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DATE:6th of July, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Taurinorum, Piemontis
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The hallway stretched on, silent and foreboding, illuminated only by the faint, flickering overhead lights. We advanced cautiously, scanning for any levers, triggers, or hidden mechanisms that might lead us to the lower floor. The air carried a metallic tang, and the faint hum of electricity from the building's systems was the only sound accompanying our footsteps.
John spoke up, his voice steady but strained. "We should check the elevator. See if anyone made it out."
I hesitated for a moment, but nodded. He was right. We turned back and made our way to the elevator shaft.
When we reached it, the scene was worse than I had anticipated. The elevator doors were bent inward, almost folded, as if someone—or something—had torn them apart with overwhelming force. Inside, the remains of three heroes lay sprawled across the crumpled elevator cabin. Their bodies were mangled, smashed together in a grotesque amalgamation by the violent impact of the crash.
It didn't take much to piece it together. "This must have been SuperiorWoman's elevator," I muttered, trying to push the gruesome thought of how the crash might have played out.
John grimaced but stayed silent, while Alice turned her face away, her hand covering her mouth.
Emily's voice chimed in softly through the com, her tone analytical. "The force required to damage the elevator and the bodies this way is…extreme. I would advise immediate caution moving forward." Sarah probably did it herself.
As I stepped closer, I noticed something else: a faint trail of blood leading out of the elevator. The dark red stains formed a jagged path, heading down the adjacent hallway.
"We follow it," I said, my voice firm.
Alice glanced at me, her expression still unsettled. "Are you sure? It could be a trap."
"Maybe," I replied. "But it's also the only lead we've got."
Without further discussion, we began trailing the bloodstains. Each step we took seemed heavier than the last, the oppressive clicking of unanswered phones closing in around us.
The trail of blood ended abruptly at a solid concrete wall, but the loud, brutal sounds of a fight still reverberated below us. Heavy thuds and crashing noises shook the floor beneath our feet, each one growing more intense. SuperiorWoman was down there, and she was fighting someone—or something.
"This wall… it's a door," I muttered, inspecting it closely.
Alice ran her hand along the surface. "How do we open it? There's no panel or switch."
I crouched, my fingers brushing over the faint outlines of what looked like punch marks embedded into one side of the wall. The force required to leave such deep impressions in concrete was staggering.
"She punched here," I said, tracing the marks with my hand. "But that doesn't tell us how the door opens."
Emily's voice crackled through my phone. "Scanning… These marks indicate the presence of a wireless transmitter system embedded in the wall. A specific signal would be required to unlock it."
"Great. Can you pick it up?" I asked.
"Place the phone against the wall so I can isolate the frequency."
I pressed the phone to the cold concrete. Seconds ticked by, the sound of fighting below filling the silence as Emily worked.
"Got it," she said after 15 tense seconds. "Transmitting the frequency now."
With a loud grinding sound, a section of the concrete wall lifted upward, disappearing into the ceiling. The doorway revealed a narrow, blood-streaked staircase spiraling downward. The air from below was hot and metallic, the tang of blood and adrenaline almost palpable.
"Let's go," I said, stepping onto the first blood-painted step.
Alice hesitated, her eyes flicking to John, who gave a short nod before following me.
Descending the stairs, we entered a grand, opulent hallway. The contrast with the carnage we'd left above was jarring. The walls were lined with intricate wooden carvings, each depicting scenes of Ventian myths and history. A bright red carpet, trimmed with silver, stretched across the floor, muffling our footsteps. The air here was heavy, not just with tension but with the weight of wealth and power.
At the center of the hallway, SuperiorWoman clashed with IronHead in a brutal exchange of blows. His towering frame was as imposing as ever, his metallic head gleaming under the dim light. Every swing of his massive fists reverberated through the hall, the force enough to crack the finely carved wooden walls when they missed their mark.
SuperiorWoman countered with precision, her movements a blend of raw strength and practiced skill. She drove a punch into his ribs, and though her knuckles visibly bruised against his near-impenetrable torso, she didn't falter. Her next strike connected with his jaw, sending his head snapping back momentarily before he retaliated with a ferocious backhand that sent her staggering into the wall.
