[Oliver's PoV]

  [Combat Mode added to System]

  [Select one of the following options]

  ---

  | Options available

  ?? 0% [No compatibility]

  ?? 0% [No compatibility]

  ?? ??% [Unknown compatibility]

  ?? [Denied]

  ---

  A window hovered before his eyes, the holographic text pulsing. Yet, He didn’t have time to read it —his instincts screamed at him to move, to act. The Empress was still holding him.

  The System’s message flickered again, a line of text scrolling across the display.

  Compatibility depends on each Sovereign's personality. Many cannot coexist. Choose before activating [Combat Mode].

  Oliver’s pulse quickened.

  Compatibility? So they would have to work together? Unease crept into his mind.

  The Blue and Green Crystals were useless—0% compatibility.

  Aren’t Athena and Ares siblings? Then why wouldn’t they be compatible? Oliver wondered, unable to find an answer.

  The Purple was locked—[Denied]. The system wouldn’t even attempt to connect.

  That left only one option.

  Bronze Crystal.

  He didn’t hesitate.

  Before the Empress could notice, Oliver clicked the Bronze symbol.

  [Initiating Contact Between Sovereigns]

  [Unable to contact the Bronze Sovereign]

  The text blinked across Oliver’s HUD, the letters glitching for a fraction before stabilizing.

  [Bronze Sovereign has left a message]

  I knew you would need my power eventually. Use it carefully. Entropy is not something the living should toy with.

  The line faded, replaced by a new indicator.

  [?? 30% – Low Compatibility]

  It started as a flicker—a faint, electric heat crawling beneath his skin—but soon, it became a firestorm.

  Oliver gritted his teeth as waves of Energy surged through his veins. He gasped, his vision blurring at the edges, the world pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.

  Tiny sparks of Energy began to appear on his armor. Faint bronze motes that shimmered like embers. They multiplied, spreading across his arms, his chest, his legs.

  Above the crimson plating of his Red Armor, something new was forming.

  A second layer.

  Metallic tendrils of bronze coiled around his body, hardening into plates that merged with the existing armor. Pieces of new plating formed over his arms, his shoulders, his legs, and finally, his helmet.

  The process was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

  Every new plate that locked into place amplified his strength, his senses, his awareness. He could feel the Energy coursing through him like a tidal wave.

  But with every surge came a cost.

  He could feel it draining him. It was devouring his essence, converting it into power.

  It was exhilarating and horrifying.

  It felt like wearing a Unique Armor, yet something far beyond it.

  Every heartbeat throbbed with power and pain in equal measure.

  Before the Empress could even comprehend the change, Oliver moved.

  Her fingers were still digging into his throat when his hand surged up, clamping around her wrist.

  He squeezed, forcing her grip to falter.

  “No more heroes will die by your hand,” Oliver said in Orkish.

  The words came out rough, guttural, but clear. The sound of her own language stunned her for a heartbeat.

  Oliver was trying to maintain composure, to keep up the illusion of control. But he could feel it—the warm trickle of blood running from his nose, the price of pushing both [Insight] and the Bronze Mode at once. His mind burned with its overclock, his body trembling under the weight of the power he was channeling.

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  “Boy… how?”

  The Empress’s voice was low, her eyes narrowing. There was no mockery now, no arrogance—just something that looked close to respect.

  For the first time, she didn’t judge him as prey.

  She saw him as an equal.

  Even Stewart seemed frozen for a moment. Oliver caught his gaze for a fraction of a second—and he could see it there, behind the visor. Calculation.

  If Oliver had been dangerous before, now he was a priority target.

  Oliver exhaled, his gauntlet tightening around the spear.

  “Didn’t you say you wanted a real fight?” he said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his body. “Then let’s go all in.”

  The Empress had no time to react.

  Oliver vanished in a burst of light, the ground beneath him cratering from the force of his movement. The air rippled as he reappeared in front of her.

  His punch connected with her chestplate, the shockwave tearing through the plaza. The Empress was launched backward, her enormous frame smashing through the air like a meteor. She crashed into a half-collapsed skyscraper in the distance, the building disintegrating in a cascade of molten glass and dust.

  The sound of the impact echoed for miles.

  Oliver stood in the crater left behind, his chest heaving. He raised his arm, the spear still in his grip.

  He spun once. Then hurled it.

  The spear became a streak of bronze light, a missile propelled by sheer power. It tore through the smoke and debris, the air sizzling in its path.

  The Empress had just begun to rise, fragments of her shattered armor falling away, when the spear struck.

