“Another trash with too good an immune system?” Illness clutched her new bloody wound in agony. “This has to be a joke.”

Atalante wasn’t amused. She promptly fell to her knees with much misgiving. That cut should have sliced the Tribune in two. Guess the S-Rank threat wasn’t an empty title.

“Ack,” Atalante coughed up blood from the sudden various nausea assaulting her. “This sucks…”

Atlante’s body hit the ground and flickered. In a world-defying spectacle, a new black-hair woman — another Atalante — appeared. The fallen Atalante who was prone on the ground vanished to the wind.

Illness had no idea what was happening.

“What the hell did you do? How come there are two of you?”

Atlanta felt enough pity for the doomed Fairy to tell the truth.

She lifted the [Feather Edge] and revealed a glimpse of her repertoire.

“Judging from your expression, you haven’t heard of Adamakles before.”

“That Anomaly’s invention,” Illness glowered, clutching the wound seeping with virulent blood. “It is just another form of Mystic Core.”

“Incorrect,” Atalanta replied. “It is a living manifestation of Mana with a life of its own and comes in three types to be exact. The Manifestation-type like your Anomaly, Orwell, is specialized in versatility and manipulation. Symbiotic-type is infamous for physical enhancement. While those two are powerful in their own right, my type — Tool-type — is unique. Instead of handing us a unique power-up from the bat, our Adamakles taught us how to use them.”

“Taught!” Illness exploded, unleashing more viral fumes to the level that even Requiem was getting alarmed. “It is just a weapon, dimwit. It isn’t alive!”

The Fairy unleashed a pressurized toxic fluid with a fling of her hand, reducing Atalante into a bloody mess.

Requiem decided to step in, but another Atalante reappeared in front of him as good as new.

“No,” Atalante raised her hand to stop the Knight. “Let me handle this.”

Illness was enraged by this mere human’s arrogance, “You think you can beat me alone. You aren’t even one of the Anomalies!”

“Speak boldly for someone who doesn’t know how outmatched she is,” Atalante said. “You are so below my level, I am literally explaining my power to you. Don’t you get it? I am three steps ahead of you.”

“The clones,” Illness finally got it. “Aren’t those just decoy?”

“I wish,” Atalante grimaced. “It took me three exhausting months to master it.”

Requiem finally caught on to Atalante technique. He couldn’t believe how much she was down-playing how complex that technique was. Illness had no chance of working out. She never had the tool or the framing to dissect the intricacies of [Feather Decoy]. Even Requiem, who had [Aero Supreme], only deduced its mechanism after several observations.

[Feather Decoy] was the product of a complex use of [Aero Supreme], particularly the aspect over the mystical properties surrounding air. Using her Adamakles as a catalyst, Atalante shed her image into the background, like an insect shedding its skin, and solidified it with high-density air. In this split second, the atmosphere was altered, causing light to bend and turning her invisible. This resulted in a hyperrealistic decoy taking her place and made the real her seemingly reappear out of nowhere. Those effects would make it a cute technique, but Adamakles didn’t do it cutely. Atalante’s decoy was a kind of scientifically incomprehensible marvel.

The air construct was the easy part. The real hurdle was the mystical aspect; the tinkering with [Aero Law]. Wind was mystically associated with many properties. Some breeze brought fortune and good tiding. Ominous wind and miasma brought bad luck and curses. Change in air was associated with changes in heaven. Using these principles, Atalanta shed more than her image. She blew away her curses, disease, and ailment into the decoy.

It made no scientific sense. Wind wouldn’t remove pathogens from the body or remove the damage they caused. But such was the power of [Law], it ruled the metaphysics interpretation over the observable reality.

[Feather Edge] wasn’t a sword specialized in creating pressurized air or gusts of wind as. Its true nature was a manipulator of the symbolic aspect of air as messengers of changes. Her decoy automatically took any negative ailment from Atalante, leaving her perfectly healthy.

It wasn’t a perfect defensive technique. Requiem doubted her decoy would reset real tangible damage like lopped limbs or crushed organs (healing winds couldn’t blow those away). But something like poison and illness wouldn’t be a problem.

Illness, the master of throwing sickness until enemies dropped, was facing the woman who could shunt all her ailments on a doll faster than it could kill her. The match-up was hilariously lopsided in Atalante’s favor.

But Requiem doubted that was all of it, [Feather Decoy] was a powerful ability, but he believed it was incomplete. The him several months ago wouldn’t have any idea, but after spending time with T — a sword-goddess in her own right — his perception about blades grew.

Atalante’s Skill was more like a prerequisite than an actual engine.

Illness had no idea she was facing her natural counter. Instead, the Fairy futilely threw another taunt.

“You can be as smug as you want,” Illness sneered. “But your friend isn’t immune to my power.”

The statement was the textbook definition of sour grapes, but Illness wasn’t wrong. Ruine and Ayla were dying behind the two. Even if they survived, the disease would keep them down for a long time.

That was until Atalante showed the true power of the [Feather Edge].

“That will be a problem,” Lena Atalante saluted with her Adamakles sword. “I should get going then.”

