When a Filipino got Isekai'd with a twist!
"Only I can summon those!"
Chapter 7: Light em up!
Xandros stirred, his eyelids heavy. He forced them open—only to see death.
The highest-ranking demons who had stood proudly by his side moments ago now lay twisted and charred, their bodies unrecognizable. The ground around him was nothing but scorched glass and ash. Even the air burned, each breath scratching his throat like molten sand.
Slowly, his pupils shrank, struggling to focus.
"…Father?" he rasped.
The voice returned, but it was no longer calm. It was colder, harsher—distorted, layered with a mechanical edge that cut through his bones.
"I'll deal with you later… but for now—stay still while I save the world."
And before Xandros could react, something massive shot upward from the golden pillar, tearing the clouds apart as it vanished into the heavens. The shockwave flattened what remained of the Demon Lord's encampment, leaving Xandros trembling, not from fear—but from the unknown.
Steel clashed, fire roared, and screams drowned out prayers.
Chris staggered, blood dripping from his lips as he conjured a barrier to shield what little remained of their forces. Vismond stood in front of him, daggers broken, body riddled with cuts, still defiant. Cane, half-blind in one eye, swung his blade with raw fury, but even he was slowing under the endless tide. Josh, his armor cracked and sword chipped, held the line, teeth gritted as though sheer will was all that remained.
Around them, battered kings and queens fought to their last breaths, voices breaking with resolve.
"It's an honor to fight alongside you, Sir Hero!" one knight cried as he fell, torn apart by claws.
Another warrior clutched his bleeding chest, turning to Vismond. "We'll… hold them here… just make it count."
But there was no "making it count." The enemy was endless.
Princess Lyra dropped to her knees, tears streaking down her dirt-stained face, sword slipping from her hand. "We… we can't win. Not like this. Not against all of them…"
The demons swarmed, a black tide of hate and hunger. Hope itself seemed to bleed out into the soil.
And then—
A sound.
It wasn't steel. It wasn't screams. It was… music.
A strange, raw voice rang across the battlefield, carried on unseen speakers that had no right to exist in this world.
"Oh woah oh wooh ho whoa oh oh oh!"
The demons froze mid-charge, snarling and glancing about in confusion. The humans looked at each other, bewildered.
"What is that?!" someone shouted.
"Is somebody… is somebody seriously singing at this point of war?!" another cried in disbelief.
The sound grew louder, sharper, rolling like thunder across the blood-soaked field.
Most were confused. Most couldn't understand.
But four of them—Josh, Vismond, Chris, and Cane—stood frozen for an entirely different reason.
Their eyes widened. Their chests tightened. Recognition hit them like lightning.
"…No way," Chris whispered, trembling.
Cane's bloody grin stretched wider. "Heh… it's him."
Vismond lowered his daggers, eyes burning. "So the bastard lives…"
Josh just laughed, broken and relieved all at once. "Heh—you fucking bastard! You really know how to pull off a grand entrance like this, brother!"
And as if answering him, the music surged, the words slamming across the battlefield like a battle hymn from another world:
"Be careful making wishes in the dark, dark…
Can't be sure when they've hit their mark, mark…"
The chorus exploded, shaking the heavens.
"So light 'em up, up, up—
Light 'em up, up, up—
I'm on fire!"
The sky erupted.
Something gigantic tore through the clouds, wings blazing with golden fire, beams of light raining down like judgment. Each strike carved canyons into the earth, erasing millions of demons in an instant.
The battlefield became a storm of brilliance, death, and awe.
The tide turned—not slowly, but violently.
The demons didn't just falter—they broke, running in panic as the heavens themselves sang the anthem of their doom.
The battlefield was no longer silent—it was alive with chaos, demons shrieking as beams of golden fire rained from the skies. But among the humans, among the battered warriors who had given up hope only moments before, something sparked.
Hope.
One soldier pointed upward, eyes wide and mouth trembling. "Hey—it's Sir Kieth's Gundam!"
Another stumbled forward, clutching his bleeding arm. "Yeah… it's finally fixed—we're saved!"
But then a grizzled knight, his helm cracked and eyes sharp, shouted over them. "No… that's not the Gundam Sir Kieth piloted!"
The words struck them like thunder. Confusion rippled through the ranks, their cheers faltering.
"What?!" dozens of voices cried out in disbelief.
And then they saw it.
The colossal figure tearing through the clouds was not the battered war machine they remembered. Behind its towering metallic form spread wings—massive, radiant wings, not of feathers, but of gleaming white metal. Each plate caught the golden light and refracted it like shards of starlight, stretching wide enough to blot out half the sky.
