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When it came to taking out the trash versus taking revenge, Bokue Keikain had his priorities straight.
It was like this: imagine living on the ground floor of an apartment with a private garden, and some upstairs idiot decides to hurl a full trash bag out their window—right into your backyard—while you're watching.
First thing's first: before the nasty soup from that garbage bag spills everywhere and stinks up the whole place, you clean up the mess. Then, and only then, do you go upstairs and twist that idiot's skull off.
Of course, the ideal solution?
March right up there and force-feed the bastard every last piece of that garbage until they swear to never, ever pull that crap again.
That was exactly what Bokue intended to do now.
He'd already dealt with all the Nalakuvera swarming the artificial port. And since the port was nothing more than a glorified floating island—a modular bolt-on made to boost Itogami's capacity—he saw no reason not to haul it back after dealing with the problem. Just plug it back in and it's good as new.
Naturally, he brought a certain "Pokéball" back with him as well.
All of this—the cleanup, the return trip—had taken maybe ten minutes. Now, as he slowed his descent and drifted through the uppermost edges of Earth's atmosphere, Bokue hovered in orbit.
From this distance, the Earth's continents were crystal clear. Every tectonic plate, every border line you'd only see on a world map—laid out perfectly below him.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the golden sphere. The one with the mangled, barely-recognizable face of Dimitrie Vatler twisted across its surface.
He turned the orb to face the Earth.
"Take a look. Recognize this place?"
There was no response—just a quiver, a twitch, a pitiful groan from the deformed features squished into the sphere.
Even so, Vatler forced open what might have once been his eyelid. Just a sliver.
What he saw was the continent of Europe—or more specifically, the portion that belonged to the Lost Warlord, the First Progenitor of Vampires. The vast dominion that spanned across multiple nations, including Ardeal Duchy, the very territory that had once been under Vatler's rule.
Under normal circumstances, any halfway-competent noble in Vatler's position—dragged home in disgrace after a failed power grab—would have realized what was coming.
A death sentence. A reckoning.
If Vatler had even a shred of dignity left, maybe he'd cry out something noble like:
"Spare the people! I alone take responsibility!"
But Vatler?
He was beyond broken.
Even though Bokue's magnetic compression kept all his bodily systems functioning inside that nightmarish ball, the vampire's sanity had been ground into dust. There was nothing left. No awareness. No cognition. Just raw, primal trauma.
"Relax. I'm giving you a breather."
Bokue flicked his fingers, canceling Vatler's pain receptors for the moment.
Instantly, the suffering stopped.
For the first time in what must have felt like eternity, there was no fire chewing through his nerves. No relentless death-respawn-death loop. No agony.
Vatler's face—the scraps of it that remained—slackened. He looked like someone who'd finally crawled out of hell.
Tears. Snot. Drool. All of it poured out at once.
"Gross."
Bokue curled his lip.
"Let me be clear—I didn't say I was done. I'm just giving you a moment. I want you to understand exactly what you've done."
"I… I was wrong! I was wrong, I swear!! I'll never do it again!"
The response was immediate. Vatler—once a flamboyant noble with unshakable arrogance—was now sobbing like a beaten dog, begging for his life.
You'd never believe this was the same man who strutted around on that cruise ship, puffed up and full of himself.
"You think I care about your whining?" Bokue said flatly. "You only care now because you're scared of dying."
He paused.
"Correction. You don't even get to die."
"NO—PLEASE! I'm begging you! One more chance—I'll change! I won't fight anymore! I just want to live!"
His pleading grew more frantic, more desperate.
But death?
Even that luxury had been stripped away from him. Before Bokue, the so-called strongest vampire beneath the Progenitors was nothing but a toy.
He had no choice but to grovel.
"I already gave you a chance. More than one."
Bokue's voice was calm. Cold.
"Back on the cruise, I asked your men to go fetch you. You refused. You thought putting on airs was more important than being responsible."
"Fine. That insult—I've already settled."
"But here's where you really screwed up."
Bokue's tone darkened, and his golden eyes narrowed with wrath.
"You dared to get involved."
The weight behind those words was terrifying. The moment he said them, everything changed.
An uncontainable pressure exploded from his body.
[Magnetic Field Rotation: 780,000 horsepower!]
[820,000 horsepower!]
[850,000!]
[950,000!]
[970,000!!!]
His long-dormant fighting spirit had fully awakened.
The artificial limits that had shackled his strength—the self-imposed governor that came with peace—shattered like cheap glass. In one leap, Bokue transcended the known boundaries of power. In one breath, he entered a realm where no being had ever stood before.
[Magnetic Field Rotation: 990,000 horsepower!!!]
BOOM.
A weapon forged from condensed cosmic force appeared in his hand—a celestial spear capable of piercing stars.
Bokue didn't even flinch.
He casually skewered Vatler through the tip of the spear like bait on a hook, then etched a Mind Seal into his body using magnetic energy.
"From now on, every single person you meet, you will confess what you've done."
"If your master has any shred of decency left… maybe he'll give you the death you're begging for."
"Maybe."
Then, without another word, Bokue hurled the golden spear down at the Earth like a meteor.
It streaked through the sky, glowing like the wrath of a God, and pierced through the Lost Warlord's barrier like wet paper—crashing straight into the heart of the capital.
A second later, a small, flickering flame burst on the surface.
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!"
And with that—
The capital of the Warlord Domain was no more...
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