On the beaches of northern Batoya Province, soldiers from Wilante Province stepped off commandeered fishing boats and came ashore at the temporary dock built by the 117th Myriad.
A man in military uniform gripped a pair of binoculars, squinting as he surveyed the surroundings. It took a long while before words finally squeezed past his throat.
"...This is Batoya Province?"
His name was Newman, a myriarch of the Wilante Alliance's 10th Myriad.
Though he served in Triumph City, he had spent time years ago as an instructor on this very beach in northern Batoya.
In his memory, there had been a small town named Rhino Horn, so called because the shoreline looked strikingly like a rhinoceros's head. Whenever he had free time back then, he would rent a small boat, gather a few friends, and head out to sea for fishing.
Now, not only had the village vanished, but even the concentration camp that once stood here had been torn down completely. All that remained of the once-picturesque beach were blasted concrete bunkers, bomb craters, and sandbag shelters.
Everything had changed.
It had turned into a living hell.
The myriarch of the 11th Myriad also disembarked from the boat just then. Flicking open a lighter, he ignited a cigarette, squinting through the smoke as he gazed across the desolate landscape where everything had changed beyond recognition.
"Hell of a change, isn't it? Right back to how things looked two hundred years ago when the war ended. Look on the bright side, though... at least Tyr doesn't have that much high technology, and at least we didn't end up like this."
Newman's Adam's apple bobbed, and he gave a slow nod.
"Yeah."
To this day, he still could not understand why Tyr had launched this idiotic war, but he suddenly understood why the Academy kept all that pre-war technology hidden away...
...
Over a hundred thousand troops poured through the breach opened by the 117th Myriad in northern Batoya Province.
Seeing that it was Triumph City's forces, the survivors along the way wept tears of joy as they rushed forward to welcome them.
They would have loved to greet them with food and drink, but unfortunately, there were barely a few mouthfuls of nutrient paste left in their homes, and their bodies were potentially carrying strains of the Death Agent.
Bafeika of the 117th Myriad ordered soldiers to distribute some rations to the survivors before handing them over to the units responsible for setting up quarantine zones.
They not only had to put an end to Tyr, but also clean up the disastrous mess he had left behind.
Thick, black smoke billowed over the southern sector of Avent City. Ironclad airships hovering at low altitude exchanged fire with targets both in the sky and on the ground, while the air resonated from time to time with the shrill whistling roar of rockets.
Against the Alliance's relentless onslaught, even the ironclad airships were beginning to buckle.
Suffering from a shortage of close-in weapon system ammunition, one airship saw its defensive grid breached by a guided weapon, which scored a direct hit on the gun pod suspended below.
A brilliant burst of fireworks erupted instantly, and churning black smoke engulfed half the craft.
Though the captain reacted swiftly and ordered the detonating gun pod jettisoned, the airship's structural components were still severely wrecked by the blast. Under the despairing gazes of the soldiers, it slowly drifted downward and crashed into a sprawl of ruins.
Deflector shields could not provide absolute protection against guided munitions like missiles; at best, they merely acted as a retardant.
Ironclad airships defended against missiles primarily by using their fixed machine guns and 20 mm anti-aircraft cannons to blow the incoming ordnance apart while it was slowed down by the deflector shield.
It sounded reckless, but in practice, it was remarkably effective.
However, through their prolonged clashes with Legion forces, the Alliance had devised a countermeasure:
Replacing the outer casing of their missiles with armored steel.
So long as the seeker head and propulsion unit could withstand a single burst of 20 mm cannon fire, it was enough.
The rest was left to sheer luck and overwhelming numbers...
With the crash of the first ironclad airship, air superiority began to tilt toward the Alliance.
The Home Defense Army's 200th Myriad launched a counterattack against the Death Corps' positions. Yet the assault lasted less than an hour before being forced to abort when the Skeleton Corps' mobile units outflanked and drove deep into the Home Defense Army's rear.
Having replenished their ammunition, the Death Corps pressed forward once more, coordinating with the Skeleton Corps' armored units to secure captured positions while sweeping for remnants hiding behind fortifications.
