By the time Gabriel turned back toward the beaches, the ships had landed. Smoke curled through the air in black plumes. The cacophony of war was muffled by the howling wind high above. He raised his eyes to the looming airship—its shadow swallowing a quarter of the battlefield.
He sighed and rolled his shoulders.
"Julian!" he called, not raising his voice much, yet somehow it carried across the chaos.
Julian blurred into view, blood dripping down one side of his coat. "What?"
"We're boarding the airship. Dominic can hold the beaches with Virgil." Gabriel's tone was composed, as if he were discussing tea. "If that monstrosity remains in the sky, victory is… unlikely."
Julian nodded without argument.
They sprinted toward the cliff's edge. As they reached full speed, they launched into the sky—then stopped midair, running upward with effortless grace as their mana condensed into invisible platforms beneath each step. The force of their movement left a high-pitched hum behind, a trail of warped air spiraling downward like falling petals.
Julian drew his blood-red sword and let his magic flow into it. Red veins pulsed along the blade.
Gabriel gave him a sidelong glance. "Still playing butcher, I see."
Julian smirked. "Still pretending you don't envy it?"
"No. Merely waiting for you to evolve beyond such vulgarity." Gabriel's voice was silk over ice.
They landed atop the airship's hull. Julian cut through the steel plating like it was paper, and they dropped inside. Gabriel followed, hands in his coat pockets, his expression unreadable.
They advanced down a corridor toward the ship's core. Then, an audible clank. The lights flickered.
Hundreds of soldiers lined the wide chamber ahead—the command center, walls lined with glowing glyphs and mana pipelines. In the center, behind reinforced glass, stood a smug figure: a clone of Lance Sterling, arms crossed, lips curved in delight.
"My guests!" he declared. "You were easier to bait than I expected. Those two failures you cut down earlier? I promoted them just for this. Thought they deserved to die with dignity." He chuckled. "And now… welcome to your tomb."
The soldiers opened fire without warning.
Gabriel didn't even lift his sword at first—he simply tilted it, and every shot rebounded like pebbles off steel, redirected with unnatural precision. Julian crouched and swept his blade in wide arcs, his blood magic hardening into curved shields that absorbed the barrage.
Bullets bounced. Mana cracked. The air thickened with heat and smoke. Slowly, bodies began to fall—taken out by their own crossfire.
Then the ceiling split open. A glowing cannon descended from above, spinning to life.
Gabriel tilted his head. "Now that looks more interesting."
He stepped forward, glancing at Lance through the glass. "Why don't you come greet your guests personally? This backroom host act doesn't suit you."
Lance sneered. "You want a show? Fine."
Gabriel raised a single hand. A spellbook materialized beside him, glowing faintly as its pages flipped of their own accord. Sparks danced around his boots. His smile didn't reach his eyes.
With a single, elegant sweep of his sword, a wave of lightning arced outward. It struck the floor like a crashing tide, obliterating the remaining soldiers and leaving only burning outlines in their place. The airship shuddered under the force. Metal warped. Pipes burst. Fire spread.
Gabriel closed the book gently, then tucked it under his coat like a precious heirloom. "Forgive me. I tend to overdo it."
Lance scowled and waved his hand, opening the glass wall. "They were trash. That's all."
He drew his sword and stepped forward.
Julian moved first.
"Julian, wait—" Gabriel warned.
Too late.
Lance snapped his fingers. A duplicate burst into being behind Julian, its blade cleaving downward. Blood sprayed across the floor. Julian dropped to his knees, clutching his severed arm.
Gabriel sighed, slowly turning his gaze on Lance. "You always rush. No rhythm. No control. Just ruin chasing validation."
He raised a hand and summoned a glowing sigil. A pulse of force exploded outward. Lance's clone vanished in a flash of light, while the original was blasted backward across the chamber, slamming into a support column.
Lance wiped blood from his mouth and grinned. "So you're not just a pretty face. Even for a clone, I can still fight. You'll see."
Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "Don't call me that."
Lance grinned and vanished in a blur, closing the distance in a blink.
Gabriel didn't move. Not at first. His eyes tracked everything—how Lance's weight shifted forward, how the air warped behind him. Then, just as Lance's blade neared his throat, Gabriel pivoted—smooth as water—allowing the strike to pass inches from his face.
