The explosion swallowed everything in an instant.
A violent surge of purple Zenthrai tore across the battlefield, devouring space itself as it crashed into the spot where Yamato had stood only moments earlier. Light, sound, even the air seemed to vanish under its force. For a brief, disorienting moment, it felt as though the world itself had been erased.
Then the impact came.
The ground shattered beneath the pressure, cracks racing outward as nearby structures collapsed one after another. Shockwaves ripped through steel and stone like they were nothing, hurling debris into the air and reducing everything in their path to ruin. The sheer force of it left no room for resistance—only destruction.
When it was over, a heavy silence followed.
It wasn't complete silence, but it felt suffocating all the same. Dust and smoke rose thickly into the air, swallowing the battlefield until nothing could be seen clearly anymore.
The Van X operatives stood frozen, staring into the haze.
"…Vice Captain…?" one of them called out hesitantly.
No answer came.
Another operative clenched his fists, his voice lower, almost unwilling to accept what he was saying. "…There's no way he survived that. That was a direct hit."
The words spread quietly among them, not out of certainty, but out of fear.
Even the stray had gone still. Its massive form loomed within the settling dust, its body flickering with unstable Zenthrai as if it, too, needed a moment to recover from the force of its own attack.
Then something changed.
At first, it was subtle enough to be dismissed. A slight distortion at the center of the blast, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.
"…Wait," one operative muttered, narrowing his eyes.
The dust wasn't settling naturally.
It was splitting.
A thin line formed through the smoke, clean and deliberate, as though something had cut straight through it. Slowly, that line widened, pushing the dust aside without resistance.
And then, from within it, a figure appeared.
Standing.
Still.
Unmoving.
"…What…?" someone whispered.
Yamato's vision was still blurred, his body caught somewhere between impact and recovery, but even he saw it. A silhouette stood in front of him, blocking everything that should have reached him.
The remnants of the blast were gone. Not scattered, not absorbed, but divided, forced apart as if something had stood there and drawn a line through it.
His eyes widened slightly.
"…No way…"
As the dust cleared further, a deep blue light began to emerge, calm yet overwhelming. It didn't flicker or surge like the others—it remained steady, grounded, as if nothing around it could disturb its presence.
The figure stood tall, completely unshaken.
A transformed Van X.
But something about him was different.
The Zenthrai surrounding his body didn't lash out or flare wildly. It moved with control, flowing smoothly like water rather than burning like fire. The energy wrapped around him in refined layers, almost like armor, precise and deliberate instead of overwhelming.
From his back extended two subtle, wing-like projections, shaped more like blades than anything decorative. They weren't large or exaggerated, but they carried a quiet sharpness that made them impossible to ignore.
His eyes glowed faintly, cold and focused, untouched by the chaos around him.
A thin trail of smoke rose from one arm, suggesting he hadn't emerged entirely unscathed. But he didn't react to it. He didn't even acknowledge it.
To him, it didn't matter.
Behind him, Yamato hit the ground and slid slightly before catching himself, his breath returning in a sharp gasp.
"Ghh—!"
He looked up immediately, his voice slipping out before he could stop it.
"…Commander…?"
There was disbelief in it. Relief, too. And something deeper—something closer to respect.
The man didn't turn.
He didn't need to.
His gaze remained fixed ahead, locked onto the stray.
"A battlefield," he said calmly, his voice cutting cleanly through the air, "isn't a place where you hesitate."
The words weren't loud, but they carried weight. The kind that didn't need emphasis to be understood.
Yamato lowered his head slightly, clenching his teeth.
"…Tch… Yes, sir."
Around them, the other operatives stared in stunned silence.
"…That's Commander Kenji…"
Even among them, even in their transformed states, the difference was obvious.
It wasn't just power.
It was presence.
Their Zenthrai burned like controlled flames, contained but volatile. His, on the other hand, felt like the ocean—deep, vast, and completely unmoved by anything that tried to disturb it.
The stray reacted almost immediately. Its massive body shifted violently, unstable energy flaring as a low, rumbling growl escaped it.
It felt the change.
For the first time since the battle began, it hesitated.
Kenji stepped forward.
The ground beneath his foot cracked—not from impact, but from the pressure of his presence alone.
