Death Guns In Another World

Deep within the underground palace, a suffocating silence loomed.

The vast obsidian chamber was dimly lit by eerie blue torches that flickered unnaturally, casting shifting shadows upon the long onyx table.

Seated around it were the executives of the Chaos Organization—a gathering of some of the most dangerous individuals in existence.

At the head of the table sat Lord Thanos, the second-in-command, a man whose very presence could crush weaker beings into submission.

His dark gold eyes gleamed with suppressed fury as he surveyed the apostles before him, each seated with varying expressions of unease.

The operation at Freya Academy had failed.

And failure was not tolerated.

The air grew heavy, the crushing pressure radiating from Thanos's form sending shivers down the spines of those present.

"Explain."

His voice was deceptively calm—too calm.

That made it even more terrifying.

Apostle Mephisto—or what remained of him—knelt at the far end of the room. His body was a mangled mess, still bearing the frostbite wounds inflicted by Maria's wrath.

His dragon form had been shattered, his regeneration failing him, and his once-proud demeanor had crumbled into one of fear.

He opened his mouth to speak, but—

CRACK!

A horrifying sound echoed through the chamber as Thanos clenched his fist, and suddenly, Mephisto's remaining left arm was twisted unnaturally, crushed by an unseen force.

"AHHHH!"

He let out a wretched scream, his body convulsing in pain.

The other apostles remained silent, unmoving, knowing that any protest would only bring them the same fate.

Thanos's gaze was like a blade, dissecting Mephisto's very soul.

"You assured us that Freya Academy would fall."

Mephisto trembled.

"The Ice Empress—she wasn't supposed to be there!" he managed through gritted teeth, his face twisted in agony. "She eliminated our spies before the invasion, cutting off our information flow! And then—her Ice Legion—"

Thanos's gaze darkened.

"…That woman."

Even he had heard of Maria the Ice Empress that she trapped herself with that golden beast and even if by some miracle she left she would be weakened, but he had not expected her to wield such devastating power.

The Chaos Organization had vastly underestimated her.

"What about our forces?" Thanos asked, his voice emotionless.

Mephisto lowered his head.

"…Gone. None survived."

Another chilling silence.

The apostles stiffened as Thanos slowly stood from his seat.

He walked forward, each step causing a deep vibration in the ground, his presence becoming more suffocating with each passing second.

Then—

BOOM!

He drove his foot down, and the entire chamber shook violently as a crater formed beneath Mephisto's kneeling form.

"UAAAHHHH—!"

Blood splattered across the floor as Mephisto was slammed into the ground, coughing violently.

Thanos gazed down at him with pure disdain.

"Pathetic."

A cold sweat formed on the apostles' backs.

If Mephisto—an Apostle—was treated like this, then what about the rest of them?

Thanos turned his gaze to the others, his expression deadly calm.

"This failure will not be repeated."

His eyes glowed ominously, and suddenly, the torches in the room flared, their blue flames surging higher.

"I want full reports on our enemy. An update."

"She has interfered. That means she is now marked."

His lips curled into a cruel smile.

"She will not survive the next encounter."

The apostles exchanged glances but dared not speak.

"Now," Thanos continued, his gaze cold and absolute, "What of the preparations for the next phase?"

One of the apostles, a pale woman with crimson eyes, stepped forward.

"We have finished the preliminary stages. The summoning ritual is nearing completion. Soon, demons from the abyss shall be called."

Thanos's expression shifted slightly, a gleam of satisfaction appearing in his eyes.

"Good."

Their true weapon, their true masterstroke, was nearly ready.

The war was far from over.

If Maria and Freya Academy had survived today—

Then next time, they would be erased from existence.

Deep within the heart of the underground laboratory, an eerie silence reigned. The walls, lined with crimson runes, pulsed rhythmically, feeding off the sinister energy saturating the air. The scent of blood—fresh and potent—hung heavily, mixing with the acrid stench of alchemical reagents.

At the center of the massive chamber, a colossal glass tube stood like a divine altar. Within its depths, submerged in a viscous golden liquid, a breathtaking figure floated.

She was neither fully human nor fully dragon.

Her midnight-black hair swayed like a veil in the liquid, and her pale skin glowed faintly with an otherworldly luster. Curved black horns extended from her temples, and her slender fingers twitched ever so slightly.

But most importantly—

Her eyes, which had remained closed for centuries, were now half-open.

A pair of slitted crimson pupils gleamed faintly beneath heavy lids, betraying the signs of impending awakening.

Outside the tube, Bahamut, the Supreme Leader of the Chaos Organization, stood motionless, his gaze locked onto the woman before him.

His expression—if dragons could express emotions—was one of deep longing and reverence.

He reached forward, pressing a clawed hand against the reinforced glass.

"Not yet…" his voice was a deep, ancient rumble, reverberating through the chamber. "But soon."

Beside the tube, an altar stood, lined with various freshly sacrificed bodies—humans, elves, demons, and even divine beasts. Their lifeless forms had been drained of every last drop of blood essence, their husks shriveled beyond recognition.

Bahamut exhaled, and with a flick of his claw, the accumulated essence from these sacrifices was absorbed into the runes, flowing directly into the tube where his Queen rested.

The golden liquid fluctuated, bubbling intensely as if responding to the influx of power. The woman's fingers twitched again.

A low chuckle rumbled from Bahamut's throat.

She was close.

His greatest treasure. His mate. His Queen.

The being that once stood beside him at the pinnacle of existence.

But time had been cruel.

The divine war of the past had left them crippled, scattered, and forced into hiding. Their bodies, once teeming with boundless strength, had been sealed, cursed, and broken by the meddling hands of the so-called gods and heroes.

Bahamut took a step back.

And then—

RUMBLE—!

The air trembled as he shed his humanoid form, his body expanding at an impossible speed.

BOOOOOM!

The underground palace shook violently as the chamber barely contained the full form of the Black Dragon of the End.

A monstrous, abyssal form emerged, his body stretching over hundreds of meters. His obsidian-black scales glistened with malevolent energy, and his six burning crimson eyes gleamed with absolute dominance.

He spread his wings—but even in this form, something was missing.

His power.

He was still far from his prime.

A deep growl of frustration echoed through the underground.

"Not yet…"

His voice was like a storm, shaking the walls.

The once almighty Bahamut—the dragon feared across realms and worlds, the being who once made even gods tremble—was now but a shadow of his former self.

But soon.

Soon, the world would remember his name.

His gaze shifted back to the floating woman, his Queen.

"You and I…" he murmured. "We shall burn this world anew."

And with that final promise, Bahamut coiled his massive form around the glass tube, his colossal wings wrapping protectively around his slumbering mate.

He closed his eyes, his presence looming, waiting.

For the day she would finally open hers.