The sky over the Border was no longer blue. It was the color of bruised lungs and burning sulfur.
For twelve hours, the 7th Vanguard had held the line against the Demon Tide. Now, only one man remained standing between the swarms and the civilian evacuation zone.
Kaelen Vance, 46 years old, coughed up a mixture of blood and soot. His [Vulcan Model] stone-and-metal armor was shattered, hanging off his frame like a broken shell. His right Gatling arm was jammed, and his thrusters were leaking volatile mana.
Opposite him stood a Malphas-Class S-Rank Demon. It was a towering nightmare of shadow and obsidian, holding a blade that had already severed Kaelen's left arm at the shoulder.
"Human," the Demon hissed, its voice vibrating in Kaelen's remaining ear. "You are broken. Your mana core is cracked. Why do you still stand?"
Kaelen looked at the stump of his arm, then up at the monster through his one good eye. He didn't feel fear. He felt the cold, calculated resignation of a veteran who knew the math.
If I die here, the gate closes. If I don't, 10,000 people die behind me.
"I stand," Kaelen rasped, his voice a dry growl, "because I haven't heard the buzzer yet."
He didn't use a shoutcall. He used a Command.
"[Protocol: Terminal Overload.]"
He didn't try to repair the armor. Instead, he used his Metal Manipulation to fuse his remaining armor plates directly into his own bone and skin. He used Wind to compress the atmosphere into his cracked Mana Core, turning himself into a living pressure cooker. He used Fire to ignite his very life force.
"What are you doing?" the Demon asked, its red eyes widening.
"I'm taking an early retirement," Kaelen said.
He lunged.
He didn't use the Gatling gun. He used his remaining hand to grab the Demon's throat, the Metal from his armor liquefying and locking around the monster like a permanent shackle.
"[Vulcan-Final: Supernova.]"
The explosion didn't just kill the Demon. It vaporized a two-kilometer radius. The "Iron Bastion" had fallen, taking the greatest threat to the Border with him.
The Reincarnation: 25 Years Earlier
Kaelen woke up screaming.
He wasn't on a battlefield. There was no smell of sulfur. Instead, he smelled... cheap ramen and stale coffee?
He gasped, clutching his chest. His heart was beating—a steady, youthful rhythm. He looked down at his hands. Two hands. Both made of flesh. He touched his face. Two eyes. He kicked his legs. Two legs.
He was in a cramped studio apartment. On the desk sat a holographic monitor displaying a game forum he hadn't seen in decades: Aether-Fall: The Great Integration.
A blue screen flickered into existence in front of his eyes.
[System Synchronization Complete.]
[Host: Kaelen Vance]
[Current Status: Healthy / Unawakened]
[Previous Life Achievements Syncing...]
[Title Awarded: The Iron Bastion of the Ash-Line]
Effect: Terror Resistance increased by 100%. Pain tolerance increased by 80%. When facing enemies 2 Ranks higher, all stats increase by 20%.
Kaelen stared at the screen, his breath hitching. The "Iron Bastion" was the title given to him posthumously. It was a title for a dead man.
He stood up, his legs shaking with the strange sensation of being "whole" again. He walked to the cracked mirror in the bathroom. The face looking back was 21 years old. Smooth skin, dark hair, no scars.
He closed his eyes and reached inward. He felt the four elemental sparks—Earth, Wind, Fire, and the faint, cold hum of Metal—waiting for him. They were small, like embers, but the Blueprints in his mind were as sharp as ever.
Kaelen leaned against the sink and let out a shaky, jagged laugh.
"A second chance?" he whispered. "Fine. But this time... I'm not dying at the border."
He clenched his fist. A tiny shard of metal from the faucet detached itself and levitated, spinning with perfect precision between his fingers.
"This time, I'm bringing the Vulcan Model to the front door of the Gods."