Arknights: Soul Knights of Terra — Chapter 65

Chapter 65: The Earth Is No Longer Peaceful

While Vera began her own chaotic journey, the Columbian wastelands bore witness to Gregor’s relentless march.

Boom!

Deafening explosions tore through the desolate plains, kicking up massive plumes of scorched earth. This was no quiet pilgrimage. A barrage of crimson artillery shells rained down from the heavens, screaming toward Gregor’s towering figure. Before they could even graze him, a surging curtain of liquid fire erupted from the ground, swallowing the munitions in mid-air.

“Endless…” Gregor muttered, his deep voice rumbling like grinding tectonic plates.

He stood unyielding upon the blackened crater, thick veins of molten lava pulsing slowly through the deep fissures of his hardened, obsidian-like skin. He tilted his head upward, his burning, ember-lit eyes narrowing against the glare.

The sky above had been entirely blotted out. There were no storm clouds gathering over the badlands—only a suffocating, mechanical swarm of military drones. They hovered like a plague of metallic locusts, their synchronized rotors emitting an agonizing, high-pitched buzz. Beneath their sleek bellies, heavy rotary cannons and missile pods gleamed with a cold, unforgiving luster.

‘I’ve already put so much distance between myself and the city-state,’Gregor thought, a weary sigh escaping his smoldering lips.’Is it truly necessary to hound me like this?’

Miles away, behind the safety of reinforced monitors, Columbian military operators watched the remote surveillance feed. To their instruments, the Paladin’s exasperated sigh registered only as a terrifying, static-laced audio warning: [Unidentified Diablo Roar]

The kill order was issued without hesitation.

The drone swarm unleashed a torrential downpour of armor-piercing rounds, a literal curtain of lead meant to shred the towering giant into unrecognizable meat. Yet, as the storm of bullets closed in, they slammed against an invisible, shimmering barrier of pure energy. The kinetic force was instantly nullified, the rounds melting into harmless slag before they even touched his armor.

“Forget it,” Gregor rumbled, shaking his head. “I doubt you’d understand anyway.”

He felt the boundless, terrifying energy of his Paladin core surging through his veins. Slowly, he raised a massive arm toward the heavens. The sheer ambient heat radiating from his body began to violently distort the air, turning the hardened lava plating on his skin into a blinding, superheated liquid state.

“This farce ends here.”

He didn’t bother with complex incantations or complex Arts. He simply swung his arm in a brutal, sweeping arc, unleashing the primal, volcanic power stored within his immortal frame. It was the raw, unadulterated fury of a natural disaster.

[Great Eruption]

Countless clusters of blinding, superheated magma burst outward from his form. They expanded exponentially in the cold air, transforming into a devastating wave of liquid fire that engulfed the entire drone swarm.

The sheer thermal shock was absolute. Military-grade steel and composite plating crumpled like wet tissue paper against the thousands of degrees of raw volcanic heat. Chain explosions ripped through the sky as fuel lines ignited and munitions cooked off. Chunks of rapidly solidifying magma, mixed with the molten, dripping slag of destroyed drones, rained down upon the scorched earth in a brief, apocalyptic shower of fire.

The handful of drones that survived the initial blast immediately broke formation, pulling up in a frantic, automated panic to flee the airspace. Gregor didn’t bother pursuing them. He simply lowered his arm, the molten glow of his skin dimming back to a dull, threatening ember, and resumed his heavy, rhythmic march toward the north.

Far from the blackened battlefield, inside a heavily fortified temporary command post of the Columbian Union Army, a middle-aged general stared at the main tactical display. The screen had just dissolved into a wall of static. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he calmly lifted a porcelain cup and took a slow sip of black coffee.

“As expected. Completely useless.” He shook his head, his voice stripped of any real surprise. “Should I commend it for living up to its classification as a Catastrophe-level anomaly? Our conventional payload couldn’t even scratch its outer defense.”

The general set his cup down on the tactical table, shifting his sharp gaze toward the dimly lit corner of the command tent. Sitting there was a figure who looked entirely out of place amidst the olive-drab canvas and military hardware—a sleek, mechanical man dressed in an immaculately tailored suit. He was currently holding a half-eaten hot dog in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other.

“Do you truly have nothing to offer, Mr. Tin Man?”

The mechanical operative paused mid-bite. He carefully set his coffee down on a nearby crate.

“General, I believe I have already explained this multiple times,” Tin Man replied, his synthesized voice smooth, steady, and laced with a synthetic sigh of helplessness. “I genuinely do not know this ‘Mr. Diablo’ who has so abruptly graced our nation. If you brought me here expecting a neat dossier on him, you have been walking down the wrong path from the very beginning.”

