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Chapter 1398: The Bloody Battle in the Mountains (2)

“Captain, they’re climbing!”

“Hold fire until they close—we don’t have machine-gun ammunition to spare!”

Cat’s Claw found his position and raised the Van’er rifle. While he waited, he tracked the floating island’s silhouette against the sky. Something had changed. Before, he could just make out its edges; now only the craggy underside was visible, dark and absolute as a ceiling dropped too low. He couldn’t be certain whether it had risen or merely drifted closer, but the island’s shadow had already swallowed a corner of the Impassable Mountain Range. The thought of fighting beneath it pressed against his chest like a stone.

We have to kill these demons and get off this mountain before that thing arrives.

Probably thinking the same, the machine-gun squad opened up the moment the Spider Demons crossed the five-hundred-meter mark—tongues of fire raking the slope in long, deliberate sweeps.

The valley turned loud.

Cat’s Claw waited for the 150-meter line, the range he trusted most, then squeezed the trigger.

“Fire!”

Every muzzle kicked at once, throwing up a white curtain of disturbed snow.

None of them were marksmen in any formal sense, but most had modified their rifles under Van’er’s influence. In semi-automatic mode, a Van’er rifle that didn’t jam could pour fire nearly as fast as the machine-gun squad. Against the miniature Spider Demons—compact, fast, and built to absorb punishment—concentrated firepower stopped being a tactic and became a theology.

Then a black light pulsed out of the forest.

It moved like a ripple on still water, fast and enormous, passing through every soldier on the line in less than a second. Gone before anyone could react. If not for the trembling of the men beside him, Cat’s Claw would have dismissed it as a trick of the eye.

“Did you see that?”

“Some kind of black wave?”

He ran his hands over his body. Nothing felt wrong. The defensive line still held, still firing. A comrade slammed a fresh magazine home and spoke without looking up: “Probably from one of those stone pillars. They’re strange things—rock on the outside, meat inside.”

Cat’s Claw let it go. Whatever the ripple was, the approaching Spider Demons were the more immediate problem. But within seconds he noticed the snow ahead looked darker, as though a cloud had eaten the sun.

Has the island already reached the mountains?

He looked up.

The island was still in its place. But the sky had become something else entirely.

The clear afternoon had gone black in the span of a breath. Gold light gathered in the darkness above—not sunlight breaking through cloud, but something being accumulated, concentrated, drawn inward with visible intent. The speed of the change was wrong for weather. It was wrong for anything natural.

Every soldier on the line felt it.

In ten seconds, the dark mass sealed off the last of the daylight. Ten thousand threads of golden light continued braiding themselves together, brightening steadily toward a threshold Cat’s Claw could feel in the back of his teeth rather than see with his eyes.

Where have I seen this before—

He yanked the bugle horn from his belt. He never got it to his lips.

The sky broke open.

Lightning descended in a circular ring and kept expanding—bolt after bolt hammering down onto the assault force’s defensive perimeter in an unbroken sequence, methodical as a blacksmith at an anvil. The continuous roar of gunfire stopped all at once.


“Is that—the Sigil of God’s Will?”

On the Seagull, Wendy’s voice came out barely above a whisper.

“Even if it isn’t, it’s something close to one.” Andrea’s expression had gone very still. “Lightning—are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” The voice came through the Sigil of Listening without a tremor. “It knows I’m here.”

“Then stay back. This is no longer your fight.” Andrea had recognized the black ripple the moment it appeared. She had seen it before, at Taquila—the Magic Slayer’s reach, diffused across the entire field. Its specialty was killing agility-type powers at range. For Lightning, even a partial strip of her ability would be a death sentence: inertia and speed miscalculating mid-flight, a plummet instead of a dive. The enemy had clearly intended to clip her wings before engaging.

What had saved Lightning was Wendy’s warning. She hadn’t charged in, and the remaining energy in her body had let the wave wash through her without taking hold.

“Get Maggie to warn the reinforcements—the assault force may be compromised.” Andrea turned to Sylvie. “Have you located the target?”

Sylvie had pulled her knees against her chest without realizing it. “It’s already moving up the slope, fast. No Eye Demons nearby that I can detect, so I don’t think we’ve drawn its attention yet. But the lightning strike—the defensive line won’t be able to hold the Spider Demons back much longer.”

The Monstrous Beast’s stone needles, then. The soldiers were nearly in range.

Andrea filed that away and returned to the aiming lens.

Finding the Magic Slayer through the scope had taken effort—and what she found made the breath leave her body slowly, the way cold does. It wasn’t just fast. It flickered, direction changing without the deceleration that physics required, present in one position and then another with no legible arc between. A clean shot would demand near-zero distance. Even using her ability, she needed the bullet’s flight time to be almost nothing; otherwise the target would simply not be where the bullet expected.

What also held her attention: this Magic Slayer bore none of the blue barrier the others had worn in the First Army’s battles. Speed alone didn’t explain the absence of a protective field. She put that question away for later.

The dark clouds hadn’t dispersed. Gold light was gathering again—a second Sigil of God’s Will already charging.

She had no more time for questions.

“We go down,” Andrea called to Wendy. “Same method we used on Hackzord. Close the distance and I can make sure it has no angle to dodge.”

“How close?”

“As close as possible without entering its reach.”

A pause. Wendy’s voice came back measured, the tone she used when calculating wind. “That would be difficult. If Her Highness Tilly were piloting it would be manageable, but Shavi is at the controls now. I’d need to stabilize multiple wind vectors simultaneously while tracking the target—it isn’t simple.”

“You’re saying it can’t be done?”

“I’m saying it won’t be easy.” Another pause—shorter this time. “Well. I’m old, but doing this once shouldn’t leave too lasting a mark.”

Andrea looked at her, then felt the corner of her mouth pull.

She thought of what Lightning had once said: everyone sees Wendy as the gentle one, the steady warmth at the center of things. Lightning had said it like it was something they were all complicit in missing—that under that softness was something that had once walked up to Cara in the Witch Cooperation Association’s dungeon and used her ability, with total precision, to shatter a God’s Stone of Retaliation and pull Nightingale back from the dark.

“Shavi!” Andrea steadied her voice. “Push the control stick forward. We’re going in.”

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