"You're pathetic," IronHead sneered, his voice carrying the same metallic edge as his skull. "UltraMan would've flattened me by now. You? You're just the warm-up."
SuperiorWoman wiped blood from her mouth—hers or someone else's, I couldn't tell. "Funny," she spat, lunging forward with a savage uppercut. "You think you'd even last a second against him."
Her fists collided with his torso again and again, forcing him to step back. He laughed, a deep, mocking sound that echoed through the hallway, but I could see the dents in his armor growing with each of her hits.
When IronHead caught sight of us, his smirk widened. "Ah, more pests to swat. You really brought company, huh?"
SuperiorWoman turned her bloodied face toward us, her expression fierce but commanding. "Don't stop. Go. Now."
Her voice left no room for argument. At least she had the determination to stand, I could praise that.
Without hesitation, I nodded, motioning for Alice and John to follow. As we moved past her, I caught one last glance at the fight. SuperiorWoman slammed her knee into IronHead's abdomen, and for the first time, his mocking tone gave way to a grunt of pain. Whatever else she was, she wasn't going down easily.
The next room opened into a grand chamber centered around a towering fountain. Water cascaded from the hands of a marble statue depicting the Donn himself, Don Vicenzio de Balmundi. The statue was larger than life, its expression cold and commanding, as if watching over this underground lair. Surrounding the fountain were framed portraits of the Donn at various stages of his life—shaking hands with politicians, standing before lavish estates, and, most notably, holding court over a table of his subordinates.
The logistics of maintaining such a feature so far underground were astounding. It wasn't just a display of wealth; it was a statement of power, of a man who could bend the very elements to his will. Even in chaos, the room exuded a sterile elegance, its smooth marble floors reflecting the dim, strategic lighting.
Two guards stood by the door at the far end, their postures rigid. They barely had time to register our presence before I raised my pistol and fired two precise shots. Both crumpled to the ground, their weapons clattering uselessly beside them.
I exhaled, checking my weapon. One magazine left. It would have to do.
"We're getting close," I muttered, stepping over the bodies and motioning for Alice and John to follow. The sound of the fountain's water masked our footsteps as we approached the door.
The moment I pushed open the door, a thunderous, fragmented explosion tore through the air. Shards of metal and debris scattered like shrapnel, the force slamming into me. My suit absorbed most of the impact, though the force staggered me for a moment.
John, however, wasn't so fortunate. A jagged piece of metal pierced through his shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground with a groan of pain. Alice rushed to his side, panic flashing across her face.
"You're not going to die here," she insisted, trying to pull him up.
John grimaced, shaking his head. "I'm not dead yet. But I can't keep going like this. SuperiorWoman will be here soon. I'll wait for her."
"John, you can't—"
He raised a hand to stop her, his voice firm despite his pain. "Go. You two need to finish this. The Donn doesn't escape. Now go."
Alice hesitated, but I didn't. Time wasn't a luxury. I motioned for her to follow me, stepping over the scattered debris.
The next room was eerily empty. It was set up like a waiting room, with tables and chairs arranged meticulously, though the air of luxury and control felt oppressive. The chairs were draped in rich red coverings, their cushions plush enough to sink into. The tables were crafted from the finest Ventian wood, polished to a mirror-like sheen.
At the far end of the room stood a door, its presence commanding attention. Above it hung another portrait of the Donn, his gaze cold and calculating. His painted image loomed over us, like an omnipresent shadow of authority.
"This has to be his office," I murmured, stepping cautiously toward the door, every instinct telling me another trap could be waiting.
The room fell silent for a moment as the Donn acknowledged my presence. His voice was calm, almost polite, but there was a predatory undertone that sent a chill down my spine.
Behind the desk stood a butler, head bowed low in deference. The man's posture was rigid, his gloved hands clasped neatly in front of him. He was silent, a mere shadow compared to the commanding presence sitting behind the desk.
The Donn himself sat in a high-backed chair, dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit. His hair was slicked back with gel, giving him an almost statuesque appearance. Three small beauty marks dotted his angular face, like imperfections on a porcelain doll. But it was his eyes that struck me most—ravenous, calculating, and utterly devoid of empathy.