"You've done enough, Yamato," he said.
His tone didn't change, but the command was absolute.
Yamato didn't argue. He simply stepped back. "…Understood."
Kenji's attention remained on the stray, his eyes steady as he observed it in silence, as if analyzing every detail without needing to move.
"…So," he murmured, almost to himself, "you're the one behind all this."
The stray roared in response, louder and more aggressive than before, but there was something different in the sound now. It wasn't just rage.
There was tension.
Resistance.
As if it understood, on some instinctive level, that it had encountered something it couldn't simply overpower.
Kenji didn't react.
He didn't flinch, didn't shift, didn't even adjust his stance.
Because to him, this wasn't chaos.
It wasn't overwhelming.
It was manageable.
And for the first time since the battle began, the battlefield had changed.
Not because the destruction had stopped—
but because now, there was someone who could end it.
Haruto ran.
Not in any steady rhythm, and definitely not with control. His steps were uneven, almost reckless, like his body had stopped coordinating properly and was now just forcing itself forward out of sheer desperation. Each breath came sharp and ragged, burning his chest as if he had been running for hours instead of minutes.
"Come on… come on…" he muttered under his breath, though he wasn't sure if he was urging his body or begging reality itself.
The streets blurred past him in a rush of color and motion. People shouted. Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance. Voices overlapped, rising and falling into a chaotic noise that should have meant something, but didn't. None of it mattered.
His mind was somewhere else.
Home. The outskirts.
Mom… Reina…
He pushed harder, ignoring the strain in his legs as they threatened to give out beneath him. "Please… just be okay…"
Then he stopped.
Too suddenly.
His foot caught awkwardly against the ground, and his body nearly pitched forward before he managed to catch himself. He blinked, disoriented, his breath hitching as he looked ahead.
"…What…?"
The road was blocked.
A line of Vanguard Police stood shoulder to shoulder across the street, forming an unbreakable barrier. Behind them, a crowd had gathered, packed tightly together—faces twisted with fear, anger, and desperation. Some shouted. Others cried. All of them stared toward the distant smoke rising into the sky.
"Let us through!"
"My son is in there!"
"My wife is still inside!"
The voices crashed into each other, filling the air with panic.
Haruto's chest tightened.
"…No…"
He stepped forward, then again, pushing through the crowd until he reached the front. His voice came out fast, almost tripping over itself.
"I need to get through. My family's there—I have to go—"
A hand stopped him.
Firm. Unmoving.
"Area's under active threat," the officer said, his tone flat and unyielding. "No civilians past this point."
For a brief second, Haruto froze.
Then he pushed forward anyway.
"I don't care. Move."
The officer didn't budge.
"Turn around," he said. "This isn't a place for you."
Haruto stared at him in disbelief. "Not a place for me? That's my home!"
Another officer stepped closer, reinforcing the line. "You'll only get in the way. Go back."
"I said move!" Haruto snapped, trying to force his way through.
They pushed him back.
Hard.
The impact threw him off balance instantly. His legs gave out, and he hit the ground with a rough thud, pain shooting through his body as his palms scraped harshly against the pavement.
"Stay down," one of them warned.
"…Damn it…" Haruto muttered, teeth clenched as he pushed himself up. His body protested every movement, but he ignored it.
His gaze lifted past them.
Past the blockade.
And then he saw it.
The wall.
A massive steel structure that separated the outskirts from the main city. From this distance, it loomed like something immovable, something absolute.
But now—
It was broken.
A section had been torn apart completely, jagged edges curling outward like something had forced its way through. Smoke still drifted from the opening, rising into the sky in thin, fading trails.
Haruto's breath caught.
"…What…?"
Something felt wrong.
He narrowed his eyes, focusing.
The destruction wasn't inside the outskirts.
It was on this side.
"…Then why…?"
The question flickered through his mind, but it didn't stay long.
It didn't matter.
His family was still beyond that wall.
Still out there.
Still—
unknown.
Haruto stood fully, his fists tightening at his sides.
"…I'm not staying here."
The officers shifted again, already moving to block him—
But this time, he stepped back instead of forward.
"…Then I'll go around."
"There is no—" one of them started.
Haruto was already moving.