Although Myriarch Baldwin of the Southern Legion continued to lead his men in valiant resistance, anyone could see where it would end.
The outcome was already decided.
The only question was which day in February would mark the final curtain.
Objectively speaking, the unscrupulous Tyr had actually done a few decent things, sparse though they were.
For instance, in terms of results, he had 'evacuated' the civilians of Batoya Province before the final showdown began, vastly reducing the casualties they might have suffered in urban combat.
Granted, that was strictly in terms of results.
Tyr had clearly not done it out of humanitarian concern; dragging the wasteland survivors from one quagmire into an even deeper abyss had been his true intention all along.
It was simply a case of foul intentions yielding a surprisingly benign outcome in execution.
On the other hand, the Wilante soldiers disdained embedding themselves among Wilante civilians. Deserters who shed their uniforms were truly done fighting; they were not the type to discard the uniform while concealing a gun, the way members of the Family Association had operated in Snake State and Mammoth State.
That alone spared another eighty percent of civilian casualties.
Even so, the suffering this war brought upon the residents of Avent City remained agonizingly heavy.
Still, compared to neutron plumes raining from the sky, it was far more merciful...
...
On the 68th floor of the World Tower.
Standing before an alloy wall, Tyr stared expressionlessly at the holographic display before him.
The flames of war drew closer to his feet with every passing minute, while his loyal warriors were either systematically wiped out or surrendered in whole formations—as though the power granted to them by the Gestalt Organism technology was nothing more than an illusion.
A profound sense of powerlessness crept across Tyr's entire body, followed closely by boiling rage and helplessness.
Accustomed to supreme authority, this was the very first time he had experienced the steering wheel spinning completely out of his control.
Just then, hurried footsteps echoed behind him. An exhausted Chief of General Staff Augustus came to a halt, snapped a salute, and spoke in a breathless rush.
"Honorable Legion Commander... Triumph City has declared war on us. The defected 117th Myriad has landed on the northern beaches of Batoya Province, and the Auxiliary 10th Myriad tasked with defense has been wiped out. According to intelligence from the front, at least four myriads have gone completely dark. It is likely they have surrendered to Triumph City..."
Augustus had phrased it as tactfully as he possibly could.
Yet no amount of tact could disguise the desperate crisis facing the Southern Legion.
'Running on fumes' was no longer sufficient to describe it.
Perhaps 'surrounded on all sides' was closer to the truth...
Tyr's fists clenched tight, his knuckles popping, and it took a long moment before they slowly relaxed.
Taking a deep breath, he kept his back to Augustus and spoke in a low, heavy voice.
"I know."
Augustus waited quietly for Tyr to issue new orders, only to be met with dead silence.
A trace of anxiety rose between the chief of staff's brows, and an involuntary hint of urgency leaked into his voice.
"Commander... the Home Defense Army won't hold much longer. Alliance troops are closing in on us... I don't know if I should say this, but we should make preparations for what comes next as soon as possible."
"What comes next?" Tyr turned his head, fixing his gaze on the anxious Augustus.
Catching that icy, piercing stare, Augustus choked on his breath, cold sweat trickling down his forehead.
He hastily lowered his head, waiting in trembling terror for Tyr's reprimand.
To his surprise, Tyr did not lash out.
"Go home."
Augustus froze, unable to process the words for a moment, after which his face slowly drained of color.
Go home?
At a critical juncture like this... with the entirety of Avent City besieged, where could he possibly go?
Reading the unspoken finality in those eyes, Augustus gave a trembling nod. A faint "Yes, sir" squeezed through his lips, and he turned stiffly toward the door.
In truth, he should have foreseen this outcome long ago.
He was the Southern Legion's Chief of General Staff; there was no 'higher authority' above him to look to anymore.
From the moment he had run out of tricks, the Southern Legion's fate was sealed.
At least in these final moments, he wanted to be with his family, and then journey together into the next world...
