Alistair tapped his foot nervously, watching as the Ethos Inquisitors and Beshin Clan forces made planetfall, while their own fleet struggled to catch up. He and Riseth, flying ahead of the main fleet on the Artemis, were still just behind their allies. The Ethos fleet had taken an early lead, and the Beshin ships were simply much faster than their own.

  “It seems at least some of the Syndicate members have either chosen to hide on the planet or make a last stand. The Inquisition’s stealth units are in the process of intercepting some of the fleeing ships, but none of our targets have been confirmed killed yet,” Riseth observed.

  “Maybe they had stealth ships of their own?” Alistair suggested, leaning against her chair. “Eberus had one, and I wouldn’t be surprised if other high-profile targets down there have them too.”

  Riseth nodded thoughtfully. “I’m not certain of the full extent of the Inquisition’s tracking systems, but I suspect they’re leagues ahead of ours. I doubt we could catch a stealth craft unless we got very lucky.”

  He steepled his fingers, leaning more of his weight against the chair. The anticipation of battle was getting to him, and he found himself actually looking forward to it. The thought of some of the strongest fighters—slavers and murderers—slipping away, escaping before he could face them and erase the stain they left on their universe, irked him. Maybe they could arrange an information exchange to acquire more sophisticated sensors capable of unveiling stealth crafts, making this less of an issue in the future.

  “How long until we make planetfall?” Alistair asked.

  “So impatient,” Riseth purred, the tip of her tail idly brushing his cheek. “About five minutes. The rest of our fleet will arrive in ten, with our Valrus deploying for close air support in fifteen—assuming everything goes to plan,” she replied. “The Inquisition and the Beshin Clan have already taken down most of the planetary defenses and secured orbit.”

  She paused, glancing at the display. “Still, with teleportation restrictions in place, we can’t speed up the timeline. Our allies are waiting on us to begin their descent into the compound.”

  “Any word from our spy or that Rakshasa?” Alistair asked.

  “None yet, but we know they’re still inside the compound—or possibly within the realm itself.” Riseth’s gaze narrowed slightly. “Personally, I’d prefer they make their stand in the compound. We have no idea what could be waiting for us in that realm.”

  They continued monitoring the situation until they made their rapid landing, quickly storing the Artemis before rushing toward the compound entrance. Their allies had already secured it, leaving much of the structure a smoking, burned-out wreck.

  Kujo and his wife, Nomura, waved them over while a much shorter woman beside them gave an appraising look. Her white hair was cut in a short bob, with the left side clean-shaven, exposing faint scars along her head that disappeared beneath her power armor. Mostly human in appearance, her short, pointed ears revealed her origin as a half-elf, though the angelic markings along her neck and her aura reminded Alistair of his own Nephilim evolution. Unlike him, however, she seemed to have embraced a cybernetic path; her left arm and eye were clearly augmented, likely due to injuries sustained before Initiation. Alistair guessed she’d chosen to keep these scars rather than healing them, a mark of her past battles. Her power armor bore similarities to theirs but had a distinct crusader aesthetic, adorned with skulls on her shoulder plate and gothic insignias.

  "Good, you’ve arrived," the smaller woman said. "I’m Eleonora Seitz, but you may call me Madam Seitz—or Inquisitor Seitz during the operation."

  "She’s a prim and proper one; don’t take it personally," Kujo joked, earning an unamused sidelong glance from her.

  "Our forces have surrounded the compound and are scanning for potential hidden exits, though none have been found so far. They’re holed up down there, and we thought it prudent to wait for your arrival before purging that filth."

  "Wouldn’t want you to miss out on all the fun," Kujo added with a nod. Eleonora ignored him, but his wife gave him an elbow for good measure.

  Kujo grunted, "Apologies, the tension is getting to me. Did you bring any other strong fighters, or will it just be the two of you?"

  Alistair’s expression grew more serious as he looked from their allies to the burned-out husk of the compound entrance. “One of our clan leaders, Simon Gertsch, along with some of our other elites, will arrive shortly, but he’s been instructed to bring up the rear. Time is of the essence, and now that the strongest of our alliance are here, we should get started.”

  “Agreed,” Eleonora said, while Kujo and Nomura nodded, following Alistair’s gaze as they unsheathed their weapons. Kujo drew a massive cleaver, Eleonora readied a long, straight blade and an oversized gun, and Nomura took out a richly decorated and enchanted staff that had a brush head. The group’s attention, however, quickly shifted to Jack as he vibrated with telepathic excitement. "Today is a great day for stabbing!"

  Noticing their curious looks, Riseth quickly deflected. “Will Nikki and Hara not be joining us or any of the other Inquisitors?”

  Nomura chuckled, coming to Riseth’s rescue. “Hara’s focused on maintaining the anti-teleportation and flight restrictions around the compound. Nikki, along with a good portion of the Inquisitors, will bring up the rear with… Simon, was it?”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “My right hand, Inquisitor Luitwin J?ger, and a selection of our most elite Inquisitors will cover our path as we descend toward the realm,” Eleonora added, glancing at Alistair with barely concealed interest. “I presume you’ve brought your realm catcher?”

  “We did,” Alistair replied, “but we’ll assess the realm’s value once we’ve purged the Syndicate stain from it—before deciding whether to acquire it.” He stepped toward the compound entrance, signaling the rest of the group to follow. From the corner of his eye, he noted some of the stronger presences from both the Oni and Inquisitor forces lining up behind them.

  Kujo stepped up beside him, an eager grin spreading across his face, which Alistair mirrored. “I’ve been looking forward to fighting by your side,” Kujo said. “Since we’ll be taking the front, any requests or warnings before we dive in?”

