In the old parking lot, bursts of red light could be seen as two figures clashed, attacks flying at the speed of light.

One of the figures was Vel'tharoth's eerie figure wrapped in dark blood membranous armour; he was surrounded by viscous red liquids, which bent into huge blood claws at his will.

On the other side, a white-suited warrior bathed in red lightning danced through the waves of blood claws, his suit was tattered and covered in blood stains, and a part of his helmet cracked, revealing the fair white face and the yellow hair hidden beneath.

His wounds were looking bad.

Each movement sent a lance of pain through his ribs, where Vel'tharoth's claws had grazed deeper than the armour was ever meant to take. But his grip never faltered. The twin blades in his hands hummed with unrelenting charge, arcing red lightning in sharp, unnatural zigzags across the shattered concrete.

Vel'tharoth's claws lashed out again, carving the air into a lattice of slashing death.

Derek vanished.

He reappeared mid-air, upside down, blades already spinning. With a grunt of effort, he unleashed a Tempest Spiral slash, a vortex of electricity spiralling downward like a divine hammer. It struck one of the blood claws and shattered it on impact, splashing steaming ichor across the battlefield.

He landed hard—knee first—and launched again, skimming just over the asphalt like a missile with too much rage to miss.

The Apostle raised both arms and brought down a curtain of blood. The ground responded instantly, surging into a jagged wall of spikes.

Derek didn't stop.

Tempest Fury: Storm Piercer.

Both blades ignited in tandem, and Derek twisted mid-dash. The tips of his weapons struck the barrier and then kept going. Lightning exploded outward, swallowing the blood wall in a searing flash of raw elemental force. Smoke. Screams. Shrapnel.

Vel'tharoth stumbled.

Not far—just an inch. Just enough.

Derek was already behind him.

He drove one blade deep into Vel'taroth's lower spine, and the Apostle howled—a horrible, guttural noise that made the lights overhead flicker, even though there were none left intact.

But the Apostle was not finished.

With a snarl, Vel'taroth erupted in a blast of blood magic, sending Derek tumbling backwards. A rib cracked—he could feel it. The impact rang in his skull.

He hit the ground hard, bounced once, and slid into a burnt-out SUV carcass. He could feel his MP was draining very quickly. Bloodburst was draining too much of his mana.

"Damn it," Derek muttered, coughing blood. "I'm burning out…"

Vel'taroth loomed above him now, cloak rising behind him like the wings of a judgment angel. Black blood oozed from the wound in his back, but he didn't care. His claws flexed, and the blood-veins in the ground writhed hungrily.

"Time to rest, mortal. You die with honour."

Derek's head drooped. " Is this the end for me? "

His fingers twitched. Eyes unfocused. Pulse… slowing.

Then—

A whisper.

Her voice.

"Don't give in, Derek…"

Lila.

The memory struck him like a second wind, stronger than any system buff.

Derek's eyes flared open.

Lightning surged again, brighter than before. It danced not just around him, but through him, tracing his veins, bones, the core of his will.

He rose slowly, crackling energy burning away the blood caking his suit.

Vel'taroth paused mid-step, sensing something… wrong.

"You persist," the Apostle said, voice a mix of irritation and twisted admiration. "But for what? Your allies won't hold the horde much longer. The moment they fail—" he raised one clawed hand, talons dripping with mana-infused ichor, "—they'll come flooding back here. And when they do… You will drown."

He smiled. "Alone."

Derek didn't respond immediately.

He flicked one of his blades into a reverse grip, exhaling slowly. Inside, his thoughts were racing.

" This is harder than I thought, and I am yet to use Phantom cloud, from his defences, a single energy canon would tear a hole in him, but the problem is he is too fast, and nimble"

Unless...

"System," Derek whispered mentally. "Can I even use the Mecha remotely?"

The response came with a familiar snide tone.

[Of course, genius. You have a neural link. You don't need to be inside to pilot it—you just have to think. But sure, keep swinging swords at the demigod like it's a training dummy.]

Derek twitched.

"…You could've told me that earlier."

[I did. You just didn't listen. But hey—bleeding out is a good way to sharpen focus.]

A plan slowly formed in his mind.

Meanwhile—

The battlefield was in chaos. Flying lights from mana blasts and thermal turrets lit up the sky like fireworks on overdrive. Shockwaves rocked the incomplete wall as hundreds of mutated beasts pressed against it—iron-fanged hounds, bloated leech-bats, blade-armed crawlers.

The Genesis Squad and the recruits fought like cornered lions.

Andrew bellowed commands through the comms, shield raised, plasma baton crackling as he deflected a pouncing wolf-beast and slammed its skull to paste. "Left flank! Push them back! No retreat!"

Felix was a blur of spinning motion, his kinetic boots sending him flying between enemies as twin glaives left glowing arcs in the air. Every movement was clean, brutal—half-dance, half-slaughter.

Evelyn floated in mid-air, her coat fluttering as she controlled telekinetic debris with frightening accuracy—barricading openings, crushing enemies mid-leap, and catching falling allies with psychic cushioning.

And below them all, a storm of ice raged.

Maya stood in the centre of a ruined intersection, palms outstretched. Her breaths came in bursts, misting from her lips. Her boots were half-frozen into a circle of jagged ice.

In every direction, beast corpses were impaled by crystalline spikes.

She gritted her teeth as mana surged through her core.

"Frost Bloom!"

A dozen orbs of condensed frost mana spun around her like orbiting stars before launching in different directions. Each orb detonated mid-air, releasing spiralling shards of ice that sliced through the charging swarm like guillotine petals.

Maya stumbled, catching herself on one knee. Sweat drenched her collar.

Around her, she recognised familiar faces—former classmates, an old literature teacher, a retired officer who used to guard their school gates—now fighting beside her, bloodied and breathing hard.

This wasn't just a battlefield.

It was home—and they were all that stood between it and annihilation.

She looked at the endless waves of approaching monsters.

"Derek… please hold on…"

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