Some time before Seras received her new power and was reborn as an entirely different being, true hell was still raging across London. High above the burning city, the Millennium airship slowly drifted. Atop it stood the Major, hands clasped behind his back, calmly watching the inferno below.

With an ecstatic smile on his face, the Major gazed at the blazing buildings, listening to the screams of people, the thunder of explosions, and drinking in every second of the chaos he himself had unleashed. He continued to survey the burning city until he spotted dozens of helicopters appearing on the horizon. The helicopters began releasing flares, and from a distance it looked almost as though angels had descended into this hell to save the people from the demons the Major had set loose.

The Crusader army led by Maxwell had finally intervened in the war. But not as allies—as a third party in the conflict. Yet neither the Major nor Maxwell yet suspected that the entire city of London was one enormous trap, and that Maxwell’s arrival had just slammed the trap shut for good.

Watching the Vatican helicopters, the Major calmly raised one hand and began issuing orders to all surviving vampire soldiers: prepare to engage the Crusaders. The vampire army surged toward a single point in the city on the Major’s command, readying themselves for the coming clash. Maxwell, for his part, was not idle either—he ordered the helicopters to land so the Crusaders could disembark.

Once the Crusader troops were on the ground, the helicopters lifted off again. On Maxwell’s orders they opened fire on the massive Millennium airship. Even as rockets from the helicopters slammed into the hull, the Major did not retreat to safety. Instead, he once again began conducting his symphony of war. The Doctor tried to persuade him to come down before he was killed.

But the Major refused, repeating only that he was the conductor of this war and that this symphony belonged to him alone. Seeing how even now the Major continued to revel in the carnage, the Doctor’s eyes—hidden behind his glasses—widened in awe as he stared at the Major’s back while the man kept conducting.

At that moment one of the Vatican attack helicopters came close enough for its spotlight to fall directly on the Major. The helicopter’s machine gun swiveled to aim straight at him. The Major didn’t move an inch, still waving his arms in time with the invisible orchestra. Just before the pilot could open fire and cut him down, the helicopter was sliced apart by razor-thin iron wires.

As the wreckage of the helicopter rained down, the Major turned his head slightly and looked behind him. There, already standing, was a rejuvenated Walter—surrounded by gleaming iron filaments that had just destroyed the aircraft. A satisfied smile spread across the Major’s face as he regarded Walter.

“Excellent work, butler,” the Major said with a smile.

Walter gave no reply to the Major’s words. He simply adjusted the black gloves on his hands. At the same time, from inside his reinforced glass command post, Maxwell was shouting ecstatically, issuing orders to kill every surviving civilian. Those people—though they were clones of the originals—reacted accordingly and had no understanding of what was truly happening.

But Maxwell didn’t know that, and he delighted in watching his Crusaders slaughter those he branded heretics. Meanwhile, Alex, Integra, and Alessa—now accompanied by Iscariot—witnessed everything Maxwell was doing and clearly heard his shouted commands to kill them all.

Integra clenched her thin cigar between her teeth, watching yet more destruction rain down on London. She had already known Maxwell might betray them—Alex had warned her long ago. Still, the sheer scale of the treachery filled her with cold fury.

Alex stood nearby, leaning with his back against a wrecked car. Alessa sat beside him on the roof of the ruined vehicle. Father and daughter watched the act of betrayal with perfectly calm expressions. Alex brought his smoldering cigarette to his lips and gave a faint smile as he exhaled smoke into the air.

“Maxwell… that filthy traitor!” Integra hissed, teeth gripping the cigar.

“Oh, come on, don’t say it in that tone, wife,” Alex said lightly. “I already told you that bastard was never on our side. Isn’t that right, Anderson? From the very beginning you people were only on your own side. Vampires, English—it doesn’t matter. To you, everyone in this city is just another heretic,” he added calmly, glancing at Anderson.