Watching Augustus depart, Tyr turned his gaze back toward the holographic screen and slowly closed his eyes.
Why?
Where exactly had things gone wrong?
Was it because of that Pangolin?
If that fellow hadn't climbed the steps of the Court of Honor and made Julius's death public, causing the previously united Legion to fracture and fall apart, the Southern Legion would never have been driven into such a pathetic corner...
That was what he had initially thought, but on deeper reflection, it didn't quite make sense.
A previously united Legion...
When had the Legion ever been united?
"Honorable Majesty Julius... your children have all abandoned you. Today, the only Wilantes who still hold your teachings to heart are us."
With a lingering sigh, he shut down the holographic display and strode purposefully into the adjacent laboratory.
The laboratory on the 68th floor of the World Tower was the breeding ground for the Death Agent. Martin, the man who held Tyr's final card, was right here.
Seeing Tyr enter, Martin wore a constrained expression, but still bowed his head slightly in respect.
"Mister Tyr..."
Tyr asked with a blank expression, "Is there any new progress?"
Martin shook his head awkwardly.
"We... are still trying. But unfortunately, there hasn't been any noticeable progress so far."
The Death Agent had actually been designed flawlessly; the tragedy was that it had failed to spread, contained firmly on the beaches of southern Wilante Province.
Researchers from the Alliance and the Academy had stabilized the infected with minimal medicine, and Triumph City's remarkable experience in setting up quarantine zones was something they had never anticipated.
Perhaps pursuing an epidemic route hadn't been a good idea. There were simply too many unpredictable variables across the wasteland, serving as a bitter lesson for the Enlightenment Society.
They should have used other, more efficient methods...
Yet the Torch Project's approach hadn't worked, the Church of the Torch's approach hadn't worked—what other way was left?
Blow up the planet altogether?
That... seemed a bit too extreme.
What the Enlightenment Society wanted was a pristine planet, not a shattered asteroid belt.
Besides, destroying a planet was hardly an easy task.
While Martin's thoughts wandered, Tyr stepped right in front of him.
"Keep working. Now, bring me my biological power armor."
That was another gift bestowed upon the Southern Legion by the Enlightenment Society—the legacy of the Church of the Torch.
In truth, calling it a gift was generous; it was more like using someone else's nest to hatch their own egg.
The Enlightenment Society had intended to leverage the Southern Legion's manufacturing capacity and the ongoing war to refine the Church of the Torch's biological power armor using Vault technology.
After all, the Enlightenment Society's individual combat capability was too weak. They had suffered for it once before, while the gray mutants of the Great Desert and common wastelanders were utterly unreliable, and manufacturing conventional power armor required a complete supply chain. They had no choice but to explore unconventional paths.
However...
That biological power armor was merely an experimental model, never tested in actual combat.
A troubled expression surfaced on Martin's face.
"B-but that suit isn't finished yet—"
Before he could finish, Tyr's hand clamped onto his shoulder.
"There is no time. Take me there."
The undisguised murderous intent made Martin choke on his breath, stripping him of any courage to refuse.
Swallowing hard, he nodded stiffly.
"P-please follow me..."
Tyr released his grip on Martin's collar and gestured with his eyes for him to lead the way.
The lab was deathly silent. Researchers averted their gazes one after another, terrified of meeting Tyr's eyes.
The two walked one after the other past rows of experimental apparatus and cultivation tanks, heading deep into the facility until they stopped before a silver-white metal cabinet.
Biological power armor differed fundamentally from conventional power armor. The latter was merely an auxiliary apparatus that could be stripped off at any moment, whereas the former had to connect directly to the wearer's internal circulatory system. If anything went wrong, it could never be taken off.
Trembling, Martin stepped up to the console and tapped twice on the interface. Rows of green indicator lights illuminated across the surface of the silver-white cabinet.
With a sharp hiss of venting gas, a straight seam split across the flat metal surface, and the sealed alloy doors slid open toward both sides.
The moment the doors parted, a mass of crimson flesh surged outward from the gap, expanding and churning like boiling magma.
