The tension between Udo and Kimberley hung heavy in the air; every word uttered echoing with latent significance.
They call themselves the Herd, a cult born from the remnants of the Iche Clan. They believe the rapture was an instance of God betraying humanity. So they have made their main goal to fulfil Eze Iche's dream of creating a new world ruled by fiends and the god of the Underworld himself, Abaddon."
Udo's brows furrowed in confusion. "But why come after me?"
Ren interjected, his voice tinged with disdain, "You're an Iche, yet you've chosen to live among Dove hosts. In their eyes, you're a traitor."
Kimberley's gaze held steady on Udo, "I think there's more to it. There's a good chance this vendetta against you is personal, perhaps orchestrated by someone you know, even a family member."
"That's not possible," Udo retorted, a flash of pain evident in his eyes. "They were all sealed away."
"Can you be certain?" Kimberley pressed, a hint of challenge in her voice. "Are you sure they were all sealed?"
Udo's jaw tightened, his fists clenched involuntarily. "Whether they were or weren't doesn't matter to me. I only want to rescue Bowen. He's innocent in all of this."
Kimberley, sensing Udo's growing despair, extended her hand towards him, a clear olive branch. "Join us, Udo."
Before Udo could respond, Ren's voice, edged with anger, cut through the silence, "Kim, this is madness."
"I know what I'm doing, Ren," Kimberley countered.
"Clearly not, if you're even entertaining such thoughts-"
"Ren!" Kimberley snapped, silencing him. Turning her attention back to Udo, her voice softened, "The Herd has its eyes on you, Udo. The world is full of those who want you gone. Except us. We're your best shot at saving Bowen. Join us, or lose him forever."
Udo's gaze lingered on Kimberley's outstretched hand, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. Taking a deep breath, he finally met her grasp with a firm handshake. "Fine," he murmured with newfound resolve, "Let's do this."
The atmosphere inside the hideout was thick with tension one moment and loaded with jest the next. Kimberley's smirk, piercing yet playful, signaled a momentary win in this game of wits.
"Oh, thank God," Atamai whispered, her relief palpable, "I thought things were gonna get outta hand..."
Alko, the embodiment of mischief, slid off the couch, disappointment evident in his voice. "Can't lie; I'm a bit disappointed shit didn't go down. Facing off against one of the sons of Iche would've been fun as hell..."
Kimberley shot back with a teasing tone, "If getting your face bashed in is fun to you, it would've..."
Their banter, a light-hearted dance of words, continued. Alko with his trademark defiance said, "Bullshit! I would've held my own." To which Kimberley retorted, "He would've absolutely pummeled you."
Atamai's giggle cut through their playful dispute, a melodic note in the midst of the banter.
Suddenly, Alko, with all his youthful energy, pivoted the conversation. "Whatever man. Whaddaya say we have a little welcome party for the..." He draped an arm around Udo's shoulder, drawing him into the camaraderie, "...man of the hour here?"
Kimberley, "Cool, I'm down. Ata, you in?"
"Hell yeah," Atamai chimed in with enthusiasm.
But Udo's voice, a shade hesitant, pointed out the reality. "Aren't we literally on the run...?"
Kimberley, always with a plan in mind, reassured him, "We'll be fine. They don't know our faces."
"But they know mine!" Udo retorted.
Alko, in his usual style, attempted to lighten the mood. "Relax. We'll have Ata make a mask for you. Trust me, she's good..."
Atamai beamed at the compliment.
Kimberley sought to include the last member of their ensemble, her voice rising in inquiry, "I'll take that as a yes, Ren?"
All eyes turned to Ren, who sat brooding on an armchair, the weight of the world seemingly on his shoulders. After a long pause and much coaxing, he gave in with a sigh, "Fine."
——————————————————
Outside the imposing facade of Dove Corporation Headquarters, an energetic buzz permeated the atmosphere. A prominent news station had set up their equipment just outside the grand gates, providing live coverage of the much-anticipated event. With each camera flash from the gathered paparazzi and the murmur of the awaiting fans, the place felt electric.
"As you can see," began the news reporter, adjusting her microphone against the cacophony, "We stand before Dove Corporation Headquarters, the expected meeting point for the four captains of the Europa Empire's premier squads. This is following the startling escape of the notorious Fiend, Udo Iche. The turnout here is as immense as we'd predicted."
Behind her, security guards struggled to maintain a barrier, keeping the swelling crowd in check. The scene shifted as a sleek limousine approached, pulling up with an air of authority.
"And it appears our first captain has arrived!" the reporter announced, her excitement palpable.
From the shadow of the limousine emerged Dahlia Andersson, the revered captain of Nordia Kingdom. At 31, her beauty was arresting—azure eyes framed by cascading blonde hair, her slender form draped in an elegant green and white floral dress. She radiated a regal aura, acknowledging the crowd with a radiant smile and gracious waves.
"Captain Andersson!" the reporter called out, manoeuvring her way through the throng, "Can you provide any insights about this sudden gathering?"
Captain Andersson paused, facing the cameras, her voice assertive yet gentle, "Given the circumstances, it was essential for this meeting to occur. With Udo Iche at large, there's a palpable fear among the citizens of the Europa Empire. As the foremost captains, it's our duty to assuage those concerns. I am confident this assembly will facilitate that goal. But let me assure the people—one thing remains unchanged in this turbulence: I am committed to apprehending him and ensuring justice prevails."
