Halochassis

Risha was definitely heartbroken as she ran through the dark alleys of the business district of Luminous City. Her shoes slapped against the damp stone pavement, the sound echoing between the tall buildings that blocked most of the moonlight. The city was still alive somewhere beyond the narrow streets, but here, everything felt strangely distant. The warm glow of shop windows had long disappeared, leaving only the pale light of the moon and a few flickering street lamps to illuminate her path. Her breathing came out unevenly, mixed with the quiet sobs she could no longer hold back. Tears blurred her vision, and every time she wiped them away, more rolled down her cheeks.

It was already past midnight, and her sobs were the only noises that could be heard. She finally stumbled to a stop beside an old stone wall, her legs trembling beneath her as the weight of everything that had happened finally became too much to carry. Risha sank to her knees, pressing one hand against the cold pavement while the other covered her mouth. Her shoulders shook violently as she tried to silence herself, but the grief had already broken through whatever restraint she had left.

“I can’t believe it. Aether… and now… Shin… I can’t believe that they will leave us hanging like this,” Risha said, her voice breaking between sobs.

Risha was fully aware of Aether’s intentions. In fact, it had been quite obvious from the beginning why Adzeel recruited him. Aether had joined the Iron Bandits because he wanted revenge against Saint Elwyn, and now that Saint Elwyn was dead, there was little reason for him to remain with them. The Iron Bandits were gone, their headquarters had been destroyed, and Adzeel was presumed dead. Their entire organization had been reduced to scattered survivors hiding from the Celestial Wardens and the authorities. There was nothing left for Aether to fight for except the promise he had made to himself and the family waiting for him somewhere beyond the chaos.

Aether needs to attend to his wife after all.

Risha lowered her head as another tear fell onto the back of her hand. She understood Aether. She really did. She knew he had a family, and she knew that he had every right to choose them after everything that had happened. Still, understanding something did not make it hurt any less. They had fought together, bled together, and watched countless friends disappear one after another. Aether had become one of the few people she could still rely on, and now even he was walking away.

But what made Risha even more heartbroken was Shin’s betrayal of their trust. Risha had always trusted Shin. No matter how suspicious his past had seemed, no matter how strange his abilities were, Shin had repeatedly saved them from absolute carnage. Whenever the Iron Bandits found themselves cornered, Shin had been there. He had stood between them and death more times than Risha could remember. She could even argue that they had only lost their headquarters because Shin had not been there when the Celestial Wardens and the adventurers attacked the slums. If he had been there, perhaps things would have been different. Perhaps Adzeel would still be with them. Perhaps their people would still have a place to call home.

And yet Shin had chosen to leave.

Furthermore, Risha had once believed that Shin’s love for Lireina was nothing more than a lie. For the longest time, she had convinced herself that Shin was secretly an agent whose purpose was to get close to the elf princess and eventually bring about Lireina’s downfall. It had made sense in her mind. Shin was mysterious, powerful, and far too careful with his words. Risha had thought his affection toward Lireina was simply another part of whatever plan he was hiding from everyone.

I never thought that Shin would fall in love with Lireina for real.

Risha wrapped her arms tightly around herself, digging her fingers into her sleeves as the realization twisted painfully inside her chest. She could still remember all those moments when Shin had stood beside Lireina, the way his expression softened whenever he looked at her, and the way Lireina’s entire face seemed to brighten whenever Shin entered the room. Back then, Risha had dismissed it as an act. Now, every one of those memories felt like a wound being reopened.

The growing frustration began to consume her. Her teeth clenched as she stared at the empty alley, her tear-streaked face slowly hardening beneath the cold moonlight. There was grief inside her, but beneath that grief was something uglier. Something she had refused to acknowledge for far too long.

If only I had the courage… If only I had the courage to say what I feel… Then Shin should’ve been mine.

