"Why do you look so remarkably gloomy, Miss Silverstone?" Amon asked smoothly, his hands effortlessly guiding the steering wheel as he swept his golden supercar—a sleek, lethal machine closely resembling a Hennessy Venom F5—into a sharp left turn.
Beside him in the passenger seat sat T.S. Khalia, his fellow Prosecutor and the Director of Magic Research.
Khalia was dressed impeccably for fieldwork, wearing an oversized, ruby-red collared jacket with wide, folded cuffs layered neatly over a fitted black turtleneck sweater. She paired it with a black, button-front A-line long skirt and sharp white heeled boots. Pinned to her right lapel was an intricate black badge featuring a wand crossed over an open tome, signalling her status as the Director of Magic Research.
Amon, by contrast, donned a dark, aristocratic elegance. He wore a long-sleeved black turtleneck beneath a tailored black waistcoat, tucked seamlessly into crisp grey pleated trousers secured by a thin black belt with a gold buckle. A long black trench coat draped loosely over his shoulders, while glossy black leather shoes rested at the pedals. A black blindfold covered his eyes, and his distinct Prosecutor pin rested on his lapel: a stylised crown behind a strangely glitching wand.
"Because you happen to be accompanying me on this deployment," Khalia answered flatly, leaning her cheek against her palm as she stared out the passenger window. "I harbour a deep distaste for working alongside inexperienced field personnel."
"Well, I would hardly classify myself as inexperienced," Amon replied with a polite, melodic chuckle, glancing toward her for a brief second before returning his focus to the winding road ahead. "I have navigated my fair share of high-stakes trials."
"Whatever trials you faced are mere child's play compared to what awaits us in this sector," Khalia sighed, pulling her gaze away from the glass. "And more importantly, why are we traversing the region in a terrestrial vehicle? I would have already secured the rendezvous zone had I deployed independently..."
"Oh, come now," Amon laughed softly, the engine letting out a low, satisfying rumble beneath them. "Do not tell me you lack an appreciation for a fine drive."
"I lack an appreciation for wasted time," She shot back, her tone completely unamused. "I don't understand why we are burning fuel in a car when we could easily fold space and teleport directly to the place."
"Come on, where is the fun in simply instantly appearing everywhere?" Amon murmured, a light chuckle playing on his lips as he effortlessly steered the supercar around a long, sweeping right bend. "Besides, I have heard it said that if one fails to drive through the breathtaking vistas of Ironspire, one misses half the beauty this land has to offer."
"If we do not hurry the hell up, we will miss out on the very existence of this land," Khalia replied dryly, her eyes narrowing as she tapped her tablet. "A strong Aimus force has been detected near the Ironspire border. We were scheduled to be on-site half an hour ago to assist Marchioness Harper's garrison in holding the line."
"Marchioness Harper is an extraordinarily capable woman," Amon noted, flicking a brief, serene smile her way before refocusing on the winding asphalt. "I hold immense confidence that she and her forces are more than holding their own."
"...Fuck this."
Khalia drew her wand in a single, fluid motion.
"Dimensional Travel!"
She thrust the tip toward the windshield, ripping a towering, swirling spatial rift open right across the highway. Amon didn't even have time to glance at the brake pedal before the car slammed straight through the tear in space at top speed.
A split second later, the golden supercar burst through a tear in the sky, tyres screeching as Amon slammed the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a halt right in front of a massive, towering fortress.
Yet... something was horribly wrong. The defensive barrier was down, and not a single auto-targeting laser grid hummed along the perimeter gates.
"Drive inside, Amon. Now," Khalia urged, her knuckles turning white around her wand.
Amon didn't need to be told twice. He floored the pedal, the engine roaring as the car shot through the outer boundary. Sensing the recognised Prosecutor clearance, the heavy gates auto-retracted. Amon brought the supercar to a sudden stop in the centre of the main courtyard, shutting off the engine.
"Where the hell is everyone?" Khalia muttered, stepping out into the unnatural, dead silence of the fortress.
Sensory alarms were blaring in her head. She raised her wand high above her head, her Magium flaring violently.
