Chapter 227
Leaving Ottar and Allen secured in a location far removed from the immediate chaos, Draco launched himself back into the smoke-choked sky over Orario, his draconic wings beating powerfully against the churning air.
Finn's recent decision echoed in his mind, although it didn’t seem like the best choice, he had no counter to it.
So his immediate priority was clear: gather his scattered familia members and, above all, locate his goddess, Bahamut.
Orario, strained and bleeding, desperately needed her presence, her strength.
The sheer scale of the incidents that had erupted was overwhelming, pushing the city to the brink.
"To think," Draco mused, his voice a low growl lost in the wind, "all this destruction and death... in just one damn night." The thought settled heavily in his chest.
The night was not entirely dark; the angry orange glow of countless burning buildings painted the underside of the clouds, casting flickering, hellish light across the devastated landscape. Despite this fiery illumination, visibility was poor.
Smoke stung the air, and even with his significantly enhanced draconic senses, identifying individuals on the ground amidst the rubble and chaos was a difficult, frustrating task.
He began his search methodically, scouring the southern sectors of Orario.
It wasn't long before his sharp eyes, cutting through the haze, spotted a familiar cluster of valiant figures.
It was the Astraea Familia, distinguishable by their distinct fighting style and his familiarity with them, aided by members of the Ganesha Familia.
They were holding the southern frontline, engaging furiously with waves of evilus forces.
'What the hell are they still doing here?' Draco wondered, a knot of confusion tightening in his gut.
'Shouldn't they be pulling back, heading towards the Central Park rally point?' He circled higher, observing their position and the terrain more closely.
As he analyzed the layout, the strategic significance became painfully clear.
The road they were defending, was a direct, unobstructed path leading straight to Central Park – one of the designated safe haven and command center for the adventurers.
If this vital artery was left undefended, the relentless evilus suicide bombers, along with their shock troops, would have unimpeded access to the heart of the city's defenses.
They could reach within lethal proximity of Central Park, unleashing their devastating payload and increasing the already immense pressure on the exhausted and demoralized adventurers gathered there.
'Tsk,' Draco clicked his tongue in sharp annoyance, the sound sharp even in the roaring wind. 'What a total headache. They should have at least conveyed the importance of this position, or their intentions, to Finn's command structure. That way, reinforcements could have been allocated, or a clearer strategy implemented. They wouldn't have to be taking the brunt of this swarm all by themselves.' The lack of communication, a recurring theme in this chaotic night, was proving deadly.
After confirming his observations and understanding the critical nature of their stand, Draco made a rapid decision.
He would intervene, not just to offer a piece of his mind about the communication failure, but to briefly help clear a path and alleviate some of the immediate pressure on their frontline. Additionally, a few of his own familia members – Vasiliki, Vasileios, Michalis, and Clair – had been working alongside the Astraea and Ganesha familia earlier in the day.
The survivors here should have some information on their whereabouts.
Gathering that information would drastically reduce the time he had to spend fruitlessly searching the burning city.
However, just as Draco began maneuvering to execute his plan, his enhanced vision caught a crucial, unexpected movement.
Three figures, instantly recognizable, were splitting off from the main group in a desperate hurry. Alise, Neze, and Iska.
They were moving with an urgency that spoke of something deeply wrong.
Alise, in particular, seemed consumed by panic, her usual fierce composure shattered.
Something significant, and clearly detrimental, had happened to trigger such a desperate departure from their defensive line.
With Alise, Neze, and Iska's sudden and unexplained departure, the already untenable pressure on the remaining Astraea and Ganesha familia members visibly intensified.
Gaps appeared in the line, and the sheer numbers of the evilus attackers threatened to overwhelm them entirely.
"Tsk," Draco clicked his tongue again, more sharply this time, frustration warring with concern. As curious as he was about where Alise, Neze, and Iska were heading – and what could possibly make them abandon their post in such a critical moment – the situation unfolding below him demanded immediate attention.
The ones left behind needed his help much more.
Swoosh!
Like an assassin cloaked in the night, Draco folded his draconic wings, plummeting silently towards the embattled frontline.
Activating his scanning magic, he pinpointed the locations of the evilus members surging against the defenders.
Simultaneously, he wove subtle wind magic around himself, muffling the sound of his approach, rendering his descent almost eerily silent.
