The clash of steel and gunfire echoed through the halls of Shisuikan Fortress. The relentless assault from the REDs had left the once-imposing stronghold in ruin, its defenders barely holding their ground. Smoke curled through the corridors, mingling with the acrid scent of blood and gunpowder. The din of combat, the shouting of warriors, the roar of explosions—it all built toward a climax, a moment where victory or defeat would soon be determined.

And then, in an instant, everything stopped.

Esdeath, standing amidst the chaos, lowered her blade. The cold, calculating gleam in her eyes had softened, replaced by something unfathomable. Blood dripped from the tip of her sword, pooling at her feet, but she paid it no mind. Her lips parted, and her voice, calm yet piercing, cut through the battlefield like a dagger.

"I am carrying Tatsumi's child."

Silence. A suffocating, unnatural silence.

Spy, mid-motion, felt his breath hitch. His entire body tensed, the weight of the revelation slamming into him harder than any bullet ever could. His mind, always quick to adapt, struggled to formulate a response. Beneath his mask of indifference, shock warred with disbelief, and for the first time in a long time, he had no words.

The mercenaries, Sheele, and Bulat—every fighter, friend or foe—froze, eyes locked onto the imposing woman who had just uttered the impossible. Even her own comrades, Run and Wave, stood in stunned disbelief, their weapons momentarily lowered. The battlefield, once filled with the sounds of war, had been consumed by a paralyzing stillness.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, there was no sound of gunfire. No clash of swords. No movement at all. Just the cold wind whistling through the broken fortress walls, carrying with it the weight of Esdeath's revelation.

Scout was the first to react, shifting uncomfortably as he glanced at the others. "Uh… what?" His voice, normally brash and cocky, was uncharacteristically hesitant. His usual bravado vanished, leaving behind only sheer confusion. His fingers twitched at his scattergun, as if expecting an attack that never came. His gaze darted toward Spy, searching for any sign of an explanation, but none came.

Sniper exhaled sharply, his grip on his kukri tightening. "Bloody hell." His voice was low, his usually sharp focus rattled. He had stared down death more times than he could count, but this? This was something else entirely. He studied Esdeath warily, eyes narrowed, calculating what this meant for the battlefield and the war as a whole. His instincts screamed that this was no bluff, and that disturbed him more than any ambush ever had.

Heavy, who had been ready to charge forward, slowly lowered his minigun, his thick brows furrowing in thought. His massive chest rose and fell with a deep breath. "Baby… is life," he murmured under his breath, his normally fearsome presence momentarily softened by something else. A rare moment of contemplation overtook the towering mercenary, a stark contrast to the destruction around them.

Sheele and Bulat, once locked in battle with Esdeath moments ago, found themselves unable to move. Bulat's brows furrowed, his stance rigid as he exchanged a quick glance with Sheele, who bit her lip, eyes darting between Esdeath and Spy. This declaration had changed everything. Sheele, usually so composed in battle, clutched her Teigu tightly, her mind torn between instinct and disbelief. Her grip tightened, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on her shoulders.

Wave stood frozen, his fists clenched. His emotions churned—a mix of shock, confusion, and something else. His loyalty to Esdeath made him want to believe her, but the circumstances, the battlefield, the enemy before them—it all felt unreal. "This… this has to be some kind of joke, right?" he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. A part of him hoped someone would tell him it wasn't real, that this was a trick, but he knew Esdeath better than that.

Run adjusted his glasses with a trembling hand, his normally composed demeanor cracking. "Esdeath… this changes everything." His voice was barely above a whisper, the weight of the revelation pressing down on him. He was the strategist, the tactician, and yet, at this moment, he had no clear path forward. He stole a glance at Spy, who had yet to utter a word, his mind undoubtedly racing to catch up.

Spy's fingers twitched. He forced himself to maintain his composure, though beneath the mask of indifference, his mind raced. He had expected many things in this war. This was not one of them.

His thoughts were a whirlwind of calculations. Was this a tactic? A ploy? No, Esdeath was not one for deception when it came to matters of strength. She had always been direct, almost brutally so. Which meant...

It was true.

His lips parted slightly as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, he simply stared at Esdeath, searching for any sign of hesitation, any flicker of doubt. There was none. She was standing firm, unwavering, her gaze locked onto his.

Esdeath's gaze never wavered. She watched Spy with unwavering intensity, waiting for his reaction, as if daring him to challenge the truth she had just spoken. There was something in her expression—something almost defiant, as if she knew exactly how this would change the battlefield, change the war, change everything.

