Tarsen and Cara were caught in the Crimson Count's grip. They struggled, but it was useless. No one could reach them. The three of them stood alone in the center, locked in combat, while the rest were pinned by the crushing weight of the Blood Eclipse.
Tarsen's glaive slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground. His hands gripped at the Count's arm, teeth gritted in pain.
The Count's crimson eyes darkened. His grip tightened. "You thought this was enough to stop me? Pathetic. Heh… heh… heh…"
With a sudden, brutal motion, he slammed Cara into the ground. At the same time, his other hand lifted Tarsen higher, choking him with ease.
Then, suddenly, he froze. His body stiffened. The glow around him faltered, then went out.
The Blood Eclipse had ended.
The Count's greatest weapon had a cost. His skills weren't endless, they needed blood. Every second the Eclipse lasted, every time Blood Surge closed his wounds, it drained the battlefield dry.
That was why he hadn't fought at the start. He had let the thralls, the Blood Stalkers, even the DMW Gang burn out first. Their deaths fueled him, their blood feeding his skills. It had carried him this far… until now.
The ground, once slick with blood, was dry. The only blood left was his own.
The sky above shifted back, from crimson to the sickly pink of the eternal fog.
The Crimson Count stiffened, eyes flicking downward. For the first time, his own power had betrayed him.
His breath came slow, his expression hard to read. "Tch…"
Cara shoved herself out of the rubble as soon as the pressure lifted. The weight of the Eclipse was gone, and her eyes snapped to the Crimson Count. His hand was still locked around Tarsen's throat.
She didn't hesitate. Her chakram swept across his arm in one clean motion, forcing him to release her brother.
The Count's teeth clenched, his crimson eyes flaring with rage. "You little…"
Tarsen dropped to the ground, his Sun Eidolon form flickering before stabilizing. His breathing was sharp, but he steadied himself quickly, reaching down to reclaim his glaive.
The twins struck together. Their timing was perfect, their weapons crossing in a sequence that was silent, precise, and final. Tarsen's glaive drove forward as Cara's chakrams spun in a deadly arc.
The blades tore through the Count's chest, cutting deep enough to shake his body on impact. The sound of metal through flesh and bone echoed across the battlefield.
The Crimson Count staggered back, his breath ragged. A bloody smirk tugged at his lips. "Tch… not bad."
A broken laugh slipped out, but it quickly turned into a choking gasp. Blood poured from his mouth as his eyes lost their glow. His body gave out, collapsing heavily to the ground.
The battlefield fell silent.
Thomas finally pulled himself free from the rubble, debris sliding from his shoulders as he rose. A deep claw mark stretched across his chest, already closing as his body healed.
In the short time he had been buried, the Hayashi Twins had finished the Crimson Count.
With their master gone, the remaining thralls fell apart. Leaderless, they lost all coordination and were cut down quickly by the surviving fighters.
The battle was over.
But victory brought no relief.
The survivors gathered near the ruined castle. They were exhausted, their weapons dragging at their sides, and no one spoke at first.
Marcus shook blood from his armored mammoth hide, each movement slow and deliberate. Behind him, the Hounds stood in formation. They were bruised, but their line had held. Not one of them had fallen.
The Okada Family had not been as fortunate. Two of their own lay among the dead, and the rest stood in silence, their grief heavy but contained.
Thomas's crew bore cuts and bruises, their bodies aching from the fight. They had spent too much time covering for the DMW Gang, shielding reckless fighters who ignored every warning. Nevin moved from one survivor to another, his hands glowing faintly as he healed wounds where he could. But each step of his own was uneven. His leg dragged slightly, a limp he tried to hide. His healing skill could mend others, but not himself.
And then there was what remained of the DMW Gang.
Fourteen of them were gone.
The once-loud, boastful gang now stood silent, nearly half their numbers gone. The grins and cocky swagger were gone too. They had believed numbers made them strong. The battlefield had proved otherwise.
Roz, still in his Fenrir form, sat apart from the rest. His massive wolf-like body hunched low, claws dug into the dirt. There was no grin this time, no loud words.