He began his deadly work.
It was a brutal, efficient ballet of death.
All it took was one lightning-fast swipe of his razor-sharp claws, one unexpected strike from his powerful talons, delivered from above or from an unseen angle, and an evilus member's life was extinguished in a single, moment.
The series of silent, utterly efficient assassinations sent ripples of disorientation through the evilus ranks.
They fell without a sound, their comrades unable to identify the attacker or predict the next strike.
Confusion quickly began to spread among them, their coordinated charge faltering.
Soon, chaos erupted as they began looking around frantically, bumping into each other, unsure where the unseen threat would strike next.
This sudden, terrifying disarray bought the hard-pressed Astraea and Ganesha familia members some much-needed reprieve on the southern frontline.
The allied adventurers, of course, were startled by the abrupt, inexplicable shift in the battle's momentum.
One moment they were overwhelmed, the next, the enemy facing them was collapsing in a panicked mess.
But since the unseen assailant wasn't attacking any of their numbers, the immediate conclusion was that whoever, or whatever, was causing this was on their side.
A cautious, hopeful energy began to spread through their ranks.
After dealing a significant amount of damage to the evilus forces swarming around the Astraea and Ganesha Familia, effectively carving out a small pocket of relative safety, Draco landed silently behind Lyra.
He chose her position, slightly back from the main line, because it seemed like a vantage point for observing the battle.
Lyra, sensing the subtle shift in air pressure or the faint warmth of a large body nearby, reacted instantly.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, nearly stopping altogether, as she spun around, her boomerang blade already whipping out in a defensive arc.
"Yo," Draco greeted, his voice surprisingly casual given the circumstances, accompanied by a light, almost dismissive wave of one claw.
The claw coolly intercepted Lyra's spinning blade, stopping it inches from his chest.
"Draco...?" Lyra’s voice was barely a whisper, choked with disbelief and residual terror.
Her small Pallum heart, which had been pounding like a drum against her ribs moments before, began to finally calm down.
She had been absolutely convinced she was a goner, that some stealthy, elite evilus soldier had managed to slip past their defenses and was about to strike her down.
Her carefully chosen position was meant for observation, not direct combat, and certainly no ally had reason to be behind her.
"Don't 'yo' me!" Lyra retorted, the shock giving way to indignant relief.
She lightly punched his chest with a fist that felt feather-light against his scales. "You scared the living hell out of me! I thought I was dead!"
"Hahahaha!" Draco chuckled, a sound like rumbling stones.
He appreciated her familiar, spirited reaction.
"Phew..." Lyra exhaled slowly, pressing a hand against her chest as if to physically hold her heart in place.
The adrenaline was slowly receding, leaving her feeling shaky but alive.
"So," she asked, her voice steadier now, glancing out at the still-reeling evilus forces, "Should we assume that the sudden... improvement... in our situation, that chaos over there, was your doing?"
"Yes, it was," Draco confirmed, retracting his claw from her blade.
"Figured it would be more efficient to hit the evilus from the shadows, sow some panic without taking the line head-on. They tend to get bolder, and frankly, much crazier, when you confront them directly." Draco said.
"Thank you," Lyra said, her voice softening with genuine gratitude.
"Truly. With Alise, Neze, and Iska leaving... we were in a really precarious spot." She didn't elaborate on the why of their departure.
"No problem," Draco replied, his gaze scanning the faces of the other Astraea and Ganesha members now cautiously advancing into the disarrayed enemy ranks.
"By the way," he began, turning his attention back to the matter that brought him here, "How was the raid on the evilus base? Were you successful?" He remembered sending Vasiliki, Vasileios, Michalis, and Clair with them earlier, hoping they could save Adi.
Upon hearing his question, Lyra’s expression changed instantly.
A heavy shadow seemed to fall across her face, her eyes losing their recent light and becoming dark with sorrow and worry.
Observing this drastic shift, Draco felt a sickening lurch in his stomach.
His heartbeat, usually a steady, powerful rhythm, began to quicken, a cold dread coiling in his gut.
He knew that look too well.
It was the expression of someone who had witnessed something awful, something that had gone terribly, irreversibly wrong.
Something bad had definitely happened during the raid.
With a somber, tight-lipped expression, Lyra braced herself.