But before Captain Andersson could continue, another voice, masculine and robust, interrupted the broadcast.
"Ladies and Gentlemen..."
All eyes turned to the source. Emerging from another limousine was Pedro Ordonez, 30, exuding a distinct charisma. His beard, meticulously groomed, contrasted sharply with his slick, jet-black hair. The dark red of his service uniform accentuated his commanding presence.
The reporter, sensing another scoop, began, "It appears another captain is gracing us with—"
But Pedro, with an audacity that seemed characteristic, snatched the microphone, "Let me borrow this for a moment."
The reporter, caught off-guard, managed only a half-hearted protest, "Hey—"
Amidst the grandeur of the Dove Corporation Headquarters, Pedro Ordonez's commanding voice echoed with anticipation, "Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to unveil your beacon in these dire times—a man of unparalleled valor, the very essence of excellence, and the crown jewel of the Meridi Kingdom! I give to you... Antonioooooo Marceluuuus!"
As Pedro ceremoniously swung open the limousine door, the figure of Antonio Marcellus emerged. At 31, his physique was imposing, each muscle and sinew evident beneath his black and red waistcoat. His thick mustache hinted at a certain audacity, a trait clearly on display as he reveled in the applause, throwing his arms wide.
"That's right! Rejoice!" Captain Marcellus bellowed, his voice carrying a hint of mirth, "Your empire's grandest warrior stands before you!"
Captain Andersson, with a roll of her eyes, muttered dryly, "Oh boy..." Her words nearly drowned in the tumult but caught by the nearby reporter, who shot her an empathetic glance.
Regaining his composure, Pedro handed the microphone back to the reporter. The air was thick with expectation as Captain Marcellus stepped forward, his confident stride emanating an aura of invincibility.
"Do you have any questions for me?" Marcellus asked, his voice dripping with self-assurance.
The reporter, a touch flustered, managed, "Y-yes... Given the current situation with Udo Iche, how do you plan to handle this threat?"
Marcellus, leaning in with a dramatic pause, began, "When you're as exceptional as I am, you don't focus on the enemy. In fact, if anyone should be trembling with fear, it's that sorry excuse of a Fiend. He's not merely pitted against the empire's mightiest, but against someone eagerly awaiting his moment—"
But as Marcellus delved deeper into his self-praising narrative, Captain Andersson silently moved towards the entrance of the headquarters, her patience worn thin.
"...his moment to stand tall!" Marcellus continued, caught in his self-woven web of grandiosity, "To firmly establish himself as this generation's unparalleled warrior!"
Yet, even as Captain Marcellus continued his unabating monologue, a new presence stole the scene. Another limousine glided to a stop, its door revealing James Barclay. At 28, James exuded a modern sophistication—his form-fitting navy turtleneck contrasted beautifully with the shimmer of his gold accessories. The elegance of his stride was enough to send the crowd into another frenzy, especially the young women who seemed completely captivated by his magnetic allure.
In the midst of Captain Marcellus's monologue, the ambiance outside Dove Corporation Headquarters shifted. He continued with a flair for the dramatic. "...and any woman I want," he clicked his fingers, a touch of arrogance in his gaze, "just like that. Do you know why? Because I am Antonio Marcellus, and I'm–"
The reporter, spotting a more newsworthy interviewee, darted away to approach Captain Barclay. Her sudden change of direction did not go unnoticed.
"Um- Captain Barclay!" she interjected, placing herself in front of the statuesque man.
Marcellus, feeling slighted, called out, "H-hey!"
Unfazed by the commotion, Captain Barclay locked his deep gaze onto the reporter. He took a breath, and in a voice carrying depth and resolution, said, "I have no comment. I will let my actions do the talking."
The reporter, taken aback by the stark contrast in personalities, managed to utter, "Um- thank you, Captain Barclay."
But Captain Marcellus was not to be overshadowed so easily. With indignation flaring in his eyes, he shoved his way forward, finding himself sandwiched between the reporter and Barclay. "La-di-da... Do you wanna lose your job, Missus? Because I could make you lose your job!" He turned to Barclay, challenging, "And you! You think you're better than me?"
Barclay smirked, his calm demeanor further igniting Marcellus's anger. "Why? Does my presence threaten you?"
Before Marcellus could retort, Captain Andersson's firm grip was upon his arm, her voice carrying a note of exasperation. "Come on, Antonio. We don't want to keep Sir Holland waiting..."
The ire still evident in his features, Captain Marcellus shot a final warning glare at Captain Barclay, his voice dripping with venom, "You're lucky I don't have time for this..." Without another word, he stormed towards the looming gates of the Corporation.
Barclay, having watched the theatrics unfold, exhaled a soft sigh and proceeded to follow, leaving the crowd in a mixed state of anticipation and wonder.
The reporter, somewhat bewildered by the abruptness of it all, mused into her microphone, "Well, that was...something?"
As she attempted to regain her composure, an unexpected tap startled her. Turning, her eyes met the refined figure of Captain Andre Renoir. His dark skin glowed against the pristine white and black of his uniform. The enigmatic captain held a small canvas in one hand, silently offering it to the reporter.
Accepting it with a puzzled frown, her confusion only grew as she took in the romantic painting it bore—a depiction of Captain Renoir, holding her close, both silhouetted against a stunning sunset. Searching for words, she managed only a soft, "Uh..."
But as her gaze lifted to seek an explanation, Captain Renoir had vanished, leaving behind only the mystique of his silent gesture.