Marcus stepped toward him, his tone steady. "You lost fourteen."
Roz didn't answer.
"You knew the risks," Marcus continued. "You sent them in unprepared, and now they're dead because of it."
Roz let out a bitter chuckle. "You think you're better than me?" He shook his head. "You think this is on me?"
Marcus didn't blink. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to." Roz's eyes finally met his, a dangerous edge in them. "You government types always act like you've got it figured out. Like you're above the rest of us."
Selene stepped forward, her voice cold. "We didn't get anyone killed by being reckless."
Roz's fists clenched. "Don't act like you saved us. You had trained killers, we had men who weren't ready. We were set up to fail."
Selene's voice was ice. "No one set you up. You did that to yourselves."
Roz stiffened, his face twisting, his surviving men shifting uneasily behind him.
From the side, Thomas let out a sigh. "Still talking?"
Roz turned, baring his teeth. "What was that?"
Thomas rolled his shoulder, his towering frame casting a shadow over Roz. "Half your guys are dead, and you're still pointing fingers? Take the loss and move on."
Roz froze. For a moment his jaw clenched like he might answer back, but the sight of the demonic giant towering over him stole the words from his mouth.
Noah exhaled, shoulders tense. "Enough. This isn't changing anything."
Marcus gave a curt nod. "We need to move. The battle's done, but the Pink Fog is still here."
The survivors gathered their wounded, their weapons, and their dead. The cost of the fight weighed heavy.
Nevin limped as he stood, hiding the pain as he stretched his leg. He leaned closer to Thomas, Iris, and Bryan, lowering his voice so the others couldn't hear. "I hate to say it, but the Hounds were right. That was a mess."
Bryan crossed his arms. "Charging in blind almost got us killed. Next time, we need a plan."
Thomas cracked his neck, eyes still on the ruins where the Count had fallen. "Nah. Next time, I just won't hold back."
Nevin groaned. "You're impossible."
Thomas shrugged. "It will work… eventually."
Bryan didn't answer. He just stared into the fog and muttered under his breath, "One day, 'eventually' won't be good enough."
As the group prepared to leave, Bryan stood a moment longer at the edge of the battlefield. The others were caught up in blame. Marcus pressing Roz, Roz lashing back, Thomas brushing it off.
But Bryan saw the truth.
The real enemy wasn't Roz. It wasn't the Count. It was the fog itself. It had taken everything, twisted the world, and left cities to rot. As long as it remained, no one was winning anything.
He didn't say it out loud. He just turned and walked with the others, leaving the ruins behind.
The battle was over.
But the fight was far from finished.
The march back to Oyster Bay was silent.
The five groups moved through the ruins, weapons in hand, but their thoughts were elsewhere. The weight of the battle clung to them, and even the DMW Gang, once loud and boastful, kept their heads down.
No one spoke of the losses. No one spoke at all.
The Pink Fog stretched ahead, curling across the ruins. Before, it had only seemed like a barrier. Now, after what they had faced inside it, the fog felt more dangerous than ever.
When they reached the perimeter of Oyster Bay, they stopped.
There was nothing left.
The Safe Zone was gone. The meteor fragment that once powered its barrier had been shattered, leaving only blackened earth and drifting ash. The walls had collapsed into rubble. Streets were buried under stone. Buildings stood as hollow shells, empty and broken. There were no bodies left, but dried blood stained the ground and walls, grim reminders of the slaughter that came before the fall. No survivors. Only silence.
Noah stared at the ruins, his expression unreadable.
Marcus scanned the wreckage, his jaw tight. "There's nothing left."
Selene's eyes swept over the ruins. "The whole Safe Zone is gone."
The truth was clear. Oyster Bay was destroyed.
They wanted answers, to know what had really happened here, but there was no one left to ask. With Oyster Bay gone, their only choice was to move on to the next nearest Safe Zone.
An hour later, the outline of another Safe Zone came into view. Its walls stood firm, guards paced the perimeter, and the gate still held.
Waiting at the entrance was a lone figure.
Elias Crowe, the mayor of the fallen Oyster Bay Safe Zone.