A cold gust of wind rushed through the battlefield, carrying with it the weight of this moment—a moment that would change everything.

The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating. It was no longer just about the war, or victory, or even survival. It was about something far more personal, something that none of them had ever expected to encounter in the heat of battle.

And for the first time, the battlefield was no longer defined by weapons, but by words—by a single truth that had upended everything they thought they knew.

The silence that followed Esdeath's words stretched unbearably long. The air was thick with tension, heavier than even the weight of battle moments before. The clashing of swords, the deafening gunfire, the cries of the wounded—everything had faded into nothingness, leaving only the weight of her revelation pressing down on all who stood witness.

Spy, ever the composed infiltrator, found himself at an unfamiliar loss for words. His mind, usually a well-oiled machine of quick lies and quicker escapes, faltered. The sharp blue of Esdeath's eyes bore into him, unwavering, demanding an answer he wasn't sure he wanted to give. He had faced death in countless forms, outwitted enemies who had every reason to kill him, but never had he encountered a situation quite like this. For once, he hesitated.

He inhaled slowly, steadying himself. His gloved fingers twitched before he finally exhaled, the breath long and measured. Every instinct screamed at him to regain control of the situation, to craft an escape route—but there was no escaping this.

"Hah..." A quiet chuckle escaped him, bitter and self-aware. "Well, zat is... unexpected."

Still, Esdeath did not move, her gaze piercing through the thin veneer of control he was desperately clinging to. The REDs, Sheele, and Bulat stood frozen, their expressions a mixture of shock and anticipation. Even the Night Raid members who had kept their distance were watching intently, their hands lingering near their weapons, unsure if this revelation would end the battle—or escalate it further.

Spy's smirk wavered before fading altogether. His shoulders sagged slightly, and at last, he spoke the truth.

With a flick of his wrist, a metallic chime rang out as Spy activated his Dead Ringer. The sound echoed through the battlefield, drawing gasps from those who recognized its significance. In an instant, blue energy pulsed around him, distorting his figure. The battlefield watched in stunned silence as his form shimmered, warping, shifting—until the familiar shape of Tatsumi stood where Spy had been.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Even those unfamiliar with his tricks could not deny what they had just witnessed.

His voice came next, unmistakably his own despite the illusion he now wore. "I suppose I owe you an explanation, ma chérie. You see... it was never Tatsumi. It was me."

A sharp inhale came from someone—perhaps Scout, perhaps Bulat. Sheele's hand instinctively went to her weapon. Even Sniper's fingers twitched near his rifle, though he made no move to raise it. For all his deceit and mastery of disguise, this was a truth no one had seen coming.

Run's brows furrowed, his mind racing to process the weight of Spy's revelation. He had suspected something was off about Tatsumi during the tournament, but never had he imagined this. His usual calm composure barely held as he glanced at Esdeath, gauging her reaction. If she felt betrayed, she did not show it—only intrigued.

Wave, on the other hand, was visibly seething. His hands clenched into fists, his body tense as he struggled to hold back the storm of emotions swirling within him. "You mean to tell me," he growled, his voice low and sharp, "that all this time… it wasn't Tatsumi? That bastard never even set foot in the Capital?" His knuckles turned white, torn between outrage and the bitter relief that Tatsumi, at the very least, had been spared from Esdeath's grasp.

Spy took another breath, pressing forward. "I was ze one who stood before you in ze arena. I was ze one you took back to ze Capital. Ze one you claimed. Tatsumi never shared your bed. I did."

Esdeath did not so much as blink. Her expression remained carved from ice, pristine and unreadable. The air between them seemed to freeze, crackling with unseen tension. Then, slowly, she clenched her fist. A flicker of something—rage? Calculation? Betrayal?—passed over her face, too brief to decipher.

Then, to the surprise of all, her lips curled into a smirk.

"Hah..." A single chuckle. "So that's how it is. You deceived me, tricked me into believing you were someone else." She tilted her head slightly, appraising him, as if weighing his worth in light of this revelation. "You played the game well, Spy. A fitting name. But tell me—"

Her smirk widened, dangerously sharp, like the edge of an unsheathed blade. "Do you really think such deception changes anything?" Her voice was smooth, almost amused, but there was an undercurrent of something far more dangerous beneath it—a silent, swirling storm of emotions held in check by sheer force of will.