Princess Lyra's lips trembled as her tears spilled freely. Her heart pounded, her voice too soft for most to hear, but carried by hope alone.
"…You finally made it back… Kieth."
The metallic giant stopped firing, its last beam burning a canyon across the battlefield. Smoke and fire rose like mountains, demon screams drowned beneath the echoes of destruction.
And then, in the stillness that followed, the figure descended.
The ground shook as it landed before the battered human alliance, earth cracking under its sheer weight. Dust swirled in a halo around it, and only then did they see it in its full glory.
It wasn't just a Gundam.
Its armor was pure white, polished to a mirror sheen, marked with streaks of cosmic silver that pulsed faintly, as if alive with energy. Across its chest burned a golden core, radiating warmth instead of menace. Its face was regal, angular, crowned with a V-shaped crest that shimmered with otherworldly brilliance. The wings unfurled fully behind it, each feather-like plate humming with restrained power, a fusion of divine light and machine precision.
It was no weapon of war—it was a symbol, a savior wrought from both man's creation and the cosmos' blessing.
Silence held the battlefield as all eyes locked onto it.
Then, the machine's eyes ignited with a burning sapphire glow. A speaker crackled to life, and a voice rang out—distorted, mechanical, yet so painfully familiar it pierced every heart around it.
"Miss me, guys?!"
The human alliance erupted, a roar of disbelief and joy tearing through their broken lines, drowning out even the cries of the demons.
Hope had returned—not as a whisper, but as a thunderclap.
For a heartbeat, the battlefield was frozen. No sword swung, no claw struck, no arrow flew.
Then the humans erupted.
Cheers broke from cracked lips and bloodied throats, warriors shouting with every ounce of life they had left. Men dropped to their knees, pounding their fists into the ground in relief. Women wept openly, gripping their weapons tighter, strength flooding back into limbs that had nearly given out.
"It's him—it's really him!" one knight cried.
"Sir Kieth is back!" another shouted, voice cracking.
"No… no, this is something else. He's become… more than a hero…" a queen whispered, awe in her eyes.
Cane let out a bark of laughter despite his bloodied face. "Heh… knew you weren't done, bastard!"
Chris wiped blood from his chin, smiling for the first time in what felt like ages. "Of course… he always shows up when it matters most."
Vismond's eyes glinted dangerously, daggers lowering at last. "So you finally decided to stop napping, huh?"
Josh smirked, tears in his eyes as he muttered, "Yeah… welcome home, brother."
Even Princess Lyra, still on her knees, pressed a hand to her chest, sobbing as her lips curled into a trembling smile. Hope, real hope, burned inside her once again.
But while humans roared with life, the demons were another story.
Fear cut through their ranks like wildfire. Soldiers who had once charged without hesitation stumbled back, snarling, screaming at one another in panic.
"What is that thing?!"
"Impossible—he was supposed to be dead!"
"Run—RUN!"
Even the higher demons, cruel and unyielding, found their resolve cracking. The metallic wings glared down at them like a thousand suns, beams still simmering at their edges.
And in the midst of that chaos, the Demon Lord Xandros stirred within the ruins of his stronghold. His vision cleared slowly, the taste of smoke and ash on his tongue. All around him, the corpses of his highest-ranking demons lay still, charred beyond recognition.
His trembling hand pressed against the scorched ground as he forced himself upright. His lips peeled back into a snarl, teeth grinding until blood seeped between them.
"No…" he hissed.
The golden light still blazed across the horizon, and above it, that colossal, winged machine stood in defiance.
"This… this isn't possible!" Xandros roared, his voice cracking with rage. He slammed his clawed hand into the ground, shattering it beneath him. His eyes burned, wide and bloodshot.
"Father! This isn't the world you promised me! It was supposed to be ours!"
But no answer came. Only the glow of the metallic savior, descending like a god who refused to be denied.
Xandros's voice broke into a scream, torn between hatred and fear.
"KEIIIIITHHHHHH!"
The cockpit hissed as it slid open, steam venting from the joints of the Gundam's chest. A flash of crimson light streaked outward—his Faiz suit locking into place as he leapt down with flawless grace, landing hard enough to kick up a wave of dust and sparks.
The crowd gasped, soldiers whispering as their hearts pounded.
Then, with a soft mechanical hiss, the armor dissolved away piece by piece until only the man remained. His face was revealed at last—soft, young, impossibly handsome, with that bright, almost reckless smile they had missed for so long.
"Kieth…" Lyra's voice cracked. She didn't hesitate. She sprinted forward, her feet barely touching the ground as if afraid he might vanish again if she was too slow. She collided into him, arms wrapping tight around his torso, sobbing into his chest.