He leaned forward, clasping his hands together as he scrutinized me and Alice. Then, in a low, smooth voice, he ordered, "Take off his mask. I want to see the face of the invader who dares enter my domain."
From the shadows, a figure emerged. My heart sank as I realized who it was—one of the mercenaries I must have missed during my assault upstairs. He was an albino, dressed casually in sharp contrast to the Donn's formal attire. His movements were unnervingly smooth, as though he'd been there all along, concealed by some form of invisibility.
Without a word, the mercenary approached me and gripped the edges of my mask. I struggled instinctively, but the bindings held me fast. He yanked it off, the cool air hitting my exposed face.
The Donn's lips curled into a sneer of displeasure. He looked me over, his expression souring further.
"Who is this?" he grunted, his voice tinged with disappointment. Evidently, he had been expecting someone else—or perhaps someone more recognizable.
The Donn's demeanor shifted slightly, his calm curiosity now laced with irritation. He gestured toward his butler, who stepped forward with a deliberate precision, adjusting a monocle over his right eye as he approached me.
The butler studied my face for a moment, tilting his head as if recalling an old memory. Finally, in a tone as indifferent as discussing the weather, he remarked, "Yes, I think I remember him. Isn't he the assassin who killed UltraMan?"
My stomach tightened, but I kept my expression blank. I had never met this man before, but it was clear he had memorized my face from some dossier, just as many of the Donn's other employees must have.
Alice, however, froze at those words. Her eyes widened in shock as the revelation hit her like a freight train. I could see the wheels turning in her head, desperately trying to process the accusation.
The Donn leaned back in his chair, clearly unimpressed. "Yes? Wasn't he supposed to be dead? No matter."
He turned his attention back to me, his eyes narrowing. "You. How did you get that ability? I watched the footage—how you slowed time or moved at impossible speeds. I am certain you had no such superpower before."
Before I could respond, Alice broke her silence. Her voice was trembling, almost pleading.
"He didn't… He didn't kill Kevin!"she screamed, her anguish cutting through the tense air.
The butler turned to her, his expression unchanged. With a calm, almost mechanical motion, he removed one of his gloves and delivered a sharp, resounding slap across her face.
"Who gave you approval to speak?" he said coldly, his tone devoid of any emotion.
Alice recoiled, her cheek red and swelling, but her glare burned with defiance. I could see tears forming in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
The Donn chuckled softly, as though amused by the scene. "It seems your companion has spirit. But you..." he pointed at me, his tone growing sharper, "are going to answer my question. How did you acquire that ability? Was it technology? A deal with someone like me?"
"As if you'd understand," I reply, my voice low and unyielding. I keep my gaze steady, my tone edged with scorn. "I saw your failed experiment above. Copying Secundo Manus? That's pretty pathetic, especially when he's so superior—"
The butler doesn't let me finish, delivering another slap to my face. The sharp sting radiates, but I keep my composure, meeting his eyes without flinching.
The Donn leans forward slightly, his expression a blend of irritation and mild curiosity. "I wouldn't say I copy him. For one, I don't care about his 'human evolution' nonsense. What we tried to create were new kinds of weapons—"
"And when she turned like that, you sealed her in the lab," I interrupt, refusing to let him spin his narrative without challenge.
The Donn smirks, but it's laced with irritation. "Pretty inquisitive for an assassin.
It was a shame, but she turned into her current form only due to her own inability." he muses, tapping his fingers against the desk. "But you still haven't answered how you got that power."
I give him a sardonic smile, tilting my head slightly. "I always had it. I just didn't use it."
For a moment, he studies me intently, his sharp eyes narrowing. Then, he leans back in his chair with an audible sigh, his interest waning.
"So what?" he asks, his voice tinged with mockery. "You came here for revenge?"
His question hangs in the air, heavy with implication. It's a taunt, a test, and a challenge all rolled into one.
"How could I let you go?" I sneer, forcing confidence into my voice despite the precariousness of the situation. "The Balmundi mafia has no place existing any longer." It's a cop-out, a half-hearted justification, but I couldn't offer anything else.
