile the words with the last thing he remembered.
Before he had lost consciousness, Naritsa's phoenix, Haila, had never given the execution signal. The battlefield should have erupted with the triumphant screech of the priest's successful demise. But no such call came.
So how—?
Pfft!
A sharp, sickening crack pierced the air.
Pain.
Jasmin gasped as a bullet ripped into his chest, the force of the shot knocking him back. A white-hot burn spread through his ribcage, his breath hitching as warm blood seeped through his clothes.
His vision blurred for a split second, but through the haze, he saw Daryl whip around, eyes wide in horror.
The boy barely had time to react before the true assailant revealed themselves.
Jasmin, through sheer willpower, forced himself to lift his bow one last time.
The enemy—hidden in the trees, rifle still smoking—had already lined up their next shot. Their finger twitched on the trigger, their cold eyes locked onto Daryl this time.
Jasmin didn't hesitate.
Release.
His arrow screamed through the air, cutting through the space between them in a single, lethal instant.
The enemy's eyes widened in stunned disbelief.
A wet thunk.
The arrowhead buried itself dead center in their forehead.
Then—silence.
The gun fell from the assailant's grip. Their body collapsed in a lifeless heap, the thud muffled by the soft forest floor.
Jasmin exhaled shakily, clutching his bleeding chest as he staggered. His vision darkened at the edges, the pain intensifying.
Daryl, still processing what had just happened, snapped his head toward Jasmin—eyes wide with horror.
"Jasmin!"
The boy's panicked cry echoed through the battlefield, but the archer barely heard it. His body was failing, his vision darkening at the edges as searing pain ripped through his chest. His breath came in short, shallow gasps, blood pooling beneath him as his weight grew heavier with every second.
He was slipping away.
With all his strength, Daryl dragged him out of the open, his smaller frame barely managing the task.
Then, there were movements in the forest.
The boy turned his head back toward the shadowed treeline—and his stomach dropped.
Emerging from the darkness, figures clad in obsidian armor marched forward, their weapons and sophisticated firearms gleaming under the moonlight. At their sides, a sleek, hovering fleet of Guardian Bane drones whirred ominously, their eerie purple optics scanning for prey.
Daryl's blood ran cold.
Gog soldiers.
But it was the sky that delivered the final omen of war.
From the distant horizon, warships loomed.
Their hulking, complex structures cut through the night like drifting behemoths, their armored hulls reflecting the dim glow of fire and destruction. One by one, they descended from the clouds, gliding downward with eerie precision, their reinforced plating bristling with weaponized artillery.
The armies of the Gog Empire had arrived.
Meanwhile—
Across the battlefield, Nebula and Naritsa halted mid-combat, the energy of their clash against Margaret momentarily shifting into a shared, unsettling realization.
Then—A tremor.
It was subtle at first. Then the ground quivered beneath their feet.
A distant roar.
They tilted their heads toward the horizon, catching sight of warships tearing through the skies. And then—Daryl's faint screams.
Nebula's blood ran cold.
"Take cover!" His voice was sharp, urgent.
The sky erupted with firepower.
Explosions ripped through the battlefield as artillery rained from above, the sheer force kicking up waves of debris and smoke. The shockwaves pulsed through the earth, leaving scorching craters in their wake.
Margaret cursed under her breath, her monstrous body enduring the onslaught as she gritted her teeth in frustration. Bullets and plasma rounds collided against her hardened skin, but even she knew better than to remain in open fire. With a scowl of frustration, she swiftly melted into the chaos, quietly slipping away into the shadows, her retreat masked by the battlefield's newfound bedlam.
For Nebula, survival became instinct.
With fluid agility, he rolled to the side, narrowly evading a barrage of incoming shots as he and Oni dove behind a nearby boulder, seeking shelter from the relentless onslaught. The impact of the blasts sent shards of rock splintering around them, a near miss.
But Naritsa?
She stood unmoving.
Not in fear. Not in hesitation.
But in absolute defiance.
Standing before her, Haila spread its mighty wings.
The phoenix screeched with incandescent fury, igniting a wall of sapphire flames into existence. Each incoming shot was met with effortless resistance, its divine flames absorbing and disintegrating the assault before it could even touch its master.
Then, with a piercing cry that shook the heavens, the phoenix took flight.
Its body became a streak of blue fire, cutting through the night sky as it struck back at the enemy.
The first warship met its end within seconds.
Haila's smoldering talons tore through reinforced metal like paper, its beak piercing straight into the warship's core. A flash of light—an explosion of burning debris—and the behemoth vessel plummeted in flames, crashing into the forest below.
One after another, the phoenix ripped through the fleet, its fiery power melting through steel, sending molten wreckage spiraling out of the sky and into the abyss of the battlefield.
***
From within the bridge of the largest warship, a figure stood in regal authority.
