The tremors had barely faded from Serena’s impact when the battlefield fell into a chilling, deathly silence.
Kevlar had been pushed far across the horizon—far enough that neither House nor Vatican soldier dared track where he vanished to.
But the tension Kevlar left behind was far more terrifying.
The Vatican’s holy knights ignited with unnatural golden–crimson flame.
The Four Houses shifted into battle formation, weapons raised, faces grim.
At the center stood Zero, his mask finally off, revealing fangs and mismatched irises—one crimson, one golden.
And directly before him, shaking with rage and anguish, was Elric.
Not as a Hunter General.
Not as a commander.
But as a father who had just learned the Vatican had known—
something about his missing son.
“You…” Elric’s voice cracked like breaking steel.
“You VATICAN FILTH—did you have a hand in my son’s disappearance!?”
Zero didn’t flinch.
Lucien stepped closer to his father, trembling with fear and fury.
“Answer him, monster. WHERE IS MY BROTHER!?”
Zero tilted his head, strangely calm.
“You ask the wrong question… General Elric of House Callus.”
His eyes narrowed, almost pitying.
“The correct question is:
‘Why was my son Kevlar never meant to live?’”
The words hit Elric like a physical blow.
His breath caught.
His vision blurred.
“What… nonsense are you spewing…?”
Zero smiled faintly.
“None of this is nonsense. This—”
he tapped his temple,
“—is truth to the prophecy.”
Elric roared, “WHAT PROPHECY!? WHAT ARE YOU HIDING!?”
Zero paused.
The realm hummed around them, as if listening.
Then, in a slow, deliberate voice, he spoke:
“Perhaps… it is fine if you know now.
With knowledge comes clarity.
And when clarity dawns, you will join our holy calling.”
The Vatican generals lifted their heads, as if hearing sacred scripture.
Zero raised his hand.
A black-gold shimmer formed—a projection of an ancient tome.
“The prophecy is not told by seers or prophets.
It was etched in the oldest relic of mankind—
The Book of Eternia.
A record of all past cycles.”
His voice deepened.
“And within it lies the prophecy of this, the Fourth Cycle.”
He recited it like ritual:
“The Shadowborn shall be born of human
and die for the world’s rebirth.
The Angel shall ascend once again,
and the Flame In Between
shall cleanse the world anew.”
The Houses stood frozen.
Sarville stiffened.
Mereth narrowed her eyes.
Kazane clicked his tongue.
But Elric—
Elric staggered back, face hollow.
“Born of human…
Die… for the world’s rebirth…”
Zero nodded.
“You have now seen it yourself.
Kevlar, your son, is The Shadowborn.
Not human.
Not vampire.
Something beyond mortal.
Something… immortal.”
Lucien’s breath faltered.
Seraphine whispered, “Immortal…?”
Zero continued, voice drunk with fervor:
“And only our Saint—our angelic descent—may challenge him!
Through their clash, the world shall be reborn by—”
He spread his arms.
“THE FLAME IN BETWEEN!”
He laughed.
Unhinged.
Triumphant.
The Houses stared at him like he was mad.
Because he was.
Elric, shaking, forced his voice out:
“…What is this flame you speak of?”
Zero’s grin sharpened.
“Ah… that memory.
You remember it, don’t you, Elric?”
Elric froze.
His heart stopped.
“Remember… the day your son underwent his talent and mana evaluation?”
Elric’s eyes widened in horror.
He remembered.
He remembered too well.
The evaluator’s silence.
The violet burst that wasn’t recorded.
The low mana reading.
And his own cold, dismissive judgment.
His worst sin.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Zero’s voice slithered like poison:
“His potential talent was immeasurable—
A brilliance of violet light never before recorded.”
Elric trembled.
Zero continued:
“But his mana was below average, wasn’t it?
Of course.
Because he never needed mana.”
He leaned forward, whispering with sadistic delight:
“His inborn power…
was the Violet Flame—
a flame that burns existence itself.
Flesh.
Mind.
Soul.”
Elric’s knees nearly buckled.
Zero spread his arms grandly.
“The Flame In Between.
Born between light and shadow since the dawn of creation.”
His voice became mocking.
“And your son—whom you cast aside like trash—
was the first being to ever wield it.”
Elric shut his eyes.
Pain.
Guilt.
Grief.
The weight crushed him.
Lucien bit his lip hard enough to bleed, tears forcing at the corners of his eyes.
Mereth snarled, “You tortured this man enough—”
Zero interrupted sharply:
“The Vatican never lost sight of the Houses.
We were waiting.
For thousands of years.”
His eyes gleamed.
“Waiting for the chosen one.
And when reports of violet scorch marks surfaced—
when Kevlar vanished—”
He laughed.
“Saint Fariel declared it:
The Shadowborn had awakened.”
Mereth stepped forward.
“And now that he has awakened?
You revere him?
You think you can control him?”
Zero barked a laugh.
“Control?
No one controls the Shadowborn.
Not angels.
Not gods.”
His excitement grew feverish.
“It takes another godlike being to restrain one.”
Kazane spat, “And where did you dig up that ‘angelic being’ of yours? Some holy hole underground?”
Zero clicked his tongue.
“Astute guess.
But the full story would bore you.
Besides—”
He glanced toward the horizon where Serena dragged Kevlar moments ago.
“Our beloved Saint has drawn him far enough.”
Eslene whispered, “This is going to be bad…”
Seraphine nodded grimly.
“It looks inevitable.”
Zero lifted his sword.
“Vatican Knights!
General Commanders!”
The knights snapped to attention.
Zero’s voice rang with manic joy:
“THE FIRST CONQUEST OF THE HOLY CRUSADE—”
He pointed directly at the Four Houses.