[Feather Zone]

The burst of wind erupted from Atalante, the gale circled around them. It was a field of silent wind swimming like predatory fishes in the depth of the abyss. Flowing haze of air cascaded in a layer of turbulent wall. There was no scent like there was no sound. Lena had summoned the localized coliseum of gust, isolated from everything else in the land.

Requiem knew this was it — the culmination of Atalante’s wind.

“[Feather Zone],” Atalanta waved her blade, drawing the crescent of the moon. “Must be nice to be born an S-Rank, Miss Fairy. Me? I need to learn this to reach an A-Rank, and I won’t be qualified as ‘S’ until I master it.”

“A field of air?” Illness said, oblivious to how damned she was. “What is so impressive about it?”

Atalante’s next sentence froze Illness’s spinal cord.

“Don’t you realize that the virulent air around you is gone?”

Illness didn’t have eyes, but if she did, it would widen in panic. She tried to summon another virulent mist, but it dissipated before it could gather, cleansed by the gale blowing inside the clearing of rushing air.

Illness tried to gather her Mana to do something, but the wind blew that away too.

“What is this?” The Fea was visibly panicking.

“This zone can blow away any Mana construction and entity below A-Rank,” Atalanta’s voice reemerged from behind the Fairy, seizing the moment of horror to close the gap for a decisive killing-blow. “Remember how I cleanse illness and misfortune by shedding it away with winds? This field applied that effect in a wide area.”

Illness couldn’t answer how Atalanta got here. The only thing she remembered before she faded into eternal sleep was the world rotating sideways as her head fell to the ground. The tip of [Feather Edge] impaled her brain and stabbed the Spiritual Core holding her essence.

It was there the first Tribune of the Fairy Realm fell.

…

The roar of the Beast Praetor had flipped the very sky and earth, sending the representatives flying everywhere.

In the field of jutting concrete and gutted ruins, the Praetor observed the dying resistance.

Xerxes and Rubric were hit directly from being the closest in proximity to the explosion of force and were on their last leg. They were on their knees, crawling like bugs before the monster. Both their organs were in shambles and their bones obviously weren’t in a better shape. Stride was already out from his defeat at the hand of Glint, and the further development simply buried him beneath the rocks. Ophelia dug herself from the rubble, but only absolute despair rang in her eyes.

The Beast Tribunes, Caster in particular, found the scene hilarious.

“Talk about easy victory,” the cat-like Fairy guffawed. “Not that I expect much anyway.”

Jester clapped with joy, dancing among the devastation and drinking in the image of devastation, “Wonderful! Let’s get the chain and pillory. Parading them in rags like animals would be more than enough to shatter those puny morales.”

Some distance away, Orwell scowled in distaste. He had easily nullified most of Kane’s attacks, but he didn’t want to interfere just yet. The odds were still stacked against him. He didn’t want to go in the fight babysitting too many people.

Kane huffed, but a blast of light knocked into him, forcing him back a step.

That single step grabbed the Fairy Commander’s attention. Even Jester was amused. It was unnatural to see Kane’s towering presence as anything less than unmovable.

Covered in light, Thalia Holysworth stood up in a trance. Motes of glitters hung around her like glamorous powder, belying her faded eyes. Her clothes were torn and tattered from the battle with Enigma, but it still held together despite the power oozing from the girl’s body igniting the helm of the fabric.

The sudden development jogged Jester’s memory.

“Oh, I recall that the Holy Grace Church descended from the bloodline of a unique mutated human; a hero,” Jester mused. “What an amusing development.”

Orwell mentally concurred. It was possible that being pushed to her limit of her life forced the inherent bloodline inside Thalia to awaken. Orwell couldn’t recall the last time this atavism had happened.

Then Orwell remembered another girl who could have a similar near death power up. Granted, Orwell believed that particular mechanism was engineered over natural.

Right on cue, a geyser of fire shot into the sky, raising the temperature by several hundred degrees. The surrounding air had become arid. Everything exposed to the flames was left steaming from the scorching air.

Charon Sol walked out of the rubble, revealing the barely conscious Sonovia bruised behind her. Flames licked her body. The once warm eyes of the maid were filled with flames and malicious intent.

Orwell whistled. Yep, that was the bitch he remembered. He had some guesses at first, but the look in her eyes, her posture, and that burning Mana confirmed it. Dream and the Dawn must have put a leash on that rabid dog and engineered ‘her’ to be released if ‘Charon Sol’ was under threat.

Rubric also noticed the same thing, “That power…”

Striking as one, both Thalia and Charon rushed into Kane and threw a punch, the target of their animosity — Kane.

The Praetor was sandwiched between the anvil of light and the hammer of fire. The floor cracked and parted from the attack from the out-of-control girls. The effect of flaming waves and shining iridescence was visible throughout the city.

Yet Kane remained unharmed. His palms catching both punches, proving once and for all the toughness of his body.

Thalia moved on instinct, performing a roundhouse kick.

It was for naught. Yes, her potential has been stimulated, but it was instinctual. Her movement lacked precision and restraint.

Kane exploited this unrefined action to grab Thalia from the air and slammed her into the ground. He lifted the struggling Thalia aloft in his massive hand.

