The night was alive with the sound of war. The once-proud Von Drakrion estate, a symbol of wealth and unbroken power, now burned in streaks of red light as enemy projectiles cut through the sky. The air was thick with smoke and the iron tang of blood, every breath heavy, every step weighed down by the enormity of what was at stake.
Hiroshi adjusted the sleek plating of his battle armor as he marched down the arched corridor toward the gates. Behind the visor of his helmet, his eyes burned with the same intensity as the flames devouring the gardens outside. He was not just preparing for a fight; he was walking into the storm with the calm of a man who had already accepted that history would remember this night.
Rosalyn fell in step beside him, her own armor gleaming in the pulsing glow of the emergency lights. Her face was unreadable, but Hiroshi knew her well enough to feel the ice-cold fury simmering beneath her calm. She carried herself like a blade — sharp, precise, waiting to be unleashed.
Outside, the enemy forces poured into the outer courtyards. Vehicles rumbled through the gates, spewing armored soldiers onto the scorched cobblestone paths. Their banners — the black sigil of the Iron Matron — snapped in the smoke-choked wind, a cruel mockery of nobility.
"Perimeter has been breached," Rosalyn reported, her voice steady over the comms. "Drones are in the air, turrets active, but they're pushing harder than we calculated. They came prepared."
Hiroshi's jaw tightened. "Which means they had inside help."
Rosalyn shot him a sidelong glance but said nothing. The suspicion was already there, heavy and poisonous.
A flicker of static cut through their earpieces before Evelyn's voice came online, sharp but tinged with fear. "Hiroshi… they're not just targeting the estate. They're targeting you."
He paused, only for a breath. It wasn't surprising — but it confirmed his growing suspicion. This war wasn't about land, or politics, or even rebellion. It was personal.
Before he could respond, the marble walls of the corridor shook with the thunder of explosions. Shards of stone rained down, the air hot with fire. Hiroshi raised his arm to shield his face, then barked into the comms, "Rosalyn, left flank—cut them off before they reach the inner sanctum!"
She gave a sharp nod and disappeared into the smoke like a phantom.
The first wave of enemy soldiers surged forward. Hiroshi drew his blade — a weapon of hybrid design, forged in the marriage of ancient craftsmanship and futuristic tech. Its edge glowed faintly, humming with restrained energy. He met the first soldier head-on, his strike cutting through armor like paper, sparks spraying into the dark.
The battle was chaos — drones streaking overhead in synchronized swarms, turrets roaring from the rooftops, and enemy soldiers firing in disciplined bursts. Every impact shook the estate, every scream seemed to echo against the marble pillars like a curse.
And through it all… Kyo Haru.
The man moved like he was drunk on adrenaline. He slipped through enemy lines with a grin plastered on his face, firing wildly, tossing grenades, and shouting insults that somehow carried over the chaos. At one point, Hiroshi caught sight of him vaulting over a wrecked vehicle, landing behind enemy soldiers, and casually shooting them in the back before waving at Hiroshi like it was a dinner party.
"Damn lunatic," Hiroshi muttered, but he couldn't deny the truth — Kyo's chaos was working. The enemy lines wavered, their discipline cracking under the weight of unpredictability.
Still, even with the drones and Kyo's antics, the enemy pressed forward with a relentlessness that unsettled Hiroshi. These weren't common mercenaries — their movements were coordinated, their strikes aimed not at victory but at annihilation. Someone was guiding them. Someone who knew the Von Drakrions.
The thought was interrupted when a desperate cry came over the comms. "They've breached the east wing! The archives—!"
The archives. Hiroshi's blood ran cold. That was where his family kept centuries of records — secrets that could unravel the empire if they fell into the wrong hands.
"Rosalyn, regroup on me," he ordered, voice like iron. "Kyo, keep the courtyard under control. Evelyn—" His voice softened only slightly. "Stay in the command chamber. No risks."
But Evelyn's reply came back sharp, defiant. "I'm not hiding, Hiroshi. If this is about me… then I'm going to face it."
Before he could argue, a massive explosion shook the east wing. Smoke and flame poured from the arched windows as shadows flickered in the firelight. Figures emerged — tall, armored, their movements too precise, too inhuman.
Hiroshi's stomach dropped. These weren't ordinary rebels. They were engineered soldiers — augmented with cybernetics and old-world sorcery, the kind of unholy fusion whispered about in council chambers but never confirmed.
Rosalyn appeared at his side, her blade dripping with blood. "They brought abominations," she spat, her voice laced with disgust.
Hiroshi tightened his grip on his weapon, his mind racing. The enemy had revealed their hand at last — and the true battle was only beginning.
"Then we cut them down," he said coldly. "Every last one."
The augmented soldiers advanced, their eyes glowing with unnatural light, their voices a low, mechanical chorus.
And as Hiroshi charged into them, blade raised, he realized this night would not just decide the fate of his family. It would decide the fate of the empire itself.
End of Chapter 25