“Betrayal… no. Betrayal in war is only natural. More than that—it is honorable, especially when pagans are betrayed. But this… this is something else entirely. And I do not like it,” Anderson replied, not denying Alex’s words.

Alex only smirked, bringing the cigarette back to his lips. After exhaling another plume of smoke, he turned his gaze toward the Iscariot members standing off to the side. All this time, as they had moved through the ruined city, the Iscariot operatives had been cutting down any ghouls and vampires that crossed their path. Alex hadn’t even needed to intervene—he simply watched.

Alex shifted his attention back to Anderson, who was muttering angrily to himself as though Maxwell stood right in front of him. Alex knew Anderson also felt betrayed—Maxwell had become so drunk on power that he now saw himself as a god.

And Maxwell’s actions stirred only suppressed rage in Anderson. Alex narrowed his eyes slightly when he noticed a pistol aimed directly at his face. He gave a small shake of his head at the sight. Then he glanced at Integra—who likewise showed no reaction to the gun pointed at her head.

Alessa’s gaze turned colder the moment she saw it. She slowly began to raise her hand, ready to kill every priest present. But Alex gently patted her knee, signaling her not to. Alessa looked at her father; he gave a small nod, indicating he would handle it himself, then raised his palm to his lips.

“Father Anderson, enough playing with these people. Archbishop Maxwell’s order was clear: locate Integra Hellsing and the child as quickly as possible and restrict their movements,” Heinkel said from behind Anderson.

“I do not like this,” Anderson replied, shifting his gaze to Alex and noticing how he had covered his mouth with his palm.

“Like it or not… orders are not to be questioned,” Heinkel said, still watching Anderson.

“I repeat. I. Do. Not. Like. This,” Anderson enunciated each word slowly, turning his head to fix Heinkel with an icy stare.

Seeing that cold look, Heinkel flinched and took a step back. Like the rest of Iscariot, she had only seen Anderson look that way a handful of times. The last time had been years earlier—when, on Vatican orders, a group of freshly graduated Iscariot recruits had been sent on a mission to eliminate a werewolf pack in Central Europe.

Anderson had wanted to go himself, but he was assigned elsewhere. When he returned, he learned that every single rookie had been slaughtered by the werewolves. That day he had worn exactly the same cold expression—right before he personally executed the officer who gave the order, then went alone and annihilated the entire pack.

Seeing that look again now, Heinkel desperately did not want history to repeat itself—especially since this time the order had come directly from the Archbishop. But before she could think of how to stop Anderson, Alex lowered his hand. Around his mouth appeared markings resembling snake fangs and a forked tongue.

“Freeze,” Alex said in a calm voice.

The moment the words left his lips, every Iscariot member froze in place—unable to move a muscle. Except Anderson, who still could. The others strained, bodies trembling, but it felt as though their limbs no longer belonged to them.

Integra calmly pushed the pistol barrel away from her face and kicked the Iscariot agent standing in front of her. The man toppled like a statue, frozen in the exact position he had been in. Without changing expression, Integra stepped onto the fallen agent’s body and walked over to Alex.

Standing in front of him, she grabbed his face and examined the snake-fang markings on either side of his mouth. Quickly realizing it was yet another of Alex’s abilities, she released his face and stood beside him.

Seeing that all his subordinates—including Yumie and Heinkel—had been immobilized, Anderson flexed his wrists. Silver bayonets slid into his palms. He was ready to charge into combat, but Alex calmly raised a hand, signaling that he had no intention of fighting just yet.

“What did you do?” Anderson demanded, pointing the silver bayonets at Alex.

“Anderson, do you remember our conversation in Rio? I told you—if the Vatican ever moved against my family, I would wipe all of you out. Right now this is only a warning. But Maxwell dies tonight,” Alex said casually, ignoring the question as though they were having an ordinary chat.

“It is not your place to interfere in Vatican affairs, monster,” Anderson growled through clenched teeth.