Faced with a sight so horrifying it would shred anyone's sanity, even Tyr could not help but frown.
"Can a human actually wear this thing?"
Martin gave a frightened nod.
"Theoretically... yes. The Church of the Torch deployed it on the battlefields of Haiya Province. You must have known about that, right?"
That thing had caused immense trouble for the allied forces back then, and had even nearly succeeded in assassinating the Alliance's Manager—or at least, that was what the Church of the Torch had claimed.
Tyr nodded expressionlessly.
Of course he knew.
Back then, he had even sent over a 902 mm heavy artillery piece as a boastful display of the Southern Legion's military might.
Never could he have imagined that with the passage of time, the Southern Legion would be the one backed into a hopeless dead end.
"How does it work?"
Hearing Tyr's question, the tense Martin blinked in bewilderment and answered instinctively.
"You just need to make contact with it and respond to its desire... Wait, you want to use it yourself?!"
"Yes."
Even as the word left his lips, Tyr stepped forward and pressed his hand directly against the crimson flesh.
Blood-red tendrils sprouted from the mass, coiling around his fingers and spreading up his arm as though becoming a seamless extension of his own body.
In that very instant, a colossal tide of negative emotions crashed into his mind.
Slaughter!
Devour!
Destroy!
Consume everything!
A low groan of agony escaped Tyr's lips, but the guttural growl soon morphed into pure euphoria.
The ripples pulsing from this unfathomable mass of flesh were an exact mirror of his deepest, innate desires!
Yes—
Perhaps this was what he had wanted all along. Deep down, he yearned to destroy everything, to obliterate all that stood in his path.
Including those who opposed him.
Even including those who supported him.
And even the Wilantes themselves.
He had not gone mad; rather, he was naturally absorbing the pulses and energy radiating from the flesh, welcoming with his entire being the madness that could annihilate all existence.
If victory was impossible—
Then let everything burn!
The Wilantes who had lost to the wasteland were no longer superior. Without question, they had proven themselves to be the most inferior race, and an inferior race deserved to be weeded out by the law of the jungle without exception!
That was natural selection!
The sole path to a higher form of life!
At this moment, Tyr was like a racetrack owner blinded by rage and disappointment, determined to slaughter his finest horse with his own hands simply because it had failed to win the race.
If no one was willing to charge into battle with him one last time—
Then he would do it himself!
The crimson flesh had completely enveloped Tyr's body, spilling across the floor beneath his feet and expanding in every direction.
In that instant, he appeared like a monster.
Or rather, a species that had never existed on Earth.
Terror was etched across Martin's face. Dragging his leaden legs, he stumbled backward in panic.
This wasn't any kind of power armor at all!
Something had gone terribly wrong!
It hit him all at once: during earlier experiments, he had tentatively spliced in a segment of genetic code derived from a mutant slime mold broodmother, supposedly capable of enhancing an organism's mimetic abilities and regenerative properties.
That code had quite a history.
It had been obtained from the Qingquan City broodmother by early pioneers of the Church of the Torch—
"Sever the connection with it! Now!"
Martin screamed, grabbing a liquid nitrogen canister from nearby and aiming the nozzle at Tyr without a second thought.
Yet before he could pull the safety pin, a crimson tendril whipped out, knocking the canister out of his hands, before rapidly wrapping around his torso and hoisting him straight off the floor.
"Aaargh!"
Martin struggled frantically, kicking his legs in vain, but he was nothing more than a frail researcher.
Having thoroughly fused with the biomass, Tyr vanished and reappeared right in front of him in a flash, his thick legs seemingly rooted into the flesh-carpeted floor.
"Sever what?"
Looking at the pale-faced Martin, a smile of profound gratification squeezed across Tyr's contorted visage.
Meanwhile, the biomass creeping across the floor was already seeping into the laboratory's other rooms.
Watching the crimson flesh sweep forward like a tidal wave, the researchers throughout the lab froze in stunned disbelief.
And in that split second of paralysis, the crimson mass lunged at them.