  The blade pierced through her thigh, embedding deep into the armor and the flesh beneath. The impact sent another shockwave through the ruins.

  The Empress roared—a sound that shook the ground, a mix of pain and fury that reverberated through the battlefield.

  Oliver didn’t let up.

  The assault was relentless. Every movement, every strike, was a storm of precision and fury. Stewart fought beside him, his chain weapon a blur of light and steel, while Oliver’s spear carved through the air like a comet.

  Together, they pressed the Empress harder than anyone ever had.

  If it had been one-on-one, she would have crushed either of them. Her strength was monstrous, her reflexes inhuman, her armor a fortress powered by two Unique Crystals. But now, the cracks were showing.

  The corruption was spreading.

  Oliver could see it—the flickering instability, the way her movements had lost their rhythm.

  Her power was immense, but it was eating her alive.

  “How dare you!” she roared, her voice shaking the air. “You dare fight me?!”

  Each time she screamed, her blows became wilder—more savage, less controlled.

  Oliver dodged under one of her swings. He countered with a thrust, the tip of his spear piercing her thigh again.

  She howled, swinging again, but Oliver was already gone.

  He struck again—abdomen.

  Then again—shoulder.

  Each hit was small, precise, but together they were adding up. The once-impenetrable Empress was bleeding from a dozen wounds now, her armor dented and scorched, her movements sluggish.

  Her rage made her stronger, but her body could no longer keep up.

  Oliver’s breathing was heavy, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

  He could feel victory within reach.

  “You’re slipping,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and cold.

  The Empress turned toward him. “Never!” she screamed, swinging her sword in a wild arc that shattered the ground where he had stood a second ago.

  The shockwave sent debris flying, but Oliver had already leapt aside. He landed beside Stewart, who was already spinning his chain weapon, the spiked orb glowing bright white.

  “My turn!” Stewart’s voice rang out.

  He slammed the weapon into the ground.

  [Gaia’s Fury]

  The earth responded immediately.

  The ground beneath the Empress exploded, sending shards of rock and metal shooting upward like a storm of arrows. Massive spikes of stone and ore erupted around her, impaling through the air, hammering against her already fractured armor.

  The Empress staggered, her armor flaring as she tried to resist.

  Blood ran down her body, dripping from the cracks in her armor.

  Yet, she laughed.

  It started as a low, guttural sound, muffled beneath the noise of the battle. Then it grew louder, hysterical.

  The kind of laugh that didn’t belong to a warrior, but someone who crossed the line between fury and madness.

  Oliver froze for half a second, his grip tightening on the spear.

  “What the hell…” he muttered.

  “You think you can defeat me?!”

  The Empress’s roar split the air like thunder.

  “I am Vaakthurn!” she bellowed. “I united the Orks under one banner! In ten thousand years, there has never been one stronger than me! I am the Storm Queen of the Crimson Plains!”

  Her words rolled like a storm, each one charged with fury, pride, and madness.

  She lunged forward, her blade slicing through the air. But Oliver was already moving.

  He sidestepped the strike, his movements precise and fluid. The spear spun in his hands, its tip blazing with golden light.

  He struck.

  The weapon pierced through her shoulder, cutting through the plates of her armor as if they were paper.

  Vaakthurn staggered, but her laughter didn’t stop.

  “I am the chosen of my Sovereign!” she cried, her voice cracking with raw Energy. “I am the Patron of Corruption!”

  She spread her arms wide, as if to embrace her own destruction, her eyes burning with defiance.

  “My Sovereign will never let me die!” she roared.

  Oliver’s grip tightened around his spear.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  He pulled the weapon back and hurled it with all the force he could muster.

  The spear became a streak of blinding light.

  It cut through the air, trailing golden fire, and struck her in the chest.

  The spear pierced through her, bursting out the other side in a spray of blood and fractured armor.

  Vaakthurn’s eyes widened in disbelief.

  For the first time, there was fear in her gaze.

  She looked down at the weapon impaling her. Her mouth opened, but the words that came out were no longer a roar—they were a whisper.

  “The corruption… will save me.”

  She repeated it again, weaker this time.

  “The corruption… will… save… me…”

  Her knees buckled.

  The once-towering Storm Queen of the Crimson Plains fell to the ground, the earth trembling beneath her weight. Her armor cracked, splintered, plates breaking apart into fragments of fading light.

  He approached her slowly, the battlefield eerily quiet. The Orks who had been fighting moments earlier had stopped, their roars silenced. They stood frozen, watching as their Empress collapsed into ruin.

  Oliver stopped in front of her. For a moment, he said nothing.

  “You were abandoned.”

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