“Then you agree that Maxwell gave the order to slaughter civilians—including children. And secondly—to capture my daughter. Do you really think I don’t know what’s going through Maxwell’s head? Do you think I don’t know he plans to take my daughter and use her to set me against Carmilla?” Alex replied lazily, waving a hand.

Hearing those words, Integra’s gaze turned even colder as she realized why they wanted her and Alessa captured. She was one heartbeat away from exploding in rage, but she quickly reined it in—though her stare grew even icier as she looked at Anderson.

Anderson himself fell silent after Alex’s words. He shifted his gaze to Alessa, who sat quietly on the roof of the wrecked car beside her father. The truth that Maxwell intended to use a child as a tool for victory disgusted him—especially the murder of children who had somehow survived this hell.

Anderson’s teeth ground together in irritation; his grip on the silver bayonets tightened as though he were wrestling with a choice he would soon have to make. A moment later he let out a furious shout and hurled one of the bayonets straight at Alex.

The silver blade flew past Alex’s head and embedded itself in the wall behind him. Alex raised an eyebrow, watching Anderson—who was now breathing heavily, as though he had finally made his decision.

“You don’t need to do anything, monster. I will handle it myself. We—Iscariot—are weapons of violence. And only I am permitted to punish those who have turned away from God,” Anderson said through gritted teeth, fury radiating from him.

“So be it, priest… if you survive this night, Anderson. I will reveal to you the true truth of this world. And I will make you an offer that will change many things. But for now—we’re leaving. Because she has finally awakened,” Alex said, lifting Alessa into his arms.

Hearing Alex’s words, Anderson gave only a single nod—indicating he would be ready to talk when everything was over, no matter what end awaited him. Integra, meanwhile, immediately understood who Alex was referring to. The only person it could be was Seras.

Remembering that Alex had given Seras his blood, Integra wanted to know what had become of her. Alex, carrying Alessa, began walking away with Integra to leave the area. He already knew where everyone would ultimately converge—the finale of this war was drawing near, and soon dawn would break.

“Remove your curse from my people, monster,” Anderson called just before Alex and Integra disappeared.

“It will wear off soon. Once we leave, your subordinates will regain control of their bodies. And remember—I was merciful. I didn’t kill them all. Keep that in mind… priest,” Alex replied, glancing back over his shoulder.

“I will remember, monster,” Anderson said, adjusting his glasses as he stared after Alex.

Alex gave a small smile, wrapped an arm around Integra’s waist, and took a single step. In the next instant he was standing on a rooftop, looking down at Anderson and the Iscariot members. He gave one final nod, took another step—and vanished completely from Anderson’s sight. Once Alex was gone, taking Alessa and Integra with him, the Iscariot operatives slowly began regaining control over their bodies.

But the moment they could move again, they all met Anderson’s icy gaze. Though they had been frozen, they hadn’t been deaf—they had heard every word of the conversation between Alex and Anderson. And the fact that Alex had chosen not to kill them clearly confirmed his final statement about showing mercy.

Yet even as one threat departed, another—Anderson himself—still stood among them. Every member of Iscariot simultaneously respected and feared him. And they all knew how fiercely Anderson protected children—and what he was capable of when a child’s life was endangered.

Heinkel was suffering the most in that moment. She had received the order not only to capture Integra but Alessa as well—and she had deliberately avoided voicing that part of the command to keep from provoking Anderson. Since his subordinates regained movement, Anderson hadn’t spoken a single word. But his gaze said far more than words ever could.

Without a word, Anderson turned and began walking—silently indicating that everyone should follow. The Iscariot members didn’t hesitate for a second; they fell in behind him, unnerved by his silence. Normally Anderson would at least quote a line from the Bible or speak some word of scripture—but now he was utterly silent, and that terrified them more than anything.