"Aaaah!"
Sharing Martin's fate, the researcher nearest to the biomass was instantly bundled into a cocoon by crimson tendrils, then crushed into a puddle of gore like a squashed tomato.
The sudden, horrifying turn of events shattered everyone's wits. Snapping back to their senses, the researchers scrambled desperately toward the emergency exits.
"Sample breach! Run!"
"Damn it! Let go of me!"
"Guh—krrk!"
Screams erupted in overlapping waves!
In just a few breaths, the viral laboratory on the 68th floor of the World Tower transformed into an earthly purgatory.
The rampant tide naturally had no intention of sparing these 'nutrients' practically spoon-fed to its maw. Having just emerged from dormancy, the cells were ravenous, desperate to devour flesh and blood to expand.
Tendrils lashed out like vipers striking their prey, overtaking the fleeing researchers with effortless twists and dragging them into the crimson abyss.
Even those lucky enough to dodge the first wave found no true safety.
After the crimson tendrils harvested twenty lives in rapid succession and smashed through the nutrient tanks in the lab's storage room, the gorged biomass began creeping along ventilation shafts and elevator wells, spreading both upward and downward through the skyscraper.
Looking down at the bloodless Martin, Tyr offered a twisted, euphoric grin.
"...I am quite pleased with your gift. When I find the time, I'll pay you all a visit."
Martin stared at him in utter horror, his lips trembling, eyes steeped in despair.
"You... monster."
Tyr gave a faint chuckle.
"That is how insects view humans too."
Leaving those words behind, he lightly clenched his fist. The tendrils wrapped around Martin constricted in tandem.
Like bursting a water-filled balloon, Tyr twitched his fingers, reducing the frail, incompetent researcher before him into a pile of minced pulp.
*Squelch—*
A spray of blood showered over Tyr, sinking into his skin within a matter of breaths as it was fully absorbed, digested, and integrated into him.
A look of supreme satisfaction spread across his warped face.
At this moment, he felt like an omnipotent deity perched at the pinnacle of the food chain, looking down upon all living things.
There was no organism on the face of this earth stronger than him.
As for his identity as a Wilante—
That no longer seemed to matter much.
"Come, let us fight to our hearts' content... Alliance, Enterprise, Academy... and the Legion."
"Hahahahaha!"
Terrifying malice gleamed within his crimson eyes, and Tyr threw his head back in uproarious laughter, as though he truly had descended into madness.
At the same time, intense gunfire erupted throughout the World Tower.
Armed security personnel and Tyr's personal guards were driven back step by step by the rampaging experimental entity, each of them despairingly reduced to fodder for the incomprehensible horror.
In just a few hours, the crimson biomass swallowed the entire alloy skyscraper whole and spilled outward from the gaping alloy entrance onto the neighboring streets.
...
Looking down at the gruesome scene on the ground from aboard a Viper transport, Lao Bai wore an expression of sheer bewilderment.
According to intelligence provided by Southern Legion captives, the Death Agent laboratory was located on one of the floors of this landmark known as the World Tower.
They had planned to carry out a surgical strike on the building, but before they could even jump, the target had blown itself to pieces.
"Holy crap... did somebody go and poke a hornet's nest of shit?" Sitting opposite him, Jieyan was also looking down, unable to resist mocking the scene.
Lao Bai said with a grim expression, "I don't know... but honestly, this thing looks an awful lot like a mutant slime mold broodmother."
Jieyan blinked in surprise, then immediately perked up.
"A broodmother? Wouldn't handing this over to Xiao Yu be perfect?"
Theoretically, that was true. Xiao Yu was practically the natural predator of all mutant slime mold broodmothers.
In fact, Jieyan wasn't the only one who had thought of Xiao Yu; Lao Bai had realized it at almost the exact same instant.
As luck would have it, Luo Yu's Goblin Corps was stationed right on the front lines.
Without hesitation, Lao Bai switched communication channels, connecting directly to Luo Yu, who was currently airborne.
"Luo Yu! Over to you!"
Chapter 965