  Alistair chuckled. “I specialize in physical defense, and my resistances are solid, so no need to worry about covering for me.” He winked. “Just try to keep up.”

  Kujo let out a hearty belly laugh. “Good match, then—I focus on energy defense. My affinity tends to stir things up, but I get the feeling you’ll handle the chaos just fine.”

  Alistair narrowed his eyes, sensing their enemies’ powers flaring, almost as if they’d anticipated their arrival. He drew his new poleaxe, launching himself down the corridor that led deeper into the compound, with the rest of the group quickly following suit. Kujo kept pace, propelling himself forward with wild, swirling flames that emitted neither heat nor burn. Alistair was mildly surprised—his own telekinetic movement made him extremely fast for his grade, and he hadn’t expected Kujo to keep up. Even Riseth had developed her own flashstep variant, manipulating the space between her steps to match his speed. Yet none of the fighters seemed to struggle with the pace, each moving effortlessly in sync as they advanced.

  They were greeted by turret fire and magical attacks, but the defenders stood no chance—they weren’t part of the Syndicate elite. Alistair dashed past them, his force barrier effortlessly absorbing the onslaught as he and Kujo unleashed their attacks, decimating the ranks. Alistair’s Kinetic Strikes tore through barriers with precise, penetrative force, while Kujo’s inferno reduced the remnants to cinders.

  This pattern continued through the first few floors, where they left the Inquisitors and Oni warriors to investigate the side paths while they pressed forward. The ground shook violently with each clash, the resistance growing fiercer as they descended deeper, though none of their main targets had shown themselves yet.

  “I believe we actually caught them off guard—they weren’t expecting us to target this compound,” High Inquisitor Eleonora remarked. “This could mean lighter resistance within, but we should prepare for substantial reinforcements.” She fired her gun mid-sentence, the blast ripping through a group of guards rushing up the stairs on their left, turning them into fine red mist before they could even conjure a barrier. “I’ve already requested two additional combat fleets to secure our space assets, just in case.”

  “Appreciated,” Riseth replied as she tore through more Syndicate fighters, her weapon screaming in delight as the chainswords effortlessly shredded their defenses.

  Alistair couldn’t help but be impressed by the Inquisitor’s weapon. Each shot blazed with radiant energy, amplified through her connection to Ethos, but even that was overshadowed by Nomura’s ink attacks, carrying the concept of erasure. With every stroke of her brush, ink spread over her enemies, consuming and liquefying them, erasing anything it touched. She moved with the precision of a monk wielding a bo staff, each twist and sweep of her brush leaving intricate runes and arrays in her wake, activating in the blink of an eye. Alistair watched as her strikes empowered their allies, raised barriers, and unleashed inky horrors upon her foes. By comparison, her husband’s fighting style—incinerating, tearing, and cleaving people apart—seemed almost merciful.

  Then again, who am I to talk? Alistair thought as he splattered a Syndicate fighter against the wall with his telekinesis before slicing through a charging beastkin with his poleaxe.

  Nomura stepped up beside him, her gaze on the stairs leading to the final chamber. “We need to hurry—they’re making a last stand down there and starting some kind of erasure ritual. My guess is they’re trying to destroy the realm before we can claim it.”

  Alistair cursed under his breath, realizing that while he’d sensed powerful auras below, he hadn’t picked up on the ritual until she’d pointed it out. Without another word, he charged down the stairs, the rest of the group close behind. They reached the large chamber, where the most powerful and last remaining Syndicate members stood waiting, weapons drawn, surrounded by ritual circles to amplify their strength. Alistair’s eyes flicked over the scene, noting several well-hidden runic traps scattered between them.

  Alistair could sense the realm’s presence even from where he stood—it wasn’t close to being destroyed or damaged. It exuded an almost menacing amount of mana, far stronger than any realm or dungeon he’d encountered so far.

  He might have felt excitement at the prospect, but two issues tempered it. First, the mana was heavily water-aspected; the thought of an underwater or ocean realm didn’t particularly appeal to him. Second, he noticed the ritualists clearly intended to sacrifice their slaves, putting them all on a timer.

  His gaze lingered on an elven woman, Syca Vilvic, standing just behind the Rakshasa and clad in a revealing green dress.

  Noticing his look, Gerian Gral stepped forward, his lithe, muscular frame exuding a confidence that seemed misplaced given the circumstances, which made Alistair instantly wary.

  “Ah, yes—she’s a pretty thing, isn’t she? Far too valuable for a blood sacrifice,” Gerian smirked, his eyes shifting with a lustful gleam toward Riseth. “As a fellow unparalleled genius, it seems we share a similar taste.”

  Alistair scoffed, clearly irritated. He’d been called a “genius” or even an “unparalleled genius” before, mostly by those tied to the cultivation space, but he didn’t care much for that label. He preferred to refer to himself as an elite—or a true elite—especially as many so-called “unparalleled geniuses” were anything but. To be fair, most of them were incredibly talented in their fields, with strong affinities and core concepts like himself, but their intelligence—especially their emotional intelligence, in the case of cultivators—left a lot to be desired.

  “Bit presumptuous, calling yourself a genius of all things while trapped like a rat and about to die,” Alistair retorted.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Syca cut in, a sly smile crossing her face. In a flash, the Rakshasa’s head exploded like an overripe fruit as she yanked on a psychic link embedded deep in his mind, stunning everyone in the room. She broke her shackles effortlessly, lunging at the nearest Syndicate member as the chamber erupted into violent chaos.