It was Marcus.
Commander of the Gog forces.
A twisted grin curled across his face he watched the chaos unfold, his fingers absently stroking his thick gray beard. His piercing eyes gleamed with unsettling delight, locking onto the spectacle of devastation beyond the ship's reinforced windshield.
"Such godly power…" he murmured, almost in reverence.
His eyes followed Haila's majestic form, watching as the legend-level beast king reduced war machines to smoldering wreckage, his smirk widening.
"It's a pity," he continued, his voice thick with amusement. "Emissary Arugula already has her eyes on this Guardian Vessel. Otherwise…"
His gaze then shifted downward, locking onto Naritsa—the source of such celestial fury.
His smirk grew wider, darker.
"Her guardians would have been mine to claim."
But as Marcus pondered in his dark desires, a thunderous blast instantly rocked the side of his warship, sending metal shards flying into the night air. Inside, the commander was momentarily thrown off balance, his grip tightening against the command console as the entire vessel trembled beneath the unexpected assault.
Warning sirens shrieked through the control room as emergency lights flashed crimson, illuminating the commander's snarling expression.
"What was that?!"
His glower darkened, and his gaze snapped toward the ship's side mirror—and there, standing defiantly amid the battlefield's smoldering wreckage, was Nebula.
The gunslinger leveled a laser rifle, its muzzle still glowing from the aftermath of his attack. He had stolen the firearm from the corpse of a Gog soldier he killed.
Through the smoky air, their gazes locked.
Marcus's eyes narrowed. Nebula's smirk deepened.
"Damned fugitive of a gunslinger!" the commander spat, rage boiling in his veins.
He whirled toward the pilots, barking his command: "Mobilize more Guardian Bane drones—AND BLAST THAT BASTARD OFF THE FACE OF THIS WORLD!"
Before they could execute his orders, a shadow descended.
A storm of wings. A deafening cacophony.
Suddenly, a massive swarm of hawks emerged from the darkness, their screeching cries piercing the night. They collided against the warship's hull, their piercing talons and frenzied movements blinding the gunners and disrupting the targeting systems.
Marcus clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding audibly as he surveyed the battlefield anew.
"Reinforcements?"
His hands tightened into fists, fury dancing behind his eyes. This wasn't the right time for a prolonged battle.
"Tsk," he hissed through gritted teeth. "I don't have time for this."
Then, turning sharply to his pilots, he issued the final order.
"RETREAT. Get us the hell out of here."
The warships responded immediately. Their engines flared with renewed vigor, and one by one, the colossal vessels began their retreat, disappearing into the veil of night.
Nebula stood in silence, watching the iron behemoths vanish beyond the horizon like wounded beasts fleeing the hunt.
But his expression remained unreadable. Was this truly a victory?
Beside him, the ground trembled beneath the synchronized footsteps of approaching figures. An army of unknown soldiers draped in emerald and silver battle garb, their silhouettes emerging from the shadows, marching forward in disciplined formation.
The air was thick with an unsettling mystery.
Nebula's grip on the stolen laser rifle remained firm. Friend or foe, he didn't know yet. Oni, his feline guardian, growled lowly, its piercing eyes scanning the strangers with sharp caution.
"Who are you?" Nebula's voice was calm, yet edged with distrust. "And why did you help us?"
The approaching force remained silent—until from their ranks, a middle-aged man stepped forward.
His presence was imposing, his posture firm. His uniform—a jade-green battle attire adorned with silver insignias—marked him as a high-ranking leader. But as he approached, he ignored Nebula's inquiry.
Instead—
He knelt.
The movement was swift, deliberate. A gesture of unwavering reverence.
Nebula's gaze narrowed, confusion flickering across his face as the soldiers behind the man followed suit, their heads bowed in deep reverence. "What the…?"
Then came the words that sent a shiver through the air—words that caused even Nebula to pause.
"Your Royal Highness."
It wasn't directed at him.
It was meant for someone behind him.
The gunslinger's sharp instincts flared, and he turned slightly—just enough to see the radiant, blazing figure walking up beside him.
Naritsa.
Her presence alone commanded the battlefield, her burning figure illuminating the soldiers like a goddess descending upon her worshippers. As she stepped beside Nebula, her aura gradually dimmed, returning her form to its normal regal composure.
The kneeling man lifted his head, his voice filled with deep relief and respect.
"Thanks to the ancestors that you are safe and sound, my princess."
Naritsa's gaze, calm yet piercing, fell upon the kneeling man. Her presence was unshaken, regal.
"Jade Commander Atrios," she acknowledged him, her voice carrying the weight of power, her expression unreadable.
The man, Atrios, lowered his head further.
Naritsa's eyes softened briefly before resuming their sharp authority.
"Why have you come?" she asked, her tone carrying the grace of royalty—and the steel of a warrior reborn.