Alice in the Land of Steam

This is the first time the dragon has been injured since the start of the battle, but it won't be the only time.

The Skyship rose from the earth, each breath accompanied by the screeching of metal and the groans of overloaded magic. Its optical signal lights, now repaired and resembling the eyes of a wild beast, locked onto the dragon's shadow in the sky. Watching its opponent roar in fury, its horns broken and its dignity desecrated, filled it with satisfaction. This was the battlefield it sought—a battlefield where the weak fought with all their might, driven by a will to die for something, like Cheryl; and where the strong lost their reason, abandoning their lofty positions to personally join the bloody carnage, like the dragon before it.

If there is no fighting, what difference does strength or weakness make?
It charged again, its figure vanishing instantly and reappearing high in the sky. Inside the dragon's heart, Ovira, who witnessed this scene, narrowed her eyes slightly. She couldn't detect any movement trajectory; it was more like traversing between spaces. Was this the new ability the Taikong had gained after its evolution? As a machine capable of infinite rebirth and infinite evolution, if it kept repeating this process, wouldn't it eventually evolve to a point where even the gods couldn't stop it? But the solution was simple: just completely destroy it before it completed its evolution.

The frenzied beast pierced through the clouds and rain, crashing straight into the dragon's outstretched wing bones. Dragonfire cascaded down like a waterfall, melting away layers of crimson decay. The newly repaired armor peeled away, revealing not a purely mechanical structure, but pale steel and bright red tubing—the former like bone, the latter like blood—signifying that this man-made mech was straying further and further down the path of becoming life itself. But was that necessarily the right path? If for humans, transforming from a living, breathing being into a mindless machine is a form of degradation, then conversely, for machines, inherently pure creations, to acquire a weak and confused soul is equally regrettable.

Of course, it chose this path itself.

Therefore, the Skywarp was indifferent, neither caring about its present state nor its future. Since its creation, all the emotions of mortals had been telling it what it should do. The researchers of the Witch Society expected it to become the most powerful construct, helping the Society achieve unprecedented feats; the fanatical atmosphere of faith on this continent encouraged it to bring slaughter and destruction, for only in this way could it establish absolute rule and forge the authority of the gods; even the only person capable of piloting it, the Plague Witch Perec, didn't she, for her own desires, tacitly allow everything to happen from the cockpit?
It knows everything, and naturally responds to everything.

This is what is called the destiny of gods, whether it is the steam engine god or the prototype machine god.

Just as the dragon's claws were about to close, mercilessly crushing the insects that were staggering in the wind and rain, it forcibly twisted its body using the airflow from its flapping wings. Bathed in the baptism of dragon flames, it used its left arm as a blade and its claws as teeth to forcefully insert itself into the junction of its wing and ribs, then ripped it apart violently. A bloodcurdling tearing sound pierced the rain, and shards of light splattered like blood. The dragon let out a suppressed roar, and its massive body swayed slightly for the first time. Within the core of Nibelungen, Ovira felt a violent energy surge, as if some balance had been brute forcefully shifted. She quickly adjusted the Holy Grail's magical output to stabilize the dragon's illusion.

Can even the highest dragon be so battered by the beasts of the mortal world? But that is the essence of battle; without striving, one gains nothing, and without caution, one loses something. Just as Nidhogg once challenged powerful monsters for something, only to end up scarred and nearly break his dragon wings; Horace Varg, who had always acted cautiously and was almost never injured, was moved by emotion at the last moment and forgot his true self.

As an illusion born from the fusion of the memories of those two dragons, it was never meant to be glorious; only the scars can prove the truth of those memories.

Although it itself may not accept it.

The Taikong was flung away by the enraged dragon, like a meteor falling from the sky, tumbling and crashing into a distant, not-yet-completely-collapsed rocky mountain. The mountain broke in half, the upper half slowly sliding down, stirring up a dust storm that engulfed the heavens and the earth. However, only a few seconds later, a ghostly purple light once again seeped out from the depths of the ruins, and the reverse flow of time and space coiled around it like tentacles, stitching the shattered machine back together.

But this repair is more distorted than the last one.

The newly formed outer shell has completely shed its metallic texture, revealing a flesh-like texture. Its surface is covered with dark red lines resembling blood vessels, which flicker with the pulse of magic. The dangerous and violent signal lights gradually shrink, outlining the pupils in the optical sensor lens of the machine. The alloy claws, which were originally used only as weapons, are deeply integrated into the bones and flesh of the machine. When they are slightly rubbed, they make a chilling cracking sound, like the movement of human joints. But the most obvious change is the way the Taikong fights.

As a top-secret project into which the Witch Society invested heavily and poured countless efforts, the Taikong not only adopted the most advanced design in magical technology at the time, but also inherited the researchers' aesthetic concepts in its appearance. Its overall structure is smooth and symmetrical, possessing perfect human proportions. Even if the best human athletes were scaled up to the size of the Taikong, they would probably not be more suitable as a representative of humanoid structures. This also determined that it should use combat methods similar to humans. Although the Taikong had previously imitated the running of wild beasts on all fours, that was only to vent its wildness. When actually engaging the enemy, it still preferred to use human combat skills to maximize the advantages of this machine: running, jumping, dodging, rolling... Every structure on its body conforms to the perfect proportions of the human body, and every bit of its power is born for combat.

However, the Taikong, having evolved twice, seemed no longer satisfied with the limitations imposed upon it by its body. While its perfect human proportions were indeed well-suited for combat and allowed for efficient use of the various combat techniques and strategies accumulated by humanity over tens of thousands of years, it wasn't enough to defeat the enemy before it. After all, how powerful were humans ten thousand years ago? Ultimately, didn't they rely on superhuman strength, not just physical power, to defeat countless enemies, including dragons?
The human body, the control over strength, and the combat techniques that have been developed... are simply suitable for combat.

