The battle was evidently entering its final stage. Roughly ninety-five percent of the devils had been systematically eliminated, thanks to the continuous bombing from the air force and the relentless advance of the ground forces wielding heavy artillery, tanks and HDKs.
That was not to say the military hadn't suffered significant casualties. Colonel Greyman had deployed twenty thousand soldiers for this battle according to rough field estimates, twelve to fifteen thousand had already been slaughtered or devoured.
Another three thousand were packed tightly inside trauma tents receiving emergency treatment, with some still dying from lack of attention. Greyman had briefly considered calling for reinforcements, but realistically, there was no need—they were almost done sweeping the remaining lower-tier devils.
Furthermore, every single B-class devil had been engaged and slain by the NHF's own B-class officers, though humanity had lost several dozen of its B class combatants in the process—a painful, devastating loss for Sector C.
Yet, what troubled Colonel Greyman the most was the fact that the mastermind behind this entire battle, the presumed A-class devil had still not shown its face.
Seems it ran away, Greyman thought to himself, feeling a heavy weight lift off his chest at the idea that the devil had abandoned its subordinates.
"If that's true... then what's the worst that could happen now?" Greyman spoke aloud to himself, prompting a few nearby staff officers to throw confused glances in his direction.
Right at that moment, a catastrophic shockwave erupted from the center of the primary battle zone.
The kinetic blast was so intense that it blew Colonel Greyman off his feet, launching him through the air despite his augmented B-class physiology. He slammed heavily into the dirt as the primary command tent collapsed around them.
As the dust swirled, his subordinate officers scrambled over through the wreckage. "Sir! Are you alright?! Sir!" several panicked voices rang out. Even though they had been flung like ragdolls themselves, their immediate priority was their commander's survival.
"Yeah... I'm fine. I won't die from a damn shockwave," Greyman rasped, pulling himself up. "Now, what in the Church's name was that?!"
"We're on it, sir!" an officer yelled back over the ringing noise. "We're trying to re-establish comms with the aerial surveillance team to get a visual!"
"I don't remember authorizing another heavy payload drop..." Greyman muttered beneath his breath.
As the dense cloud of pulverized dirt slowly settled, visibility returned. Colonel Greyman looked up toward the center of the hot zone, and an icy chill ran straight down his spine. His mouth going completely dry.
Hovering silently in the air above the battlefield was a solitary, terrifying silhouette.
Because Colonel Greyman was a B-class soldier with enhanced optical perception, he could discern the entity's features far clearer than anyone else below his class. It was a tall, muscular humanoid figure possessing two obsidian horns curling from its forehead. It seemed it had no skin over its body just pure dark purple muscles and a mane of vibrant, scarlet-red hair fell past its waist, dancing wildly in the nuclear wind.
Its eyes were currently closed, and in its right hand, it loosely held a weapon resembling an ancient spear, except the long blade was forged in the twisting shape of a serpent.
"Damn it..." Greyman whispered in utter desperation. "I didn't expect it to reveal itself this early..."
"W-what do we do, sir?!" one of the officers stammered, raw terror etched into his voice.
In reality, there was only one logical order left to give.
"Make the call to our A-class soldier back at base," Colonel Greyman ordered in a raspy, strained voice. "Tell him to get here ASAP!"
The communications officer scrambled to execute the command.
Greyman stole another glance at the floating entity and noticed its eyelids twitching. Slowly, deliberately, the devil opened its eyes. They were the cold, golden eyes of a serpent—slitted and utterly devoid of humanity.
The moment its eyes opened, an unbearable, crushing pressure slammed down upon everything beneath it.
In an instant, all of Colonel Greyman's surrounding officers were slammed flat into the mud. Bones snapped loudly under the sudden gravitational shock.
Greyman gritted his teeth, attempting to stand his ground using his B-class strength, but his leg muscles instantly gave out. He crashed onto one knee, then the other, the solid earth cracking beneath his boots under the sheer weight of the pressure.
The devil wore an expression of calm, absolute contempt. It looked down upon the human army as if they were nothing more than insects waiting to be stepped on.
This terrifying aura affected every single living creature across the valley. Infantry soldiers engaged in firefights were instantly forced into the dirt, their Personal Combat Suits (PCS) groaning, cracking, and splintering under the invisible force. Inside their suits, their ribs and limbs cracked.
Pilots maneuvering HDK suits were subjected to the same fate, the heavy metal exoskeletons slowly buckling inward like crushed soda cans.
In the sky, the remaining fighter jets suddenly lost all lift, their systems failing as they plummeted straight toward the earth. The pilots frantically yanked their ejection handles, launching into the air—but the immense atmospheric pressure prevented their parachutes from slowing their descent.
SPLAT. SPLAT. SPLAT.
One by one, the ejecting pilots slammed into the hard ground at terminal velocity, bursting instantly into bloodied paste.
"When... when is he going to get here?!" Colonel Greyman forced out with every ounce of air left in his lungs, but he received no answer. Everyone around him was suffocating, struggling just to draw a single breath while pinned to the earth.
PUFF!
Somewhere away in the battle front, a soldier who could no longer withstand the suffocating weight was instantly flattened into a crimson smear on the ground.
PUFF! PUFF! PUFF!
Another soldier exploded. Then another. Then ten, twenty, skyrocketing into the hundreds.
Right beside Colonel Greyman, one of his high-ranking officers burst into a cloud of blood and shattered bone. Greyman squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep the crimson spray out of his face, but the crushing pressure immediately plastered the blood, tissue, and metal fragments flat against the dirt, pulverizing them into nothing.
Further down the line, a heavy battle tank groaned as its thick armor plating bent inward. Within seconds, the entire armored vehicle folded in on itself, flattening completely and spraying bloody liquid from its seams.
Oddly enough, the remaining low-class devils on the ground were entirely exempted from this lethal gravity. They stood perfectly still in the mud, silent and unmoving, all staring up in reverent worship toward the crimson-haired lord floating above them.
Meanwhile, on the muddy periphery between the battlefield and the medical camp, a pale-haired young man lay pinned face-down in the sludge alongside a one legless soldier. It was Graves and the nameless soldier.
Graves tried to scream through his gritted teeth, but the oppressive force locked his throat tight. Beside him, the soldier wearing his PCS suit looked like his chest was about to crack in entirely from the force.
"Fuck! I can't die right here! I still have to pay back Old Man Lee!" Graves's mind raced in a chaotic blend of rage, terror, and bitter frustration. "Damn it all... damn the Church! Aren't you bastards supposed to be protecting us?!"