Thunderclap—
Rumble—
The sky writhed, an omen growing teeth, as if squaring off against Hippo’s Magic Breaker.
The pillar of light shattered. A bolt speared toward Hippo—ting—crackle—
Hippo thrust the Black Spear and split the lightning. Electric shards fanned out like broken glass, raining to earth. Trees snapped and caught like torches.
Thrum— Hippo held the death-qi Black Spear. A dense chill bled off him like night fog. His form stayed the same—black-gold armor, heavy, imperious.
Only a veil of black mist gathered around him. With those bloodthirsty demon eyes, he felt like a hell-thing stepping through a gate. His lids narrowed; every heartbeat stumbled.
He took three strides swallowed into two, Black Spear in hand, carrying a force that could pierce sky and soil. He shook the spear; shadows rippled.
Boom-boom-boom— Wherever the Black Spear passed, the ground cracked open like old ice. The air detonated and rose in Cyclone. A death ring twenty meters wide formed around him.
Step into it, and the razor gale would scour you to bone dust.
Divine Lance Arts: Soul Knell!
Whumm— A spiral Cyclone of black light burst from the spearhead and slammed into the tsunami wall.
This time the wave couldn’t swallow his strike. In under three breaths, Hippo’s black qi bored in, then blew open a gory maw.
One corner of the tsunami collapsed, shattered like a mirror back into water, hammered the near-broken city gate—yet left it unharmed.
Uooo—ooo— Hippo roared like a beast. He raised the spear high; his hands flicked. The Black Spear spun into a storm, sucking up rubble, splintered wood, stray debris.
Death qi thickened, congealing into a black sun. It hung there like Hell’s gate—opening would mean consequences no one could count.
Hippo stepped; the ground crumpled under his heel. He whipped the spear toward the heavens. The Black Spear thrummed; a black beam lanced into the clouds like a laser, gone to the vault.
Divine Lance Arts, Fifth Form: Skybreaker.
The Black Spear hummed, as if calling. Then a blast rolled across the sky. A ring of black qi unfurled like a halo, expanding fast, sweeping the storm-wolves away.
Clatter-lala… lala… The rain halted mid-fall. The earth’s wail stilled before it reached the palace. The sky cleared; the sea began to recede. At last, the calamity ended.
…
The next day, 3/20.
“Report the damage.” Elyu pressed his brow, face ashen. A heap of envelopes crowded his desk, many sealed in blood-red—urgent. Each one bore a storm-making noble’s crest.
“Your Majesty, the disaster struck too fast. Many citizens were swept into the tsunami before they could move. Five hundred thirty-one died in the first impact—instant, bones pulverized.
Seven hundred thirty-seven injured. Duke Hubbard, Marquis Naem, Count Baldwin, and over ten titled nobles failed to withdraw in time and were killed.
Countless homes ruined. Streets split open. The city gate suffered heavy damage. Citizens and nobles alike are displaced—losses are extreme.
Also… the Second Squadron’s warships were wiped out on patrol. We’re still recovering wreckage. Expected survivors: zero…” The richly robed ministers spoke through cold sweat. The numbers alone chilled the room.
Crash— Paris snatched up a vase and smashed it. Rage came first, wild and bright; the man looked half-mad. He kicked the stack of reports, papers scattering like scared birds.
“So many dead?! Isn’t the city’s defense solid? Where’s the disaster relay chain?
Over ten nobles! Over five hundred souls! This is the Royal Capital! The Royal Capital!
Even seven warships overturned!!! A full seven thousand elite soldiers and over ten capable commanders—gone?!
Find them. Dead or alive. If you can’t, don’t come back—”
Paris, eyes bloodshot, roared and drove the ministers out.
Elyu set a heavy hand on his shoulder, breath tight. “Prime Minister, it was a natural disaster. Blaming them does nothing. It’s happened. All we can do is salvage.”
Paris slammed his fist down, cups rattling on the table like chimes in wind. He ground his teeth, then threw himself into the work.