The Donn raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "I'm not part of the mafia," he states flatly, his tone dismissive. Then, with a faint smirk, he turns his attention to Alice. "No matter. I see you've partnered up with Liliam."
He points to her, deliberately using her hero name, his words dripping with condescension. "She was… UltraMan's apprentice, wasn't she? One of them, I think? Strange that she doesn't hate you."
Alice glares at him, defiant despite the bindings and the oppressive atmosphere. He meets her gaze for a moment, amusement flickering in his hungry eyes. Then the butler steps forward, adding fuel to the fire.
"I was surprised to find out William Carter looks exactly like you, Zaun," the butler remarks, his voice cool and calculating. "Or mostly, if I'm being precise. She doesn't know who you are, does she?"
The words strike like a hammer. He's talking about my false identity as UltraMan's supposed cousin—a web of lies I had carefully maintained.
I hear Alice gasp softly, the sound cutting through the room like a knife. She doesn't entirely trust them, I can tell, but the doubt is there. It's in the way her breath quickens, in the slight shift of her eyes. She's piecing things together, unsure what to believe, but every second is dangerous.
The Donn smirks again, reveling in the tension. "This is getting interesting."
The Donn leaned back in his chair, the smirk on his face growing wider as he addressed the butler.
"Go on, Mr. Zimmer," he said, waving a hand lazily. "Who exactly is this man? I'm afraid I never bothered to research him beyond glancing at his name once. What was he called? The Nameless?"
Zimmer adjusted his monocle, his voice as cold and precise as a blade. "Yes, Master Balmundi. A B-ranked assassin. The planning team certainly didn't expect him, of all killers, to be the one who ended UltraMan."
The Donn tilted his head, his gaze piercing me. "He doesn't seem like a B-ranked mercenary. Could one of such a low tier accomplish what he has achieved today?"
Zimmer shrugged, his tone dismissive. "He's certainly risen in rank since then, but I'd attribute that mostly to his power rather than any newfound skill."
The Donn chuckled, turning his attention back to Alice. "Do you hear this, Liliam? Do you hear what your great friend has done?" He mocked, savoring the venom in his voice.
Alice's glare faltered for a moment, a flicker of something crossing her face. Disbelief? Anger? Her lips parted as if to say something, but the words never came.
The Donn leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Tell me, assassin," he said, his voice dripping with false curiosity. "What was it like? Killing the greatest hero this world has ever seen?"
I kept my mouth shut, weighing every word I could say and realizing none of them would save me.
Do I deny it? They'd see through it, pressing me until I confirmed it anyway.
Do I apologize? The Donn would laugh, reminding Alice of all the chances I'd had to walk away from this life—and that I'd chosen not to.
Do I pretend to have enjoyed it? Claim it was part of some grand plan? That would only ignite Alice's fury, her faith in me crumbling to ash.
Even silence was damning. In this room, silence was a confession, the unspoken admission they were waiting for.
I glanced at Alice. Her face was a storm of confusion, disbelief, and something sharper: betrayal. She didn't need to hear my answer—she already knew.
And yet, I said nothing.
The Donn sighed dramatically, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "Ah, the silent martyr. How noble. But silence is just as revealing, you know."
Zimmer smirked, glancing at Alice. "See, Liliam? He doesn't even deny it. What does that tell you?"
Alice's hands trembled against her restraints, her voice cracking as she finally spoke. "Say something. Anything. Tell me it's not true!"
But I couldn't. My mind raced, searching for an escape, a way to stall, to shift the focus. If the Donn didn't kill me out of boredom, then Alice eventually would.
Time was slipping through my fingers, and every second of silence pushed me closer to the edge.
"Yes, that is certainly a commendable work., but-"
Just then someone knocks on the door, before entering. It was one of the Guards, wearing a bloody shirt. He announced SuperiorWoman had been defeated.
The Donn laughs at the news.
Just then the guard pulls out a pistol and shoots the albino mercenary in his heart, making him stumble to the ground. The butler tries to grab his own pistol, but is shot three times, also killing him.
The Ventian caliber left to chances of recovery. The Donn wanted to raise, but the guard raised the gun at him.