Charon didn’t wait around; she created a blade of scarlet fire, hotter than a nuclear furnace, and jammed it into Kane’s face.

Kane ate the blade. His teeth crushed the flaming construct, snapping it to pieces as he ate the fire like chocolate.

He grabbed the maid by the neck; unamused.

“My body is the most impenetrable and invincible thing in this world,” he squeezed the two in his hand, ignoring the cries of pain and the cracking of bones. “Do you think such mere power of the long dead hero and divine flames can damage me?”

A voice yelled out.

“Let them go!”

Upon hearing the voice of his wife, Xerxes Enma’s blood froze over.

“Aquila!” the Lion-man screamed. “Get out of here.”

Aquila Enma leapt in. Her [Divine Beast Raiment] pressed on full. She swiped at Kane with a sword packed with her entire power.

The glowing sword containing Aquila’s entire Mana stockpile nicked Kane’s face, but again the Praetor easily grabbed his opponent out of the air by the head.

Kane brushed his cheek at a tiny scratch Aquila made.

“You injured me,” Kane’s voice dripped with arrogance. “Are you prepared to pay the price?”

Kane squeezed Aquila’s skull. Beneath the tightening vice-grip Aquila let out a haunting scream.

“Stop it!” Xerxes yelled, pleading for the science in front of him to stop. He wanted to do anything to stop the monster. He tried to run at Kane, but his body collapsed on the first step. The beating he received from Apex had pushed his body to its limit.

Amid the screams and despair, Kane was drinking in his victory.

“I see you care for her,” Kane’s mouth twisted into a monstrous grin, brushing aside Aquilla’s struggle and cries like she never existed. “What should I do with that? Should I chain you like a cat as I tore her limbs to limbs and defiled her? Should I stitch your body together and parade you out as a symbol of our victory? No, I heard you have a daughter. Family should be properly reunited. Don’t you think so?”

Charon Sol tried to lift her broken body up for a final stand, but Kane’s feet absent-mindedly collided with her, blasting her like a rocket and crashing into the earth like a hypersonic missile.

Orwell surveyed the scene. Xerxes and Rubric were spent after getting bombed face-first. Aquila was going to die. Thalia was prone on the ground, probably broke every bone in her body. Charon suffered worse. Sonovia and Ophelia were coming around, but they were useless. Stride was still out cold.

Everything was now up to him, but…

“Mr. Anomaly,” Jester cheerfully said beneath the mask. The Blood and Fellsbane closed in on Orwell at the sign of his twitching fingers. “Please don’t interfere. This isn’t your business.”

Orwell was surrounded. Sure, he could fight his way out, but he doubted he could safely take three high-ranking Fairies head on with Ruho powerlessly hiding behind him. It was frustrating. It would take him less than a second to reverse this situation, but his power wasn’t delicate. Anything powerful enough to kill the Fairies would butcher Ruho thirty-times over.

What he needed was an opening; a single opportunity to immobilize the Fairy for a microsecond and whisked Ruho away before they could retaliate.

Sadly, nobody here could provide that.

Aquila’s scream rang. She futilely hit Kane’s arm with her puny fist, but it did nothing to stop the inevitable.

Xerxes closed his eyes. He didn’t know whether he could make it, but he doubted his daughter would accept his apology.

He hoped Shyme could escape from here and never found out what would be happening to them. 

It was the wish of the man who had given up hope.

There was a crunch, and the screams faded. Xerxes bit back his tears, but a familiar cough pushed his eyes open.

His wife was still alive?

Aquila laid on the rough ground, groaning but still living. It was an act of miracle defying the audible crunching sound that should signal her death.

No, the sound of that crunched wasn’t a signal of a tragedy. It was a signal that ‘he’ had finally arrived. He might not be the fastest of the Knight, or the strongest, but when that didn’t change the pillar of reliability his presence solidified.

The black mantle depicting the symbol of Horizon Dawn fluttered in the wind. The knight’s face hid behind that black helmet, obscuring the emotion stirring beneath. The black cane in hand hung lightly as the only weapon he ever needed.

Surrounded by enemies, burdened by the injured, the Chronicler graced the battlefield in the calm he always did.

Kane wasn’t as calm despite his silence. He was stunned at the arm Chronicler broke. It was the first notable injury he suffered in this campaign. It was unbelievably sudden. The enigmatic man materialized from the air and tapped his elbow lightly with that mysterious cane. The gentle touch caused the Beast Praetor’s arm holding Aquila to twist like bloody wood-shaving.

Time seemed to suspend. The assembled representatives hold their breath in disbelief. Meanwhile, the Fairy felt their skin crawl at the mere sight of Chronicler. They felt like prey looking at their apex predator.

Only one man voiced his heart out.

Orwell was overjoyed, unable to hide the happiness at the reunion with his rival.

“Dammit, man!” Orwell hollered to the heavens. “What with you guys and the timing? How the hell did it take you this long?”

“Glad to see you aren’t responsible this time, Orwell,” Chronicler absorbed the situation and answered. “To answer your query. Today has been a very stressful day.”