After Milton settled the refugees in the East District shelter, his neural terminal flashed with an emergency call from Ir. The moment he answered it, Ir’s pale face filled the screen, his voice hurried and strained.
“This is bad! Those five high-risk monsters, codenamed E-01 through E-05, haven’t appeared for a while. We thought they’d retreated—but E-05 has suddenly shown up near the West District shelter! Our troops have rushed over, but we can’t hold it back!”
The feed abruptly switched to a battlefield recording.
It was hell.
The sky was black as ink. Gale-force winds whipped dust into the air, and on the distant horizon a massive shadow loomed over everything. E-05—the grotesque alien beast covered in writhing tentacles—stood at the center of the battlefield.
Every roar it released triggered violent resonance within the soldiers’ psychic seas. Many of them instantly lost control of their minds, turning into puppet-like figures that attacked their own comrades as their mental power collapsed. Only a few Star Alliance soldiers, along with Ir, remained conscious, desperately holding the line as defeat crept closer.
Milton’s gaze darkened. Without hesitation he issued the order:
“All mechs, form up immediately. We’re heading to the West District.”
Not long after, Silver Crown descended from the sky like a silver meteor, tearing through the chaos of the West District battlefield.
By the time Milton arrived, the place was already in ruins. Broken mech parts littered the ground, mingled with the anguished cries of soldiers whose minds had shattered. E-05 towered like a mountain, its entire body covered in thick, tar-like armor. Between the plates pulsed strange crimson patterns that resembled writhing blood vessels.
Its head—neither beast nor insect—was crowded with jagged teeth and sensory spines. From the hollow sockets of its eyes radiated a twisted, maddening psychic wave.
Tentacles lashed wildly in all directions. Several had already wrapped around soldiers, greedily draining their mental power. Each feeding was accompanied by desperate screams, as though their very souls were being torn apart.
Milton struck without hesitation.
His spirit spear fired, streaks of silver light slicing through the air and severing the tentacles with precise strikes.
“Fall back!” he commanded in a deep voice. “Take Ir and the wounded and get out!”
Ir refused to retreat. Gritting his teeth, he shouted, “General! It’s too dangerous—you can’t—”
Milton stood with his back to him, his tone steady and unquestionable.
“Carry out the order. Move.”
The soldiers grabbed Ir and shouted hoarsely, “Take care, General!”
The Silver Crown mech roared as it lifted from the ground while the other soldiers struggled to pilot their damaged machines away. Milton looked toward the West District shelter. Thousands of refugees huddled behind the defensive walls, their eyes wide with terror and helplessness.
He understood.
He could not retreat.
If he did, these people would become sacrifices to the monster.
Taking a deep breath, he raised his spirit spear toward the sky. Silver light thundered outward. More than a dozen layers of spirit sigils spun beneath his feet as a complex array formed in midair. Torrents of spiritual energy poured down from the heavens like a violent storm.
The air shook. Explosions rang out one after another. In an instant the battlefield was swallowed by smoke and detonations.
Then the unexpected happened—
Dozens of tentacles shot out of the mist like lightning.
Milton dodged swiftly. The silver-white mech flipped through the air and landed hard, sending fragments of stone and dust flying. Without giving the enemy a moment to breathe, he launched another counterattack.
The spirit spear fired repeatedly. Spiritual energy and high-energy particle rounds streaked across the sky like comets slamming into the monster, blasting apart twisted flesh and clouds of black mist.
But this creature—classified by the Star Alliance as an S-Class threat—seemed incapable of feeling pain. Its severed tentacles regenerated continuously, striking again with even greater speed.
Milton piloted Silver Crown through the narrow ruins with agile precision, weaving through attacks. His expression was grave, his concentration absolute.
He could feel the piercing psychic waves invading his consciousness. The monster specialized in psychic parasitism, infiltrating a soldier’s mind, amplifying fear, planting illusions, and driving them to kill one another—or collapse into paralysis.
Milton clenched his teeth and forced his own mental power to suppress the invasion. Pain tore through his psychic sea like thousands of steel needles, but he held fast to the core of his consciousness.
Just as he reached the edge of his limits, a golden glow ignited from the chest of Silver Crown. The rune array embedded within the mech activated at the critical moment, stabilizing the psychic barrier and saving him from being devoured.
“…That was close,” he muttered hoarsely, his throat dry.
He had barely begun to steady himself when the next attack arrived without pause.
E-05 opened its grotesque maw again, releasing a devastating psychic shockwave.
Milton deployed an energy shield. The mech shuddered violently, and he was thrown back dozens of meters, crashing through two collapsed buildings.
The defensive walls protecting the West District refugees began to crack under the impact. Civilians screamed and crouched down in terror.
Milton forced himself to stand.
Looking at those frightened faces, he knew there was no room for retreat.
“If it breaks through the defense line, those people are dead.”
He took another deep breath, suppressing the metallic taste rising in his throat, and steadied the control console.
The spirit spear began to transform under the surge of his mental power. Ancient runes surfaced along its length. In the end, the entire weapon reshaped itself into a massive spear of condensed energy. Golden-red demon-breaking sigils circled the shaft.
This was the ultimate technique—a fusion of cultivation runic arts and interstellar combat technology. The power required was so immense that it could only be unleashed once, yet it was capable of tearing heaven and earth apart.
Milton leapt into the air.
The spear thrust forward toward the monster—like a strike meant to rip open the sky itself.