A second presence flickered into existence behind him.
He spun, blade flashing.
It cut through the illusion like smoke.
"A decoy," Gabriel murmured.
Too late. The real Lance came down with a diagonal slash, the steel screeching against Gabriel's coat before finding skin.
The cut opened across Gabriel's chest, shallow but sharp, blood blooming red through white linen.
Gabriel stepped back, glancing down. "…I haven't been hit in years."
He looked up, smiling—not wide, but with an odd glimmer behind his eyes.
"This is fun," he said gently. "You have potential. But how unfortunate… the side you chose."
He lowered his sword to the floor, blade pointed down. Mana rippled around him. The lights flickered.
Then—rupture.
From his back, pitch-black tentacles erupted, coiling like serpents, each one humming with magnetic force. They split the floor beneath him, their tips vibrating with unstable energy.
Lance's eyes widened. "Is this your core technique?"
Gabriel tilted his head. "Not even close."
He flicked his hand.
The tentacles lunged.
Lance moved with unnatural reflexes, ducking under one, springing over another. He sliced through the nearest, only for it to regenerate mid-air and lash again. They struck from multiple angles—aiming not to kill, but to corner. Gabriel was testing him.
From above, a blur of red dropped like a comet.
Julian landed with a roar, his blood magic hardening his muscles. His right arm had reformed, threads of crimson still stitching the flesh together.
"I'm not letting you take all the credit!"
Before Lance could react, Julian drove his sword downward, pinning him to the ground through the back. Metal screeched. Mana sparked. Lance's body slammed flat, blood pooling beneath him.
"GRAAH—!" Lance screamed, clawing at the floor. The sword trembled in his back.
But Gabriel's eyes shot open. "Julian, behind—!"
Another clone manifested mid-motion, aiming its hand like a spear toward Julian's ribs.
Julian's instincts flared. He spun, blade arcing in a perfect semicircle—shhk!—severing the clone's arm, then sweeping low. The leg came off in a single motion.
Before it fell, he pierced the clone's chest, twisting the blade until the mana construct shattered into shards of light.
The room fell still—except for Lance, pinned and heaving, blood leaking from his mouth.
"You've lost," Julian said coldly, holding the blade steady.
Lance's voice rasped out. "Your weapons won't survive… They'll fall just like the others. The Starborn can only hope to win…"
Gabriel's face darkened.
He stepped forward, eyes sharp. "They know."
Lance's body crumbled to dust, the embers of his fading clone scattering into the dim light.
Gabriel didn't speak. His gaze locked to where Lance had lain, mind racing. "They know," he muttered. "They know the Starborn are moving."
Julian's brows drew tight. "You think they've fortified the base?"
"More than that," Gabriel replied, voice low. "They've calculated the Starborn's window of attack. Whatever's waiting at that fortress, it won't be what they expect."
Julian turned, blood magic still humming faintly around his reattached hand. "Then what's the play?"
Gabriel remained silent a beat longer than necessary, letting the tension stretch. Then he smiled faintly—polite, distant, cold. "I suppose we should ensure the skies aren't left so… inhospitable."
The air crackled as a speaker flared to life.
"You won't need to worry about that!" Lance's voice echoed overhead, smug and sharp. "I'll take the pleasure of ending the both of you—one way or another. This whole ship's going to blow you to ash." A short laugh crackled through the speaker. "Always good to have a plan B, don't you think?"
The transmission cut.
Julian's eyes widened. His head snapped to the nearest corridor, scanning for an exit. His breathing picked up. Then he turned sharply to Gabriel—who still hadn't moved.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
Gabriel didn't flinch. "It won't be powerful enough."
"You're doubting him?!" Julian snapped. "He's a lunatic!"
"I'm only doubting his capabilities," Gabriel said calmly. "Lance is elusive. But that's where his strengths begin and end."
He pivoted, raised a hand, and unleashed a precise burst of mana into the wall. The metal crumpled and tore open, revealing open sky.
Julian blinked. "We're thousands of feet up."
The floor beneath them shuddered—then the airship groaned. The low rumble of detonation rolled through the hull like thunder.
Gabriel turned, wind tugging at his coat. "With or without you," he said, extending a hand. "But I'd rather you come with."
Julian clicked his tongue, face tight with disdain—but took the hand anyway.
They vanished into the dawn.