Inside the temporary gathering point, the lingering scent of regeneration potions hung heavy in the air.
Most of the injured operators had already regained their footing.
While mental exhaustion still clouded their eyes, their physical wounds had knit back together, leaving them combat-ready once more.
Ace checked the last operator’s bandages and turned to the group, his voice a low rumble.
“All the injured are stabilized.
We move out now.” “We have completely lost contact with the recon team,” a medic said, checking a monitor.
“The signal is dead.” Dobermann gave a curt nod.
“Understood.
But we cannot afford to stall.
We proceed to the rendezvous point as planned.” The formation moved out, handling the predetermined route with weapons drawn and senses sharp.
The streets of the ruined city were eerily desolate.
Only the crunch of debris under their boots and the ragged breathing of the operators broke the silence.
“Did no one from the recon team make it?” Dobermann muttered, her grip tightening on her weapon.
The oppressive quiet gnawed at her nerves.
“It is too quiet…
suffocatingly so.” She glanced toward the center of the formation where the Doctor walked under heavy guard, voicing the exact fear weighing on everyone’s minds.
“Doctor, could this be a trap?” A shrill, piercing alarm shattered the silence.
The tactical terminal in the Doctor’s hand flared to life, its screen bathing their visors in a harsh, strobing red light.
A line of text frantically scrolled across the display: [WARNING: Heat source detected from the rear] Amiya leaned in, her brow furrowing in confusion.
“Doctor, does this heat source mean there is a fire?” She turned to look back, but the empty street behind them showed nothing but shadows and broken concrete.
Ivan, walking on the Doctor’s right flank, felt his blood run cold.
‘High-energy heat source.’ He knew the Arknights storyline like the back of his hand.
This was not just a fire.
It was the signature Originium Arts of the Black Snake.
“No!” Ivan roared, his voice tearing through the quiet street.
He waved frantically at the operators who were still scanning the empty road.
“Scatter!
Everyone, get off the street!
Dive for cover, now!” The sheer panic in Ivan’s voice, coupled with his flawless track record thus far, bypassed the operators’ confusion.
Drilled by countless hours of combat training, they moved on pure instinct.
The Rhodes Island vanguard broke formation, throwing themselves toward the ruined storefronts and shattered barricades lining the road.
“Mr.
Ivan?
What is happening—” Amiya started, but Ivan was already moving.
He grabbed her shoulder, shoved his other hand against the Doctor’s back, and practically tackled them both behind the thick remains of a collapsed concrete wall.
Amiya’s question died in her throat.
Directly behind where they had just been standing, the center of an abandoned concrete structure began to glow.
There was no explosion, no concussive impact.
The reinforced walls simply turned a blinding, incandescent crimson.
The stone softened, sagging inward like melting wax, before vanishing entirely into a terrifying void.
A massive crater of molten slag, several meters wide, tore open in the fabric of the street.
Then came the roar.
A torrential pillar of fire, burning so hot it warped the very air, erupted from the crater like a waking volcano.
This was no natural flame.
It was highly condensed Originium Arts, dripping with pure destructive malice.
The thermal shockwave hit them like a physical wall, singeing the edges of their hair and drying their throats in an instant.
Nearl slammed her shield into the dirt, bracing against the heat.
Ace locked his own shield into place, his expression darkening.
“This is far beyond the parameters in our intel!” “The tyrant of Reunion…” Amiya stared into the blinding inferno, her pupils shrinking.
“Talulah.” Amiya forced herself to stand, her voice trembling but resolute.
“Prepare to engage—” Before she could finish, the sea of fire parted.
A highly compressed sphere of crimson flame, small but radiating apocalyptic heat, shot out from the inferno directly toward their cover.
The suffocating breath of death washed over the squad.
“Back the [Lungmen profanity] off!
You think I am just an NPC here, Black Snake?!” Ivan moved like a phantom, blurring past the vanguard to plant himself directly in the fireball’s path.
His right hand snatched at the empty air.
The heavy, dark mass of his blade of slaughter materialized into his grip.
He did not dodge.
He did not raise a shield.
Staring down a sphere of plasma that could vaporize steel, Ivan’s eyes burned with absolute defiance.
He gripped the hilt with both hands, channeling every ounce of his kinetic strength into the weapon, and swung upward in a brutal, flawless arc.
The dark blade cleaved the air.
The strike met the incoming fireball head-on, splitting the condensed mass of Originium Arts perfectly in two.
The severed halves of the inferno shrieked past Ivan’s shoulders, narrowly missing his sides, and slammed into the ruined buildings behind him.
Two deafening explosions rocked the street.
The blast shattered the concrete facades, sending a rain of molten slag and pulverized brick showering down around them.
As the smoke and embers swirled, Ivan stood tall, his blade resting at his side.
Through the haze, a lone silhouette emerged from the distant flames.
The standoff was absolute, the air thick with the smell of ozone, vaporized rock, and cold killing intent.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The sharp, rhythmic click of high heels against the scorched pavement cut through the crackle of the dying fires.
The sound carried a crushing, oppressive weight.
She stopped.
Her gaze, burning like a physical branding iron, swept over the battered Rhodes Island formation before locking onto Amiya and the Doctor in the center.
Her voice was not loud, yet it carried a chilling, mocking clarity that echoed in everyone’s ears.
“You people…
are the ones who should, above all others, be standing at our side.” “Tell me, what have the Infected done?” “What have those you call innocent done?” “And you people…
what have you done?” “Full of empty salvation, peace, and futures.
What can your naive theories accomplish?
Besides watching more of our kind die in despair, what else can you do?” “What can idealists who only speak empty words accomplish?” “This is the…” “Shut up!” A roar of raw, unadulterated fury shattered Talulah’s monologue.
Ivan’s grip on his sword trembled.
The anger burning in his eyes easily eclipsed the heat of the surrounding fires.
It was a deep, bitter rage, the anger of someone who knew exactly how deep this tragedy ran, and how utterly pathetic the puppet master truly was.
He took a heavy step forward, shoving past Nearl and Amiya before they could even attempt to hold him back.
He leveled the tip of his dark blade directly at Talulah’s face.
His voice was hoarse, yet every word cut through her regal aura like glass.
“Do not stand there and spout this self-righteous garbage at us!
Who the hell do you think you are?” His voice echoed down the ruined avenue, dripping with venom.
“You have not been her for a very long time, have you?
You are just the parasite hiding inside Talulah’s shell.
Black Snake.
Kashchey.” “You are nothing but a pathetic wretch who stole someone else’s body to spread your own miserable hatred.
You think anything you do is for the Infected?
It is nothing but a sick game to satisfy your twisted, insane desires!” The words struck with surgical precision.
The ambient flames swirling around Talulah violently flickered and warped the exact second Ivan spat the names Black Snake and Kashchey.
For the first time since she appeared, those cold, arrogant crimson eyes widened.
The shift in her expression was not an act.
It was genuine, unfiltered shock.
The air froze.
The Rhodes Island operators stared at Ivan in absolute disbelief, then slowly turned their eyes back to the tyrant of Reunion.
Ivan’s accusation sounded like utter madness, yet it perfectly explained the terrifying, alien cruelty radiating from the woman standing before them.
Ivan narrowed his eyes, a cold smirk touching his lips.
“I am right, am I not?
Kashchey.” [Rhodes’s Note: Enjoying the operation so far, Doctor?
(This daily grind literally pays the landship’s rent!
to use the links!)