The general leaned forward, resting his knuckles on the table. He pointed a rigid finger at the street food in the robot’s hand. “I believe we have extended every possible courtesy to you. To accommodate your… unique eccentricities, I even had my men track down and relocate the specific vendor of that hot dog stand you frequent.” His eyes narrowed. “Or is it true that your chassis lacks any actual gustatory sensors, and this entire routine is just a mockery of human behavior?”

“Is that what you think?”

Tin Man gently placed the hot dog aside. Reaching into the inner pocket of his tailored jacket, he retrieved an exquisite, dark-wood pipe. With practiced, elegant motions, he packed the bowl with fine tobacco. A rhythmic, metallic whirring echoed from his internal gears as he drew from the pipe, slowly exhaling a plume of pale blue smoke through the ventilation gaps in his faceplate.

“Why does everyone automatically assume I am acquainted with him?” Tin Man asked, his optical lenses flickering a dim, amused yellow through the haze of smoke. “Has it occurred to your intelligence division that he might merely resemble a Diablo, but is in fact an entirely different, unclassified entity?”

“Enough!” the general barked, his patience finally snapping. “Do not play these Yanese political games with me! Even if you don’t know him personally, your lifespan and operational experience mean you understand the Diablo Sarkaz far better than anyone in this tent! I need actionable intelligence! Data that can help us isolate, evaluate, and neutralize this walking Catastrophe! I am not here to watch you blow smoke!”

Recognizing the very real possibility that the general was about to flip the heavy tactical table, Tin Man raised a placating, gloved hand.

“Peace, General. Please, lower your heart rate.” He shifted his posture, the drifting smoke softening the sharp, metallic angles of his chassis. “As I have stated for the record, I have zero affiliation with this incident., the Diablos—an ancient, royal bloodline of the Sarkaz—have been functionally extinct for centuries. Only heavily diluted mixed-bloods walk Terra today.”

“Then what the hell is that thing out there?!” The general slammed his palm against the metal table, rattling his coffee cup. “He just miraculously manifests inside Rhine Lab and walks out with the prime test subject of the Diabolic Project! You expect me to swallow that as a coincidence?”

“The universe is built on coincidences,” Tin Man replied smoothly, steering the conversation away from the explosive topic. “First, you must correct your baseline assumptions. Even at the height of their empire, not every Diablo possessed this level of catastrophic power. In all my recorded memory, the entities capable of halting a Mobile City’s treads with a single strike can be counted on one hand. The continent’s collective terror regarding the Diablos largely stems from Balthazar, the Diablo King who nearly reduced the ancient gods to cinders.”

He took another slow drag from his pipe. “Judging by the raw, localized reality-warping this entity displays, I am heavily inclined to categorize him as a Feranmut, rather than a Sarkaz.”

“As for why a suspected Feranmut decided to take a stroll through Trimounts,” Tin Man continued, the smoke venting from his exhaust ports, “I suggest you take that up with the esteemed Director of Rhine Lab.”

“Do you think I haven’t tried?!” The general struck the table again, this time sending a splash of dark coffee across the topographical maps. “Kirsten Wright has vanished! That arrogant woman looked me in the eye, swore she was returning to her headquarters to authorize the structural repair funds, and then completely dropped off the grid! She is a traitor to Columbia!”

As the general’s furious roar echoed against the canvas walls, Tin Man elegantly lifted his own, perfectly unspilled cup of coffee.

“Yet, if my databanks are correct, the Diabolic Project was originally greenlit and heavily subsidized by aggressive factions within your own military brass. Rhine Lab merely executed the contract. Now that the experiment has breached containment, isn’t it a bit… hypocritical to lay the entirety of the blame at Director Wright’s feet?”

The general’s face tightened, the blood draining from his cheeks as he forcibly reined in his temper. He smoothed the front of his uniform, retreating behind a mask of cold military professionalism.

“Let us leave internal politics out of this. Returning to the primary tactical concern, Mr. Tin Man.” He locked eyes with the machine. “Given your extensive historical archives, give me your official assessment. Is this entity an enemy of the Union?”

“Has the President issued any direct executive orders regarding this matter?” Tin Man countered, effortlessly deflecting the question.

The general’s posture stiffened, a dark shadow crossing his face as he gave a curt, reluctant shake of his head.

Tin Man offered a mechanical shrug, picking his hot dog back up. “Then isn’t that your answer? If the highest authority in Columbia remains unbothered, why are you burning out your own stress receptors, General?”

