The city didn't collapse all at once. It gave way slowly, like something already broken finally reaching its limit. Streets split open under pressure, buildings sagged where they stood, and smoke rose in thick, choking waves from what had once been homes—places filled with ordinary lives that no longer existed. The aftermath of the beam still burned through everything it had touched, leaving behind scorched ground and flickers of dying fire. And before the echoes of that destruction could even settle, before anyone could properly regroup or breathe—the Astral moved again.
"Don't let it charge again!"
The shout cut sharply through the chaos, snapping the scattered Van X operatives back into motion. Their formation had already fallen apart, no longer the clean, controlled unit it had been moments ago. Now they moved in fragments—some leaping across broken rooftops to gain higher ground, others staying low, weaving through debris for whatever cover they could find. Orders came quickly, overlapping in urgency.
"Left flank, with me!"
"Suppress it from range—don't give it space!"
They tried to coordinate, to regain control—but the battlefield no longer belonged to them.
The Astral's head snapped in their direction.
And then it disappeared.
"Where did it?!"
A shadow dropped from above.
The impact came a heartbeat later. One operative barely managed to raise his guard before the Astral's arm slammed down, the force of it splitting the street open on contact. Concrete shattered outward in every direction, shards tearing through the air like shrapnel. The man was thrown back violently, his body hitting the ground hard before rolling across the broken surface and slamming into what remained of a wall. He didn't get up.
"Damn it!"
"Stay spread out!" someone shouted. "If it catches us together, we're finished!"
But even as they tried to create distance, to avoid being grouped together—it became clear that it didn't matter.
The Astral turned slowly this time.
Not erratic. Not wild. Deliberate.
Its movements had changed.
Heavier and controlled.
As if it were beginning to understand.
"…No way…" someone muttered under their breath.
A pulse ran through its body again. Zenthrai surged violently, far more unstable than before, spilling outward in visible waves that warped the space around it. The air itself seemed to distort, bending under the pressure of something that didn't fully belong in this world.
Then its body began to change.
Grow.
"…Not again!"
Its limbs stretched, its frame expanding unnaturally as the ground beneath it cracked further, struggling to hold the increasing weight pressing down. Ten meters became eleven. Then twelve. The change wasn't gradual—it was forceful, like something pushing itself beyond its limits.
"Fall back!"
The order came too late.
The Astral roared, and this time the sound carried weight. It hit like a physical force, a violent shockwave erupting outward from its body, sweeping across the battlefield. Operatives were thrown off their feet as the blast tore debris loose from the ground, hurling it in every direction. Windows shattered instantly. Already-damaged walls collapsed under the strain. Even the air felt like it had been struck, vibrating with the sheer intensity of it.
"…This thing's out of control!" one of them shouted, struggling to stand.
"Out of control?" another snapped back. "It's not just out of control, it's getting stronger!"
And it was.
With every passing second, every surge of Zenthrai running through it, the Astral wasn't just sustaining itself—it was changing. Adapting.
Its head lowered again, its breathing heavier now, uneven, almost strained, like its body wasn't built to contain the power it was forcing through itself. But it didn't stop. It didn't hesitate.
It raised one arm slowly—almost deliberately—and then brought it down.
The ground split.
A jagged fracture tore across the battlefield, racing forward like a crack ripping through reality itself before erupting upward in a violent explosion of stone and earth.
"Jump!"
Some reacted in time, pushing off the ground just before the rupture reached them. Others weren't as fast. The blast caught them mid-motion, throwing them aside as debris rained down around them.
"We're losing control of the field!"
"No—we never had control!"
Another surge gathered—this time along the Astral's tail. The energy there was denser, more concentrated, crackling violently as it built.
"…Incoming—!"
The tail split again and then it fired. Multiple beams shot outward, faster than before, sharper, cutting clean paths through everything in their way. One tore through a nearby structure, collapsing it instantly in a cascade of debris. Another struck an operative mid-air, sending him spiraling down into the ground with a sickening impact.
"Medic—!"
"There's no time! Move!"
There was no formation anymore. No strategy.
Only survival.
The battlefield had become something else entirely—something uncontrollable, something collapsing under its own chaos.
At the center of it all stood the Astral.
Breathing heavily. Growing.
Burning with unstable energy that refused to settle.
It should have been tearing itself apart.
But it wasn't.
It endured.
And then—it stopped. Only for a moment.
Its head tilted again, that same unnatural, almost broken motion as before.