The guard placed his free hand on his head, and his face began to morph violently, skin twisting and stretching. When it settled, it was a woman's face, framed by cascading red hair.
It was Sophie.
"Thank you for drawing so much attention, Willy~. I wouldn't have been able to enter this place otherwise." Her voice was sing-song, but her presence radiated menace.
She bent down, casually pulling her pistol and shooting the mechanism restraining me. The bindings snapped open, and I felt my hands regain their freedom.
Sophie straightened and glanced between Alice and me, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. "What? Did I miss something?"
I didn't respond, my eyes fixed on her, still processing the sudden shift in the room's dynamics.
Sophie tilted her head, feigning disappointment. "No warm reunion? Fine."
Bored, she turned her attention to the Donn, whose face was frozen in a mix of fury and fear.
"Hey, Donny, do you miss me?" Her tone was mocking, laced with venom.
The Donn narrowed his eyes, confused. "Who?"
Before he could say more, Sophie fired a shot that whizzed past his head, shattering a glass display behind him. He flinched, instinctively crouching to shield himself.
"I'm hurt," she said with mock sadness, rolling her eyes. She turned her gaze back to Alice and me, her playful demeanor replaced with irritation. "Look. I don't know what he told you, but let me save you the trouble. The Donn always lies. He's a sadist."
The Donn, still crouched, snarled. "You've gone insane. Whatever you're after, you won't get it."
Sophie ignored him, stepping closer to Alice, her tone sharpening. "So, what's the story here? Why are you two tied up like a bad soap opera? You let him talk to you like this?"
Alice didn't respond, her eyes darting between Sophie and the Donn, her anger tempered by confusion.
I finally managed to speak, my voice low. "Sophie, what are you doing here?"
She smirked, shrugging nonchalantly. "Cleaning up. You know how messy you get, Willy."
Her attention flicked back to the Donn, her expression darkening. "Now, Donny. Let's have a real conversation. Or do I have to jog your memory with a few more bullets?"
Sophie leaned against the desk, her pistol casually aimed at the Donn. Her eyes glimmered with malicious delight.
"Alright, Donny, let's keep this simple. What's the code to your public Vince account? I know you've got 500k Zols in there. Don't make me waste time."
The Donn's lips tightened into a grim line, his fury barely contained. "You think I'd just hand it over to you?"
Sophie's expression hardened. "I won't pretend you even know who you've hurt. My family, Donny. Wiped out like trash. And what did you always say? 'It doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things.' Right?"
He sneered. "I don't even remember who your family was."
Sophie's smile twisted into a snarl. "Exactly. Now, the code."
Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He muttered a sequence of numbers, his voice trembling.
Sophie tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. "That doesn't sound convincing."
She fired, the bullet tearing into his shoulder. The Donn screamed, staggering back against the desk.
"Try again," Sophie said, her voice dripping with mock patience.
"Wait! Wait!" he gasped, clutching his bleeding shoulder. He spat out another code, his tone desperate.
Sophie fired again, this time into his opposite arm. He collapsed to his knees, gasping in agony. "You'll kill me at this rate!"
"That's the idea," she replied coldly. "Be. More. Convincing."
The Donn swore, blood pooling on the carpet beneath him. "I swear it's the right one! I swear!"
Sophie's smile returned, but it was devoid of any warmth. "Boring. Get up. Come here."
The Donn hesitated, his gaze darting toward the gun hidden under the edge of his desk.
Sophie caught the movement and sighed. "Really, Donny? Go ahead."
He lunged for the weapon, but her shot was faster. The bullet tore through his arm, forcing him to drop the gun.
"Ow! You insane—"
"Walk,"she ordered, her voice sharp enough to cut through his protests.
Terrified, the Donn obeyed, staggering over to her. As he passed the corpse of his husband, his face twisted in anguish, but Sophie gave him no time to grieve.
"On your knees,"she commanded, her pistol pressed against his forehead.
The Donn sank down, trembling with rage and terror.
"The great Don Vicezio de Balmundi," Sophie said, her tone mocking, "begging for his life. How pathetic."
His eyes blazed with fury. "You wench!"