Not toward them. To the side.
His eyes scanned quickly—buildings, gaps, distances. Every street was blocked. Every path sealed. Every direction watched.
"…Tch…"
Then he looked up.
"…Fine."
Without hesitating, he jumped.
His fingers caught the edge of a nearby building, and he pulled himself up with a strained grunt, his arms shaking slightly as he climbed onto the rooftop.
"Hey! Stop!"
The voices below faded instantly.
He was already running again.
This time above them.
He moved across the rooftops, leaping from one building to another. His movements weren't clean or practiced—they were rough, desperate—but fast.
Too fast.
Each landing sent a jolt through his legs, his balance barely holding together. His breathing grew heavier, harsher, his chest tightening with every second.
"…Damn PE…" he muttered bitterly. "…Of all days…"
Still, he didn't stop.
He couldn't.
Because the closer he got, the thicker the smoke became.
The louder the noise.
Until finally—
He reached the edge.
He stopped, just for a moment, and looked down.
"…No way…"
The world below was in ruins.
Buildings had collapsed into broken heaps. Streets were torn apart, cracked and uneven. Fires burned in scattered pockets, sending heat and smoke into the air.
And bodies.
Haruto's voice barely came out. "…What…?"
Civilians lay motionless. Van X were scattered across the ground—some unmoving, others barely clinging to life as rescue teams rushed between them.
His hands trembled slightly.
"…This is…"
He couldn't finish the sentence.
His mind refused to process it.
Not fully.
Not yet.
Then his eyes shifted.
The wall stood closer now, clearer than before.
And the damage was undeniable.
A massive section had been completely destroyed, as if something had torn straight through it without resistance.
"…The outskirts…"
His chest tightened painfully.
"…No…"
He stepped forward instinctively—
Then stopped. Something moved.
A sound followed. Low. Deep. And then—A roar.
It shook the air, vibrating through everything.
Haruto's head snapped toward it.
And then he saw it.
The stray stood at the center of everything, towering over the land like something that didn't belong in the same world. Its size alone was enough to distort the sense of scale around it, as if reality itself had been forced to bend just to contain it. Even from a distance, its presence pressed down on Haruto's chest, heavy and suffocating, making each breath feel thinner than the last.
"…What the hell is that…?"
The words left his mouth quietly, almost instinctively, but they didn't make the sight in front of him any easier to understand. His body had already begun reacting before his mind could catch up. His breathing turned shallow, uneven, like something deep inside him was trying to warn him to stay back.
If he went down there, there wouldn't be a fight. There wouldn't even be a chance.
He would die.
The certainty of it settled in him almost immediately, cold and absolute. There was no room for doubt, no space for hope to twist the outcome into something else. It was simply the truth.
And yet… he couldn't look away.
His gaze remained locked on the creature, drawn in despite every instinct telling him to turn and run. But it wasn't just the stray that held his attention anymore.
There was something else.
Closer to it, standing within that overwhelming pressure, were two figures.
One of them was surrounded by a faint orange glow, steady and warm but powerful in its own right. The other stood wrapped in blue, quieter, calmer, yet somehow more unsettling. The contrast between them made it impossible to ignore.
Haruto narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
"…Those guys…"
The one in blue moved first.
He stepped forward without hesitation, his pace unhurried, almost casual, as if the massive creature in front of him didn't matter. There was no tension in his posture, no sign of fear or urgency. If anything, he looked completely at ease.
It didn't make sense.
Nothing about this made sense.
The stray reacted instantly.
Its enormous body shifted, energy flaring violently around it as the air seemed to ripple under the sudden surge. The ground beneath it trembled slightly, and for a moment, it looked ready to strike.
But then something strange happened.
It stopped.
For the first time since Haruto had laid eyes on it, the creature hesitated. Its movement faltered, just for a moment, before it took a single step back.
Only a small one. But enough.
Haruto's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat.
"…It's… scared?"
The realization came out as a whisper, barely audible even to himself.
Not of him.
Not of anything around it.
Of that man. Of the one standing in blue.
Haruto stared, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of him. The fear, the confusion, the disbelief all tangled together in his chest, but none of it mattered anymore.
Because whatever was about to happen next—
He knew he needed to see it.