The march continued long after the shock of the titan corpse.

  Even hours later, the armies could not shake the image:

  A beast the size of a mansion,

  two wolf-like heads frozen in a silent snarl,

  limbs as long as siege towers,

  flesh charred by something older than flame,

  and bones thicker than battlements.

  A monster never recorded.

  Never spoken of.

  Never theorized.

  Not even by the Vatican.

  It was a reminder that the Shadow Realm was not merely foreign—

  it was ancient.

  Older than their maps.

  Older than their histories.

  Older than their understanding of fear.

  And yet they pressed on.

  The Houses tightened their formations.

  The Vatican reinforced their sigil lines.

  The hunters sharpened their senses to the breaking point.

  The only advantage they carried was momentum—

  and even that felt fragile under the oppressive stillness of the realm.

  No birds.

  No wind.

  Only their footsteps, and the soft hum of their protective barriers.

  Lucien kept glancing over his shoulder.

  Sarville kept his weapons unsheathed.

  Eslene muttered under her breath,

  “…We shouldn’t be this deep. Not with this little information.”

  Her voice trembled ever so slightly.

  Seraphine agreed silently.

  But the Houses marched because there was no retreat—

  not when the veil behind them had been shattered.

  Zero walked at the forefront, unshaken,

  his three Vatican generals at his side.

  Their auras hummed faintly with unnatural stability.

  Too stable.

  Too calm.

  Too controlled.

  It made everyone uneasy.

  Not physically.

  Not visibly.

  But like a knot tightening.

  A subtle, dreadful pull from the sky—

  from nowhere—

  from everywhere.

  Lucien froze.

  Sarville felt cold run down his spine.

  Seraphine’s heart stopped.

  Eslene whispered:

  “…No. This feeling—

  This is—”

  A single shape materialized above the army,

  coalescing out of smoke and dark dust,

  as though the realm itself bowed to him.

  He hovered effortlessly.

  Impossibly still.

  Impossibly present.

  The Shadowborn.

  Every soul—House, hunter, knight, and cleric—

  felt their instincts scream.

  The air folded inward around him.

  Shadows bent.

  Light dimmed.

  Even mana reacted like a living thing cowering.

  Lucien took a half-step back unwillingly.

  His breath stuttered.

  He remembered this aura.

  The canyon.

  The crushing sense of insignificance.

  Except now—

  it was not a glimpse.

  It was the full presence.

  And the truth that had been haunting him

  finally slammed into clarity:

  He was not just powerful.

  He was monstrous.

  He was blood.

  He was kin.

  Lucien trembled.

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  Sarville glanced sideways.

  “…Lucien. You’re shaking.”

  Lucien swallowed painfully.

  “Because I know that aura.”

  His voice cracked.

  “He is—”

  But Kevlar spoke before he could finish.

  His gaze swept across thousands as if observing dust.

  Then his eyes landed on one man.

  Elric.

  The Southern Lord’s breath hitched.

  His knuckles whitened around his sword.

  And Kevlar spoke with chilling calm:

  The world stopped.

  Windless silence.

  A thousand eyes jerking between them.

  Even Zero stiffened.

  Elric’s face collapsed into pale horror.

  He did not answer.

  Could not.

  Kevlar continued:

  “You march into the realm of shadows,

  carrying weapons meant for me.

  Yet you do not even recognize your own blood?”

  Seraphine covered her mouth.

  Eslene stared, wide-eyed.

  Theoren whispered, utterly stunned:

  “Elric… you…”

  Elric’s lips trembled.

  “…My son died.”

  His voice cracked.

  “You—

  you cannot be—”

  Kevlar’s expression didn’t change.

  “Your grief birthed truth.

  But your truth birthed ignorance.”

  Lucien stepped forward, eyes blazing with grief and disbelief.

  “Kevlar…

  Brother—”

  Kevlar turned his gaze toward him, softer for only a heartbeat.

  “Lucien.”

  The acknowledgment struck like a hammer.

  Lucien staggered to one knee, overwhelmed.

  Sarville caught him by the shoulder.

  “Lucien—!”

  But Lucien wiped his eyes quickly, forcing himself to rise.

  “I knew it—

  I felt it back then—

  but I couldn’t—”

  Kevlar raised a single finger.

  Lucien fell silent instantly.

  The entire army felt the shift.

  Kevlar had begun choosing where to place his attention.

  And next—

  he turned to Zero.

  Their gazes locked.

  Zero did not flinch.

  But his aura tensed.

  Kevlar spoke softly.

  Zero remained silent.

  Kevlar’s tone cooled.

  “You did well deceiving them.

  But do you think your secret can survive in my presence?”