"Hoax Elimination!"
A blinding pulse of golden light erupted from her wand tip, washing over the courtyard. Instantly, the illusion shattered. The serene, intact fortress dissolved into a nightmare—shattered stone walls, burning artillery emplacements, downed helicopters, and hundreds of Marchioness Harper's soldiers lying dead in pools of blood. The entire stronghold was in absolute ruins.
"Fuck!" Khalia's breath hitched in sheer frustration. She whipped around, striding aggressively toward Amon and grabbing him by his black turtleneck collar. "It is because of your reckless, arrogant delay that we were late! We could have saved these people, Crown!"
Amon didn't flinch. His serene, polite smile remained immovably fixed, his tone dripping with soft, unbothered warmth. "No, Miss Silverstone. We could not have."
The sheer audacity of his response sent Khalia's rage skyrocketing. "What the fuck do you mean by that?!" she snarled, pulling him closer.
"Consider the logistics," Amon explained calmly, seamlessly manifesting his wand into his right hand. "Why would a commander as notoriously meticulous as Marchioness Harper issue an urgent request for reinforcements that specified a deployment of only two Prosecutors? Furthermore, why did her intelligence brief contain such wildly vague figures regarding the enemy's numbers?"
He gently brought his hand up, tapping her wrist to signal her to release his collar.
"Three to four squads of Disruptor Mechs, Cobra Reapers, and multiple Harbingers. Marchioness Harper would never forward vague intel—not even if she were drawing her final breath. A fortress of this strategic calibre does not fall to a strike force of that size, even with Harbingers present. The Marchioness herself possesses more than enough raw power to hold off several Harbingers single-handedly."
As the pieces clicked into place, Khalia felt a cold wave of realisation wash over her. She had been so caught up in the tactical risks that she had completely glossed over the obvious anomalies during her briefing with Arnold.
Arnold and Amon had known from the very beginning that the Marchioness's distress signal was an orchestrated decoy by the Aimus. That was precisely why Arnold had insisted on deploying Amon alongside her rather than Oberyn.
Slowly, her fingers uncurled, releasing her grip on his turtleneck. "When did you realise?" she asked, her voice dropping into a tense, searching hush as she stared at him.
"The moment Father contacted me with the assignment brief," Amon replied smoothly. He casually adjusted his collar and smoothed down his waistcoat to restore his immaculate appearance. "It really is quite fascinating, isn't it? The Aimus have had countless open windows to ambush us since our arrival, yet not a single shot has been fired." He let out a low, pleasant chuckle.
Khalia caught the subtle implication behind his words. She sharply pivoted, her eyes darting up toward the ruined, blackened window frames of the fortress towers.
Silhouetted against the flames were dozens of shadowy figures standing completely still. None of them drew weapons; none of them advanced. They simply stood in eerie, silent postures, twitching unnaturally.
She frowned, confusion flickering across her features for a fraction of a second before her gaze snapped back to Amon. The serene, effortless smile resting on his lips made the horrific truth instantly clear.
"Have they... already gone mad?" she asked, a rare note of genuine surprise piercing her strict professional demeanour.
"Every unit within the vicinity—save for the four Harbingers and the four squads of Disruptor Mechs—has succumbed to complete madness after we appeared outside the gates," Amon replied gently, his voice as soft as if he were discussing the morning weather.
"I... have no words..." Khalia muttered, her voice trailing off in a mix of utter bewilderment and shock. "How in the world did you even manifest a Personal Magic this monstrous? One that literally drives your opponents into total cognitive collapse through your mere presence and concept alone..."
"Regrettably, the madness is not potent enough to kill targets, so it's a loss in my book," Amon replied smoothly.
With an effortless flick of his wrist, dozens of heavy blades humming with oppressive, distorted Gravity energy manifested in a massive arc behind his back. He flicked his wand once more, and the air split with a deafening crack as the gravitational blades propelled outward in every direction, instantly reducing the mad, twitching Aimus units in the surrounding towers to scrap metal and ash.
