Now, just as Graviil decapitated Percival, he immediately noticed something strange. Percival's body began to dissipate like timeless, untouched butterflies.
"An illusion?" Graviil thought, instantly drawing Zadkiel back and readying himself. He could feel the faint pressure of Percival's trick gnawing at his senses, but his divine aura held him steady—a safeguard earned from knowing Eternal Illusion too well. "How could I forget… he's a man of complicated prowess."
"I must keep my attention sharp before his ability attempts to fully entraps my mind, perception, and even my sixth sense. If he succeeds, it will be nearly impossible to escape—or even know whether I'm in a false world, striking at shadows, or still in reality."
Percival reappeared once more—but this time, there were several of him. Each moved like the original, so convincingly real that they might as well have been physical clones.
The mirages charged forward, swarming Graviil. He braced himself, cautious and calculating, unable to discern the real one. A sudden kick slammed into his side, forcing him back a step.
Percival pressed his advantage, striking again and again. His blows weren't wild; each one was deliberate, precise, and deceitful, slipping past Graviil's guard with uncanny timing.
Graviil swung his sword in retaliation, nearly grazing Percival's throat. Percival twisted away at the last second, beads of sweat running down his temple, though his cocky smile never wavered.
His eyes lingered on Zadkiel, clearly wary of the blade. Graviil exhaled and calmly lowered his weapon. Zadkiel shimmered, then dissipated into a haze of light.
He would defeat Percival one way or another—even if it meant using his fists.
Percival's grin widened at the sight. "You honor me, my Lord. To face me on equal ground, even when you hold the advantage—how very generous."
Graviil did not answer. His fist shattered the air with a thunderous boom, surging toward Percival. The enemy reacted swiftly, clashing fist-to-fist with equal force.
"I just had to face Graviil today," Percival thought bitterly, tension hidden beneath his mocking tone. "I wasn't prepared for this. Not today."
"My illusions don't work as well on those who already understand 'Eternal Illusion.' It takes far longer to infiltrate their minds, to break their will completely."
"The only ones who truly know my ability… are Lord Graviil."
"And Jonathan." His expression soured at the thought of his brother's name.
"Just my luck."
Their battle raged on, hand-to-hand, each strike reverberating like thunder. Percival muttered under his breath, "No point whining about how the board was set. I'll just have to buy time."
He lashed out with a kick. Graviil blocked it, but Percival flipped backward, gaining distance. His hand reached behind him, retrieving a weapon half-hidden in his belt.
A flintlock.
He fired rapidly. Graviil's eyes narrowed in confusion, struck by the sheer unfamiliarity of the weapon. He had never seen its like.
Dodging came easily—until one bullet slipped past his notice. His gaze remained fixed on the weapon itself, too curious, too distracted. He raised his arm, confident the shot would shatter harmlessly against his skin.
But it didn't.
The bullet shimmered oddly, drinking in a fraction of his ethereal aura as it struck. Its glow shifted to an unnatural hue before piercing the skin of his arm, shallow yet undeniable.
"What is this?" Graviil thought, calm outwardly, though his mind sharpened with unease.
Percival's smirk returned as he caught the flicker of interest in Graviil's eyes. "Surprised, aren't you?" he teased, tone light and mocking. "This is my newest invention—a flintlock. No army, no kingdom, no race possesses these weapons. They belong only to the Percivilian Empire."
Graviil seemed unfazed, methodically pulling the bullet from his arm. But when he looked closer, his expression shifted.
"…Drakesteel?" His voice was quiet but heavy, enough for Percival to hear. "How is this possible?"
Percival began to laugh as he saw Graviil's calm demeanor finally falter at the sight of the bullet. "flabbergasted?!"
"I won't tell you much, but I forged not only these bullets, but this weapon itself, from Drakesteel. You noticed it, didn't you? How the bullet drew in faint traces of your ethereal energy, making it faster, stronger, more resilient?"
He smirked. "That's because I fused them with Lunacite crystals at their core. Drakesteel alone cannot absorb ethereal energy like the rarer high-tier minerals. That's why, throughout history, it was used only to forge mass weapons, armor for soldiers, and machinery for this new technological age I've birthed."
"Never for high-grade weapons."
He raised his flintlock with pride, aiming it at Graviil. "So tell me—do you understand now the grandeur of the situation? The weight of what every race will face? I am not here to conquer with strength alone. I am here to rewrite history with my influence and unmatched intellect."
"Not a single being, save perhaps the Herrschers themselves, surpasses me in genius. None rival my knowledge. You know that better than anyone, don't you?"
