***
"Send a hail to
"Yes, [Seafaring Buster]!"
"Yes, Zorain of Grey!"
Order after order rang out from the helm as the Zorain of Grey shouted through the gaping maw of his swordfish-shaped helm, voice nasal and proud. I stood silent at the edge of the bridge, visor drawn low from my captain's cap, watching the wounded planet below.
"I pray for your safety, High Empress."
The yellow skies of Idaten-II shimmered with unnatural light, cut clean by a wound stretching across the upper atmosphere like a divine scar. A rare sight—one not even the so-called gods of the noble pantheons often beheld. And yet, it brought no joy.
Topaz clouds boiled under scorching plasma beams as they tore across the ruined continents below, branding what was once beautiful into ash. It sickened me. Not just the destruction—but the unhonourable method of it. No duel. No clash of blades. Just slaughter, from the sky.
And all against a man who only seeks the right to correct the sins he once committed.
I turned from the viewport. "Octan," I called, voice low. "Any word from Corvus?"
The fat admiral, his armour shaped like a bloated silver-finned beast, paused only to shovel another ornate fish fillet into his mouth through the vertical slit in his mask. "Worry not, Lord Zorain of Silver," he muttered between chews. "The Zorain of Gold has relayed word. Our Empress still lives. Though even with all his alchemical expertise, he cannot yet determine what method was used to weaken her so grievously."
"And the rescue efforts?" I asked, eyes returning to the atmosphere just in time to catch two distant bursts of flame break out far from the main battlefront. "Are they underway?"
Octan sneered, voice thick with disdain. "Bah! There's no need—"
My eyes narrowed. He flinched.
"...Even so, relief divisions have begun coordination with . No exact tally yet, but the wounded from the Prime City number somewhere above forty thousand."
"Good." My gaze lingered on the fading plumes of fire still clinging to the horizon. "But something's off. Are the Empyrean Crusaders attempting to divert our attention from the Traveler?"
"Lord Zorains!" A voice called from the far side of the deck. One of the black-uniformed captains from the pyramid ship approached in a rush. "Aether readings just surged—Kralscell of Sentience is on the move. He's far east of his last known position, and the signal is growing rapidly! Do we have permission to redirect fire?"
"Granted." I spoke before Octan's blubbering mouth could object. "Adjust your targeting but restrict excess force. Any collateral damage attributed to won't be taken lightly at the summit."
"Yes, my lords!" The captain saluted sharply before spinning away to shout new coordinates into his command relay.
Moments later another lieutenant arrived, this one pale and jittery. "Lords... there's something you must see."
"Put it on the holo-monitor if it's that urgent!" Octan snapped, spraying crumbs of salmon as he spoke.
A flick of a switch. The image appeared and everything changed.
The silence on the deck was heavy as we all beheld the madness below. The Traveler—no, the Mad Knight—had begun to summon his final hand.
"He wouldn't..." Octan whispered.
"He would," I replied. "And he has."
Ink.
That was the only way to describe it. Pure, churning ink from the depths of unspoken domains. The Traveler was calling his Apocalyi Army. The monsters—born from the spirits he had claimed—poured forth through jagged portals that scarred reality, howling their return to the physical world.
They came in droves—humanoid wraiths, towering and small, walking like nightmares. Beasts that shouldn't exist: tiger-frogs with turtle shells, birds as large as warships, spectral serpents, and storm-borne lions. All with a knightly aesthetic to their madness.
And the titans. Two leviathans emerged, each large enough to swallow a cruiser whole. Between them rose a single figure—taller than clouds, its frame clad in scorched knight-plate the colour of black sun-fire.
A monster even the Kralscells might fear. A primordial, in the shape of a knight.
"He understands what he's doing," Octan said shakily, reaching for a stress platter already being offered to him by a mute attendant. "He must know what this means..."
"He does."
I watched the formation of the army tighten, their monstrous ranks falling into disturbing, almost military order.
"Cease all ES-beam fire," I commanded.
"What?" Octan coughed on his food. "You what?!"
"Deploy five ships with war-ready personnel to the surface. Arm them for heavy combat. They'll engage directly."
"You've lost your mind!" he barked, jabbing a thick finger at me. "This is my operation, Zorain of Silver! You have no right—why in the name of the untamed domains would we risk attacking the Traveler planet-side?!"
"Because he just issued a threat to every ship in this fleet," I said calmly, letting the air crackle with the pressure of my own rising authority. "If the 'Hell Phoenix' or even one of those leviathans climbs into our airspace, we lose everything. Our cruisers. Our dreadnoughts. Every soul aboard."
Octan froze.
"I will not allow that," I continued, steel in my voice. "These soldiers will not die because of your arrogance."
Behind his mask, he quivered, lips stammering, sweat leaking from the edges of his helm.
Then, without choice, he did the only thing he could.
"Wh—What are you waiting for?! Do as he commands!" he barked to the room. "Five ships down! All others stand by and await further orders!"
***
Up in the fractured skies, the black pyramids of and the crescent-white cruisers of halted their coordinated barrage. Instead, a fraction of their forces descended—five black pyramids, three white crescents—plummeting through the golden clouds like omens.
"Good. They understood."
From atop the massive, ink-slicked forehead of a titanous snake, I stood silently. Around me, the howls of my ink-spirits rose, a low, tremoring chorus ready to drown the world in black.
