Reincarnated with the Country System

The SS Division—The Living Weapons of Alberto

A dozen figures emerged, clad in reinforced armor the color of storm clouds, every plate etched with purity sigils, reinforced with arcane suppressors, kinetic absorption plating, and pulse-wave emitters designed to disintegrate magic on contact.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, the biggest of them stepped forward, carrying a hyper-charged shock maul, its crackling head leaving burn marks in the air. His voice was like grinding metal.

"By the will of the Emperor, you die here."

The others snapped into formation, rail rifles rising, targeting systems locking onto Caspian's vitals.

Caspian grinned.

"Funny," he rasped. His voice was different now, laced with something deeper, something wrong—distorted at the edges, like a dozen voices speaking through his throat. His pupils had dilated into black pits. His smile was too wide.

"I was just about to say the same thing."

Then, they moved.

The first shot cracked the air like a thunderclap.

A hypersonic rail round, moving fast enough to punch through tank armor, went screaming toward Caspian's skull.

He tilted his head.

The bullet froze mid-air, its momentum bleeding away as invisible fingers crushed it into a molten sphere of slag. It dropped, hissing, to the ground.

Then, the storm began.

Rail rounds screamed. Thermal lances ignited. Plasma bolts lit the world in violent blue.

Caspian laughed.

He moved, shadows curling around him like living things, bending, twisting, warping reality with every step. One moment, he was in front of them; the next, he was behind—impossible speed, a flicker in space.

He appeared inside their ranks.

The first super soldier barely had time to turn before Caspian's fingers plunged into his helmet's visor.

Steel screamed as it crumpled. Bone shattered. Blood sprayed in an arc as the soldier's skull collapsed like wet clay.

"One."

The body hadn't even hit the ground before Caspian twisted, catching the next soldier's power blade with his bare hand. The weapon shuddered, struggling to cut through something it should have sliced like paper. Caspian's fingers closed. The blade cracked.

He drove his knee up.

A wet crunch as the soldier's ribcage folded in on itself.

"Two."

The shock maul wielder came roaring in, swinging the weapon in a wide arc. Caspian caught the handle with one hand. The electricity meant to fry his nervous system arced uselessly against his skin, absorbed into the writhing black veins coiling along his arms.

The soldier stared.

Caspian winked.

Then, he ripped the weapon from the soldier's hands and caved his head in with it.

"Three."

Alarms screamed. Battle A.I.s adjusted strategies. The remaining soldiers moved with terrifying speed, fanning out, compensating for Caspian's unpredictability.

They were good.

They were very good.

It didn't matter.

Caspian blurred forward, slipping between them like smoke. He grabbed one by the throat, lifting him with inhuman strength, ignoring the rail rounds slamming into his back, the plasma bolts that should have burned him.

The soldier activated his emergency shockwave emitter—a concussive blast that could knock a rhino off its feet.

Caspian just smiled.

Then, he ripped his head off.

"Four."

They adapted.

New weapons deployed. Mana-disrupting suppressors surged with power, casting golden nets of energy meant to bind him. To seal him.

Caspian ripped through them like wet paper.

Two more came at him together, moving with impossible coordination—one striking high, the other low—like a single entity with two bodies.

Caspian caught one by the wrist, twisted. A scream. He ripped the arm off and drove the jagged bone straight through the other's chest.

"Five. Six."

He was among them now, a hurricane of violence, breaking steel, pulping flesh, his fingers piercing armor like clay, twisting limbs, unmaking them with every step.

Their fear was tangible.

They didn't scream. They were too disciplined for that.

But their bodies shook.

Their formations crumbled.

One raised a grenade launcher—a last, desperate measure—aiming for Caspian's center mass.

He caught the grenade mid-air, crushing it in his fist, letting the shrapnel peel his skin away—only for the wounds to knit back together before their eyes.

"Your Emperor made you to kill monsters."

His voice was silk and razors.

He stepped toward the last few standing soldiers, their weapons shaking in their hands.

"But you're not hunters."

He grinned, his teeth black, his eyes wrong.

"You're just cattle in better armor."

One soldier ran.

Caspian sighed.

He lifted a hand.

The air rippled.

The fleeing soldier stopped mid-step, his entire body folding inward as if space itself had betrayed him. A sickening series of cracks, wet and awful, filled the room as his armor collapsed around him, flesh squeezing through shattered metal like a burst fruit.

Then, silence.

Only one remained.

A survivor.

Helmet gone, face bloody, breathing ragged. His rail rifle had been destroyed. He was unarmed, broken, dying on his knees.

And yet—

The soldier met his gaze.

No fear.

No surrender.

Only hatred.

"For the Emperor," he spat.

Caspian smiled.

"And for me."

He placed a hand on the soldier's chest.

Then, pushed.

The soldier detonated.

Not an explosion of fire. No. Something far worse.

His body unraveled, torn apart on a molecular level, his very existence unwoven by something older than magic—something that should not be.

The blood sprayed backward, spiraling into the void of Caspian's waiting hand, absorbed.

Power thrummed.

Caspian stood in the midst of it, breathing slow, savoring it. His body trembled, but not from exhaustion. No—something inside him was laughing.

A voice, deep, gnarled, edged with cruelty, coiled around his thoughts like a noose.

More. More. More.

A bootstep.

Caspian turned.

One soldier still lived.

Barely.

The survivor, helmet gone, face torn and battered, struggled to his feet. His right arm dangled uselessly, shattered beyond function. Blood dripped from his lips, but his eyes—his eyes still burned with defiance. He had watched his squad die, had seen Caspian rip them apart like a devil of slaughter, and yet… he did not tremble.

Caspian's grin widened.

"Still breathing? Brave."

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"You're nothing but a rabid dog," the soldier said, voice hoarse but unwavering. "The Emperor will put you down."

Caspian took a slow step forward.

"You think your Emperor is coming?" Caspian whispered, his breath curling into black mist. "You think there's a savior waiting for you at the end of this?"

The soldier clenched his jaw, standing his ground despite the weight pressing down on him.

"We are the SS Division," he said, voice steady. "We do not kneel. We do not break. We die standing."