The jungle rumbled.
The ground trembled like a war drum, marked by the steps of an army that no longer fled, but roared.
From Amazonia's depths, beasts covered with armor marched in synchrony. Steel felines, colossal apes with reinforced skeletons, birds of prey with obsidian wings and eyes shining like battle beacons. At their head, Godric Fitzgerald, Interim Monarch General, advanced imposingly, still wounded, but transformed. His violet eyes, once a rarity, were now a banner. Together, Makia, the jungle's voice, invoked the spirit of the earth itself. Her connection was ancestral. Unbreakable.
"Advance!" Godric roared, his voice tearing through the sky. "We're no longer a group of aspirants! We're an army!"
"The jungle will answer to the spilled blood!" Makia proclaimed, raising her arms.
And the response was immediate. Claws. Roars. Wings. Fury.
But then…
A thunder tore through the sky.
A shadow projected over the jungle. A metallic, unnatural roar. Everyone looked up.
From the center of the sky's crack—that cosmic wound opened by the traitors to the Empire—emerged a colossal ship. Not just any ship. It was a living fortress, of impossible size. Gigantic. Terrifying.
The aspirants and allies were paralyzed.
"What is that thing?" Aurora whispered, trembling.
"Wow… what a huge ship," Tezca murmured, eyes wide open.
"Just what we needed…" Aelius huffed, bringing a hand to his face.
"What the hell is that?" Kael exclaimed, incredulous.
"This is not good at all," Kyran said, analyzing the situation.
Ian fixed his gaze on the ship, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed.
Makia held her sight firm, tension marked on her face, lips pressed and breath held, without taking her eyes off the ship above them.
The ship descended slowly, floating like judgment. Its base was a circular platform, guarded by towers of black energy. On its sides, floating artillery wings rotated with mechanical precision. It was as if the sky itself had birthed a god of steel.
And upon that ship…
He appeared.
A man in a red cape who floated with lethal sovereignty.
His armor was black as the imperial night. His brown skin gleamed with war sweat. His hair, long and dark navy blue, billowed like cold flames. And his green eyes were so sharp they cut the air with their gaze.
He wasn't a new enemy.
He was a legend.
A name that the Empire's oldest feared to pronounce.
"Dravus Noxaurum Blackgold has just appeared…" Thorgar whispered, eyes wide open. "The second son of the Noxaurum dynasty."
"What?!" Brenda said, turning. "The Emperor and Supreme Commander's brother?"
"Yes…" Zetz murmured, floating. "The second son. Perhaps the most powerful… but also the most unstable. Aurelius only left the throne to Tiberius because Dravus… didn't have the sanity necessary to govern."
Silence fell like a tomb.
The second of the Noxaurum. The warrior who had defied everyone.
Now he was here.
Rebelled.
The platform descended slowly until suspended over the battlefield. Dozens of soldiers descended at the sides. Sergeants. Officers. Cherubim. Thrones. All with the Empire's insignias… and all with a new mark: the symbol of absolute dissidence.
The war of heaven had fractured.
And now, it descended with a human face.
Among the soldiers, Kyran looked up. His aura bristled. His hands trembled.
Because in the vanguard of the descending army he saw faces he knew better than his own.
The first…
A man with long hair, white as lunar snow. His eyes, blue and identical to Kyran's, shone with glacial intensity. His steps were imposing. His energy, crushing.
"Ronan…" Kyran whispered, voice muted.
His older brother.
Supreme Sergeant of the Empire.
A battle prodigy.
And beside him…
A second man, sitting with elegant arrogance on the platform's edge, legs crossed and serene gaze. His hair was black, combed with order. His face, sharp, with a tranquil smile. His eyes, also blue.
"Neil…" Kyran murmured, even more tense.
The second older brother.
A lieutenant.
Tactical. Precise. Relentless.
And behind them…
The third.
A shorter young man, with tousled hair and a face almost identical to Kyran's, only younger. More inexperienced. More pure. It was like looking at himself in a mirror of the past.
"Conan…" Kyran's voice broke.
His younger brother.
A level zero officer. Still recruited in school. An unreal talent.
Three brothers.
Three soldiers of the Empire.
Before him.
And then…
A female figure walked from the platform's depths. Kyran saw her and the air left his lungs.
Fair skin. Very light brown hair, pulled in a high ponytail. Sky blue eyes, transparent. Her bearing was firm. Her aura, sharp. And her gaze, her gaze burned.
When she stopped, her voice was clear. Serpentine. Painful.
"We meet again… hated and beloved… betrothed."
Kyran stepped back.
His lips opened, his eyes shone.
"Kiara…" he whispered.
The woman who was once his love.
And who now looked at him as if she'd come to kill him.
From the command tower's summit of the living fortress, Dravus Noxaurum Blackgold observed the field with sharp eyes, as if he could dissect each soldier's soul with just a look. His red cape billowed violently. His face was the face of chaos and destruction.
Acassia Noxaurum imposed with a gaze. Her expression broke between bewilderment and hurt.
She looked at the sky, toward the gigantic platform where her older brother rose like a god.
"…Brother?" she whispered. "What does this mean?"