Graviil's silence spoke volumes, though his mind turned. Even if Drakesteel is more common than other high-tier metals, it remains stronger than any ordinary alloy. If he can mass-produce these so-called 'weapons' and their bullets, who knows how vast his armies might be? That means he has powerful ties to governments, hidden networks supplying him with Lunacite. But Percival holds no land, no nation. Where could he possibly be gaining such immense resources?
Finally, Graviil broke the silence. Calmly, he said, "Didn't you claim you wouldn't tell me much? Yet here you are, letting your ego spill all your secrets about these 'revolutionary' inventions."
Percival chuckled. "You're right—I got carried away. But it doesn't matter. I fear not what you know. None of you could ever replicate my work. The precision, the calculations, the meticulous craft—one mistake, and the bullets collapse in on themselves. It would take brilliance beyond your kind to even begin."
He sneered. "You monkeys wouldn't even know where to start. It's like handing a child the name of a cookie without telling them the recipe, the ingredients, or the tools to bake it. Even if they tried, could they truly understand every step? Of course not."
Graviil's eyes closed for a moment as he spoke, steady and resolute. "You're right about one thing, Percival. I know you better than anyone else alive. And I know one truth: you are not to be underestimated."
"Glad we can finally agree!" Percival exclaimed with false joy, his grin shifting into something darker, more venomous. "For too long, everyone—even you—has seen only a shell. A façade. An illusion of who I truly am."
"I despise personal combat. I always have. My powers are not meant for brutish brawls. They are meant for ruling. For commanding. I am no barbarian chasing strength for strength's sake. I am guided by intellect. By wisdom. That is where my true power lies."
"My mind has always been my weapon. And through it, I will reign. My wisdom elevates me beyond men, making me their god. A king among kings. In the mortal realm, dwarfed only by the Herrschers—" He paused, his voice dropping into a hiss. "But not for long."
"I was born superior. Even among the Gifted, I have always stood above. The rest are weak. Inferior. And soon, all will bow."
"I will become the New Age God of this reality."
Graviil allowed Percival's arrogance to echo without interruption. The man loved nothing more than the sound of his own voice. Then, with a calm breath, a golden light enveloped Graviil's arm. He whispered, "Divine Lionheart… Radiant Healing."
The wound from the bullet sealed in an instant, leaving no trace behind.
Before Graviil could strike, the sky split apart with a thunderous crack. Clouds tore open as a massive vessel of gold and black descended, gliding through the heavens like a ship cutting across an endless ocean.
Graviil's eyes widened, his breath caught in his chest. "What in Origin's name…" he muttered, jaw tight with disbelief. "What more madness has this bastard created?"
Percival stretched, yawning as though the arrival of such a monstrosity were a trivial matter. "As much as I've enjoyed our little exchange, Lord Graviil, I have pressing matters to attend to."
Graviil cut him off coldly. "And what makes you think I'll let you walk away alive?"
Percival's grin sharpened. "I don't." His tone shifted, his eyes narrowing as he gave a quiet command. "Now."
The ship answered. Strange waves pulsed outward in rhythmic sequences, each echoing with unnatural distortions of ethereal energy.
"You see," Percival began, his voice calm and confident despite the looming tension, "Varmints, for all their chaos, are still beasts. Higher strains may be intelligent, far more cunning than their lesser kin… but in the end, they are animals. And animals respond to stimulus. Frequencies. Signals."
He tilted his flintlock casually toward the skies. "By reversing the wavelengths of ethereal energy—dangerous, yes—you create a form of communication. A knock, if you will, on the doors of realms best left closed. Anyone… anything… can hear it."
The words had barely left his lips before the sky trembled. A deep, resonant toll, like a hellish bell, reverberated across the world. The sound was unbearable—an ache that rattled bone and soul alike.
Then came the reply.
A roar. Not of predator or prey, but something beyond eldritch—a sound from the abyss itself. It curdled the air, drowning all light with its presence. The Varmint had heard the call. And it had answered.
The air grew heavy, suffocating, as if existence itself recoiled. Graviil wasted no time. Zadkiel flared into being, radiance clashing against the dark. In a blur, he struck. One heartbeat Percival stood smirking, the next his chest was ripped open by a slash of holy light.
This time, there was no illusion. No mirage to take the blow.
The blade of Zadkiel punished evil at its core, and against Percival it burned with amplified fury. The cut tore deep, nearly cleaving him in two. Blood spilled freely, his face pale as death, but his grin still lingered—mocking even in agony.
"F-fighting you without a plan…" Percival gasped, coughing blood, "…is a death sentence. That's why… I brought back the War Titan General… Emperor Julius. To fight in my stead. To kill those even I cannot."
