The scene began—not on the battlefield where Julius clashed with the newly transformed dragonoid hybrid Xavier—but somewhere else. Somewhere safer. Calmer. A place where Anastasia lay peacefully asleep in a warm, quiet room.
Her eyelids fluttered open as consciousness slowly returned. "What happened? Where am I?" she whispered groggily.
It only took a moment before she recognized her surroundings: the small apartment she had bought for herself, Xavier, and Alcmena to stay in during their uncertain time in London. Panic surged through her chest as the memory of Haruki, the stabbing, and Xavier's desperate rescue rushed back all at once.
"Xavier!" she cried, pushing herself upright. Her hand instinctively pressed against the spot where the blade had pierced her—but there was nothing. Not even a scar. Her skin was smooth, as though she had never been wounded at all.
Stunned, Anastasia could only conclude that this was Alcmena's doing—his draconic healing abilities. "Young Master!" she called out, forcing herself to stand.
Her legs trembled. A strange sensation ran through them, as though her body had forgotten how to stand. She wobbled like a newborn fawn. Though Alcmena's healing had saved her life, the nerves in her lower spine seemed unsettled, leaving her to relearn balance as though she were a child again.
She steadied herself and called again for Xavier and Alcmena. No response. Their ethereal energy was nowhere to be felt. Determined, she focused, channeling ethereal energy into her eyes. Her vision pierced through walls, scanning the apartment. Empty.
A knot of fear tightened in her chest. Where had they gone? Her question was interrupted by the sound of chaos outside—screams, hurried footsteps, the crackling of fire—and the acrid scent of smoke drifting in.
Anastasia turned toward the window. Her heart dropped. London, once alive with its bright streets and bustling life, was now a burning wasteland. Crimson fire devoured buildings, painting the skies in a storm of ash.
"There's no way…" she whispered, horrified. "How could this have happened?"
Her worry deepened. If the city was ablaze, then where were Xavier and Alcmena? She could not wait. Stumbling but determined, Anastasia left the room, forcing her weakened body forward.
She stepped into the ruined streets. Smoke choked the air, and the cries of panicked civilians echoed around her. Then—
"Miss Anastasia!" a familiar voice called out, strained and breathless.
She turned. To her surprise, Teslaine stood there, drenched in sweat, panting heavily as though she had been running for her life.
"Lady Teslaine?" Anastasia blinked in shock. "What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"
"Y-yeah!" Teslaine stammered, though her voice wavered. "W-well… actually, no. I woke up to a loud, blinding sound… and since then, I haven't been able to find Aunt Victoria anywhere."
"Is that so?" Anastasia asked softly.
"Yes! I searched everywhere she might be, but… but the city—" Teslaine's voice cracked. "It was already in flames. I didn't know where else to go, so I came here. I thought maybe she'd be with you and Xavier. When I saw you leaving the apartment, I recognized your green hair and followed."
Anastasia noticed the tremor in Teslaine's hands, her body shaking not just from fatigue, but from fear. Gently, she placed a hand on Teslaine's shoulder, her tone soft and steady. "Lady Teslaine… when I asked if everything was alright, I didn't mean just the situation. I meant you. Are you alright?"
Teslaine froze. Slowly, she lowered her head, her voice quiet now, stripped of its earlier panic. "No."
Anastasia's gaze didn't waver. "Tell me why."
Teslaine swallowed hard, her words trembling. "Because… after seeing my home city like this, I—I started thinking about Aunt Victoria. I know we haven't spoken since our fight. I know she lied to me my whole life. But I don't want to hate her. I don't want distance between us. She's the only family I have left. I… I just don't want her to hate me for how I reacted when I learned the truth."
Hearing Teslaine's words, her voice stripped bare of all pretense, Anastasia's lips curved into a soft smile. In that moment, she saw a trace of Xavier in Teslaine's vulnerability. Her reply carried the warmth of a mother consoling her child: "I understand how you feel, Teslaine. But you mustn't fear Lady Victoria hating you. If she did, she wouldn't have hidden the truth from you in the first place. She hid it to protect you, even knowing how much it might hurt."
Anastasia's eyes softened. "She knew that telling you outright would wound you far more than the lie itself. That's why I believe she loves you deeply—not just as your aunt, but as a mother. She raised you. She shaped you. And she will always see you as her daughter."
Teslaine lifted her ruby eyes to meet Anastasia's. For a fleeting second, memories washed over her: Victoria's hands braiding her hair, her voice singing lullabies, her steady presence through sleepless nights. She had been more than an aunt—she had been family.
Before she could answer, the world itself seemed to quake. A dreadful roar split the heavens, accompanied by a suffocating draconic aura that rolled like thunder through the air. It crashed into them like a tidal wave, freezing their blood.
Teslaine collapsed to her knees, trembling violently. "What was that?!" she gasped, her body overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the presence. "What could make such a sound?!"
Anastasia's gaze sharpened. She turned toward the origin of the roar, her expression grim. Words slipped out before she realized she had spoken them: "That aura… it could only belong to Lord Alcmena."
But her brow furrowed. "No. This feels different—wild, unstable, chaotic. Untamed."
The realization struck her quickly, and dread followed. "The Young Master must be in danger. That's the only explanation for such a shift in Alcmena's presence—and for both of them vanishing."
Teslaine's head snapped up, eyes wide with fear. "Xavier's in trouble?!"