“Because his very existence is a strategic nightmare! A power of that magnitude—”

“Patience, General.” Tin Man raised a finger, cutting off the tirade. “Consider the sequence of events. After demonstrating his overwhelming destructive capacity in Trimounts, he did not march on the capital. He did not target our military infrastructure. He simply walked away. That behavioral pattern strongly suggests Columbia is not on his list of grievances. He harbors no active hostility toward us.”

Setting his food aside, Tin Man stood up, the servos in his legs whining softly. He approached the massive, illuminated map of Terra dominating the center of the command tent. He raised a polished metallic finger, tapping the geographical center of Columbia.

“Let us indulge in a hypothetical,” Tin Man murmured, tracing a slow line across the topography. “If he truly is the Diablo you fear—say, a direct descendant of Balthazar’s royal bloodline—what would be his primary objective upon awakening in this era?”

He didn’t wait for the general to answer. His finger slid sharply to the east, pressing down hard on a scarred, chaotic territory. Kazdel.

“Vengeance,” Tin Man stated coldly. “Carrying the accumulated hatred of centuries, he would immediately march upon the scorched earth of his ancestors. He would seek out the descendants of the allied armies that slaughtered his kin and demand a total, uncompromising blood debt.”

The robot paused, letting the heavy silence hang in the tent. But his finger did not remain on Kazdel. Instead, it dragged slowly upward, crossing the Columbian border and resting on the frozen, mysterious expanse at the very top of the world. Sami.

“Yet, observe his actual trajectory,” Tin Man noted, tapping the northern ice fields. “He ignored the east entirely. He barely lingered in our borders. His vector points with absolute, unwavering precision toward the frozen tundras of Sami.”

Withdrawing his hand, Tin Man turned back to the stunned officer. “An ancient, god-like Diablo awakens. Instead of drowning the world in the flames of a righteous blood feud, he turns his back on his racial destiny and marches into the frozen wastes. General, does that not warrant a deeper level of strategic reflection?”

He tilted his head, the internal gears in his neck whirring softly. “Perhaps your intelligence division should stop worrying about whether he will turn around, and start asking the real question: What exactly is waiting for him in Sami? What could possibly draw a being of that magnitude into the ice?”

Watching the general sink into a troubled silence, Tin Man neatly placed his empty coffee cup on the edge of the table and turned toward the exit. “For what it’s worth, my sources indicate that the Royal Court in Kazdel is deeply unsettled by his sudden manifestation. The various factions have even temporarily halted their civil war to monitor the situation.”

He pushed open the heavy canvas flap. A biting gust of wind howled into the tent, snapping the general out of his daze.

“Wait, are you implying—”

“I am implying that you should broaden your horizons,” Tin Man interrupted smoothly. “The true enemy of Columbia has never been a lone Diablo. Besides, compared to a wandering giant, I suspect the superpowers of Terra are far more interested in why the great flying city of Trimounts has suddenly lost its ability to move.”

Stepping out into the night, he let the canvas fall shut behind him.

Strolling leisurely through the bustling military encampment, Tin Man could feel the heavy, paranoid stares of the perimeter guards tracking his every move. He let out a quiet, synthesized sigh.

‘The political rot in Columbia is advancing faster than projected,’he mused internally.’Perhaps it is time I relocated my operations.’He rubbed his metallic chin, his processors running through a list of global events.’The Kazimierz Major is commencing soon, isn’t it? The commercialized knight tournaments always provide excellent data. A change of scenery might be just what I need.’

BOOM!

Another distant, devastating roar echoed across the horizon, painting the night sky in flashes of violent orange. The military had launched yet another futile bombardment.

‘I sincerely hope the giant’s patience holds out,’Tin Man thought, quickening his pace to leave the base.’I have no desire to be caught in the blast radius when he finally decides to stop being polite.’

Accompanied by the relentless thunder of artillery and the glow of volcanic fire, the twilight faded, giving way to a cold, starry night across Terra.

And on this night, the gears of fate began to turn in earnest.

In the frozen north, the Diablo unleashed his devastating counterattack.

Deep within the tundra, the Yetis gathered their strength, marching through the blizzards to seek aid.

And far beneath the crushing depths, the Vampires returned to the suffocating embrace of the Seaborn.

Ancient, slumbering existences across the continent sensed the shifting tides. Some felt a surge of manic joy; others were gripped by deep, paralyzing terror.

But they all shared one obvious truth: the time for waiting was over. The pieces were moving across the board.

The earth was no longer peaceful.