Graviil's composure faltered. His eyes hardened. "What did you just say?"
But he refused to let shock distract him. Percival's words might be truth—or another lie. Either way, his focus remained.
Percival staggered, blood pouring down his chest. With a desperate, mocking laugh, he flung a spray of his own blood toward Graviil, forcing him to recoil. Seizing the moment, Percival pulled another flintlock, pairing it with the one already in hand, and unleashed a storm of shots.
Graviil moved like a storm given flesh. Zadkiel spun in a circular dance, its arcs weaving radiant barriers that shredded every bullet in their path. Sparks of light clashed with Percival's storm of iron.
With a single pivot, Graviil raised his blade high. A vertical slash tore downward, erupting into a wave of holy energy. The ground beneath them split open, the light consuming all in its path with unstoppable force.
When the attack caught up to Percival, its target immediately burst apart, his body breaking into tens of thousands of shimmering butterflies that scattered into the air—an illusion shattered.
Percival reappeared behind Graviil, silent as a viper, pressing his flintlock toward the back of Graviil's head. Yet before the trigger could be pulled, shafts of radiant light rained down upon him, arrows that tore through his already bleeding frame like divine judgment.
Graviil calmly turned his head, his voice a whisper of finality.
"Absolute Light: Cruelest Arrows."
The arrows detonated in unison, engulfing Percival in a thunderous eruption of divine brilliance. His scream was drowned in the light that scorched and seared, burning through illusions, flesh, and will alike.
"You'll die today, Percival," Graviil declared, Zadkiel raised high, his blade humming with the resonance of justice. He was ready to end it here, without hesitation, without mercy.
For the first time, Percival's grin faltered. His eyes widened, not with arrogance, but with a creeping sensation he had long since forgotten—fear. The fear of death itself.
Yet even then, blood dripping from his lips, he managed to grin faintly. "I wish… that was true."
A thunderous crash of azure brilliance split the battlefield. A column of blue light engulfed Percival's broken form, whisking him away in an instant, slipping from Graviil's grasp. The Starlight Voyager had activated its teleportation array just in time, tearing him from the jaws of certain death.
Graviil's blade cut through empty air, his eyes narrowing. "Where the hell did he go?"
The ship thundered above, mechanical roars shaking the sky as it ripped open the fabric of space once again, vanishing far beyond his reach.
"Bastard." The word was spat with controlled venom, but Graviil's focus shifted instantly. The ground shook. The heavens cracked. A vast portal split the sky, its edges lined with fractured lightning. Through it, a colossal hand clawed its way into reality, each finger longer than towers, dripping with shadows that writhed like living tar.
The air turned suffocating, every breath a struggle beneath the crushing aura of the intruding beast.
Yet Graviil did not waver. He drove Zadkiel into the ruined earth, the blade igniting a wave of cleansing light that pushed against the encroaching darkness. His hair whipped violently, his eyes blazing with divine fire.
"I'll kill it before it lays waste to London," he said coldly, voice steady in the face of horror. "Percival… I should have killed you when we first crossed paths. Had I known your genius would lead to this abomination, I would never have stayed my hand."
"Summoning the banished Varmints back into this world…" His tone tightened, his jaw set like iron. "I truly fear what you have become."
—————
Within the pristine halls of the Starlight Voyager, Percival collapsed onto his knees, blood trailing down his chin as crimson smeared across the vessel's polished white floor. Soldiers rushed to him at once, hands trembling as they tried to keep him upright.
"You sure… took your damn time," Percival rasped, his irritation cutting through the pain.
"Forgive us, my lord!" one soldier stammered. "The teleportation core—there were complications bringing it online."
"Tch." Percival clicked his tongue, spitting blood to the side. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that we leave—now. I had no intention of fighting the Lord of Light today."
His voice lowered, strained but serious. "If he's here hunting Xavier… then it's not far-fetched that He is here too."
The thought struck him like a blade, chilling him more than Graviil's arrows ever could. He winced, clutching his chest as his body screamed in agony.
"…I can't allow Emperor Julius to cross paths with Aleksander."
His breathing grew heavy, but his mind remained razor sharp, every word layered with weight. "I promised Julius battles against warriors worthy of his strength, if he aided me in ascending to godhood. But…" His lips curled into a grimace.
"A fight between those two… it would tear the world apart. The devastation would be incalculable."
He clenched his blood-soaked hand, forcing his broken body to stand. "I must find His Majesty. I must stop it from happening—before Julius and Aleksander meet on the battlefield."