She took a slow step forward, the crunch of debris beneath her boots breaking the silence. "You lied to me, Spy. You made a fool of me before my own forces, before the Empire itself." Her eyes gleamed with something unreadable, something both furious and intrigued. "And yet..."

She reached out, the movement deliberate, as if testing the air between them. "You survived. You played your part masterfully, wormed your way into my grasp and escaped it at will. You deceived the most dangerous woman in the Empire... and lived."

A slow exhale left her lips, the smirk never leaving. "That is no small feat. But tell me... was it worth it?"

Spy remained silent, unreadable once more, but his mind was racing at a frantic pace. What was she planning? Would she strike him down in a fit of rage, seeing his deception as an unforgivable slight? Or would she revel in the challenge, viewing this as yet another test in her relentless pursuit of strength and dominance?

His pulse quickened despite himself. Every past interaction with Esdeath flashed through his mind—her cruel smile, the way she toyed with him, her unwavering belief in the survival of the fittest. He had survived her once before, but that had been under the guise of another man. Now, standing before her as himself, with all pretenses shed, he had never felt more exposed.

His fingers twitched at his side, instincts screaming at him to prepare for anything. She had always been unpredictable, and this was the most precarious moment yet. Would she see his deception as a mark of worthiness or as a reason to crush him where he stood?

The REDs and Night Raid exchanged wary glances, the battlefield holding its breath. Then, with no warning, Esdeath lunged.

Spy barely had time to react before her blade sliced toward him. He twisted away, narrowly dodging the strike, his instincts flaring to life. Another swing came—a controlled, precise slash meant to test, not kill. Spy countered, stepping in and shifting his weight to redirect her momentum, but she was already adjusting, her footwork fluid, anticipating his every move.

It was no longer just a fight—it was something else entirely. A lethal dance, each step measured, each motion deliberate. Esdeath's eyes gleamed with challenge, her smirk never fading. "You truly are a slippery one, aren't you, my love?" she purred, her blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. "But tell me, was it all just an act? Or did you enjoy playing my devoted warrior?" Spy, despite himself, found a smirk of his own creeping onto his lips. "Ah, ma chérie, you wound me. Do you really think I could resist a woman like you? Deception may be my trade, but even I know when to appreciate true beauty... even when it comes with such sharp edges."

Step, strike, parry. Their movements became sharper, quicker, a tango where dominance shifted with every turn. Spy dipped low to avoid a slicing arc of ice, using the moment to press closer. "And yet, I see no hatred in your eyes," he murmured, his voice a low purr. "Perhaps... you are intrigued?" Esdeath laughed, the sound rich with amusement and danger. "Oh, Spy... I will enjoy breaking you." Esdeath pressed forward, forcing Spy back, only for him to pivot smoothly, slipping past her guard and reclaiming lost ground. It was no longer predator and prey—now it was two masters of their craft vying for control. Their movements were seamless, a dance of steel and ice, precision and agility. Neither yielded, neither faltered. The battlefield around them had faded into irrelevance; there was only the chase, the struggle, the game they both relished.

The battle had taken an unexpected turn, and none of them knew whether the next moment would bring bloodshed or something far more dangerous. Spy and Esdeath moved in a deadly rhythm, their weapons clashing, but their gazes locked in something far deeper than mere combat. It was a battle not just of strength, but of will, of dominance, of unspoken understanding.

A final flourish—Spy twisted, Esdeath countered, and in a breathless instant, they both came to a halt. His knife hovered just beneath her chin, while her rapier was poised over his heart. Neither moved, their breaths heavy, their bodies taut. Yet, in their eyes, there was something else. A flicker of amusement. A spark of admiration. Something unspoken, something undeniable.

For all their deceit, for all their battles, in this moment, they were equals. And in this strange, twisted game of theirs, neither was truly willing to land the final blow.

The tension that hung over the battlefield was suffocating. The once deafening clash of weapons and cries of battle had faded into eerie silence, replaced only by the ragged, uneven breaths of Esdeath. Her smirk, once so assured, had barely faded before her body betrayed her. A sharp breath escaped her lips as her knees buckled beneath her. She staggered, barely catching herself on one hand while the other instinctively wrapped around her stomach.