"Yes," Anastasia said firmly. "And I must go to him—before it's too late."
She turned to leave, but a hand caught hers. Teslaine's grip was desperate, her voice trembling. "Please… let me come with you."
Anastasia froze, startled. "What?"
"Let me see Xavier," Teslaine pleaded again.
Anastasia frowned. "It's too dangerous. You could be hurt."
Teslaine lowered her eyes, acknowledging the truth in Anastasia's words. Yet her voice carried the weight of something deeper, something aching within. "I know. But I have to see him. After everything… after the truth of my father—Percival Ashford—I can't let things end like this. He lost his father because of mine. And I…" She swallowed hard. "I want to tell him I'm sorry. Sorry for all the pain I caused him, and all the suffering my father left behind. It's eaten away at me—I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat. All I thought about was him."
Her voice cracked, raw. "So please… grant me this one request. Just one last time. Let me see him. After that, I'll never stand in his way again. I won't even show my face to him."
Anastasia looked at her for a long moment. She recognized the same stubbornness that defined Xavier—the same selflessness that drove him to place others above himself, no matter the cost. Teslaine was no different. She sighed, weighing the risk against the truth in Teslaine's eyes.
At last, she relented. "Very well. You may come. But only under one condition: you stay behind me, in my sight at all times. Especially if we step into danger."
Teslaine's eyes lit up, her lips tugging into a faint smile she could not suppress. "Thank you, Miss Anastasia," she whispered, bowing her head with deep gratitude.
And so, the two of them set off into the ruined heart of London. The city smoldered around them, its streets torn by chaos. Far away, in the distance, the clash of titans thundered—an inevitable path they would cross in their search for Xavier.
———
The scene shifted back to the battlefield—a land drowned in flame and ruin. There, amid the inferno, Julius and the dragonoid-human hybrid clashed with world-breaking force.
Their blows tore the earth apart, shockwaves screaming into the night. Aura crashed against aura, neither yielding. Each time Julius struck, the dragonoid answered with an ingenuity that almost amused him. It wielded a strange new technique, bending miniature black holes into existence, its sudden bursts of speed catching even Julius off guard. And yet, he welcomed it. He let himself be drawn into its rhythm, curious to see what tricks this hybrid beast could conjure.
With a roar, the dragonoid unleashed its Starfire Breath—flames that melted the very air, surging forward to consume everything.
Julius slipped through the inferno, his chaotic, void-born aura shielding him from the firestorm. Raising his hand, he retaliated. "Threads of Reality: Scorching Fate Severance." The threads tore through the breath, cutting through both flame and night sky, igniting the heavens in an apocalyptic blaze.
The dragonoid screamed as the attack ripped it from the sky. It fell like a thunderbolt hurled from the gods, crashing into the ground below. Its body was broken, grotesquely burned, its regeneration faltering at last.
Julius smirked, his thoughts calm and calculated. Finally. That persistent dragon healing of his… it's slowing. My relentless pressure, topped with Scorching Fate Severance, is chipping away at its limits.
There are only two ways to bring down a dragon. One—overwhelm it, break its body until its regeneration collapses under the weight. Two—pierce its heart. That, of course, would be too dull. And besides… this thing isn't even truly a dragon. Not fully human either. Something in-between.
His lips curved faintly, rare emotion brushing his face as memories stirred. Epochs ago… I slaughtered dragons by the dozens. Vampires, elves, gifteds, Herrschers—any who intrigued me. Each death was a puzzle. A new way to conquer the unconquerable. Those were glorious times.
His eyes narrowed, a shadow of disappointment flickering. But now? Reborn into this age, I wonder if any true challenges remain. Once I return to my full strength… once I reclaim my ethereal weapons, once my godhood is restored… will anything in this pitiful world be worth my time?
How disappointing…
His musings ended abruptly. The dragonoid's aura surged once more, darker, sharper. Its horns blazed with blinding light, a sphere of energy swelling between them, growing monstrously by the second. The pressure alone was suffocating—this was no ordinary strike. It was beyond anything Xavier had ever wielded in his lifetime.
Julius's smirk returned. Ah… so you finally show me something worth my notice.
His hand rose. "Since Percival had already stolen back one of my five Ethereal Instruments… what better time to unveil it?"
The battlefield darkened. A vortex of shadow and death spiraled around him, bending the heavens to despair. Space itself warped, and then—the sky split apart. A dread aura fell from the void, crashing into him. The ground quaked under its descent.
In his hand appeared the cursed lance he once used to bring ruin to powerful foes and herrschers alike.
Cursed Arrow Lance: Geiravör.
Julius's grin sharpened. He raised the weapon, speaking as though to a child. "Your little trick may scar the earth's crust. But what is that, compared to the might that turns stars into ash? Rejoice, for I grant you the honor of witnessing true power."
The dragonoid roared and unleashed its attack—Cosmic Cannon—a beam of annihilation bursting forth from its horns.
In answer, Julius hurled Geiravör. The lance grew as it flew, its body twisting into a spear of eternity. He had altered it deliberately, shaping its impact to cut deeper than death itself.
The two forces collided. For a heartbeat, the world held still. Then—Geiravör tore through the Cosmic Cannon, shredding it apart. Instead of killing the dragonoid outright, Julius's weapon imploded the moment it pierced the attack.
The battlefield vanished in a blinding explosion. Light and fury consumed everything, shaking the land, shattering the heavens, leveling all that stood within reach.