The moment the blades vanished into thin air, a jagged metallic rod ripped through the smoke at blinding speed, slamming directly into Amon's abdomen. The sheer kinetic impact knocked the breath straight out of him, launching him backwards through a stone wall in a cloud of debris.
"Amon!" Khalia shrieked, instantly swinging her wand to bridge the gap toward him.
Before she could step forward, the ground shook violently as eight towering, skeletal mechs dropped from the sky, locking down her path.
The towering, skeletal mechs were clad in gunmetal-grey plating, and their right shoulder pauldron was emblazoned with crimson Aimus insignias, their broad shoulder pauldrons and jointed limbs radiating an unnatural anti-magium field. Multiple glowing red sensors pierced their dark upper frames like predatory eyes, and their primary arm cannon, pulsating with a malevolent crimson light, locked onto Khalia.
Stepping casually out from behind the wall of steel were two distinct, deadly silhouettes.
Both women wore fitted black long-sleeve bodysuits paired with side-cutout shorts, tactical harnesses, and heavy combat boots, with the crimson Aimus insignia stamped sharply onto their right shoulders. Their physiques were lean and curvaceous, and the faint, glowing Aimus insignia embedded directly into their irises completed their look.
The one on the left held a massive black scythe, her fair skin framed by wild blonde-purple hair and chaotic burgundy eyes as a crazed, ecstatic grin split her face. Beside her stood a sniper-rifle wielder with greenish-black hair, neutral black eyes, and a cold, emotionless posture.
"It is such a pleasure to meet you, Miss Khalia!" The scythe wielder purred, her voice practically buzzing with unhinged excitement. "I can't even remember the last time they let me loose on someone who won't break in five seconds!"
A vein popped visibly against Khalia's forehead, manifesting her weapons directly into both hands in a brilliant flash of light.
In her right hand rested a massive lance forged from dark, obsidian-like steel that seemed to devour the surrounding light. Its long, tapered main body curved into fluid, organic contours before tapering into a deadly, needle-sharp point engineered strictly for devastating thrusts. Where the shaft met the hilt, a flared, cone-shaped vamplate extended outward to shield her arm, accented near its rim with intricate, glowing gold filigree. Extending behind the guard, a skeletal, claw-like grip provided a flawless hold, balanced by a pointed counterweight spike at the butt end that gave the entire weapon the silhouette of an apex predator's fang.
In her left hand, she wielded a heavy revolver that seamlessly blended futuristic geometry with ornate regal details. Its elongated barrel, forged from brushed steel, was shrouded in layered matte-black casing with sweeping gold ribbon accents flowing back toward the cylinder. At its core sat a brilliant gold cylinder encased in delicate, claw-like filigree, paired with an ergonomic black leather grip, an exposed hammer, and a low-profile trigger that gave its menacing bulk a lethal sophistication.
"You speak entirely too much for a bitch," Khalia spat coldly, raising the revolver and pointing it directly at the two Harbingers and the hulking mechs. "How about you all just drop dead like the maggots you are?"
. . .
Amon rose slowly from the shattered rubble, casually dusting off his black trench coat before spitting a mouthful of blood onto the charred stone beside him.
The ground shuddered violently as eight more towering, skeletal mechs plummeted from the sky, locking into formation and barring his path with a wall of gunmetal grey. Stepping smoothly from behind the mechanical blockade were two more distinct, deadly feminine silhouettes.
Both wore identical black tactical bodysuits with side-cutout shorts, webbed harnesses, and heavy combat boots, the crimson Aimus insignia stamped sharply into their right shoulders. Their physiques were lean and curvaceous, and the telltale Aimus mark glowed faintly within their irises.
The Harbinger on the left held a sheathed katana, her fair skin framed by long, raven-black hair. Her black eyes remained entirely unreadable, matching her cold, emotionless posture. Beside her stood the rod wielder—the weapon that had struck Amon. She possessed dark green hair, serene emerald eyes, and a quiet, graceful smile.