Spy's eyes widened ever so slightly—an expression that, to anyone who knew him, was the equivalent of a man screaming in shock. He took a step forward, hesitated, then forced himself to stop. His fingers twitched at his sides, clenched into a tense fist. His mind warred with itself. This was Esdeath—the Empire's strongest general, the woman who had slaughtered countless foes without a second thought, the enemy he had deceived and manipulated. And yet… she was also carrying his child. The weight of that truth pressed down on him heavier than any battle he had ever fought.

His voice, when it finally came, was measured but resolute. "Zis fight is over. No more blood today." He exhaled sharply, as if saying the words made the weight in his chest just a little lighter. His fingers unclenched, the tension in his shoulders lessening ever so slightly. "We have all lost enough."

The words carried across the battlefield, heavy and absolute. The REDs stiffened, exchanging quick glances with one another, but none dared to challenge their usually unshakable leader. It was a rare thing for Spy to call a halt in the middle of a battle, and the uncertainty in the air was palpable.

Esdeath, still on her knees, lifted her head to meet his gaze. Something unreadable flickered behind her icy stare, a mixture of realization, calculation, and something deeper—something dangerously close to vulnerability. The moment stretched long between them, filled with unspoken words neither of them were ready to say.

From the side, Run watched intently, his mind racing. For once, Esdeath was not the unrelenting force of nature she always was. Something had changed. And for the first time, the Empire's strongest warrior looked almost… human.

The declaration shattered the silence like a gunshot. The REDs, usually eager to press their advantage, exchanged wary glances, their weapons still gripped tightly but unmoving. They trusted Spy—he had led them through countless battles with unshakable confidence—but they had never seen him like this before. The tension in his stance, the weight in his voice… it was unfamiliar, unsettling.

Sniper exhaled slowly, adjusting his hat as he cast a long, scrutinizing glance at Spy. "Bloody hell…" he muttered under his breath. Scout shifted uneasily on his feet, his usual cocky bravado absent. Heavy, silent as ever, watched with a measured gaze, as if weighing the truth of Spy's words against the battlefield around them. Even Soldier, always eager for the next fight, stood at attention, awaiting an order that would never come.

Sheele and Bulat, standing on the opposite side of the battlefield, felt the shift as well. Sheele's grip on her Teigu loosened ever so slightly, the cold edge of her assassin's instincts tempered by the unexpected turn of events. Beside her, Bulat let out a slow, steady breath, his battle-hardened demeanor giving way to something softer—understanding. "This… is different," he murmured, eyes locked onto Spy. "He means it."

And then there was Esdeath, still kneeling, her fingers curling into the dirt beneath her as she processed everything. The strongest warrior in the Empire, the cruelest force of destruction, had found herself at the mercy of an undeniable truth. She looked up at Spy, her gaze sharp but unreadable, a storm brewing behind those icy blue eyes.

Run's breath came shallow, his focus solely on Esdeath. His normally composed expression cracked, revealing the worry beneath. Without hesitation, he let his weapon slip from his grip. "I agree," he said, his voice steady but urgent. "Esdeath's condition takes priority over everything else. If this is where you wish to end the battle, I won't oppose it."

Wave, however, did not move. His entire body was rigid, his fists shaking at his sides, his breaths coming in sharp, ragged bursts. "You expect me to just accept this?!" His voice cracked with fury, raw and unfiltered, as his vision blurred with the sheer force of his rage. "After everything you've done?! After all the blood spilled, after you tore Kurome away from me?! Do you think a few words, a sudden ceasefire, is enough to erase that?!"

His grip tightened, his knuckles whitening as his nails dug into his palms. His body trembled with barely contained violence, every muscle screaming at him to act. "You're murderers! Deceivers! You take and take, and now you expect me to just stand down like it never happened?!" His voice rose to a near shout, his emotions unraveling before everyone's eyes. "Do you have any idea what I've been through?! What she's been through because of you?!"

Wave's breath hitched, a deep, shaking inhale that barely kept his emotions in check. His entire world had been thrown into chaos, and he wasn't ready—wasn't willing—to simply let it go.

"She is alive."

Wave's breath hitched. His rage wavered, just for a moment.

Medic stepped forward, his grin tempered into something eerily neutral. His ever-present manic energy was replaced by a knowing calm. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a small, mechanical device. He pressed a button, and a flickering, grainy projection burst to life in the dim light.

There, within the haze of the hologram, was Kurome. She lay resting on a cot, her breathing even, though clearly recovering. Beside her sat Bols, his massive frame unmistakable, though unmoving—locked in a deep, unbroken coma, unaware of the world around him.