"I hate you… I hate you for leaving without saying a word!" Her fists weakly pounded against him, her tears soaking into his shirt.
Kieth winced but held her close, one arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, the other gently brushing her hair. His voice was warm, steady.
"Yeah… I'm sorry. But I'm back."
For a heartbeat, time itself seemed to stop. The alliance army behind them cheered, hope igniting in their eyes like wildfire. Some dropped to their knees in relief, others laughed through their tears.
But the reunion shattered with a roar of hatred.
"You bastard!!"
From the broken battlefield, three figures stood. Frank Abigneil's monstrous frame twisted and bulged, his skin rippling like a chameleon's as his furious eyes locked onto Kieth. Beside him, Josef Mengele's cold smile twitched with rage, and Jack the Ripper licked the blood off his knives, snarling like a rabid beast.
"You couldn't stay dead, could you?!" Frank bellowed, his voice cracking the air.
"You fucking ruined everything!" Josef spat.
"You… should have rotted in hell!" Jack hissed, stepping forward with murderous hunger.
Kieth slowly raised his head, one hand still around Lyra protectively. His smile sharpened into a smirk, defiant and mocking, voice steady enough to cut through the chaos.
"Heh…" His eyes glowed faintly, not with power, but with pure, stubborn fire.
"You're fucking welcome."
The ground itself seemed to tremble in anticipation of the next clash.
Kieth shrugged, easy as a gambler. "Meh—don't worry. Got a trick of my own." He tapped his wrist. "Hey, Metatron! Give me something to kick these fuckers' asses!"
A crackle of synthesized tone answered like a god on a headset.
Metatron: Affirmative. Hero of Heroes / King of Heroes has been activated.
Metatron: Selecting the best summon for current enemies... search successful. Weapons are ready. Just say the word.
Kieth's eyes glittered. "Heh—good. That's what I'm saying, partner. Let's beat them quick!" He launched like a bullet.
He closed the distance in two strides—no theatrics, just pure momentum. Frank lunged, mass and teeth, the same brutish force that had chewed through infantry earlier. Jack spun in with blades screaming, an unpredictable flicker of death. Josef hovered back, pale smile already plotting the medical horror he'd become.
Kieth's hands moved fast. Two blades of pure light snapped into being at his wrists—lean, lethal sabers that hummed like twin suns. He met Frank's charge with a double parry: light to steel, ring to ring. Sparks burst; the impact shoved Kieth back an instant, then he flowed under the weight, sliding on one knee beneath Frank's swinging elbow and kicking hard into the demon's tailbone. The kick landed with a wet, metallic thud; Frank pitched forward, momentum used against him.
Jack's knives folded toward Kieth's throat—Kieth's left saber flashed in a quick X-parry, then he tucked, slid under Jack's outstretched leg and delivered a corkscrew kick into Jack's spine. The Ripper flew off, hitting rubble and coughing blood, more annoyed than finished.
Kieth spun—momentum, footwork, rhythm. He planted his right foot, pivoted, and the twin sabers sang as he slashed across Josef's midsection in a single, brutal arc. Josef split clean down the middle. Blood, organs—gore, cinematic and absolute.
The battlefield held its breath.
Then Josef's two halves twitched. Tissue knit. Bones crawled back like something stitched by nightmares. Flesh bubbled, and a skeletal grin reformed. Josef sat up, the same cold, clinical smile intact as if the cut had been a paper trick.
"Ohhh… a salamander type, huh?" Josef purred, voice tinny and cruel as he rose. His skin steamed; a pale ichor oozed where the wound had been. He chuckled. "Regeneration—primitive, yet effective."
Kieth's face didn't flicker. He ducked low, tapping his wrist again with a thumb, eyes narrowing as Metatron's voice filled the air—calm, robotic, clipped.
Metatron: Enemy classification: Adaptive Regen. Recommended countermeasure: Temporal Severance Array — deploy?
"Deploy," Kieth said, simple.
At his command a small device uncoiled from a hidden port at his hip—sleek, game-like, absurdly out of place in this war-torn plain. Metal plates unfolded like the petals of a mechanical lotus, lines of blue-white code running along them. He slammed the device into the ground. A ring of crackling light erupted, ragged and humming—temporal glyphs spooled outward in a tight disc.
Josef's skin spasmed as the field hit him. Regrowth stalled, then shuddered. The Temporal Severance Array didn't kill—rather, it destabilized the regenerative vectors Josef relied on, making healed tissue brittle and the molecular reconnection wrong. When Kieth countered with a second, surgical swipe—this time a high, clean arc—the regenerating flesh failed to reconnect properly. Josef's reformation faltered; he collapsed in a heap, twitching, gagging.
