The Mediterranean Sea, along the coast of the Akamas Peninsula, in the shattered reef area at the edge of the main battlefield.
The battlefield no longer had any semblance of formations.
The air was thick with the heavy scent of burning, the pungent sting of ozone, and a strange… smell of flesh being instantly carbonized by high temperatures.
The reefs were no longer their original black.
Most of their surfaces were covered in a vitrified, scorching crust, reflecting the golden light of the malevolent “sun” in the sky.
Elsewhere, they had melted into bizarre, slowly flowing crimson slurries, like the earth’s blood.
The tide of Scarabs had not fully receded.
Swarms of golden points of light still darted through the ruins, gnawing and emitting a nerve-shattering hum.
However, they were no longer attacking in organized sieges; instead, they moved in a chaotic manner, almost as if they were “clearing” the battlefield.
Tangris’s towering figure appeared at the edge of this wreckage.
He was alone, his uniform torn, and his face was a mask of sweat, smoke, and black stains left by splattered insect fluids.
His breathing was heavy, each inhalation bringing a burning sensation of pain.
He had just forced his way through several scattered swarms on his own, breaking through from another sector.
His gaze was like that of a hawk as he quickly swept over the area.
There was no unified command, no organized resistance—only a desperate aftermath.
Behind a half-melted reef, a member of the Logistics Department was curled up.
His tactical pants had been burned through, revealing charred flesh beneath.
He was futilely using a combat knife to parry several Scarabs attempting to close in.
Further away, two members of the Execution Department stood back-to-back against a relatively intact boulder.
One was half-kneeling, the barrel of his rifle glowing red—he had clearly exhausted all his ammunition.
The other brandished a deformed entrenching tool, mechanically swatting at the beetles attacking from the air.
His visor was half-shattered, revealing a face lined with exhaustion.
A few scattered individuals were positioned behind various covers, fighting their own isolated battles.
Their presences were weak; they were clearly at the end of their ropes.
Tangris let out a low growl, his voice hoarse yet carrying an unquestionable power.
Without wasting words, he moved, charging into the remaining swarm like a rampaging rhino.
He utilized no techniques; it was a crushing display of pure power and speed.
His fists, wrapped in a force field that distorted the air, smashed the Scarabs attacking the Logistics member mid-air.
With a side kick, the resulting wind pressure swept another small cluster of insects away, turning them into dust as they slammed against the reefs.
His movements were concise, violent, and efficient.
Like a firefighter, he moved rapidly between several points of danger, clearing threats in the most direct manner possible.
Soon, the scattered Scarabs in this area were wiped out.
He stood in the center, looking around at the scarred and battered members he had saved.
“Any survivors? Where are the others?”
Tangris’s voice was thick with suppressed anxiety.
He counted the people before him—the number was far lower than the original six.
The Logistics member with the injured leg panted heavily.
With a trembling finger, he pointed in one direction—the path leading toward the inland cliffs, deeper into the battlefield.
It was also the direction where the swarm had previously been the densest.
“Di… Director…”
his voice trembled,
“that intern from the Operations Department… Kobayashi Mirai… she…”
Tangris’s pupils constricted violently as an ominous premonition seized him.
Another Execution Department member took over, his face a complex mix of guilt and lingering fear.
“We… we were surrounded by the main force of the swarm. We couldn’t break out… That intern… she suddenly used ‘Bituan’ to appear in the middle of the densest part of the swarm to draw most of the attention… Then… then she led the insects toward the cliffs…”
He paused, his voice dropping low.
“The beetles… most of them went after her… That’s how we…”
The rest didn’t need to be said.
The air seemed to freeze.
Only the faint, distant humming remained, along with the suffocating heat radiating from the golden sun in the sky.
Tangris stood still, his tall frame seemingly stiffening for a moment.
He slowly turned his head, looking toward the path to the cliffs shrouded in golden light—a road to death.
No figures could be seen there now; only endless golden points of light continued to converge and surge in that direction.
He did not roar, nor did he interrogate them.
Only his clenched fists, with knuckles emitting a faint crack from the excessive force, showed the veins bulging on the backs of his hands.
On his weathered, rock-hard face, the muscles twitched slightly.
A deep, powerless fury, mixed with an inexpressible grief, rolled in his eyes.
The elite members of the prestigious Execution Department were actually surviving through the self-sacrifice of an intern.
He took a deep breath of the scorching, painful air, as if branding this heavy sacrifice into his lungs.
“…Understood.”
Eventually, he squeezed those words out through gritted teeth, his voice so low it seemed to come from an abyss.
He withdrew his gaze and stopped looking at those desperate cliffs.
Instead, he scanned the traumatized survivors, his eyes turning cold and hard once more.
“If you can still move, support each other. Move with me to the C-Zone Highland!”
He had to keep these people alive.
This was the only thing he could do now, and the responsibility he had to shoulder as a commander.
***
Along the coast of the Akamas Peninsula, in a recessed reef area partially surrounded by seawater.
Compared to the terrifying scene of the main battlefield, which seemed capable of boiling the sea and burning the heavens, this place felt like a relatively “safe” depression at the edge of hell.
Alexandre Duval leaned against a slick, cold reef, his chest heaving violently.
His expensive, custom tactical suit was waterlogged, clinging heavily to his body.
His blond hair had lost its usual luster, damply plastered across his forehead, making him look quite disheveled.
He irritably wiped a mix of seawater and sweat from his face.
A few paces across from him, Yue also leaned against a reef, though her posture remained more reserved and vigilant.
Her short silver hair and the burlap hood were also soaked, with water dripping down her jawline.
The edges of the wounds on her shoulder guards, where the Scarabs had melted through, had turned white from being submerged in seawater, but the hand gripping her short spikes remained steady.
Temporary safety did not ease the tension between the two.
On the contrary, their shared predicament gave them a reason to blame one another.
“Excellent marksmanship, your Excellency. A single shot caused countless casualties. Truly impressive,”
Yue’s voice came through the soaked burlap, cold and laced with irony.
“Are you still going to wear that thing on your head after all this?”
Alexandre spoke, his voice flat.
“If you people hadn’t tried to move against the Divine Artifact, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Hmph. As if you people from Thanatos Academy are innocent. If the Eye of Ra were resting peacefully in its tomb, would this disaster even be happening today?”
“What is your purpose in seizing the Divine Artifact? Unlike those Bounty Hunters, you’re wearing a mask, which means you don’t intend to openly oppose the School,”
Alexandre analyzed.
Glancing at the insects in the sky that feared the seawater, Yue’s tone softened slightly, though it remained sharp.
“My purpose is none of your concern. At the very least, I know what I am doing and what the price is. You, however, are nothing more than self-righteous bureaucrats playing with fire.”
Alexandre opened his mouth to continue the argument, but he saw Yue suddenly make a gesture for silence.
Her head, hidden beneath the burlap, snapped toward another direction.
He sensed it immediately as well— In the sky, the expanding golden sun abruptly stopped its growth.
Then… it began to shrink.
The surrounding Scarabs, which had been circling and watching them like predators, froze simultaneously like an army that had lost its command.
They then let out a chaotic, piercing hum that sounded almost like a wail.
Ignoring the two people on the reefs, they turned into a flood of molten gold and surged frantically toward a single direction.