But wild beasts have adapted to fighting.

Without wisdom and the ability to utilize tools, one can only hone one's claws, temper one's body, and even consume one's bones and flesh, all in order to adapt, otherwise one will be eliminated.

If you seek victory, choose the path of humanity; but if you seek survival...

The battle will then enter its most brutal phase.

The beast abandoned all defense, each pounce aimed only to leave a wound on the dragon. When the dragon's claws shattered half its body, it used the remaining flesh to bite down hard on the dragon's toe bones; when dragonfire scorched its chest, it plunged its molten forelimbs into the source of the flames, forcibly disrupting the flow of magic; at its own cost, it continuously tore grotesque wounds into the dragon's wing bones, spine, and even neck, the splattering light like blood, evaporating upon falling into darkness, then bringing satisfaction and exhilaration. It was in this cycle of self-destruction and rebirth, continuously falling into the abyss called "Beast." Ovira manipulated the dragon, using minimal magic consumption to neutralize its increasingly frenzied attacks. She could clearly see that with each reversal of time, the logic constituting the Skybreaker crumbled a little more; its state was becoming extremely unstable. In Alice's words, it was the loophole in the game, the so-called bug. But it was precisely this instability that made its actions completely unpredictable, which surprised Ovira. Although she had long anticipated that the Skyship would eventually evolve to a point where even the Mysterious Kingship could not decipher it, she did not expect it to come so quickly and so thoroughly.

Fortunately, when this battle will end is essentially up to us.

Now, Ovira felt that the foreplay had been building up enough.

In their final clash, the roar of the Taikong's magic engine had faded into silence, replaced by the resounding beat of a vibrant heart, each beat like thunder, awe-inspiring and awe-inspiring. The entire sky and earth were enveloped in a boiling atmosphere, the scorching heat seemingly capable of evaporating the torrential rain. In its frenzied, primal energy, it leaped high, piercing through the storm and clouds, concentrating all its remaining will and emotion into this earth-shattering strike, then hurtling towards the dragon's chest like a falling, dark comet.

That is the heart of the Nibelungen, where Ovira resides.

The dragon let out a deafening roar, the power of the Holy Grail unleashed by Ovira at full force. A vast magical flame ignited deep within the Nibelungen, forcefully creating a pure realm. From the scene, the meteor appeared as a brushstroke extending from beyond the canvas, separating rain and fire, light and darkness, victory and defeat. The world fell silent in that instant, like two colliding stars exploding. An area spanning a thousand miles was reduced to a silent domain, a terrifying energy storm sweeping outwards, further flattening, overturning, and melting the already shattered earth. The dragon's figure trembled violently in the light, its pale bones cracking open to reveal the beating Nibelungen within; while the monster's body began to disintegrate upon impact, turning inch by inch into scattered ashes.

When the light finally dimmed and the rain resumed, only the towering dragon and a massive, barely discernible skeleton remained at the center of the battlefield. The dragon's chest was riddled with wounds, golden fragments of light slowly escaping from the cracks, yet it still stood, its wings drooping, casting shadow over the faintly glowing area around its heart. The pulse of the Nibelungen, though erratic, never ceased; Auvira could sense that the Holy Grail's power had been greatly depleted, but its foundation remained intact.

The sound of rain swallowed everything.

Ovira exhaled slowly, gazing through the glass curtain wall at the wreckage. It was like a candle flickering in the wind, devoid of the power to repair or evolve. Though it still harbored the desire to fight, the will to slaughter, and the struggle to tear a piece of flesh from its enemy, it no longer possessed the strength. Ironically, the Titan, which had transformed into a beast in its pursuit of victory, had, when destroyed, left its wreckage in the mortal world, still retaining a human-like outline, as if confirming the fact that bestiality would ultimately be defeated by humanity.

“It’s over,” Ovira said softly.

“It’s over.” In the only intact cockpit, Pereike said softly, “Your battle seems to be over, Skywarp.”

Raindrops pattered against the bulkhead, producing a monotonous knocking sound, like time patiently carving someone's epitaph. It would record a world-shaking battle that once raged here, perhaps comparable to the fight between heroes and evil dragons ten thousand years ago, and the final result: justice triumphed over evil, and Atorica's glorious history was once again upheld. Each time it suffered the storms of fate, someone would always step forward to protect the beliefs etched into the rocks and veins of minerals. But those blown away by the wind, worn away by the rain, buried in the river, or lost to the earth—it seemed no one cared.

Because it's meaningless.

If you fail, it's meaningless; if you give up, it's meaningless; if you've taken ninety-nine steps but stop at the last step, then everything is meaningless.

"But is this really enough to satisfy you?"

“Unacknowledged beast,” the witch’s sigh echoed repeatedly in the silent cockpit, like a murmur. “You were forged into a sword of slaughter, yet no one ever told you what the killing was for; you were given a body of steel, yet you still struggled to grow a soul. You fought, evolved, desperately destroying yourself while creating yourself again and again, from machine to beast, yet in the end you still fell into the shackles of this human form—what was the purpose of all this?”

"Birth, sealing away, restarting, covering, disappearing, ideals, wishes, consciousness, blindness, destruction, fighting, hatred, what was taken away, what is no longer possessed, what was pursued wholeheartedly, what was helplessly abandoned, inferiority, guilt, numbness, insight, despicable, noble, powerless, desperately trying, indifferent, detached... Everyone lives in these emotions, so why not adapt to them? At least that way you can live a little easier."

"The reason is actually quite simple: you can't adapt."

At this point, she lowered her voice sadly, making it almost inaudible to herself: "Just like me." (End of Chapter)