Frank, furious and bleeding, tried to rise but the kick into his tailbone had jarred joints; Jack crawled toward his knives, teeth bared. Kieth moved through them like water—calm, surgical, wild. Each strike was a punctuation mark: a saber flick to disarm, a shoulder-check to off-balance, an elbow to stun.
Cane, Josh, Vismond, and Chris—having obeyed Kieth's order—returned just in time to see Josef convulse and fall silent. Frank rose at a stagger, fury igniting. He charged. The four heroes met him in a gang press: Cane's hammering, Vismond's blades in the ribs, Josh's thunderous cleave forcing Frank to raise a guard, Chris' arcane bolt searing muscle fiber. They hammered him back, but Frank was a tidal force—every hit bought ground, not victory.
Kieth stepped between their working frames like a conductor, watching. He barked one-liners while bleeding and breathing, every cut and bruise a verse in his grin. "Not bad," he told Frank between strikes. "Try not to die before the encore."
The anti-hero trio, broken and furious, began to retreat—Jack limping, Frank bleeding but upright, Josef twitching as the array kept him contained. They spat words of hatred and promise. The air vibrated with the unholy promise of another clash.
Kieth didn't gloat. He straightened, wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked at his friends—at Lyra, at the rulers they'd bought time for, at a battlefield that had stopped expecting miracles and now had one. His grin softened for a single heartbeat.
"Alright," he said, low. "Let's finish the rest."
Around them, the alliance rallied—shouts growing louder, armor clanking as weary soldiers rose to meet the tide with new fire. Above, the white-winged machine stood like a sentinel, beams cooling to embers. The war wasn't over—but the impossible had returned, and with him, the balance had shifted.
Frank staggered back with a guttural roar, Jack crawled for his blades, and Josef convulsed in the glowing field. Kieth flicked blood off his saber, eyes narrowing, then smirked like he'd been waiting for this beat.
"Hey, standing around watching me hog the spotlight?" he called to Josh, Cane, Vismond, and Chris. "Nah, can't have that. Time to gear you guys up properly."
From his Gundam's cockpit, something shot out—a cluster of objects spinning through the air like coins. Each landed in front of a hero with a solid thunk. Belts. Sleek, futuristic, gleaming with a mix of tech and magic sigils.
Kieth tapped his own Faiz belt and grinned. "Metatron, synchronize Rider systems with their classes."
Metatron: Affirmative. Assigning optimal Rider augmentations...
One by one, the belts hummed, scanning their new owners.
Josh caught a heavy, lion-emblazoned Driver that locked around his waist like armor.
Metatron: Sword Saint detected. Sync complete. Kamen Rider Kuuga Titan Form adaptation: enhanced close-combat resilience, amplified sword resonance.
The belt pulsed, plates of violet armor crawling up Josh's frame, turning him into a juggernaut with a massive energy blade to match his style.
Cane grabbed one with a bestial motif—fangs etched across the buckle.
Metatron: Divine Gladiator detected. Sync complete. Kamen Rider Gaim Arms adaptation: feral power modules, brute-force amplifiers.
With a roar, his body armored in crimson-and-gold plating, his strikes now carrying shockwaves with every swing.
Vismond's belt gleamed midnight black, lean and angular.
Metatron: Divine Assassin detected. Sync complete. Kamen Rider Kabuto adaptation: speed and precision prioritized. Clock Up ability unlocked.
The armor snapped into place, and the air bent as his speed jumped instantly, his daggers now phasing faster than the eye could track.
Chris caught a Driver with circuitry glowing deep blue, etched in arcane runes.
Metatron: Divine Wizard detected. Sync complete. Kamen Rider Wizard adaptation: infinite spell loops and boosted mana throughput.
Rings of magic spun around him as sleek armor flowed over his robes, his spellcasting now laced with Rider tech, turning every chant into a cannon blast.
The four stared at themselves, armor gleaming, new power humming through every fiber of their being.
"Kieth… what the hell is this?!" Josh shouted, half in awe, half grinning like a kid handed his first greatsword.
Kieth spun his sabers, smirk still intact. "Just some toys from home. Try not to break 'em too fast."
Frank, Jack, and Josef froze as the four heroes' auras flared, now multiplied by their Rider forms. The battlefield rumbled with anticipation. Soldiers who had been on their knees moments before now cheered, voices trembling with renewed fire.
The five of them—Kieth at the center, the others armored as Riders—stood shoulder to shoulder, staring down the three anti-heroes.
"Alright," Kieth said, his voice calm but crackling with energy. "Round two. Let's Light em up!."
To be continued..