And its gaze shifted.
Not toward the operatives.
Not toward the battlefield.
But beyond them.
Toward something else.
"…What is it looking at…?" one of them whispered.
No one had an answer.
But whatever it saw—
its entire body reacted.
Zenthrai surged again, violently, erratically, like something deep within it had just been triggered.
The Astral let out another roar, louder than before, filled with something that wasn't just power anymore—
but intent.
And this time…
there was no hesitation left in it.
Only destruction.
The battlefield was falling apart.
Not slowly, not in stages—but all at once, like something inside it had finally given up holding itself together.
"Fall back! Regroup on the west side—!" someone shouted.
"We can't hold that line anymore!"
"Then make a new one!"
The voices overlapped, strained and cracking under pressure. The Van X operatives were no longer moving like a unit. It was survival now—pure reaction, split-second decisions, anything to avoid being wiped out by something that didn't seem to understand exhaustion or limits.
Another blast tore through the street.
Purple energy—Zenthrai—ripped across the ground and carved everything in its path like it wasn't even there. Three operatives barely managed to scatter in time, hitting the ground in different directions as debris exploded behind them.
One of them exhaled shakily, staring at the destruction.
"…We're getting nowhere…"
No one argued.
Because it was true.
Every strike they landed didn't matter. Every coordinated attempt to suppress it fell apart within seconds. Even when they managed to damage it—
it healed.
Fast. Too fast.
And with every passing moment, it only seemed to adapt more.
At the center of it all, Yamato stood still.
Just watching.
His eyes tracked the Astral's movements with sharp precision, not panicked—but calculating. Measuring. Learning.
But even that analysis was starting to reach the same conclusion over and over again.
Too fast. Too unstable and too strong.
"…This won't end at this rate," he muttered under his breath.
He raised a hand to his earpiece.
"…Command."
His voice cut through the chaos, steady and controlled—but there was something tightening underneath it now.
Urgency.
"We are escalating beyond containment," he reported. Another explosion rocked the ground nearby, but he didn't react to it. "Hostile entity continues to evolve. Standard suppression is no longer effective."
A brief pause followed.
Yamato's jaw tightened slightly.
"…Requesting authorization for full-force engagement."
Static answered him.
At first, faint.
"…zzzt…"
His eyes sharpened immediately.
"…Command?"
The comm crackled again, weaker this time.
"…signal… unstable…"
For a moment, Yamato didn't move. Then he leaned in slightly, focus narrowing.
"This is Vice Commander Yamato," he said clearly. "Repeat. Requesting immediate authorization for full-force engagement."
Silence followed.
Not empty.
Waiting.
He could hear the battlefield behind him—the explosions, the shouting, the collapsing rhythm of a fight that was slipping further out of control.
Then he spoke again, lower this time.
"Civilian casualties confirmed. Van X units are sustaining heavy losses. If we don't act now—"
The line cut in.
"…Proceed."
Just one word.
Cold.
Final.
Then nothing.
The connection died.
For a moment, Yamato didn't respond.
That single word hung in his mind heavier than the explosions around him.
No restrictions anymore.
No controlled engagement.
No restraint left to fall back on.
Just permission.
Full force.
He lowered his hand slowly.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was different—no hesitation, no uncertainty. Just command.
"All units."
Every operative on the field heard it.
Even through the chaos.
"…Authorization granted."
A pause.
Then—
"…Full release."
The effect was immediate.
Across the battlefield, Van X operatives shifted.
Weapons were lowered—not in surrender, but in preparation. In recognition. Some exhaled slowly, steadying themselves. Others closed their eyes for a brief second, as if bracing for what was about to come.
Because this was it.
The point where everything stopped holding back.
And everything began.
Across the ruined streets, Zenthrai energy began to rise again—but this time it was different.Not scattered. Not chaotic but controlled and focused.
Like something inside the battlefield had just changed its mind.
Yamato stepped forward.
His gaze locked onto the Astral in the distance.
"…You've done enough damage," he said quietly.
The Astral roared in response, its body shifting and swelling with unstable energy, as if it could feel what was coming now. As if it understood the tone had changed.
Yamato didn't flinch.
He only raised his hand slightly.
"…Now," he said, voice calm but absolute, "It's our turn to show you hell."
Behind him light began to rise.
Not from weapons.
From the Van X themselves.
And for the first time since the battle began…
the battlefield went quiet.
Like it was waiting to see who would survive what came next.