Her fingers tightened around her arms until her nails nearly pierced the fabric. She had spent so much time standing beside Shin without ever telling him what she truly felt. She had hidden behind jokes, sarcasm, missions, and the excuse that they were simply comrades. Even when Shin had saved her life, even when she had felt her heart race whenever he was close, she had convinced herself that there would always be another chance to say it. She had believed she could wait.

Now that chance was gone.

That was when Risha’s grief found something to blame.

It was all Lireina’s fault.

If Lireina had never influenced Shin, then Shin would not have had to betray them. He would not have turned his back on the Iron Bandits, on Adzeel, on everything they had built together in the shadows of Luminous City. Most painfully of all, he would not have turned his back on her. Risha knew somewhere deep inside that Shin had made his own choices, but the truth was too painful to accept. Blaming Lireina was easier than admitting that Shin simply did not feel the same way about her.

“That despicable elf needs to die,” Risha said.

The words sounded strange even to her own ears, but once they escaped her mouth, they seemed to settle into the darkness around her. Risha slowly raised her head. Her eyes were still wet with tears, but the sorrow within them had begun to change into something far more dangerous. Her breathing steadied as she wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks. She brushed her short pink hair away from her face, then reached into her belongings and pulled out the Halochassis glove.

The artifact felt cold against her skin.

Risha stared at it for a moment, remembering everything it represented. The power of fallen angels. The battles. The blood. The people they had lost. Her fingers slowly curled around the glove as a faint metallic sound echoed through the alley.

“I need to kill Lireina Ashford once and for all,” Risha muttered to herself.

“I knew it.”

A male voice suddenly broke the silence of the night.

Risha froze.

A chill crawled down her spine, and every muscle in her body tensed at once. Her hand instinctively tightened around the Halochassis glove as she pushed herself to her feet. The alley had been empty only moments ago, but now there was someone standing several meters away, hidden within the darkness between two buildings.

Risha narrowed her eyes.

A shadow slowly stepped forward.

The man was enormous, standing nearly two meters tall, his broad silhouette cutting across the pale moonlight. His hair was tied into a spiky ponytail that swayed slightly with each step. In one hand, he carried a spear, its long shaft angled toward the ground. The metal tip dragged across the stone pavement as he walked, producing a harsh scraping sound that echoed through the deserted alley.

Scrape.

Scrape.

Scrape.

With every step, the sound grew louder.

Risha’s heart began pounding against her ribs. Her fingers tightened around the Halochassis glove as she prepared herself for a fight. The man’s face remained hidden beneath the darkness for another few seconds, but there was something about his presence that already felt familiar.

Then he stepped fully into the moonlight.

Risha’s eyes widened.

She immediately knew who it was.

“Qinglong,” Risha said, her voice low and trembling as she stared at the massive figure standing beneath the moonlight. The sight of him immediately brought back memories of everything that had happened with the Celestial Wardens. Her fingers tightened around the Halochassis glove, the metallic surface cold against her skin as she prepared herself for whatever came next.

“I knew that glove was familiar. That is an artifact to call forth the power of the fallen angels, the Halochassis, right?” Qinglong said. His green eyes remained fixed on the strange device covering Risha’s hand, and there was a strange mixture of recognition and disbelief in his expression. He shifted his spear slightly, the weapon giving a faint metallic scrape against the pavement as he studied the artifact more carefully.

Risha did not speak. She simply clenched her fists, her shoulders stiffening as the anger she had been carrying only moments ago began to boil over again. Tears still clung to her eyelashes, and the dampness on her cheeks had not completely dried, but she refused to let Qinglong see her weakness. Her breathing became deeper and heavier as she stared at him with barely contained hatred.

Qinglong scratched the back of his head and let out a troubled sigh. “Man, I know I should trust my instincts. Now that guy is good as dead.” His words were casual, almost conversational, but there was nothing casual about the way his eyes narrowed. He had clearly already connected several pieces of the mystery in his mind.

“How long have you been following me?” Risha asked. Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the strain she was under.