At the same time, Alex, Integra, and Alessa arrived at a ruined tearoom—the very same one Integra had brought Alex to the day after he first arrived at Hellsing. Stepping inside the destroyed building, Alex calmly righted a table, brushed dust and debris from its surface, and arranged a couple of chairs so they could sit.

He sat down and placed Alessa beside him. Integra frowned, not understanding why Alex had stopped here instead of heading back to the manor. Seeing that she wasn’t sitting, Alex beckoned her with a hand, silently telling her she should. Integra narrowed her eyes but eventually sat down, realizing Alex wanted to talk—even though there was hardly time for conversation.

“I’m listening to your explanation, husband… considering we don’t have time for this,” Integra said, folding her arms across her chest as she sat opposite him.

“We’re waiting for Seras to appear. The Hellsing manor has almost been retaken after the assault. Everything is moving toward the finale the Major planned. All we have to do now is wait until everyone gathers in one place,” Alex said, lighting a cigarette.

“Go on,” Integra said, leaning forward to light her thin cigar from his.

“Once everyone is gathered in one location, we kill them all. For now we wait while Seras finishes off Zorin Blitz and Carmilla returns to London. But it has to happen before dawn,” Alex explained, pocketing his lighter.

“Why before dawn? There’s less than two hours left. What happens at dawn?” Integra asked, glancing at the time on her wristwatch.

“Have you heard the fairy tale of Cinderella?” Alex asked, exhaling smoke upward.

“Let’s say I have,” Integra replied, clenching the cigar between her teeth.

“At midnight all the magic vanished. In our case it’s dawn—when the effect of the magic will come to an end,” Alex said with a smile, tapping his finger on the table.

“What did you do? Out with it before I hit you again,” Integra demanded, narrowing her eyes.

“None of this is real—including the people. The London we’re standing in is just… how should I put it… a fake. From the very beginning of the invasion not a single civilian actually died. All those corpses that turned into ghouls? Perfect copies. It took a hell of a lot of effort to pull this off. But here’s the result,” Alex said, spreading his arms to indicate the ruined tearoom and the streaks of blood smeared across the floor.

Hearing Alex’s explanation, Integra exhaled a plume of cigar smoke and pinched the thin cigar between her fingers. She had already known Alex was aware of the war’s beginning and had foreseen the invasion of London. But the one question burning on her tongue was how he had managed to do all of this.

She already knew Death had forced Alex to work as her agent and that he had dumped the job onto another version of himself. She also knew from his earlier explanations that Death could not interfere in such events and that Alex’s hands would normally have been tied. Integra brought the cigar to her lips, took another drag, and continued thinking.

After exhaling again, she finally grasped the sheer scale of what Alex had accomplished. He had literally created a counterfeit London indistinguishable from the real one—including duplicate civilians who had become casualties in this war. The magnitude of it didn’t just impress Integra—it stunned her so thoroughly that she didn’t even know what to say.

Taking one more drag, Integra pressed Alex insistently: what exactly did he plan next, and what were the rest of his intentions? Alex nodded and began laying out his plans—including the fact that he needed Integra’s permission to release Alucard’s Level Zero seal so she could unleash every soul trapped inside her body.

Hearing that, Integra immediately asked why Alex needed her to give that order. Calmly, he explained: if they didn’t eliminate every vampire, Crusader, and ghoul before dawn, when the fake London ceased to exist, all of them would suddenly appear on the streets of the real London.

Integra listened to the explanation, took another drag, and once again sensed something off in his words. But just like before, she chose to trust Alex—believing he wasn’t doing this without reason. Seeing her agreement, Alex couldn’t resist—he jumped up from his chair, wrapped his arms around Integra, and kissed her cheek. Integra exhaled calmly through her nose and pushed his face away.

“Enough… Where does all this affection come from? I really don’t understand… Sit back down. We’ll wait for Seras. Like you said—she should finish soon,” Integra said, shoving Alex’s face back.

“I just like showing love through physical contact. Kisses, hugs. So you’d better keep getting used to it,” Alex replied, stealing one last kiss on her cheek.