A shadow crossed her face. It wasn't fear. It was betrayal. It was history.
The stadium's floating screen projected each image with cruel clarity. Spectators held their breath. Some cried. Others simply couldn't believe it.
Tiberius, standing in the center of the imperial balcony, narrowed his eyes. His voice rose with imperial gravity:
"It was to be expected…"
Silence ran around him.
Alistair leaned slightly toward him, brow furrowed:
"This is serious, Your Majesty… Dravus's actions could be interpreted as an attempt to usurp the throne. This could unleash a crisis that destabilizes the entire Empire."
Tiberius pressed his lips, staring fixedly at the screen. His voice was firm, laden with determination:
"I know. We must stop him. I won't hand over the throne to someone like him. While I was never interested in being emperor, I won't leave my people in my brother Dravus's hands."
And then, an assistant hurried over to Leftraro, King Emperor of Amekaris, who remained with crossed arms, impassive.
The message was brief, urgent.
Leftraro assimilated it without surprise. He nodded. He turned to Tiberius and spoke with solemnity:
"The Great Priest Sorcerer is on his way."
Tiberius turned, his eyes intense as contained lightning.
"Machipillan?"
"Yes," Leftraro confirmed. "The most ancient of Amekaris's sorcerers. The only one with the ability to open portals at will."
The words fell like thunder. The entire stadium shuddered. One more hope crossed the skies toward them.
And right then…
A beam of light descended in the stadium's center.
It wasn't subtle.
It wasn't timid.
It was glorious.
From the top of the Celestial Stadium, the firmament seemed to open without warning.
Not like a crack… but like a will.
A column of sunlight descended from the sky's highest point, bathing the arena's center with dazzling intensity. And within that light, descending upright, serene, imposing…
Aurelius Noxaurum Blackgold.
The Supreme Commander of the Imperial Army.
He didn't need to announce himself.
The world already knew who he was.
The Seraphim—already present—turned their faces toward him. They didn't greet him with reverences, but recognized him as one of the pillars on which the Empire stood.
His mere presence tensed the air.
Emperor Tiberius stood up.
The nobles fell silent.
And in that instant, when the entire stadium's eyes contemplated him, Aurelius spoke, his voice projected by itself, without amplifiers, clear as a lethal sentence:
"The balance has been broken. Somehow they're opening portals left and right, something that's supposed to be almost impossible."
—his gaze rose toward the crack, toward the unleashed war—.
"And it's my duty to restore the balance."
His gaze hardened, without hatred, without rancor. Only power and judgment.
"Be it with the sword… or with death. I won't let blood usurp the empire's people's peace."
The screens focused on him. The people following the live transmission fell silent.
Because when the Empire's Supreme Commander descends to the field, there's no margin for errors.
Only for sentences.
Right after his words, the sky rumbled.
In response to Aurelius's call, four of the remaining Monarch Generals appeared one after another, descending in perfect formation over the Celestial Stadium. Their presences were imposing, titanic, like war deities dressed in the Empire's authority.
First descended Gluttony, a man of imposing presence, with robust body. Always smiling with a sinister touch, he chewed distractedly on some snacks he pulled from a bag while walking, and yet, the most disturbing was his appearance: as if his body were a shadow, without features or details to define it.
"I'm here already, let's make it quick, 'it's almost dinner time,'" he commented with a grave and mocking voice, while his shadow seemed to devour the light around him.
Behind him, slid Itzel Gloomsbane, tall and slender, moving like a living shadow through the gloom. Her pale skin absorbed light, and her large dark eyes could freeze even the bravest hearts. Her black hair fell in cascade over her shoulders, and the fabric of her black attire flowed around her as if alive. With a melancholic and measured greeting, she said:
"Hello… I'm at your orders, Your Majesty," looking at the Emperor like a sigh of shadow bathed in melancholy.
Next appeared Sebastian Dravenholt, young with harmonious face and kind smile that contrasted with his cynical and ironic personality. His slightly disheveled pink hair and intense blue eyes reflected determination and calm at once. His metallic pink armor gleamed with nobility as he advanced with elegant and confident bearing. Addressing the Emperor first, he murmured with disdain:
"I see my cousin Selena is part of the revolt, how vulgar," referring to the Cherub Zophiel, but seeing Itzel, his expression changed completely, greeting her euphorically:
"Hi, Itzel! It's been so long!" while she, shy and shadowy, responded:
"Hello, Sebastian…" and he thought to himself, enchanted: I love when she says my name.
Finally, descended Aura Celestis, Auron's wife and mother of Aurora and little Auris. A living legend of the Empire, her face radiated kindness, beauty, and elegance, and her mere presence inspired confidence and respect. As Monarch General and leader of the medical and rescue squadron, she walked with the confidence of one who has saved countless lives, and yet, with the gaze of one who knows war.
And then, from the top of the imperial balcony, a figure descended like a silver comet: Auron.
As what he truly was…
A Monarch General.
The last to join the formation.
One of the quietest… but the most lethal.
The Stadium's lights curved in his honor. The screens projected their silhouettes throughout the Empire.
The High Command was complete.
The Empire… was ready for war.