“I was never following you. I was following Shin Rebellium,” Qinglong said as his green eyes fixated on Risha’s glove. He slowly lowered his spear until its tip hovered just above the ground, but his attention never left the artifact. “Judging from that glove, that guy, Shin Rebellium, must have been the other Halochassis wielder, isn’t it? Which one was he? Mastema, Samael, or…” Qinglong paused, his expression sharpening as another possibility came to mind. “Azazel?”

Risha felt her stomach tighten.

For several seconds, she said nothing. Qinglong had gotten far too close to the truth, and she knew that another moment of hesitation might give him everything he needed. Her hand trembled inside the Halochassis glove before she suddenly raised it, the faint mechanical hum of the artifact cutting through the silence of the alley.

“It doesn’t matter. Your evil stops here, you demonic dragon warrior!” Risha shouted as she clenched her gloved fist. Her voice echoed through the empty streets, and the anger that had been consuming her finally exploded outward. “Awaken, Mastema!”

The Halochassis glove immediately came alive.

Thin white metal plates unfolded from the glove with a series of sharp mechanical clicks, each piece sliding over the next as though the armor itself were alive. The transformation raced up Risha’s arm, spreading across her shoulders, chest, legs, and back until her entire body was covered in the sleek white armor of Mastema. The metal reflected the moonlight with a cold, almost heavenly glow, while the faint energy pulsing beneath the armor made the surrounding air feel strangely heavy.

Qinglong’s eyes widened in shock as he watched the transformation finish.

“So you are Mastema, huh,” Qinglong said, his expression shifting from surprise to grim understanding. He tightened his grip around his spear as the pieces of the mystery finally began falling into place. “Then Shin Rebellium must be either Samael or Azazel.”

“You won’t live to tell!” Mastema roared as she spread her arms.

Three rifle shields immediately deployed around her body, floating into position with mechanical precision. Their barrels rotated into place, accompanied by the rapid clicking of internal mechanisms preparing to fire. Mastema’s eyes glowed faintly beneath the white armor as her telekinetic power reached outward, connecting her mind to every floating weapon.

The rifle shields suddenly erupted with gunfire.

Bullets screamed through the night in every direction, the sharp cracks of the weapons bouncing between the walls of the surrounding buildings. Muzzle flashes repeatedly illuminated the alley as the floating weapons moved independently, firing from different angles to overwhelm Qinglong. Metal projectiles tore through the air, striking stone walls and sending fragments of pavement flying wherever they missed their target.

Qinglong reacted almost instantly.

He spun his spear with both hands, creating a blur of steel around his body. Every bullet that came within reach was struck aside with a sharp metallic clang, some ricocheting into the walls while others dropped harmlessly onto the ground. The smell of hot metal and dust filled the alley as Qinglong continued turning, his movements precise and fluid despite the relentless barrage.

Then, without warning, Qinglong spun his entire body and drove the spear forward.

“Dragon Rush!” Qinglong shouted.

Golden magical energy exploded from the spearhead. The light twisted and coiled around the weapon before taking the shape of a roaring eastern dragon, its enormous serpentine body surging forward with enough force to distort the air around it. The roar that accompanied the attack shook the surrounding buildings, and the pavement beneath Qinglong’s feet cracked from the sheer force behind his thrust.

Mastema reacted in the nick of time.

She thrust both hands forward, and a translucent psychic barrier erupted in front of her. The shield appeared almost instantly, shimmering with pale energy as the Dragon Rush slammed into it. The impact produced a thunderous boom that sent a violent shockwave through the alley, scattering dust, loose stones, and fragments of debris in every direction.

But Mastema had not forgotten her rifle shields.

While she held the Dragon Rush at bay, the three floating weapons silently repositioned themselves behind Qinglong.

Then they fired.

Qinglong’s eyes widened.

The bullets struck him from behind before he could react. One hit his shoulder, another tore through his side, and several more slammed into his back in rapid succession. Seven hits. Eight. Nine. Each impact punched through his clothing and drew blood, the force of the shots jerking his body forward as the smell of gunpowder filled the air.

