The sky above had turned an ominous shade of gray, casting the battlefield in shadows. Trees cracked and groaned as powerful forces clashed beneath them. Blood stained the grass. The scent of fire and steel filled the air.
Yamino's father stood at the center, blades spinning in a deadly rhythm. His servant—a shadowy figure with six arms, each wielding a distinct weapon—moved like a whirlwind. Every swing tore through the ranks of the 67 like paper. Bodies dropped around them—half-human, half-beast, some armored in bone, others wreathed in flames. They were the elite, but they were dying.
Aiyana's father fought alongside a glowing, iron-armored lion, each of their strikes synchronized. Her mother, graceful yet lethal, danced between two other powerful entities—one resembling a dragonfly with obsidian wings, the other a humanoid shadow that flickered in and out of view like a glitch in reality.
Even with the combined might of the three, the battle was far from easy.
Suddenly, the air went still.
A pressure dropped like a weight on everyone's shoulders.
Two new figures stepped onto the field.
The Captain of the 67—draped in a white military cloak over sleek, black armor with angelic symbols etched in crimson—stared down at the battlefield with cold, hollow eyes. Beside him, the Vice-Captain, a tall woman with pale lavender hair and stitched skin, smiled with amusement as her chains slithered around her like snakes.
Everyone froze, even the roaring of beasts faltered.
The Captain's voice cut through the silence like thunder.
"Enough playing."
With a flick of his fingers, a golden spear appeared in the air and struck the ground, releasing a wave of force that sent both sides staggering.
Yamino's father's servant stepped forward, blades humming with energy.
"So the real monsters arrive," the servant growled.
The Vice-Captain giggled. "Oh, darling, we haven't even started yet."
Aiyana's parents narrowed their eyes, weapons raised.
The battle wasn't over.
It had just truly begun.
Yamino gritted his teeth, blood pouring from the stump where his hand used to be. His vision blurred, his breath ragged—but he refused to fall. Aiyana clutched his shoulder in shock, her own strength nearly spent.
He pressed his remaining hand against the ground, grounding himself.
Through the pain, through the chaos—he called out, voice hoarse but firm:
"Toms Zano… I summon you!"
The air behind him shattered like glass.
From the fractures stepped out Toms Zano—his beastly form towering with glowing eyes, six arms ready for battle, and his single massive wing unfurled like a shadow across the forest. The moment he appeared, the air ignited with raw pressure.
The mocking smile faded from Kairon's face.
Toms didn't speak. He didn't need to.
He moved.
In an instant, one of Kairon's servants was split in two, their blood vanishing into sparks before it even hit the ground. The remaining enemies shifted back, their confidence breaking. The battlefield erupted into chaos again.
Toms was a storm unleashed—blades whirling, power crashing into enemies like tidal waves. Kairon's strongest servants lunged forward to protect him, but Toms met them all.
Yamino leaned against a tree, barely able to stand, but his eyes were alive—burning with fury, with determination.
Aiyana stepped beside him, gripping her blade.
"I thought you'd die," she said, voice trembling.
"I still might," Yamino smirked through the pain, "but not before I return the favor."
The battlefield was painted red.
And for the first time in this hellish day, the tides began to turn.
The tide had turned—but only for a moment.
Yamino felt it too late.
Kairon's smile—wide, knowing, cruel.
Then it happened.
A thousand spears of black light tore through the air like rain from hell. Before Yamino could react, they pierced Toms Zano—all at once. Each hit echoed like thunder as the beast let out a blood-curdling roar, staggered, then knelt.
"Toms!" Yamino shouted, staggering forward.
But his cry was cut short.
Steel slid through his gut.
A blade—silent and precise—pierced straight through his abdomen from behind. His breath hitched. Blood spilled from his lips as he looked down at the sword now sticking out of him.
His knees gave out.
Aiyana screamed.
But her voice was swallowed by a chilling silence. Her body rose off the ground, her long hair being dragged upward by an invisible force. She thrashed violently, trying to reach her sword, trying to reach Yamino—but something was holding her, strangling her with invisible claws.
"Kairon!!" she shrieked.
He only chuckled. "You belong to me, Aiyana. Not him."
Meanwhile, Toms—his powerful form riddled with spears—continued to fight. With every stab in his back, he tore apart the enemies before him, limbs flying, blood splashing like crimson storms. But the numbers were overwhelming. Every time he killed one, five more replaced it.
His roars echoed across the battlefield—half pain, half rage.
Yamino lay bleeding, the world around him a blur.
He reached weakly toward Toms.
"Toms… I'm sorry…"
But Toms didn't fall. Not yet.
Even in death, he fought.
Even in pain, he protected his king.
And as Yamino's vision dimmed, he whispered through clenched teeth:
"I won't die… not here… not before I destroy you, Kairon."
The battlefield was painted in blood and smoke.
Yamino's father, shoulders heaving, stood back-to-back with Aiyana's father, both barely holding onto their blades. Their clothes were torn, skin gashed open, and blood ran in streams down their bodies. The ground trembled beneath them as the Captain and Vice-Captain of the 67 pressed forward, ruthless and relentless.
Breathing was no longer a rhythm—it was a battle on its own.
Then it happened.
Aiyana's mother gasped.
The blade came from behind.
Clean. Sharp. Merciless.
It slid through her neck, severing her voice before she could even scream. Her eyes widened in shock as her body collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Ariyana!" her husband roared.
The two men surged forward in rage, but the Captain's eyes glinted with opportunity. He swung his sword in a wide arc—a slash like a tempest—cutting through both fathers in one ruthless move.
Blood burst from their chests, arms, legs.
Their servants—equally wounded—rushed to protect them, only to be caught in the same devastating arc. The battlefield fell still for a second, broken only by gasping breaths and the crackle of blood hitting stone.
Yamino's father collapsed to one knee.
With his last strength, he turned to his servant and whispered, "Go to my son. Protect him."
The servant—bloody but alive—vanished in a flash of light.
But Aiyana's father didn't fall. His eyes burned red.
"If I die… I'll take every one of you with me," he said coldly.
The giant beside him—a towering servant once calm and silent—turned crimson. Veins of molten red lightning surged through its body. The earth trembled under its feet.
The Captain's eyes widened. "He's going to self-detonate! EVERYONE—MOVE!"
But it was too late.
BOOM!
A colossal explosion of red and gold light engulfed the field. The sky cracked with the force. Screams vanished into the roar. Bodies and rubble flew like feathers in a storm. Silence followed.
Ten minutes later…
Ash rained from the sky like snow.
The Captain, barely breathing, opened his eyes and saw a graveyard of his men. Only ten remained—crippled, maimed, twitching in agony.
The Vice-Captain was gone. Vaporized. So was Aiyana's mother.
Yamino's father lay still, cold eyes staring into the void.
Aiyana's father was barely alive, his body broken, limbs scorched. His breath rattled. His heartbeat slowed.
The 67 had come to capture a girl and kill a man.
But they'd just walked into a war.
And they lost.