Kevlar’s words still hung between him and the Maw, echoing with a quiet finality that seemed to seep into the deadlands around them.
“Then let’s show them what real monsters look like.”
The Maw’s colossal chest expanded with a deep, volcanic rumble—
an agreement, a promise, and a declaration of war all in one breath.
Below, Draculius, Lilith, and the Royal One stood as still as carved obsidian statues, facing the approaching Vatican army whose chants shook the ground with blind zealotry.
Far behind the army, cloaked in shimmering divine wards, the elongated cannon pulsed.
One heartbeat.
Another.
Each throb brighter, louder, hungrier.
Something in its core stirred—
not metal, not magic, but something older.
Something stolen.
Something alive.
The wind shifted.
The frontline of Vatican soldiers advanced with renewed confidence after Saint Fariel’s blessing. Their armor glowed softly, their steps aligned in fervent rhythm. Chanting intensified—battle hymns interwoven with desperate faith.
The Royal One did not move.
Lilith raised her hand only slightly—
A signal.
A promise.
The Vatican soldiers charged.
And the battlefield erupted.
The first wave rushed toward the Royal One, blades raised, courage artificially inflated by divine manipulation. Their boots pounded like a thunderous drumline.
A single Royal One stepped forward.
Just one.
Graceful. Pale. Deadly.
The soldier screamed and brought his blessed halberd down with a roar—
The Royal One tilted his head gently.
The swing passed through empty air.
In the same breath, the vampire’s hand blurred—
and the soldier’s helmet split apart, falling in two clean halves.
He collapsed without even realizing he’d been killed.
Panic should’ve erupted.
But Saint Fariel’s blessing strangled fear, smothering their instincts.
“Advance! They are but demons wearing flesh!” Fariel cried.
“Yes, your Holiness!” the soldiers shouted, voices cracking with forced courage.
More Vatican soldiers crashed into the Royal One.
And the Royal One unleashed hell.
They did not roar.
They did not snarl.
They moved like shadows given form—
gentle, precise, horrifying.
One broke a blessed spear with two fingers.
Another caught a holy flame bolt in his palm and crushed it.
Another stepped through a ring of paladins, leaving five headless bodies behind before their knees hit the dirt.
Blood misted across the air like red fog.
And through it all—
Lilith walked forward.
Slowly.
Elegantly.
Almost mournfully.
Her voice, soft yet resonant, seeped into the bones of every soldier before her:
“Lay down your weapons. Or die for nothing.”
None listened.
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The blessing drowned rationality.
And so Lilith moved.
Her hand traced a single, delicate arc—
—and twenty bodies fell, sliced apart at a level the human eye could not follow.
Draculius stood beside them, hands in his pockets, letting out a disappointed sigh.
“How troublesome,” he muttered as a platoon of zealots rushed him.
One man swung a blessed longsword.
It shattered against Draculius’ neck harmlessly.
The vampire lord raised a single finger—
and flicked.
A shockwave imploded outward, hurling the entire front platoon back dozens of meters, armor caving in as if struck by a giant hammer.
“Try again,” he said almost politely.
While the battle raged, far behind the Vatican troops—
The cannon thrummed louder and louder.
A vibration rippled through the land, disturbing dust and trembling the bones of the priests encircling it.
One priest suddenly gasped—
His skin paling—
His body shaking.
“Your Holiness…!” he cried weakly. “The cannon… it is… pulling too much—”
His voice cut off as his life essence was siphoned abruptly, color draining from his face, leaving him crumpled like a dried husk.
Another priest screamed.
Then another.
Dozens began shaking, collapsing as their vitality was drawn into the cannon through the ritual circle they stood on.
Saint Fariel’s expression tightened for only half a second.
But he masked it instantly.
He could not afford hesitation now.
Not when the ancient Angelic relic neared its resurrection.
“Continue the chant!” Fariel barked.
The surviving priests, eyes wild and hollow, obeyed—
their devotion overriding their survival instincts.
Holy sigils blazed under their feet.
Feeding the cannon.
Feeding something inside it.
Saint Fariel turned to the three Guardian Cardinals.
Slavik: “Your Holiness… is the weapon not exceeding safe extraction?”
Fariel smiled, serene and absolute.
“There is no such thing as ‘safe’ when fulfilling divine will.”