Qinglong finally twisted away and jumped backward, landing several meters away. Blood dripped from his wounds and splattered onto the pavement beneath him, but before Mastema could press the attack, the wounds began closing.

Skin knitted itself together.

Blood stopped flowing.

The torn flesh regenerated with supernatural speed until only damaged clothing remained as evidence of what had happened.

Qinglong flexed his shoulder and stared at Mastema with a completely different expression.

“I have learned my lesson not to hold back against the likes of you,” Qinglong said.

His voice was calm, but the atmosphere around him had changed.

A burst of golden energy erupted from his body.

Qinglong’s eyes turned crimson, glowing fiercely beneath his brow as his body began to transform. His eastern clothing suddenly strained against his expanding frame before tearing apart in several places. Beneath the shredded fabric, thick green scales spread across half of his body, covering his skin with a natural armor that gleamed under the moonlight. His fingers elongated and twisted into powerful dragon claws, while two enormous dragon wings burst from his back with a violent gust of wind that sent dust and loose debris spiraling through the alley.

A long green tail emerged behind him and slammed against the pavement with enough force to crack the stone.

Qinglong was no longer merely a warrior. He was a dragon.

“Purunga Drive!” Qinglong roared.

A gigantic magical rift suddenly manifested behind him.

The space itself appeared to tear open, revealing a swirling golden void filled with blinding light and violent waves of magical energy. The rift widened with a deep, rumbling sound before an enormous golden dragon emerged from within it. The creature’s body was formed entirely from radiant magical energy, its jaws opening as it released a deafening roar that shook the surrounding buildings.

Then it charged.

The giant golden dragon surged toward Mastema like a living missile, its body filling the night sky with brilliant golden light.

Mastema immediately spread out her limbs, forming an X with her body. She gathered nearly half of her remaining energy into her psychic field, forcing everything she had into a single defensive barrier. White energy exploded outward around her, forming a massive shield that trembled under the pressure of the incoming attack.

But she was not relying on the barrier alone.

Her three floating rifle shields moved into position around her, their metal frames locking together as they formed an additional layer of defense. They fired continuously into the approaching golden dragon, bullets disappearing into its enormous body as Mastema used telekinesis to keep the weapons moving around her.

The collision was monstrous.

The giant golden dragon crashed into Mastema’s psychic shield, and the entire sky seemed to erupt with light. Golden energy and pale psychic power collided in the air, producing waves of force that shook the surrounding buildings and sent windows rattling in their frames. Dust rose from the streets below while loose fragments of stone were blown away by the pressure.

Neither side gave an inch.

Qinglong’s dragon form pushed forward with overwhelming strength, his golden energy roaring like a raging storm, while Mastema remained firmly planted in the air behind her psychic barrier. Her armor groaned under the pressure, and cracks of energy spread across her shield as she poured more power into it.

The battle had become a clash between an unstoppable force and an immovable object.

Qinglong pushed harder.

Mastema refused to yield.

The golden dragon continued pressing against the psychic barrier, its jaws snapping inches away from Mastema as waves of magical energy washed over her armor. Her rifle shields kept firing, their magazines rapidly emptying as bullets disappeared into the giant creature. The night sky became a storm of golden light, white energy, smoke, and sparks.

Then suddenly, everything went silent.

A blinding flash erupted between them.

The golden dragon shattered into countless fragments of light while Mastema’s psychic barrier burst apart at almost the exact same moment. The resulting explosion washed over the battlefield, forcing both fighters backward as the remaining energy dispersed into the night sky like glowing embers.

When the light finally faded, Qinglong and Mastema remained standing.

Both were breathing heavily.

Both had spent an enormous amount of energy. Neither had managed to overpower the other.

As far as raw power was concerned, they were evenly matched at full strength.

And now, the fight had entered a different stage. There would be no easy finishing blow. No overwhelming attack. No miracle.

It would come down to endurance.

The one who could remain standing the longest would be the one who survived.