  The ground pulsed.

  Shadows tightened.

  Then Kevlar unleashed pressure focused solely on Zero.

  It hit like a divine hammer.

  Zero’s legs buckled immediately.

  His boots scraped dirt.

  His armor groaned.

  A vein burst near his eye.

  The undefeated Vatican commander—

  the unstoppable, unshakeable leader—

  dropped to one knee.

  Gasps exploded across the formation.

  “Impossible—!”

  “He’s forcing him down—!”

  “Zero is—kneeling!?”

  Mereth’s eyes blazed.

  Kazane’s jaw clenched.

  Elric looked stricken.

  And Kevlar, voice dripping with disdain, whispered:

  Silence.

  Shock.

  Horror.

  Hybrid.

  Sarville’s eyes widened.

  Seraphine’s breath hitched.

  Eslene’s pulse spiked.

  Kevlar floated down a fraction, still dominating the air.

  “Shall I reveal it?

  Or will you remove your mask before your head meets the ground?”

  Zero’s breath shook.

  His hands trembled.

  But he reached up—

  —clicked open his helm—

  —and removed the mask.

  Revealing:

  Pale skin.

  Elongated fangs—not full vampiric, but unmistakable.

  And eyes:

  One blood-crimson.

  One golden-haloed.

  The mark of Vatican hybrids.

  Mereth erupted first.

  The three Vatican generals rushed to shield Zero,

  eyes shining with the same split-color irises,

  their auras flaring violently.

  The battlefield exploded in tension.

  Theoren and Elric raised their weapons.

  Kazane unsheathed his katana with a savage snarl.

  House after House drew blades and spells, forming a semicircle facing the Vatican.

  Two armies.

  One heartbeat from civil war.

  Eslene whispered bitterly:

  “This is bad…

  We already have a Shadowborn and gods-know-what inside this realm…

  and now even the Vatican is an enemy?”

  Seraphine glanced at Kevlar—

  still floating, unbothered, not even preparing to strike.

  “…He isn’t intervening,” she murmured.

  Lucien swallowed hard.

  “He doesn’t need to.

  He’s stronger than all of us combined.”

  Kazane shouted to Arame:

  “Stay on guard!

  If the Vatican moves—strike!

  But remember, they’re not our only threat!”

  Elric, torn between rage and heartbreak, raised his blade.

  Mereth roared her fury.

  Theoren lifted his axe.

  And Zero—bleeding, trembling—stood with staggering effort.

  He faced the Four Houses, voice steady despite everything.

  “Companions…

  I understand your confusion.

  But we are not your enemies.

  Hybrid or not—

  I stand on the side of humanity.”

  Kazane spat at his feet.

  “Save your lies for fools.

  We see a vampire—

  we hunt.”

  Zero chuckled softly.

  “Then it seems our little game comes to an end…

  and was inevitably ruined by you, Lord Kevlar.”

  His eyes met Kevlar’s.

  And his aura burst outward.

  A twisted blend of holy and unholy energy,

  pulsing like corrupted starlight.

  Sarville shouted:

  “Everyone—prepare yourselves!

  This is beyond a vampire lord’s power.”

  Kevlar tilted his head.

  “…Have you forgotten me?”

  Zero bowed slightly, eyes low.

  “Of course not…

  my lord.”

  The title sent a shockwave of horror through the Houses.

  Zero continued, voice tightening.

  “But you… have a guest to attend to, don’t you?”

  Kevlar paused—

  then turned his gaze skyward.

  A streak of radiant light tore across the sky.

  She crashed into Kevlar like a blazing comet,

  driving him far from the armies in an explosive shockwave.

  Kevlar blocked with an arm but allowed the momentum—

  letting himself be pulled away deliberately.

  Seraphine gasped and moved—

  —but Mereth seized her wrist.

  “No.

  There are more pressing matters right here.”

  Her eyes locked on Zero and his generals, whose auras now flickered violently.

  And Zero’s voice rose in command:

  The Vatican shouted in unison:

  “WE BURN THE TRAITOR!

  WE SLAY THE HEATHEN!”

  Kazane snarled.

  “Aah, damn it—

  They’re insane!”

  Elric’s voice broke:

  “All those years…

  we trusted you…”

  Mereth spat hatred:

  “So much for holiness.

  So much for justice.”

  Theoren thundered:

  “THE NORTH STANDS AGAINST YOUR LIES!

  HOUSES—READY ARMS!”

  Every soldier of the Four Houses readied for battle.

  Lucien braced himself, whispering:

  Brother…

  I will live.

  I will find you.

  Even if I must crawl.

  The battlefield ignited.