There comes a moment in every life when one is trapped in darkness, when all hope seems extinguished—until someone suddenly kicks open a door for you, and the world floods with light.
For Eve, that moment was now.
The Radiant thundered across the land, its massive body carving a deep scar into the earth. Blazing white fire roared along its hull, like a searing dragon charging forward, carrying a scorching gale meant to annihilate all in its path.
Yet it was not over.
The Radiant was now hurtling ahead purely on the inertia of its derailment. As it neared the lighthouse, its speed began to drop. The demon horde noticed it at last, turning back and closing in, layer upon layer, to encircle it completely.
"All units, take note," Lloyd's voice echoed through the channel.
"Anything that moves—other than us—kill it."
Along the pitch-black carriages, armored plates lifted in unison. Countless gun barrels extended outward, and in the next instant, fire erupted from both sides of the train, suppressing the onrushing demons in a storm of lead.
This was the triumph of the Industrial Age. With nothing more than a pull of the trigger, lethal iron could be sent screaming forth. When gathered like a tide, even the most terrifying demons would be forced to fall.
Bathed in white-hot flame, every heart began to count down.
Three.
Two.
One.
Hands clutched at anything they could grasp to steady themselves. At the moment the count ended, the Radiant slammed head-on into the converging demon mass. Steel crushed flesh. White fire flared and died again. Severed limbs and torn viscera hammered against the cold carriages, and the stench of blood seeped into every corner.
"Brake!"
Lloyd's command rang out. The driver, though briefed on the plan beforehand, could not suppress his terror at Lloyd's madness.
He yanked the valve with all his strength. Emergency braking gears bit down hard on the wildly spinning machinery. A train could only run along its rails—it could not turn. Yet under Lloyd's reckless ingenuity, impossibility gained a sliver of plausibility.
Outer armor plates fell away one by one, revealing the fully armed loadout from Berhans.
Black cannon muzzles thrust outward, then roared to life, bombarding the encircling demons with savage fury.
These were train-mounted guns—relics of the Radiant War. Exploiting the railways, trains once hauled artillery as high-speed mobile firing platforms, posing immense resistance to Gaul-Nalo's landings.
But this was no longer the era of the Radiant War. Modified by the Institute of Mechanics, the cannons had been reduced in size. Firepower was sacrificed—but in return came vastly increased weapon capacity.
Flames several meters long burst from the black muzzles. Shells weighing tens of kilograms screamed forth like iron swords, punching clean through demon bodies before detonating violently at their endpoints.
This was a single-direction barrage. Using the recoil of the cannon cluster, the Radiant executed an eerie fishtail drift, then came to rest like a towering wall between the lighthouse and the demons. As it slowed to a halt, scalding steam poured from every mechanical seam. More armored plates rose, and countless gun barrels aligned toward both flanks.
Full firepower.
In an instant, the world became nothing but thunder. Thousands of bolts of lightning detonated beside their ears. Demons surged forward, only to be mercilessly shredded by flying iron fragments. This was the victory of the Industrial Revolution—each demon's death an offering laid upon the steel altar of the god of industry.
It was a grand symphony. Heavy shell casings struck the ground with intoxicating chimes. Thick gunpowder filled the air. Machines hissed and whispered beautifully as round after round of steel was fed into waiting chambers.
Lloyd stood atop the engine. Muzzle flashes lit his face again and again. The Winchester roared continuously, casting a blazing curtain of fire. He spun and leapt amid the recoil, as though dancing.
Centuries ago, humanity needed fortifications and unimaginable casualties to bring down a single demon. But in this age of technology, all it took was the right position and sufficient firepower. No matter how many demons came, they could not shake humanity's place atop the food chain.
Humanity would no longer live in fear.
The new age had arrived. Relics of the old era still sought to reclaim their former glory. They swarmed like ants, charging headlong into torrents of steel and gunpowder. Blood and fire carpeted the ground, dragging out a grotesque road.
"Lloyd! Something's wrong!"
Eve's scream cut through the channel. Lloyd calmly fired and reloaded before answering.
"What is it?"
"The sea… the tide is rising!"
From atop the lighthouse, Eve could see it clearly. At the pitch-black horizon, dark blue seawater surged against the land in relentless waves, spreading farther with every passing moment. Reaching the battlefield was only a matter of time.
Lloyd's excitement cooled. He remembered the markings on the map—the land here changed with the tides. He did not fear the water itself. What concerned him was what might walk out of it.
As expected, the tide carried more than waves. Wails echoed endlessly. An infinite number of demons rode the surf toward them—far more massive, almost suffocating in scale.
This was the final battle of the night. The hidden presence would not allow anyone to claim the Sacred Coffin. It no longer concealed anything.
"How's our ammo holding up?" Lloyd asked.
The difference between demons and humans was simple: demons truly fought to the very last one.
"We can hold for a short while," came Burrow's voice. "Once that wave converges, our firepower won't be enough to maintain the line."
An uneasy balance had formed between the Radiant's guns and the demons. They could not approach the train, and current ammunition could kill them—but once the tide-born horde arrived in full, it would be the worst possible scenario.
"And Lloyd," Eve added, her voice tight, "have you ever seen demons like that?"
She stared at the colossal shadow rising from beneath the sea, seawater foaming and dripping with countless fish and shrimp.
"Can't say I have," Lloyd replied.
He saw it too. To be honest, missing something that large would take effort. A giant among demons, it emerged step by ponderous step from the tide.
Secret blood surged. Black iron armor crystallized from beneath Lloyd's skin as the divine armor slowly enveloped him. He stepped down from the carriage, gripping his sword tightly.
It seemed this night would not end easily.
Then he sensed a change in the light—the entire region dimmed, just slightly.
There was no time to ponder it. That giant demon had to be dealt with, or everyone here would die. Human technology was born for wars against humans. Creatures of that scale had never been part of the equation.
Suddenly, the clear roar of wind sounded—from the profound depths of the night sky.
Lloyd looked up.
There, within the churning clouds, a colossal whale moved. Its descending radiance outlined a savage silhouette. Then a voice echoed across the channel.
"We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed
The voice was so calm, almost devoid of emotion, a detached prayer, like a mechanical recitation.
In the endless sky, heavy machinery creaked, opening sealed doors. Wind rushed into the cabin as the knight finished his prayer, eyes fixed on the promised battlefield.
Behind him, countless soldiers were fully armed, their red cloaks with iron plates flapping in the wind. Chains connected them, and red communicators turned green one by one, signaling readiness.
"The Dawn-bound has arrived on the battlefield, beginning descent."
"Night Owl joining the battle sequence."
"Phoenix joining the battle sequence."
"Lancelot joining the battle sequence."
…
Each voice was like a bullet being loaded. The knight slowly raised his head, then leaped down. In the storm, his ancient divine armor spread wide, blocking out the sky.