“Just don’t do it in front of strangers,” Integra said calmly, accepting his affection.

Meanwhile, back at the Hellsing manor, the sounds of gunfire and explosions continued to echo. The third floor was littered with corpses. Bernadotte’s surviving subordinates—who had been forced to retreat after failing to hold back the vampires and modified ghouls—had fallen back to the observation room on the third floor.

Alex’s people were also behind the barricades in the observation room after helping the mercenaries retreat and eliminating any vampires or ghouls that had broken off from the main force. Hunkered down, they continued returning fire—the observation room was now the last defensible position in the manor.

Bernadotte kept firing his rifle. When his magazine ran dry, he ducked behind cover to reload. As he did, his gaze fell on his wounded men: some were missing limbs, others had been blinded by shrapnel from explosions. Still others were only lightly wounded but had lost too much blood to keep fighting. That left Alex’s intact operatives and the few of Bernadotte’s men who could still hold a rifle. In the end, fewer than twenty people were returning fire.

“Goddamn it, when are these bastards going to run out? The whole corridor is carpeted with their corpses and they just keep coming. How many have we killed already?” Bernadotte growled, resuming fire.

“Not enough, since they’re still shooting back. We just need to hold out a little longer—then it’ll be over,” Soap said, slamming a fresh magazine into his rifle.

“I’m afraid we’ll run out of ammo before we run out of them,” R muttered, reloading.

“Then fight with your hands. Like always,” Lem said, lighting a cigarette.

“Forgot already, Lem? Last time the boss came to save us,” Toji said, ducking behind cover.

“This time we’ve got backup too. She’ll be here soon. So quit whining and keep shooting,” Lem replied, kicking Toji’s leg.

“She’ll definitely come. Seras will come for sure. I know it,” Bernadotte said, nodding firmly.

The moment he spoke those words, a tremendous crash echoed through the manor—originating from the first floor. Everyone froze, even the vampires trying to push deeper to finish off the survivors. For a few seconds an eerie silence fell; the vampires sensed danger. Then another massive impact shook the entire building. A silhouette burst up through the floor in the center of the corridor and smashed into the ceiling.

A cloud of dust billowed through the hallway, obscuring everything. As the dust slowly settled, everyone saw Zorin Blitz—in absolutely wretched condition. Her limbs were twisted at unnatural angles; jagged, bloodied bones protruded through torn skin.

Zorin was choking on her own blood, unable to speak—only wet, gurgling sounds escaped her throat as she tried to form words. The vampire soldiers froze where they stood, staring in shock at the state of their commander, unable to comprehend who could have done this to her.

But the answer came a heartbeat later. Seras leaped up through the hole in the floor—dressed in her usual uniform, now pitch black. When she appeared, her face was perfectly calm, almost trance-like.

“She’s here! Perfect. Time for us to go on the attack! Look how she messed up that ugly bitch—made her even uglier,” Bernadotte shouted excitedly, grinning.

“Don’t you dare stick your head out right now,” Price said, placing a hand on Bernadotte’s shoulder.

“What do you mean, old man? We have to help her,” Bernadotte protested, turning to Price.

“If someone tells you not to stick your head out—don’t. Damn… I didn’t think the boss planned this. Hope the manor’s still standing when she’s done,” R muttered, clicking his tongue as he realized what had happened to Seras.

“Seriously… On the bright side, now we can finally rest,” Soap said, sitting down on an ammo crate.

“What are you all talking about? What’s happening to her?” Bernadotte asked, noticing how Alex’s people had visibly relaxed the moment Seras appeared.

“We can’t tell you—because you’re not part of the organization. Right now Seras Victoria is far stronger and far more dangerous than she ever was before. So sit tight and pray the manor stays in one piece,” Ghost said, glancing down at Bernadotte.

Bernadotte swallowed hard and looked back at Seras, finally beginning to sense just how drastically she had changed—and it wasn’t just the color of her uniform.