Wave's eyes widened. His breath came in sharp, uneven bursts as his mind struggled to process what he was seeing. His emotions, once so clear in their fury, twisted into something far more complex. Relief. Disbelief. Hope.

"Zey are alive," Medic repeated, his voice smooth, but heavy with intent. "Safe. Untouched. If ve had any intention of harming zem, zey vould already be dead. But zat is not enough, ja?" His eyes gleamed with something deeper than mere reassurance—an unwavering resolve.

He adjusted his gloves, stepping forward, his voice gaining a sharper edge. "Kurome is not just alive—she vill be whole again. Ze Empire twisted her mind, broke her spirit, turned her into a tool for their own means. I vill not allow zat to stand. Zere is much damage, ja, but I have ze knowledge, ze means to help her. To restore what vos lost."

He let the words sink in, watching Wave's expression carefully. "I do not expect your trust, not yet. But understand zis—I am not interested in puppets or soldiers. I am interested in life, in preserving ze mind as much as ze body. And Kurome vill not be ze exception. I vill bring her back, to herself, to you—if you let me."

Wave's fingers twitched. His teeth clenched so tightly his jaw ached. The emotions inside him churned violently. He had been so sure. So sure that the REDs were monsters who had taken Kurome from him, who had destroyed everything he fought for. But now… the proof was in front of him.

Spy took another step forward, his tone measured but firm. "Ze fight can end here, Wave. You decide."

Wave's breath came fast and uneven, his mind caught in a whirlwind of emotions. The battlefield that had once been so clear, so black and white, now blurred into something unrecognizable. His fists clenched and unclenched as he stared at the flickering projection, the image of Kurome and Bols shifting with each distortion of the recording. It felt unreal, like a cruel trick played by the REDs to manipulate him. And yet, deep down, he wanted—no, needed—it to be real. His heart pounded painfully against his ribs as conflicting emotions warred within him.

His gaze snapped to Medic, the eerie doctor watching him with a knowing smirk. "This could be fake," Wave spat, his voice trembling with barely restrained emotion. "A trick. A—"

"Ach, you wound me, mein freund," Medic interjected, placing a hand over his chest as if genuinely offended. "I am many things—an artist, a scientist, a man of unparalleled medical expertise—but a liar?" His glasses gleamed as he leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I do not deal in illusions. Only in ze truth."

Wave's grip tightened on his sword, his knuckles turning white. "Prove it."

Medic chuckled, the sound unnervingly calm for the battlefield around them. "But of course. I anticipated your doubt."

With a flick of his wrist, he pulled a small device from his coat, a crude but effective radio communicator. He turned a dial, adjusting the frequency until a faint crackle filled the silence. The Jaegers tensed as the static gave way to a voice—soft, weak, but unmistakably familiar.

"…Wave?"

Wave's breath hitched, his entire body going rigid. His grip on his weapon loosened. "Kurome?!"

There was a brief pause before the voice responded again. "I… I'm okay. Bols is here too. We're safe. They haven't hurt us."

Wave's vision blurred for a moment, his world tilting. He had spent so long assuming the worst, letting his hatred for the REDs fester into something unrelenting. Every battle, every drop of blood spilled, he had justified by convincing himself that Kurome had been taken from him forever. But now—now she was alive. And she sounded… well.

His chest tightened, breath coming out in a shaky exhale. His head snapped up, eyes locking onto Medic's smug expression. "Where is she?"

Medic wagged a finger. "Ah-ah, all in good time. First, let us agree on ze terms. No more fighting. No more unnecessary bloodshed. If you truly care for Kurome, you vill not throw away zis opportunity."

Wave's heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing through a thousand possibilities. Every instinct screamed at him to resist, to keep fighting, to reject the enemy's hand. But how could he justify it now? How could he continue this war when Kurome's safety was already secured?

He swallowed hard, the weight of the decision pressing down on him like an unbearable force. His sword trembled in his grip before he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to stand tall. He looked over at Esdeath, at Run, at the scattered remnants of what had once been the Jaegers. This war had taken enough from them all.

"…Fine. I'll agree to the truce."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across Medic's face. "Sehr gut. Now, let us begin ze next phase, ja?" He extended a gloved hand, as if sealing an unspoken contract. "You vill not regret zis, mein freund."

Wave hesitated only a moment longer before slowly, reluctantly, lowering his sword. The battle that had raged in his mind was finally over.