The Cathedral of the island was a monument to geometric perfection. White marble, gold leaf, and floating Rune-Stone lanterns cast a sterile, lavender glow over the elite guests.
Nana walked the aisle not as a bride, but as a prisoner. Her white silk gown was beautiful, but the Vaelcrest official beside her held her arm with a grip that bruised the bone. Every time she faltered, every time she tried to pull back, the mechanical whir of his reinforced gauntlet reminded her: This was a transaction, not a choice.
"Steady, Lady Nana," the official whispered, his voice as cold as Sigma's. "The stability of the Nations depends on this union. Do not make us... recalibrate your compliance."
Nana's eyes were glassy, her breath hitching. She looked at the altar, where the High Priest stood with a heavy, gold-bound book. The Priest raised his hands, his voice echoing through the vaulted ceiling. "In the light of the Earth, and the strength of the Stone, we bind these—"
SNAP.
It wasn't a loud sound. It was the sound of a dry branch breaking.
The Priest's words died mid-sentence. For a heartbeat, he remained standing, his hands still raised in a blessing. Then, his head simply wasn't there. A shadow, blurred and jagged, crouched where the Priest's shoulders used to be.
Puma. The creature's jaw unhinged, a sickening wet sound filling the silent cathedral as it finished the Priest's skull in one gulp. Blood didn't spray; it pooled, thick and dark, staining the white altar cloth. Puma didn't roar. It just looked at the crowd with eyes that held no "Simulation"—only hunger.
The guard beside Nana stepped back, his face pale. The Vaelcrest guards reached for their blades, but the sanctified ground was now a hunting zone.
"PUMA!" Nana gasped, a spark of something—terror or hope—flaring in her eyes.
The official's grip recalibrated, crushing Nana's hands back into position. If anything, he squeezed tighter, his mechanical fingers digging into her skin. "Security! Neutralize the Abomination! Proceed with the vows!"
He didn't care about the dead Priest. He didn't care about the monster. Vaelcrest logic demanded the Protocol be finished.
The Cathedral's silence didn't break into screams; it broke into mechanized thunder.
"Sector 4 compromised!" a Captain barked, his voice amplified by a vox-unit in his throat. "Rune-Lock formation! Subdue the anomaly!"
Twelve Vaelcrest Paladins, clad in ivory-white power armor, surged forward. They didn't draw blades—they leveled heavy Rune-Stone Launchers. With a synchronized thrum, they fired Gravity Slugs—dense, mineral-heavy projectiles designed to pin high-tier threats to the floor.
Puma didn't growl.
As the gravity slugs hit the marble around it, creating a crushing pressure zone that should have flattened a normal man, Puma's shadow began to glitch. It didn't fight the weight; it ignored the concept of mass entirely. With a sound like a dry branch snapping, it blurred.
It moved too fast for the soldiers' optical sensors to track.
It appeared in the blind spot of the lead Paladin. A single, black-clawed swipe didn't just cut the armor—it shredded the reinforced titanium neck-seal as if it were wet parchment. Blood, dark and hot, sprayed across the gold leaf of the altar.
The other guards didn't flinch. Their Rune-Stone weapons hummed, discharging arcs of lavender energy to contain the beast. Puma lunged, its body twisting 360 degrees mid-air to dodge a volley. It slammed into the second guard, its jaw unhinging to catch the man's helmeted head.
CRUNCH.
The sound of reinforced glass and bone collapsing echoed through the vaulted ceiling. Puma was a whirlwind of gore, an anomaly that Vaelcrest's weaponry hadn't been programmed to solve. One by one, the ivory-white armor of the Paladins became a collection of jagged, red-stained scrap metal.
Puma stood atop a pile of broken machines and dead men, its chest heaving, its eyes locked onto Nana. It ignored the official and lunged—a desperate, clawed hand reaching out to snatch Nana from the altar.
"NANA—HOME!" it roared, its voice a distorted, metallic rasp.
Its claws were inches from her silk gown. Nana's breath hitched, her hand reaching out to meet it—
The world stopped.
A single hand, gloved in pristine white silk, intercepted Puma's claw. It wasn't a violent collision; there was no shockwave, no sound of impact. It was as if Puma had reached out and touched a wall that existed outside of physics.
Vaelcrest stepped out from behind the official.
He moved with a terrifying, slow-motion grace. While Puma was a jagged blur of chaos, Vaelcrest was a statue of perfect, terrifying symmetry. He didn't look at the dead guards. He didn't look at the blood on his altar. He looked at Puma with eyes that held the cold, mathematical indifference of a star.
"Entropy is such a tedious habit," Vaelcrest whispered. His voice didn't come from his throat; it echoed from the very stones of the Cathedral.
With a flick of his wrist, the kinetic energy Puma had built up was simply deleted. The beast didn't fall; it was pushed back by a wave of invisible, geometric force that pinned it against the far wall, its body held in place by translucent cubes of solid Fantasia.
Vaelcrest smoothed his white tuxedo jacket, his expression as calm as a frozen lake.
"Lady Nana," Vaelcrest said, finally turning his gaze toward his bride. "The interference has been quarantined. Shall we resume? I believe we were at the part where you promise me your soul."