Seras began walking slowly toward Zorin to finish what she had started. Before she could reach her, one of the vampires fired a rocket launcher at her.

Seras raised her eyes at the sound of the launched rocket and casually swatted it aside. The missile flew out a window and detonated harmlessly outside the manor. Mercenaries and vampires alike stared in stunned silence at what Seras had just done. In the next instant a wave of ghouls rushed her, intent on tearing her apart.

The first ghoul to reach her met Seras’s clenched fist. With a single sideways swing she sent it flying—its body smeared across the wall in a wide, wet smear of blood and gore. Seras began slaughtering the ghouls that attacked her with ruthless brutality, ripping them limb from limb.

While Seras was occupied tearing through the ghouls, several vampire soldiers rushed forward to drag Zorin to safety. Once they had pulled her out of immediate danger, one of them opened a pouch on Zorin’s belt, pulled out an injector filled with murky liquid, and plunged it into her neck.

The moment the fluid entered her system, steam began rising from Zorin’s body. Her regeneration accelerated dramatically. Broken bones snapped back into place; torn flesh knitted together. Within seconds Zorin was fully restored.

The instant her wounds closed, she shot to her feet—but the terror in her eyes remained fixed on Seras. Zorin clutched her head as waves of pain still coursed through her body. Though the Doctor’s injector had restored her physically, the agony from the damage lingered.

“We need to retreat—she’s a monster!” Zorin screamed at her soldiers, ordering them to fall back.

“No one leaves,” Seras’s cold voice sounded from directly behind them.

The moment her voice rang out, the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being racked followed. Before any of the vampires could turn, a deafening blast echoed. A vampire’s head exploded in a fountain of blood and brain matter; fragments of skull and gore sprayed in every direction. The vampires froze and looked at Seras—who now held a short, double-barreled black shotgun with crimson veins running along its surface.

They didn’t even have time to react before Seras flicked the weapon, ejecting the spent shells. A metallic click sounded as she leveled the barrels at the next vampire’s head. Another thunderous shot—and the second head burst like an overripe melon. Seras reloaded with the same calm efficiency and aimed at her next target.

“SHOOT! KILL THAT BITCH!” Zorin screamed in raw panic.

At her command the vampires swung their rifles toward Seras and opened fire en masse. Seras raised one hand to shield her face from the hail of bullets. Every round ricocheted off her body with a sharp metallic ping. Still covering her face, she aimed the double-barreled shotgun at her next victim and fired again.

The vampire’s torso exploded outward in a spray of blood, bone, and viscera. Seras reloaded once more and fired again. This time the target managed to dodge at the last second; the shot blasted a massive hole in the wall behind him.

Before the vampire could recover, the barrels of the shotgun were shoved into his mouth. He didn’t even have time to register how Seras had closed the distance so quickly. All he saw were her cold, multicolored eyes—right before she pulled the trigger and his head burst apart.

The vampires kept firing desperately, but Seras simply ignored the bullets. Deciding heavier ordnance was needed, several of them pulled out rocket launchers and aimed at her. Spotting the incoming missiles, Seras reacted instantly. The double-barreled shotgun in her hands dissolved into black mist, reshaped itself, and reformed into the black Harkonnen cannon.

Seras immediately opened fire with Harkonnen, intercepting the rockets mid-flight and turning vampire bodies into bloody chunks. When the last vampire fell, the Harkonnen dissolved back into black mist and reformed as black gloves over her hands.

While Seras had been busy slaughtering the vampires, Zorin had fled. She had no intention of facing the creature that filled her with such overwhelming terror. But she didn’t get far before collapsing to the floor. Trying to stand, Zorin realized something was missing.

Looking down, she saw that one of her legs had been shot off above the knee—and she hadn’t even noticed when it happened. Turning her head, she saw a hole in the wall where the bullet that took her leg had come from.

