CHAPTER 12

The battlefield stretched beneath them like a vision of hell—dirt and fire merging into chaos, the air thick with smoke and the acrid stench of burning flesh. The sky, blackened and bruised, bled streaks of deep red, as if the heavens themselves were wounded. The ground trembled, not just from the relentless explosions but from something far worse lurking beneath, waiting.

A voice, distorted and laced with amusement, cut through the carnage. "You know how to kill, don't you?"

The man in black stepped forward, unbothered by the destruction around him. His movements were deliberate, each step a stark contrast to the madness unfolding in every direction. A small group followed him, precise and merciless, carving a path through enemy lines like a scalpel through flesh. Any soldier brave enough to stand in their way fell almost instantly, their bodies crumpling in lifeless heaps. The man's eyes never wavered, locked ahead with unwavering focus. His target was clear—Rudra.

The ruined remains of a high-security research facility loomed ahead, but something had changed. The air itself had thickened, crackling with an energy that felt ancient, almost primal. From the edges of the battlefield, another figure emerged—dressed in black, his face obscured by dark, reflective goggles. He moved without a sound, a suffocating silence trailing in his wake.

Without a word, he raised a hand, fingers curling toward his wrist in a slow, calculated motion, as if commanding time itself. Then, his eyes ignited—two piercing beacons of electric blue cutting through the smoke.

A split second later, the ground erupted.

The earth split apart with a deafening roar, swallowing screams and gunfire in its wake. Jagged fissures tore through the battlefield, stretching for miles in either direction. From the abyss, a nightmare of metal and wire surged forth, twisting and writhing like serpents unchained. They slithered across the battlefield, collecting whatever lay in their path—discarded weapons, rusted tanks, shattered armor—melding them into something grotesque, something alive.

The monstrous creation took shape, a behemoth of steel and destruction, its form a sickening blend of unnatural angles and grotesque symmetry. Its every movement screeched with the tortured groan of twisted metal. Beneath the bloodstained sky, its limbs gleamed with a sinister sheen, reflecting the carnage below. The sheer weight of its presence was suffocating, pressing down on the battlefield like an omen of death.

But the man in black did not falter.

When the metal colossus lunged, its roar shaking the heavens, he barely reacted. A flick of his wrist, a silent command—his own black wires and rods, torn from the earth itself, answered. They surged forward, crashing into the monstrous entity with the force of titanic gods colliding.

The impact was cataclysmic.

The explosion that followed wasn't just destructive—it was reality-shattering. The very fabric of existence seemed to tear apart. A shockwave of raw force tore through everything in its path—forests reduced to splinters, vehicles disintegrated, bunkers crushed to dust. The earth heaved violently, launching massive chunks of molten rock skyward.

The devastation was biblical.

Bodies were obliterated in an instant, reduced to mist and scattered into the wind. Limbs, torn from their owners, spun wildly like broken marionettes caught in a storm. The air filled with the scent of scorched flesh, the dying wails of those unfortunate enough to survive the initial blast echoing through the wasteland. Some tried to crawl, skin peeling from bone, their voices raw with agony.

But when the dust settled, only one figure remained standing.

The man in black.

He stood amid the wreckage, untouched, a lone shadow against a world shattered beyond recognition. The ruins of the battlefield stretched around him like a graveyard, bodies strewn haphazardly, their vacant eyes staring into the abyss. Blood pooled into the cracks of the earth, seeping into its broken veins.

He took a step forward, the crunch of shattered bone and twisted steel beneath his boots the only sound in the hollow silence. A slow, knowing smile crept across his face—cold, devoid of humanity. His voice, a low and measured whisper, sliced through the void.

"So, you're here too..."

The battlefield was no longer a battleground. It was a graveyard.

And the real fight—the fight of monsters—was only just beginning.