Castiel and Emilia bowed.
Serena, however—
felt her stomach twist.
Something about the cannon’s power felt… wrong.
Not divine.
Not pure.
Something ancient.
Violent.
Hungry.
A familiar fear crawled up her spine.
This is… not Angelic…
But she said nothing.
Not yet.
The first hundred Vatican soldiers lay dead or dying on the ground.
Blessed armor cracked.
Bones shattered.
Blood soaking into the dust.
But Fariel’s blessing kept the next hundred charging without hesitation.
Lilith moved like a shadow dancer, slicing through enchanted steel without touching it—
a refined slaughter that left the battlefield eerily silent wherever she passed.
A captain charged her with a glowing warhammer.
“DEMON! I—”
Before he finished, Lilith tilted her chin.
The captain froze.
He didn’t understand why.
Until his head slid off his shoulders.
Lilith didn’t even spare him a glance.
She spoke softly to the Royal One:
“Remember. Spare the ones who break. Kill those who do not.”
“Yes, My Lady.”
A Royal One lifted a paladin by the throat, feeling the stubborn divine courage still pulsing through him.
No surrender.
The Royal One crushed his windpipe.
Draculius sighed dramatically as a barrage of holy arrows rained toward him.
“Oh, don't they ever learn?”
He snapped his fingers.
A wall of swirling crimson energy erupted, shredding the arrows midair.
Then he rushed forward faster than sight, appearing in front of a group of paladins.
One blinked—
and Draculius was already behind them.
The entire squad fell simultaneously.
“Am too old to play this game,” Draculius muttered.
A sudden shift in the air.
A pressure heavy enough to crush lungs radiated across the battlefield.
A new aura.
Two auras.
The Vatican soldiers froze as shadows fell over them.
Kevlar approached through the drifting blood-mist, violet fire rippling across his body like living armor. His silhouette was sharper, taller, burning with Shadowborn energy refined into a cold, devastating focus.
Beside him came the Maw.
A mountain of claws, muscle, and ancient wrath.
Its molten eyes scanned the Vatican formation—
and every soldier felt their courage drain.
They were not fighting beasts.
They were looking at annihilation wearing flesh.
A paladin leader stuttered, pointing with trembling hands:
“Th-They’re… they’re not attacking each other!?”
Another soldier swallowed hard.
“They’re… standing together? what is going on?”
“No… impossible… the Shadowborn… the Titan… this can't be happening!?”
Faith cracked like ice under strain.
Voices trembled.
Even from afar, Saint Fariel’s composure strained.
He could not deny what every soldier saw:
Kevlar was approaching with the Maw.
Side by side.
Purpose aligned.
A true alliance of monsters.
Fariel raised his voice, coating it with divine compulsion:
“Do not falter! The Shadowborn has been CORRUPTED! Evil recognizes evil—that is all this is!”
But his words felt hollow.
The soldiers heard him.
But their hearts…
their hearts whispered the truth:
No blessing—
no chant—
no hymn—
could save them from creatures like these.
Kevlar launched himself downward, cloaked in violet fire, landing like a meteor between the Vatican frontline and the Royal One.
A shockwave blasted outward, knocking soldiers off their feet.
He rose slowly, violet flames trailing from his arms like ghostly wings.
His voice was cold.
Final.
“Leave. Now. Or die under the weight of your own arrogance.”
No one moved.
The Maw stepped beside him, towering over everything, its molten eyes glowing with ancient wrath.
It breathed out—
And the wind carried heat that melted the tips of Vatican spears.
Every soldier felt their courage drain.
Serena found herself whispering:
“Ke… Kevlar…”
Slavik snarled in response, blade glowing.
“Your Holiness, command us!”
Saint Fariel lifted his hand—
And the cannon behind them roared louder.
The land shook.
A beam of condensed celestial energy slowly formed at its mouth—
writhing like a living creature made of light.
Fariel shouted:
“Children! Hold them off!
The Angelic Lance is almost ready!”
Kevlar’s eyes widened.
Maw sensed danger too.
“Shadowborn… that beam… it may kill us.”
Kevlar grit his teeth.
“Then we destroy it first.”
The Maw grinned—
a terrifying, ancient expression.
“Together, then.”
And they charged.