That's when the sky split open.
A violent seam carved itself across the heavens, tearing through smoke and clouds alike as reality itself was forced apart. The fading light of the Fettered Star warped around it, bending unnaturally as something immense pressed through.
The sound came after. A deep, collapsing distortion before a Bhalian dropship tore free from hyperspeed above Qiyoto, displacing the sky itself. The pressure alone rippled downward, flattening smoke, scattering embers, forcing even the lingering aftermath of Kinslayer’s technique to recoil.
With all things considered, it was significantly smaller than the Crimson Cloud—the previous Bhalian Warship Hitomi Yaarou blasted from the sky.
But that was because, despite the familiar flags and insignias etched along its hall, this was not merely a Bhalian Warship. It was a Mazoku Caravan.
..TSSSSSS…
The hull split open beneath a violent plume of steam, and two figures were released into the void below before the Caravan vanished into the horizon just as quickly as it appeared.
—
High above the battlefield, suspended between storm and ruin, the first of the plummeting silhouettes slowed his momentum until he came to a halt with such absolute control it seemed gravity bent to his will.
His frame was lean—deceptively so—yet wound with a density that spoke not of size, but of perfected restraint. Every muscle and line of his body looked as though they'd been sculpted through centuries of refinement and stripped of excess, leaving behind only what was necessary for execution.
A mantle of pale, auburn fur framed his form—wild in shape, yet impossibly ordered, each strand resting as though guided by unseen currents.
He was Mazoku, that much was certain, but his face bore none of the savage distortion expected of his kind.
Even now, poised above a battlefield on the brink of annihilation, his expression remained composed. Focused. Sharp.
And yet..
He was young.
There was no weight of erosion upon him, no lingering echo of centuries endured. He bore no wounds, blemishes or scars to testify to his glory in combat. And still—
The air bent around him.
Subtle distortions rippled outward from his vascular form, space itself folding ever so slightly in quiet obedience to his will.
In his grasp rested a staff—longer than his own body by nearly half, forged of vermillion colored steel and etched with faint, glowing script. Its surface bore marks—thousands upon thousands of them, layered upon one another through relentless use.
At his waist and shoulders, bands of gold armament wrapped his frame with several along his tail. Each piece is placed with purpose. Each weight accounted for. While behind him, a length of crimson cloth drifted endlessly, suspended as though caught in a wind that did not exist.
Then his eyes opened low. Golden and unwavering. And in that gaze, there was no malice.
Only assessment.
This was
Rao.
—
The second did not slow.
He fell like a blistering comet—or a cosmic gavel that struck Qiyoto with a force that echoed out to the waves of the Freshwater Sea.
The ground liquefied instantly beneath him as a cataclysmic detonation of pressure erupted outward.. The earth surged, folded, and shattered into molten upheaval as the shockwave tore through the battlefield, collapsing buildings in cascading ruin, uprooting acres of stone and terrain, all while hurling entire ranks of Kurotori into the air.
Their initial barriers raised by the Yaarou sages were demolished in an instant—
But immediately, squadrons of AION Sentinels mobilized just quickly.
In perfect unison, they surged into position. And within seconds of the ensuing peril, layered barriers surged into existence, their formations aligning with engineered perfection that isolated the combatants from the Kurotori/ Inkuki warriors
The collective of soldiers fled beneath protective constructs as the shockwave crashed against their surfaces in violent, rippling waves.
And at the epicenter of the chaos, molten stone churned and spat from the massive crater that started it all—trembling as something within it shifted.
And soon, that
something emerged from the liquified ruin.. a behemoth whose frame dwarfed everything around him. It rose, a towering monument of azure fur and ancient power. Wounds—old and new—mapped its body like scripture, each one a testament to its separate era of devastation.
His face was ravaged—gashes torn across sightless white eyes that had not known light for centuries.. And across his mouth, was a ceremonial muzzle binding him in restraint.
This was
G'hor.. and as inhaled, the shattered city of Qiyoto literally shuddered around him
–
Rao descended slowly — watching intently as to how these humans would react to the arrival of a Mazoku Executioner.. let alone two. And while it was laughable, watching them skitter and scatter—fetid with fear, he found no amusement in his duty today.
His expression was dejected as his gaze swept the already decimated city, looking around as if he expected to find something—anything that warranted him being
here.. among the putrid slime of the Vescrutian food chain. But he was left wanting..
“...”
Where G'hor harkened from an era more than satisfied in the slaughter of their enemies, Rao's reputation was more akin to that of a warrior rather than the Executioner. He exalted the thrill of victory of course, but it was the effort, pain, and refinement found in glory that he truly relished in.
And when he had been told that a force existed capable of slaying Kuran—the Merciless, a relic of a bygone era—he had expected resistance.
And to hear that he would face a clan of warriors strong enough to fell Kuran, The Merciless—a titan of bygone era, Rao was prepared to test his mettle. He expected resistance. Opposition. Warriors. But he found no warriors here.. only humans.. only..
“Insects..” Was all he said, and the word carried across the battlefield like a scathing gust.
“..by decree of our Zenith, a reckoning is upon you.”
He said, casually gesturing toward a city that already seemed tattered from warfare prior to their arrival. But whatever domestic dispute or civil unrest they were preoccupied with, it would take a back seat to a Bhalian Incursion.
His gaze swept the mass of armored faces beneath him until his gaze fell upon Kinslayer, and immediately, he could feel an otherworldly power emanating from his form. This was supposed to be a Kingdom preoccupied by mortals and humans, and Kinslayer was anything but. It piqued his interest to say the least.
“Your mound of dirt has been sanctioned for oblivion.” Rao continued,glaring directly at Kinslayer as if he were the only creature here that deserved his attention.
“.. However, in honor of our fallen slain by your blades, you will be granted the right to summon your champion in your defense.”
He paused, eyes narrowing into a blistering moons.
“Send forth your Xhi’on..” the crimson cloth at his back stirred in the air as he tilted his staff toward the clamoring crowd.
“But make no mistake.. Upon her death, none of you will be spared.”
The team