A Thunder Dragon roared, its vast body cutting across the night over Mary Geoise like a silver river of stars.
Ultra-high voltage ripped the air. Sparks and shockwaves bloomed in blinding succession, the thunder so loud it swallowed every other sound.
All eyes snapped upward.
"That trajectory—"
"He's aiming at Pangaea Castle!"
"Damn it! We've been duped!"
Figarland Garling and the Knights of God went pale, a chill running their spines. They'd scattered through the Land of the Gods to screen the Celestial Dragons, and only now grasped that Momonga's true target lay at the Holy Land's heart.
Helpless, they watched nine colossal Thunder Dragons—each dozens of meters long—bare their fangs and plunge toward the ancient castle.
"Thunder Dragon: Nine Slay!"
Momonga's roar carried a feverish edge.
Then his heart lurched.
From Pangaea's deepest core, an aura surged forth—vast, abyssal, and dead. It closed on him like a hand. His vision narrowed; his body lightened; his pupils shrank to pinpricks.
Death.
He was sensing death itself.
Could mere killing intent, released from that distance, do this to him?
His chest tightened further, elemental light bleeding at the edges of his frame—
Bang.
A bronze-skinned figure tore through the wall of the Chamber of Deliberation and launched into the sky.
"Momonga, brat! If you want Pangaea Castle, step over my corpse first!"
The roar cracked the night. A wide marshal's cloak snapped in the wind. Sinewed arms braided in crimson-black lightning drew back and hammered forward like war drums.
Fleet Admiral "Steel Bone" Kong.
BOOM.
In seconds, nine lightning serpents shattered into cascading plasma, spilling fire over grassland and forest below.
Momonga didn't flinch. If anything, shock flickered through him for another reason—the instant Kong appeared, that suffocating doom withdrew, as if the unseen gaze had closed.
He drew breath and fixed on the wall of a man before the castle. Their eyes met.
"Truly worthy of Fleet Admiral," Momonga said, wry, and raised his saber in salute. "Fleet, execute orders! Full retreat!"
Engines thundered in answer. High above, the Flying Fleet swung as one; formations pivoted cleanly even as they pulled away, order and drill stitched into every motion.
Kong frowned, then sighed inwardly.
The North Blue Fleet's muscle, discipline, and firepower exceeded anything he'd thought possible on these seas. Darren had forged it in the North Blue's chaos, out of sight of the capital's gaze. Talent like that was hard to fathom.
In strength, in instinct, in command, administration, and strategy—Rogers Darren had few peers in any archive the Government could open. And now the arrogance of the world's rulers had driven that man against the Marines and their masters.
Kong took in the burning Holy Land—hell writ across its terraces—and his eyes darkened.
Were they truly right?
This raid was only an appetizer. That skyborne force would become a phantom that haunted horizons, never still, never safe to ignore. With Darren as supreme commander and Momonga already showing an Admiral's seed, the North Blue Fleet would be the Government's most dangerous foe.
The thought of future campaigns against such an enemy sent a cold prickle along his back.
How do we fight this?
He let out a thin, bitter laugh, cut a cigar, and lit it.
Above, the fleet climbed, hulls wreathed in light as they vanished into cloud.
Below, under a curtain of lasers and shellfire, Fisher Tiger drove the slaves for the Inner Sea, seized vessels, and threaded out through the waterways. Government ships clawed to intercept, but the Flying Battleships sank them systematically, closing every door behind the fleeing convoy.
"Kong! Why aren't you marshaling troops to block their retreat?!"
Figarland Garling flashed into view, hair wild, face smeared with ash, rage burning in his eyes.
Kong rolled his eyes and blew smoke. "If I leave, who guards Pangaea Castle?"
"And one more thing, Excellency Garling—I'm to be promoted to Commander-in-Chief of the World Government Military. I don't take orders from your Knights of God."
The red-haired Celestial Dragon froze.
He watched the last of the fleet vanish into the clouds, looked down at the ravaged city, and slashed in fury.
A clean arc of light carved through fallen masonry, severing collapsed buildings as if they were paper.
"Damn you, Darren! This isn't over!" Garling snarled, chest heaving, eyes bloodshot.
Kong shook his head and sighed. "I suspect the young Darren feels exactly the same way…"
To be continued...