"Now, that was hardly polite," Amon remarked smoothly, turning his blindfolded gaze toward the group before him. "Gang-pressing an eighteen-year-old student in a ten-on-one ambush strikes me as rather shameless, wouldn't you agree?" He let out a low, melodious chuckle.
"If you had possessed the courtesy to die from that opening strike, we wouldn't have to engage in such tedious violence, pretty boy," The rod wielder purred, her voice dripping with sultry amusement. "HQ briefed us that you are exceptionally troublesome—and inexplicably stubborn when it comes to staying dead."
"False Visionary."
Amon uttered the name softly, and in a flash of distorted space, his madness-inducing blade materialised seamlessly into his right hand. The instant False Visionary manifested, the air twisted with a sickening, heavy pressure.
Unfazed, the katana-wielder unsheathed her blade in a blinding flash of silver, instantly closing the distance to strike. She brought her sword down in a lethal vertical arc, but Amon blocked the blow effortlessly, the collision ringing out like a crack of thunder.
Taking advantage of the split-second engagement, the rod-wielder materialised at his flank, sweeping her staff toward his temple with horrific momentum. Amon tilted his head back, weaving past the fatal trajectory by a hair's breadth as the wind from the strike tore through his hair.
Exploiting the opening, the katana-wielder smoothly shifted her weight, sliding her edge along his guard to force Amon's blade off-balance. The moment his guard slipped, she unleashed a blinding, multi-directional barrage of slashes. Yet, much to her inner dismay, Amon's counter-movements were flawless—his blade danced with eerie precision, parrying every single strike with casual, rhythmic perfection.
"You are forgetting something rather critical, pretty boy," The rod-wielder purred from his blind spot.
Her leg flared with a malevolent, abyss-black aura as she drove a brutal roundhouse kick directly into his ribs. The raw kinetic energy exploded against his side, sending Amon hurtling across the stone courtyard once more. Pain flared through his torso as several ribs cracked from the brutal force of the impact.
Amon skidded across the scorched earth, seamlessly flipping back onto his feet despite the searing agony radiating through his side.
"Of course—Dark Magium," Amon mused dryly to himself, his expression remaining completely unbothered. "The Disruptor Mechs are constantly outputting an anti-magium field across the entire zone. It's completely suppressing the madness effect of my blade before it can reach the cognitive abilities of the Harbingers or the mechs' neural core processors. How delightfully cheaty."
Ignoring the sharp pain in his side, Amon blitzed forward in a blur of motion towards the nearest Disruptor Mech. Bringing False Visionary down in a swift, decisive arc aimed at its central optic core, he expected the blade to shear through its dark plating.
Instead, a blinding, hexagonal ripple of translucent force burst over the mech's shell.
The kinetic force rebounded instantly, deflecting his blade with violent torque and hurling Amon backwards through the air. He flipped mid-flight, landing in a low skid as a searing beam of red laser vaporised the scorched stone where he had been standing a fraction of a second prior.
"INVULNERABILITY FIELDS?! THERE WAS NO RECORD OF THIS IN THE INTEL!" Amon exclaimed internally, weaving effortlessly through a relentless barrage of secondary laser fire.
"Anti-magium suppression fields coupled with kinetic invulnerability fields, anchored by heavy-calibre anti-material armaments... This isn't a mere support unit anymore. This piece of junk is functionally an S-Tier threat on its own!"
"For a Prosecutor, you are utterly boring," a cold, lifeless voice echoed from above.
Amon raised his blindfolded gaze just in time to see the katana-wielding Harbinger descending upon him, her blade surging with a terrifying, pitch-black energy. "I genuinely anticipated a decent fight. But in the end, you are nothing more than a fragile, disposable piece of decoration from the Crown family."
"Oh, I wouldn't call him disposable," The rod-wielding Harbinger interjected mischievously, her sultry tone cutting through the air as she materialised directly behind his flank. "He is lean, handsome, and with a frame like that, I am certain he is hiding a rather generous package down there~"
Her staff swung in a brutal, blind-spot arc, whistling toward his spine. "Once we drag him back to HQ, he will make a highly sought-after stud for the breeding brothels."