“—is the annihilation of the Houses.
Since they no longer serve purpose.
Since they heard too much.
Or perhaps…
I simply revealed too much.”
He shrugged lightly.
“Well.
Whatever the case—
kill them all.”
The Vatican army roared.
The Houses braced themselves.
And the Shadow Realm itself…
shuddered with anticipation.
The air ruptured before any blade crossed.
Dozens of Vatican knights surged forward with blinding discipline, their shields igniting with golden flame as they roared the litany of judgment. The four Houses reacted as one — weapons drawn, formations shifting, sigils flaring to life in defiant color.
And at the center of it all…
The three Vatican generals moved.
Not charging — but appearing, instant and absolute, like divine executioners descending upon sinners.
vs Mereth Covenus
A thunderous quake split the obsidian ground as a massive armored figure stepped into Mereth’s path.
General Slavik, a hulking knight clad in plates etched with runes of suppression, dragged a colossal tower-shield behind him. Sparks erupted with every step he took; the man moved like an avalanche forced into human shape.
Mereth’s greatsword flashed up just in time—
BOOM—!!
Slavik slammed his shield down with such force the shadowstone beneath them cracked in a spiderweb pattern. Mereth slid back several meters, boots grinding deep furrows into the earth.
“You fight well, Matriarch,” Slavik growled, voice like iron on stone. “But nothing withstands the Tyrant.”
Mereth spat crimson hair from her face and smirked.
“Then you haven’t met a Covenus.”
She swung.
Not once — but three times in a heartbeat, each strike enhanced by her Obsidian Pulse, the shockwaves rippling the air in jagged arcs.
Slavik blocked all three with one arm.
The impact shook the valley, yet the Tyrant did not budge.
“Impressive,” he rumbled. “But not enough.”
His shield expanded — mechanical runes widening — turning from tower to wall, rising higher than Mereth.
Then he charged.
A walking fortress barreling forward.
Mereth roared and met him head-on.
The collision leveled the ruins behind them.
vs Kazane of the East
A soft laugh drifted on the corrupted wind, melodic and chilling.
Kazane’s sharp eyes snapped toward the source.
Emilia, draped in layered black-and-gold robes, floated inches above the ground. Golden sigils spun lazily around her like orbiting suns. Her eyes glowed with arcane brilliance, and her smile was poison wrapped in silk.
“So the East sends its greatest hunter,” she whispered. “How delightful.”
Kazane spat to the side, katana sliding free with a metallic hiss.
“Witch. I have killed your kind before.”
“Oh, darling,” Emilia said, raising a single hand. “You’ve only killed imitations.”
The sigils snapped.
A tidal wave of binding chains made of pure scripture magic lashed out in every direction.
Kazane vanished in a blink — Shukuchi — reappearing beside her, katana descending in a killing arc—
But the blade sliced through Emilia’s body like smoke.
An illusion.
Her real voice whispered behind him.
“Fast… but predictable.”
A spear of condensed scripture lightning slammed into Kazane’s back, hurling him through two crumbling pillars.
Kazane rose, coughing blood but smiling with manic sharpness.
“Oh good. A fight worth my time.”
His aura ignited — the East’s signature Dragon Vein flaring around him.
Emilia’s eyes sparkled.
“Don’t disappoint me, Lord Kazane.”
Their second clash turned the sky white with power.
vs Theoren & Elric
Theoren and Elric barely had time to exchange a look before a blur dropped between them, cracking the earth.
A lean figure rose slowly, wearing a tattered white cloak that fluttered in the dead wind.
Two curved blades hung at his hips.
Eyes like a predator’s focused on them both.
Castiel — The Slayer.
No bravado. No speech.
Just intent.
He drew one blade.
Theoren swung his snowspike warhammer down, frost detonating around him—
Castiel was already gone.
A line of blood appeared on Theoren’s cheek.
Elric didn’t see the movement at all.
Castiel appeared behind him, blade descending for his spine—
CLANG—!!
Elric barely blocked with crossed twin swords, the force numbing his arms to the shoulder.
The Slayer tilted his head, almost curious.
Then he vanished again.
Three slashes carved across the air — each one aimed to kill — each one deflected only because Theoren intercepted with brutal precision, using his warhammer like an unbreakable tower.
“You move like a phantom,” Theoren grunted.
Castiel smiled — small, cold.
“You move too slow.”
He ducked under a swing and carved a line across Theoren’s armor, sparks showering.
Elric roared and lunged, both swords spinning in a Callus cyclone pattern, pushing Castiel back a half-step.
But only a half.
Castiel’s eyes sharpened.
“Better.”
Then he drew his second blade.
The temperature around them plummeted.
Elric felt sweat go cold on his spine.
“This,” Castiel said softly, “is where the real duel begins.”
The Vatican knights unleashed cascading holy fire across the field, clashing with the four Houses in a storm of steel, sorcery, and blood. Hunters executed precision strikes, mages erected barriers that shattered under holy bombardment, and the battlefield twisted into a tempest of colliding doctrines.
Sarville and Lucien fought back-to-back, cutting down advancing knights while shouting orders.
Seraphine struck down a charging paladin with a spear of crimson light — but her eyes were fixed on Zero, whose aura still flared with godlike intensity.
The Houses were holding…
Barely.
But the Vatican generals were each equal to an army.
And Zero had not yet joined the battle.
Zero stood at the center of the battlefield, arms folded, aura swirling like a halo of corrupted light and holy fire intertwined.
A spectator.
A judge.
A god waiting to see who deserved to live.
His voice carried effortlessly across the battlefield.
“Let the world witness,” he declared, “the first culling of the unworthy.”
His eyes glowed.
Both crimson.
And gold.