The name 'apocalyi' is the universal term for a Kralscell's summoned legion—our armies of the end. But every Kralscell has their own design.
Mine are the ink-spirits: beings birthed from stolen, self aware souls—ripped from both the living and the dead—compressed into glistening black liquid nightmares.
Thorn's different. He's not just another ink-spirit. He's been with me longer than I've even understood what I was. Before I knew I was a Kralscell. Before I grasped what we truly are. He's his own enigma, much like me.
Faltha, the Kralscell of Songs, has his scream-birds—wind-wraiths molded from voices stolen mid-cry. But when he was consumed by the [Cadenza Note Empyrean], he barely used them. Too prideful. Too berserk.
Had I summoned my ink-spirits during that battle, he would've answered with his birds regardless. But it was always a game of who blinks first. A silent, unspoken rule between Kralscells: never summon your apocalyi in a duel. It undermines the pride of our kind.
…Pretty sure I invented that rule? I killed the first Kralscell of Evolution I ever met and several more bare-handed. Never needed a legion for it. Must have been after Etrill also killed a former kralscell solo that it became a silent law between kralscell's.
"My liege, your summons are our glory."
Kneeling at my side was a knight whose body resembled a humanoid serpent—snake-head, coiled tail, scaled chest plate. His name was Taul. Devout. Unwavering. Unhinged.
"It has been so long since I basked in your radiance so closely!"
Thorn's feathers bristled beside me. I felt his irritation like static on my skin. "Can you, just for once, not be psychotic?" Thorn hissed. "Seriously—act normal, hiss-fit."
"Silence, sky-rat! I'm revering the lord."
Taul whipped out a leather-bound sketchbook and, within seconds, drew an immaculate portrait of me... complete with a haphazard doodle of Thorn beside it looking like a melted blob with wings.
Suppressing a snort, I reached over and closed Thorn's beak before he could start screeching.
"That's enough," said a voice deeper than distant thunder.
A towering knight—easily eight feet—approached, dragging a colossal great-sword along his caped back. His name was Ingrik. Calm. Stern. Reliable. He yanked Taul backward like a child in time-out.
"Lord Strife does not appreciate your squabbles echoing in his ear."
"Thank you, Ingrik," I said, letting go of Thorn's beak. "What's the update on the support legions?"
"The Meteor Corps, led by Sideswipe, has landed. But one of
Before I could reply, the landing gears of the descending cruisers hissed into the sky and settled across the distant rainforest. Giant doors split open. Armies emerged—zealous battalions armed and ready for war while hulking battle engines rolled beside them.
"One problem at a time," Thorn muttered.
"Where are Ventu and Nogitsune?" I asked.
"At the front. Ready to breach the ships. The 'kamikaze' are prepped to implode near each cruiser's core." Ingrik relayed.
I considered it. Then grinned. A fun idea sparked in my mind, and Thorn instantly caught on.
"Change of plan," I said. "Capture at least one cruiser from each side before you destroy the rest. I want to make Culkin earn his debt the old-fashioned way."
"As you command." Ingrik bowed, no hesitation, already amused by the thought.
Then—chaos.
The cruisers' ramps dropped fully. Droves of warriors charged out like a divine flood with their war beasts of metal or flesh. Magic, steel, and zeal clashed with black ichor and soul-born monstrosities. Behind my frontlines, the three colossal titans watched in cold stillness.
My ink-spirits surged forward—giant bestial shapes howling as they devoured everything in their path. and countered in turn, their soldiers wielding plasma rifles, enchanted blades, and coordinated spell-fire to carve through the tide.
[Skill: Astral Third Eye – Strength Eye!]
Three luminous markers lit up in the air like beacons after I felt the presences of eighth ring sequence powerhouses. Just one sequence below me.
Zorain of Grey. Zorain of Silver. And the Guardian of Preservation with her flame-wreathed blade.
"Well, can't say I never expected such loyalty from them." I turned and began descending the leviathan's spiked back, each step making sparks dance around my heels. "Keep them busy," I ordered. "Don't kill them. I'll never hear the end of it if even one dies."
"As you wish." With a flash, Ingrik and Taul vanished—leaping into the maelstrom below like judgment made flesh.
"Ouroboros!" I shouted over my shoulder. "Look imposing! You too, Jormungandr, Apophis!"
The three-kilometre-tall giant nodded lazily while the leviathans stretched out—massive, ancient forms sprawled across continents like gods at rest. Their yawns alone sent gale winds through the battlefield.
"The fight's the other way, princess," Thorn said, hopping down onto my shoulder from my beanie. "Since we're heading this way, I assume we're helping the others?"
"Pretty much." I holstered [Sigrid] at my waist as arcs of aether crackled beneath my boots.
Thorn made a sulky face. "Why? I was about to go steal some chicken."
I pointed to a distant cruiser hovering ominously over the transport tower. "That ship's idle now, but it won't stay that way. Best case, it tries to gravity-bind Clara's ship mid-catapult. Worst case? Fires a missile barrage to flatten the tower."
"So this whole battle's just a big distraction." Thorn rubbed the underside of his beak, amused. "Smart move, pisspot. We're backup muscle for Sideswipe, yeah?"
"Exactly. He and the rest of his legion aren't exactly... stair-savvy."
"They're horses and other quadrupeds. How are they fucking supposed to be?"