Desmond slid his pistols back into their holsters and folded his arms, his expression as steady as ever. He faced Temoshí with an air of confidence, deciding to offer just enough information to keep his opponent guessing.
"You want to know how many Marines are involved in this? Let's keep it simple. There are many, yet very few at the same time. It all depends on how you look at it. But what I can tell you is this—there are separate Marine units scattered across the island, and we haven't even scratched the surface of what lies within Geyser Island's depths."
His words were frustratingly vague, leaving Temoshí unable to grasp just how deep these hidden allegiances ran. However, the mention of the island's depths immediately caught his attention.
"The underwater zone of Geyser Island... You mean to say there's a way to reach it from here? I thought the only entrance was by diving down, but that wouldn't make sense. That place is sealed off with a massive glass dome." Temoshí voiced his thoughts, only for Desmond to cut in with a smirk, eager to mock his lack of knowledge.
"You really don't know about the lower layer, do you?" Desmond scoffed. "You can reach it from the island's surface, but the path isn't what you'd expect. And as for that so-called 'glass dome'—it's no dome at all. It's a massive bubble. Durable, sure, but anything or anyone can pass through it to reach the other side."
Desmond had just revealed more than Temoshí anticipated, and while his words carried an air of amusement, they also provided valuable insight. If there was truly a hidden way into the underwater city, then accessing it could be far more important than he initially thought.
As Temoshí and Desmond conversed, trouble quickly began to mount. Two familiar figures—Trice and Ophelia—had finally caught up to them. It seemed that Stitch's immobilization had worn off, allowing their pursuers to resume the chase.
Ophelia stepped forward, her gaze sharp and unwavering. "Desmond, I expected you to have dealt with this pirate by now. Given the time we took to reach you, I assumed the matter would already be resolved."
Desmond, unfazed, simply smirked. "No need for concern. This one has proven to be more tenacious than anticipated. I must admit, he's demonstrated an impressive level of resilience."
The three so-called "royal guards" surrounded Temoshí, leaving him deep in thought. "Damn it... Just great. Now they're here too? I'm barely holding my own against Desmond—no way I'm handling three at once. What the hell am I supposed to do?" He exhaled sharply, feeling the weight of the situation settle on him. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple—not from exhaustion, but from the creeping realization that he was running out of options.
Ophelia, maintaining her composed and authoritative demeanor, shifted her attention to Desmond. "Where are the girls? I trust you weren't careless enough to let them escape." Her tone was devoid of emotion, carrying only the expectation of efficiency.
"Rest assured, Ophelia," Desmond said smoothly, gesturing with a relaxed wave of his hand as he spoke. "The situation with the girl has been handled. They won't be causing any further trouble—I can guarantee that."
Despite the composed and professional way Desmond reassured his companions, Temoshí could tell he was lying. What he couldn't figure out was why.
"Excellent, Desmond. I trust you haven't lost sight of our objective—or our agreement," Ophelia stated, her tone precise and unwavering. She cast a glance around their surroundings, as if expecting to find the girls' bodies. "I assume you carried out their execution, given that there are no traces of them here."
Desmond maintained his usual calm, his expression unreadable as he met her gaze. "Naturally," he replied smoothly. "Let's just say their demise was... quite messy. But no need for concern—the task is done." His eyes then shifted downward, locking onto Temoshí's tense expression. "Now, that just leaves our final target."
Temoshí gritted his teeth, swallowing hard as his gaze darted around, searching desperately for an opening. His mind raced, but no clear path for escape revealed itself. He was surrounded, and every possible route was blocked.
Meanwhile, Ophelia's cold, authoritative voice rang through the tense atmosphere. "Very well. Let us proceed with the execution—punishment for the destruction of Phalris' artifact and the violation of her sacred birthplace."
But before another word could leave her lips, the air shifted. A sudden, crushing force pressed down on the battlefield, causing the so-called royal guards to falter. Their bodies trembled under an invisible weight, sweat beading on their foreheads as they struggled to stay on their feet.
"What the—?" Ophelia barely managed to utter before the force intensified, pinning them further.
Then, the sharp click of high heels echoed through the ashen terrain, followed by a soft, amused giggle. A woman's voice, dripping with mockery, broke the tension. "Oh dear, did I interrupt your little gathering? My sincerest apologies—really, I am so inconsiderate sometimes. But you see, it's way past curfew, and our little boy here has been out all night. And all day, too! Tsk tsk, such a bad habit... really, where are his manners?"
At the sound of her voice, Temoshí snapped his head toward the source, his expression shifting from tension to sheer relief. A wide grin broke across his face as he recognized her.
"Phoebe! You don't know how happy I am to see you right now!"
Ophelia and Trice both struggled, unable to make any progress as the weight of the pressure kept them pinned. "What is this?!" Ophelia gasped, her voice strained as she fought to move. "Gravity's gone haywire! I can't even take a step!"
Trice, on the other hand, looked like he was about to explode, his usual cocky demeanor replaced with frustration. "This is some bullshit! Feels like I'm being crushed from the inside out! I can barely breathe, what the hell is going on?!" He shot a glare at Ophelia and Desmond, realizing they were in the same mess.
"I had to catch up fast, Tim," Phoebe said, her tone dripping with mockery. "You disappeared in the blink of an eye. Luckily, the others didn't notice. Took me a little while to track you down, though. You've been running around the island like a lost puppy. Honestly, I almost gave up. But here I am, just in time to see you causing chaos—aside from this delightful weather, of course." She glanced up at the sky, shaking her head dramatically. "Such a lovely day, isn't it?"
"I appreciate you showing up, Phoebe. But we need to hurry before they break free!" Temoshí urged, aware that Phoebe's abilities were limited. Phoebe dropped her mocking tone and gave a quick nod, taking off and leaving the guards behind as they raced against the clock.
As they ran, Phoebe couldn't help but ask, "I've gotta ask—where are Chiaki and Shanya? I figured they'd be with you."
"They were…" Temoshí began, his voice tense, "But Chiaki took a serious wound. If she doesn't get treated soon, she won't make it. We need to find them—they went this way, toward the forest." Hearing this, Phoebe's face shifted to one of concern. "Chiaki…" she muttered, her worry palpable.
"Chiaki got hit with a lethal wound, a slice to the neck by one of the royal guards. She would've bled out if not for Stitch. She used a toxin to slow down her senses, making her unaware of the pain and the fact that she was dying. But now, that same toxin is a risk—it needs to be removed before it kills her instead. That's what I assume. Needed to get to the doctor, fast."
Temoshí's voice tightened as he spoke, the urgency growing with each word.
To be continued...