The relief of his arrival, the brief reprieve from the battle's intensity, vanished like smoke in the wind.
She lowered her gaze slightly, her voice quiet and heavy with the weight of the night's grim events, and began narrating everything that had transpired since the raid began.
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Miles away, surveying the northern frontlines from a different kind of vantage point, Hedin stood stoically atop a church belfry.
The night air here was slightly clearer, though still tainted by the distant smell of smoke.
His gaze was fixed northward, specifically on the raging battlefield unfolding within District Seven.
Worry furrowed his brow.
He observed several rather disturbing situations – pockets of fierce, desperate resistance, overwhelming enemy numbers, and chilling displays of evilus cruelty.
Yet, he couldn't move, not without severe repercussions for those relying on him.
His current position, high in the stone structure of the belfry, was not chosen for combat, but for protection.
It allowed him to oversee and provide limited defensive support to the cluster of buildings below and around the church – buildings that housed many of the city's innocent civilians and gravely injured adventurers who had been pulled back from the front lines.
With so many fragile lives implicitly in his hands, how could he possibly abandon his post, even to aid allies in dire straits? He had to carefully weigh the gains and loses.
The dilemma gnawed at him.
………………………………………………………..
In the bloodied, broken ruins of District Seven, far from any central command or strategic objective, Hogni was embroiled in a rather horrible, deeply personal situation.
"Hogni, my love, where are you going, all full of holes?" echoed the chillingly sweet voice of Dina, the elder of the notorious Dis sisters.
The sound seemed to dance through the debris-strewn streets, simultaneously mocking and predatory.
"Yeah," chimed in Vena, the younger sister's voice, equally saccharine and cruel, "Come play with us! If you're going to die anyway, do it where we can see you!"
"Ghhhh..." Hogni could only manage a ragged gasp, collapsing behind the partial cover of a collapsed stone wall.
Pain radiated through his body with every beat of his heart.
Moments ago, the Dis sisters, moving with impossible speed and coordination, had ambushed him, catching him completely off guard.
Now, the dark elf bled profusely from numerous small, precise puncture wounds riddling his torso and limbs as he desperately tried to shake them off, to find refuge, to simply endure.
Try as he might, he had already lost too much blood.
His vision was blurring, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated.
He couldn't get far.
To make matters worse, the younger sister, Vena, wielding a magic sword that crackled with destructive energy, was keeping his fellow Einherjar at bay, pinning them down with suppressive magic attacks and preventing them from reaching him.
Her magic wasn't necessarily lethal to them in large blasts, but it was relentless, disruptive, and perfectly timed to isolate Hogni.
The elder sister, Dina, on the other hand, was playing a cruel game of cat and mouse.
She stalked him through the ruins, her footsteps unnervingly light.
In her hands gleamed the twin stiletto daggers she had used to fill his body with holes just minutes before.
Her aim was not just to kill him, but to torment him, to savor his fear and pain before delivering the final, fatal strike.
The combination of Vena's long-range magical suppression and Dina's terrifyingly effective short-range blade attacks, mixed with their almost godlike, instinctive coordination, was precisely what made the Dis sisters so fearsome and deadly in combat.
However, despite his agonizing injuries and desperate plight, Hogni wasn't the one in the most immediate, overwhelming danger in this sector.
Not far from his hiding place, amidst the same labyrinth of shattered buildings, the Gulliver brothers – Alrigg, Grer,a Berling and Dvalinn – were surrounded.
Twelve heavily armoured, professional-looking evilus soldiers, all confirmed Level 5 adventurers, had them completely encircled.
To make matters unimaginably worse, the Gulliver brothers themselves were only Level 4.
The disparity in levels was immense, and being outnumbered four-to-one against foes a level higher meant they were facing a scenario that bordered on the suicidal.
One could only imagine the horror of their situation; every defensive maneuver, every attempted attack, was met by superior strength, speed, and skill.
The one who led this execution squad, the one who commanded the twelve Level 5 Evilus soldiers with cold, calculating precision, was none other than Basram.
An executive of the insidious Apate Familia, known for their cunning and ruthless tactics, he oversaw the systematic dismantling of the Gulliver brothers' defense with a chillingly detached air, ensuring their desperate struggle was as drawn out and agonizing as possible.