The pain of losing the limb hit her almost instantly. Zorin clutched the bleeding stump and began dragging herself forward, desperate to escape. She kept crawling until she saw a pair of legs in front of her. Looking up, she saw Schrödinger—smiling his usual innocent smile.

“Hi there. How’s it going? Still alive? Don’t be surprised—I’m everywhere and nowhere,” Schrödinger said cheerfully, crouching down in front of Zorin.

“Schrödinger? Help me,” Zorin rasped, grabbing his leg as she tried to pull herself up.

“Sorry… I can’t. The Major sent me to deliver a message,” Schrödinger replied with that harmless smile, calmly pushing Zorin’s hand away.

“A message?” Zorin asked, a terrible premonition sinking into her gut.

“The Major said: ‘I sent a portion of my troops to the front lines under your command. Unfortunately, you were ultimately defeated—including the soldiers loyal to you…’ Honestly, the Major and the Doctor could have flattened this place long ago. But they found something far more interesting. So they have no time to deal with your problems. What Seras Victoria has become is something entirely different—something alien. It’s no longer the same Seras Victoria you mocked. And as punishment for your failure… you must deal with this monster yourself. I wish I could say that. But you already know it’s impossible. You had your chance before she became this… Now you don’t even have a chance. End of message. Bye-bye~” Schrödinger finished with that same innocent smile.

Hearing Schrödinger’s words, Zorin froze in shock as the realization hit her—she had been abandoned to die. Looking at his face, the usually harmless smile now seemed utterly sinister in this moment. Before Zorin could utter a single word, a gunshot rang out from the far end of the corridor—Schrödinger’s head exploded.

Shot after shot followed. His small body was torn apart as bullets ripped through him. Zorin slowly turned her head and saw Seras walking toward her—revolver in hand, calmly reloading it.

The spent casings clinked to the floor as Seras spun the cylinder, using her power to create fresh bullets. Zorin, gripped by terror, tried to crawl away from Seras.

Seeing Zorin attempting to flee, Seras calmly aimed the revolver and fired into her arm. The bullet tore the limb clean off. Two more quick shots followed—removing Zorin’s remaining limbs.

Now completely limbless, Zorin lay on the floor in a spreading pool of blood. Only her vampiric nature kept her alive. Seras approached and casually flipped Zorin onto her back with one foot, planting it on her chest.

Meeting Seras’s gaze, Zorin clenched her teeth in rage. In the beginning of their fight she had promised to rip off all of Seras’s limbs. Now she herself lay mutilated and helpless—while the very woman she had mocked towered over her.

“You monster!” Zorin hissed through gritted teeth.

Seras gave no reply. She simply smiled broadly—baring her sharp fangs. Then she shoved the revolver barrel into Zorin’s mouth with enough force to shatter all her front teeth. Still smiling widely, Seras slowly pulled the trigger. The cylinder turned.

Zorin glared up at Seras with pure hatred until the shot rang out. The instant it fired, Zorin’s head exploded in a crimson burst—brain matter, skull fragments, and blood spraying in every direction.

With Zorin dead, the revolver in Seras’s hand dissolved into black mist and reformed as black gloves over her hands. Having finished her enemy, Seras finally snapped out of her trance-like state and looked around in surprise.

All this time it had felt as though she were moving on pure instinct—acting without conscious thought. Only now did she realize what she had done and just how terrifying her new power truly was. But Seras quickly steadied herself and ran down the corridor—heading back toward the observation room to check on the others before going to London to find Alex and Integra.

To be continued…

(I had to think about what kind of weapon Seras should receive as an Apostle of Destruction. And I figured that creating firearms would be perfect for someone like Seras. After all, she’s always had big guns in her hands from the very beginning, always. And now Seras can create them herself, hehehe. So, we have a battle and all that. But I won’t think about that now. I’m going to go eat. Peace, Love, someone stole my raccoon. It was you.)

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep