F-35 "Ghost-9" – Combat Channel 1
Time: 0403 UTC | Operation New World Dawn
"Ghost-9—Talon-6 is down! Repeat, we've lost Hawk-3!"
Static blurred the screams.
"Jet was split clean—there was no heat, no projectile—just a white line and then nothing!, he's not human! He's flying straight at us!"
"Evasive! Evasive now!"
F-18 "Hawk-5" banked hard left, cutting altitude.
But the man—no, the thing—that had cut down their wingmate was already soaring upward like a cannonball of silence and death.
No wings. No tech. Just sheer force and will.
Eyes glowing behind a scorched black helmet. Sword in one hand. The wind breaking around him.
"He's flying... not falling—FLYING."
His leap had become ascent.
"Requesting authorization for THOR-Class deployment. Repeat: we need Tactical High-Ordnance Response—suggesting AGM-300 'Godhammer' payload. Low-yield tactical nuke."
The silence that followed was cold. Given that the same request had been denied once, but now, after seeing the power they held, the losses were enormous.
With limited resources and the world still being vast, they needed to make a decision.
Then—
"Confirmed. Godhammer deployed. Airburst authorized."
From the undercarriage of Ghost-9, the monster was born.
The AGM-300 'Godhammer'—a low-yield tactical nuke designed for hardened enemy lines and extreme-endurance threats—launched with a growl that sounded like the cracking of the sky itself.
---
Wind whistled past Aphastius's black armored face. Within the gasps for breath and his eyes to see, he could feel the intensity of his speed.
Even from that far away, chasing towards those metallic creatures, he felt it. Before even seeing.
Something enormous.
Not like a spell. Not like magic.
No mana signature. No divine pulse. No chant.
Just a cold tear in the atmosphere. A pressure that mocked dragons.
He tilted his chin up—and there it was.
The same but slightly different kind of cylindrical projectile rushing toward him.
From the looks of it, he was able to determine that the speed of that thing was seven to eight times faster than the speed of sound as it hurtled toward him.
He did not panic.
He did not even lose his composure but clearly realized that he was cornered here. Even if he were to dodge that thing, most probably the people beneath would be killed. And given his doubts that it might be even five to ten times stronger, he thought he might be able to withstand it.
He simply stopped mid-air, like a statue staring into the sun.
"…That's no spell."
His fingers tensed around his blade.
And knowing well that for a moment if he let his guard down, the people beneath would be killed. He needed to give his best, and he did by summoning his strongest defense spell as he raised his other hand.
He summoned mana. Slow. Deep. From the earth, the sea, the sky. From the pain in his bones and the iron in his blood.
A barrier unfolded—not glowing, not showy. But dense. Heavy. A spherical covering around the area of his body's radius up to twenty meters.
"Absolute Shield – Seventh Layer."
Gold lattices spun. Six intersecting circles locked around him.
"Even if it carries 10 times the power of earlier attacks..." Aphastius clearly calculated that his shield could easily withstand ten times the power, including his own armor that was made of dragon scale, which was far stronger to stop even the highest-ranking magic blast.
Then the light bloomed.
BOOOOOM
The missile detonated mid-air—airburst format—fifty thousand feet above sea level.
A second sun.
His eyes widened, pupils contracting as it revealed the real horror of simply underestimating the power that this time befell on him, was of the highest-ranking magic he had ever seen cast by the Emperor.
And the sky died.
His mind didn't register sound. Only light. Heat.
Pressure.
Then the impact.
His barrier didn't shatter instantly but didn't withstand more than ten seconds, enough for his skin to feel the heat and the power descending on him similar to dragon breath.
The attack speed was inhuman, carrying the heat similar to a dragon's breath and explosive power equivalent to the highest destruction magic cast by the Emperor.
crack
A single crack stretched instantly, before in front of his eyes, which through the gap of the armor saw his whole body covered in blinding white light.
His sword flew from his grip as the heat pierced his body through the gaps within his armor, instantly burning him, even though the protective layer of his mana somewhat shielded him, he lost control over it as he fell by the force.
His vision turned white as metal fragments of armor tore from his limbs—armor made out of dragon scale.
But he remained conscious.
Pain was irrelevant.
The force that struck him wasn't just pressure—it was inevitability.
He was flung backward, a black comet hurled from the heavens, his body trailing smoke and mana sparks. The sky vanished above him as the world turned white.
And then—
SPLASH
The ocean took him with a hiss and a roar, steam rising around his falling form. As he plunged beneath the surface, his eyes—still wide, still alive—pierced the shimmering veil of water above.
Through that fragile lens of the sea, he saw it.
The light.
The blinding, final bloom of it.
The fleet.
Engulfed.
Ships became silhouettes. Then ghosts. Then nothing.
A wave of heat so intense it boiled the water around him for a second, searing his already broken body. Armor cracked, flesh blackened.
His mana surged instinctively—his last reserves spilling out—not to survive, but to endure just long enough.
Long enough to see.
The surface blurred, glowing gold and red like a hellish dawn, and he felt it—the moment his soul fractured not from pain, but loss.
He whispered, or maybe just thought it—
"Princess…"
The word bled from him like his mana, like his hope. His vision faltered, yet still searched. Still waited.
Somewhere above, the surface churned. The world screamed.
And yet he floated.
Half-dead.
Burned hollow.
And already knowing as his eyes closed that everyone died on those ships which got evaporated due to heat—a defeat where he just lost his niece and fifth princess whose responsibility he had taken as the head of the Gromwold family.