The portal sealed at midnight.
The creature was gone—retreated, not destroyed. The hunters stood in silence, weapons lowered, bodies trembling. The field was littered with the wounded and the dead.
Aurelion touched his nose. The bleeding had stopped, but the vessels were still raw. His head pounded. His chest ached where Zarveth's spear had pierced him, even though the wound had healed.
Reversing the flow had worked.
But it had almost killed him.
The medics worked through the night.
Ami refused to leave Aurelion's side. She sat on a crate beside him as a medic stitched a gash on his arm—a souvenir from the creature's retreat.
"You're going to run out of blood," she said.
"I have plenty."
"You don't. You've lost more in the past month than most hunters lose in a year."
He looked at her. "I heal fast."
"That's not the point."
"What is the point?"
She was quiet for a moment. Then: "The point is that you keep throwing yourself into danger alone. The castle. The throne room. Now this—reversing mana flow without knowing if it would kill you."
"I knew it wouldn't kill me."
"How?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't explain. "You're not alone, Aurelion," Ami said. "You don't have to carry everything."
He looked at the Stain glowing on the horizon. "If I don't, who will?"
The next morning, Command called a briefing.
Aurelion attended with Valley's Watch. The tent was crowded with hunters from a dozen parties, all waiting for orders.
The general's voice was crisp. "We've analyzed the creature's behavior. It feeds on mana. The more hunters engage it, the stronger it becomes. So we're changing tactics."
Thalia frowned. "You're pulling us out?"
"We're keeping you in reserve. Within eyesight. Ready to deploy if needed." The general's expression was unreadable. "But we have another asset. One the creature won't expect."
Aurelion's eyes narrowed. "What kind of asset?"
"You'll see. Maintain visual contact. Do not engage unless ordered."
They took position on a ridge overlooking the plain.
The second portal had opened at dawn—smaller than the first, but no less hungry. Crimson light bled from its edges, and the air shimmered with distortion.
The creature emerged slowly. A shape of shadow and red light, less defined than the first, but still hungry. It pulsed, drawing mana from the earth, from the air, from the few animals that hadn't fled.
"It's feeding," Corrin said.
"Let it," Aurelion replied. "Command has a plan."
"Do they?"
He didn't answer. He was scanning the sky, waiting for something he couldn't name.
The sound came first.
A distant thrumming, growing louder. The hunters on the ridge looked up.
Shadows crossed the ground.
Aurelion's blood went cold—not with fear, but with recognition.
Helicopters.
But not the Apaches he remembered from years ago. These were different—their hulls gleamed with mana-infused plating, their rotors hummed with energy, and their weapons glowed with contained power. The government had adapted. They had taken the old machines and made them new.
They moved in formation, low and fast, their mana signatures burning bright against the gray sky.
The creature noticed them. It turned its formless head, red light pulsing.
The helicopters opened fire.
Not missiles. Mana bolts. Concentrated energy that streaked from their pylons, trailing blue-white light. Dozens of them converged on the creature at once.
For a moment, the sky blazed—a small sun erupting over the plain, blinding and brilliant.
The creature tried to dodge, but it had no experience with weapons that moved faster than sound, that carried no mana for it to feed on. The bolts struck home.
Explosions ripped through its shadow form. Red light flickered, dimmed, surged.
The creature screamed—not a sound, a pressure. Hunters on the ridge clutched their heads.
The helicopters didn't stop.
They circled, firing again and again. Mana cannons. Energy beams. Everything they had.
The creature convulsed. Its edges frayed. Its core cracked.
And then—
It died.
Not retreated. Not wounded. Destroyed. The shadow collapsed into a cloud of crimson ash that drifted away on the wind.
The mana-helicopters banked, their rotors thundering as they flew back over the ridge. They passed low, close enough that the hunters could see the pilots inside, the glowing mana conduits along their hulls.
And the hunters cheered.
Not the restrained applause of a briefing room. A raw, primal roar—relief and disbelief and savage joy. They threw their fists in the air. They clapped each other on the back. Some wept. Some laughed. Some simply screamed at the sky.
Corrin whooped, his spear raised. Ami let out a breath she'd been holding for hours. Kael lowered his pistols, a rare smile tugging at his lips.
Aurelion watched the helicopters disappear over the horizon.
And for the first time in weeks—maybe months—he felt something he had almost forgotten.
Hope.
Not the brittle hope of a soldier praying to survive. Something deeper. The hope of watching steel and fire and human ingenuity tear through a monster that had seemed unstoppable.
They can fight, he thought. They can win.
He didn't cheer. But his shoulders relaxed. His grip on his blade loosened.
The portal sealed.
Silence returned to the plain.
The hunters stared at the empty sky.
"That was sick!" Corrin exclaimed.
"it sure was," Aurelion answered, staring at the space where the helicopters had been, his mind racing.
He had seen machines like these before. Not the mana-infused versions—the originals. In another time, another life, he had watched human militaries deploy them against forces he once commanded. He had learned how to counter them. How to anticipate their missiles. How to survive.
It had taken him years.
Years of losses. Years of adaptation.
But now, in this life, the humans had done something new. They had combined their old technology with mana. Something even he had never seen.
And the ancient one—Zarveth—had never seen any of it.
He didn't know what a helicopter was. Didn't know what a mana bolt could do. Didn't know that humans had weapons that didn't rely on raw strength.
He didn't know about jets that broke the sound barrier. About satellites that watched from space. About bombs that could level mountains.
And that—
that was the key.
The debriefing was brief.
Command had kept the mana-helicopters in reserve for exactly this scenario—a creature that fed on mana. The new weapons left no usable energy to absorb. The creature had starved before it could feed.
"We'll deploy them again if needed," the general said. "But we can't rely on them indefinitely. The ancient one will adapt."
Aurelion nodded. "He will. But it will take time."
"Time is what we need."
That night, Aurelion sat on the ridge.
The Stain still glowed on the horizon, but the second portal was closed. The knights had not advanced. The valley was quiet.
Ami found him.
"This is your favorite spot, huh?" she said, sitting beside him.
He didn't look away from the horizon. "It's where I can think."
"Sooo... what's up?" She leaned back on her hands, staring at the stars.
He was silent for a moment. "I'm thinking about how much the world has changed. And how much our enemy doesn't understand."
She was quiet, then: "So you think the helicopters can beat him?"
Aurelion finally turned to her. "He wants to remind us why the night should be feared. He wants us to forget that we can make our own sun—even if only for a moment."
Ami raised an eyebrow. "That's a fancy way of saying you liked the explosion."
He almost smiled. "It was effective."
"It was beautiful," she admitted.
They sat in silence, watching the Stain glow on the horizon.
"We're not done yet," Aurelion said.
"I know."
"But we're not losing either."
Ami leaned her head against his shoulder. "That's enough for tonight."
He walked back to the camp.
The hunters were still talking about the helicopters, about the creature's destruction, about the strange new war they found themselves in.
Aurelion listened, but didn't speak.
He was already planning.
Zarveth would adapt. He would learn. He would find counters to the humans' machines.
But it would take time.
And time was the one thing Aurelion needed most.