After a brief drive, the group arrived at the heart of Wilson's Lair. Ash guided them towards the familiar meeting room from their previous visit.
Approaching the door, the muffled sounds of a commotion reached their ears, indicating a scuffle was underway inside. Catching each other's eyes, they speculated that the two imposing figures might be at it again. Ash quickened his pace, eager to lead them to the source of the disturbance.
Upon swinging the door open, they were met with the sight of Lambda and Wilson locked in an intense arm-wrestling match. Rocco and Juice stood nearby, accompanied by Daoist and several other members of Wilson's gang, all passionately cheering on their respective leaders.
Ryland and the others breathed a collective sigh of relief upon entering the room. Ash swiftly made his way to Wilson's side, joining the chorus of cheers in support of the gang leader.
Not to be outdone, Ryland grabbed O'kuyo's hand, pulling him towards Lambda to offer their support.
Meanwhile, Alan approached the scene at a more leisurely pace, observing the arm-wrestling match with keen interest. From his vantage point, he could discern that both participants relied solely on raw strength, devoid of any special abilities. Wilson gritted his teeth in determination, while Lambda's forehead glistened with sweat.
As the contest progressed, Wilson appeared to gain ground steadily. However, just when it seemed like he might secure victory, Lambda rallied with a defiant shout. This back-and-forth exchange repeated several times, each man refusing to yield.
"You're going to wear yourself out soon," Wilson warned Lambda, panting slightly.
Lambda shot back, equally breathless, "The same goes for you, Wilson!"
The onlookers continued to rally behind their chosen champions. "Come on, old man! You've got this!" Ryland cheered for Lambda. "Quit playing around, boss! Show him what you're made of!" Ash shouted from Wilson's corner.
Despite the encouragement, neither contestant showed signs of fatigue, and neither was willing to concede defeat easily. Alan grew increasingly impatient. "If they keep this up, we're going to waste valuable time here. Their strength seems evenly matched," he remarked.
Realizing the need for a resolution, Alan stepped forward. "Alright, on the count of three, you both can unleash your powers and abilities. We can't afford to prolong this match any further," he declared. Catching each other's eye, Lambda and Wilson exchanged a nod. "1... 2... 3!"
As the countdown reached its climax on "3," a shimmering chain of Mercurial from Wilson's neck darted toward his right arm, wrapping around both his and Lambda's arms. Delicate strings from this Mercurial chain latched onto the table, attempting to pull the arm wrestle in Wilson's favor.
Just as his hand hovered dangerously close to the table's surface, Lambda smirked and whispered, "Muscle Bomber."
A resounding thud echoed throughout the room, accompanied by a minor shockwave. Everyone instinctively shielded their eyes from the sudden burst of energy. When they dared to look again, they found Lambda's hand victorious and the table edge crushed.
Wilson, who had nearly stumbled to the ground in disbelief, stared at his defeated arm with wide-eyed astonishment. The room fell into a hushed silence, with everyone's attention fixed on the unexpected turn of events.
As Wilson regained his composure and stood upright, Daoist murmured under his breath, "Oh, shit..." Rocco and Juice, sensing the tension, positioned themselves behind Lambda, their hands hovering over their pickaxes, ready to draw them at a moment's notice.
Then, to everyone's surprise, Wilson broke into a wide grin, extending his hand toward Lambda. "That's my fellow giant! There it is!" he exclaimed with genuine admiration. Lambda, equally gracious in victory, clasped Wilson's hand, pulling him into a hearty embrace. The room erupted into cheers and applause, celebrating the camaraderie between the two formidable opponents.
Wilson forcefully raised Lambda's hand in victory, pointing at him with a booming voice that echoed through the room. "The last time I lost an arm wrestling match was against General Stormblade. This guy right here," he declared, "has some serious potential!"
The room filled once more with enthusiastic cheers and applause. Lambda, slightly embarrassed by the attention, shook Wilson's hand, apologizing for the unexpected display of power.
"What are you apologizing for?" Wilson retorted with a grin. "That was spectacular! I want to learn more about that technique."
Pausing for a moment, Wilson motioned to his crew. "Alright, everyone out! Clear the room!" he commanded, keeping only Daoist and Ash by his side. Lambda echoed Wilson's directive, instructing his men to exit the room, though he signaled for Rocco and Juice to remain.
Alan, Ryland and O'kuyo take their seat at the table. Wilson and Lambda move to other side of the table since the edge where they seat previously had been crushed in the arm wrestling. Rocco and Juice stick behind Lambda, just like Daoist and Ash.
Wilson start the meeting. "Alright, sorry General Shadowstrike for the commotion just now. We got bored waiting for you and we got two giants in the room. What else would be more fun than a contest of strength between two giants right?"
Lambda nodded hesitately. Rocco from the back said," Nah, Mr Alan. I think they both wanna do this since they both couldn't finish their match properly last time because of your intervention. "
The tension in the room was palpable as Wilson and Lambda exchanged wary glances with Rocco. With a dismissive huff, Rocco brushed off their silent reprimands and leaned back, crossing his arms defiantly. Clearing his throat, Wilson took control of the atmosphere, "Let's move past that distraction. Our primary focus remains the search for Xavier's Party."
O'kuyo, ever the organized individual, raised his hand and outlined a structured approach, "Allow me to guide our discussion through specific scopes: objective, personnel, operation, logistics, and any miscellaneous issues."
"Firstly," O'kuyo began, handing out a paper, "our objective centers on locating the missing members of Xavier Dragonheart's entourage." Ryland reached for the paper, and his eyes immediately gravitated to the top where the names of his parents were listed. Below them were the names of the four generals, their trusted lieutenants, and close confidants, totaling sixteen individuals.
"Additionally," O'kuyo interjected, redirecting the focus of the conversation, "there will be secondary objectives that we may encounter along our journey. I'd like each of you to share if you have any personal goals or tasks to accomplish during this mission."
O'kuyo looked directly at Wilson, his expression earnest. "For my part, I'm keen to meet the professor responsible for creating your plasma emitter," he stated, seeking confirmation, "Professor Abishek Kapoor, correct?"
Wilson raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "You're interested in meeting that crazy guy? Frankly, even I prefer to conduct business with him over the phone," he remarked with a chuckle.
O'kuyo leaned in, undeterred. "Let's consider it a personal curiosity of mine for now. What about you, Wilson? Any personal objectives on this journey?"
Wilson leaned back in his chair, casting a thoughtful glance around the room. "I've got some gang-related matters that need attending to," he admitted, his voice carrying a hint of mystery. "I'll fill you all in as we go along."
Lambda raised an eyebrow, looking slightly skeptical. "Why keep it a secret?" he questioned.
Wilson shrugged, a sly smirk forming on his lips. "Just the way I operate. What about you?" he countered, redirecting the question to Lambda.
Lambda hesitated for a moment before responding, "I plan to visit some old friends in a few towns along our route," he said evasively. "I'll share the details when the time is right."
Wilson's smirk widened, sensing the shared sentiment in the room. Despite their unified goal, it was clear that each member harbored their own personal missions and agendas, ones they weren't quite ready to divulge to the group. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken intentions, hinting at the complex web of motivations that bound this disparate group together.