Sophie's laugh was sharp and cruel. "Boohoo. Little baby Donny scared for his life. Don't worry, though. This? This isn't over."
Sophie paced around him like a predator toying with wounded prey. Her voice was cold, yet laced with mockery.
"You act so mighty with your wealth and noble titles, Donny. But who are you, really? The last survivor of a cursed family, so alone you drown your frustrations in prostitutes. Oh, sorry—your 'mistresses,' right?"
The Donn's face twisted in pain and rage, but he stayed silent.
She tilted her head, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "You know what? I'll let you go if you can name even *three* of them. Just three, Donny."
He struggled to speak, his lips trembling as he thought hard. Before he could form a coherent response, Sophie grew bored.
"Time's up."
The gunshot rang out, slamming into his stomach. He doubled over, clutching his abdomen, screaming in agony. Blood poured through his fingers as he tried to steady himself.
"Come on, Donny," she said, crouching to his eye level. "I *know* you can do it."
He whimpered, his face contorted with pain, and mumbled two names. At the third, his voice faltered. He guessed, desperate to appease her.
Another gunshot.
The second bullet struck his stomach again, and he howled, collapsing to the floor. Blood pooled beneath him as he cradled his wounds, gasping for air.
Sophie sneered. "And you say you *love* them?"
The Donn tried to muster some semblance of dignity, but his voice was pitiful as he begged. "Stop... please. I—I'm not your enemy. You think I'm a monster, but there are worse people out there. I'm fighting them—protecting Concord from chaos."
Sophie raised her brows, feigning surprise. "Oh, really? The noble protector of Concord?" She leaned in closer, her voice dripping with mock concern. "Wow, Donny. I had no idea. I believe you. I really do."
For a moment, it looked like she might actually spare him. Then, without warning, she raised the pistol and fired.
The bullet pierced his skull, and the Donn's body went limp, collapsing into a lifeless heap. Sophie stood over him, her expression unreadable. "Protect Concord? You couldn't even protect yourself."
And that is how one of the last Pure blooded Balmundi died. I didn't feel bad. It was what he deserved.
It just felt a little... Anticlimactic? I didn't expect her to be the one to take him out. I also didn't expect for him to not have any more tricks.
Anything short of a buddy-double was out of the question...
She turned to us, her face calm, as if nothing had happened. "Let's go."
Alice stared blankly at the gruesome scene as I worked to free her restraints. Her silence was unsettling, her gaze distant, as if she were somewhere far from this chaotic room.
"Come on, Alice," I muttered, trying to snap her out of it. She didn't respond, didn't even blink.
Once the cuffs were undone, I had to physically lift her by the arm to get her moving. She staggered to her feet, still dazed, but at least she understood we had to leave. I bet to the level of his desk and connected Emily to his computer. In the meantime I went and took a blood sample just in case, before recovering the phone.
Sophie was already ahead of us, guiding the way with her unrelenting confidence. We trailed behind, eventually stopping when we reached John, slumped unconscious on the floor.
"He's out cold," I muttered, crouching beside him.
Sophie waved dismissively. "He'll live. I just didn't want any witnesses hanging around. You're welcome."
I rolled my eyes and slapped John's face, harder than necessary, until he groaned awake. "Time to go, John. Get up."
As John grumbled his way back to consciousness, I turned to Sophie. "What happened to SuperiorWoman?"
She shrugged, nonchalant as ever. "Iron Head got to her. Guy's a beast, took her down like she was nothing. Didn't stick around long, though. Must've thought he finished her off and bolted when he realized the tide was turning."
Alice didn't wait to hear more. She broke into a sprint, rushing ahead to find SuperiorWoman. I followed, though Sophie and John lagged behind.
When we reached the main hall, there she was. SuperiorWoman lay crumpled on the ground, barely breathing. Blood stained her uniform, her jaw hung at an unnatural angle, and bruises covered her body. It was a horrifying sight.
Alice fell to her knees beside her, gently propping her up. "Hey... hey, stay with me," Alice whispered, her voice shaking as she tried to keep her composure.
I approached cautiously. "What happened?" I asked, though I already had an idea.
SuperiorWoman's voice was barely a whisper, her words slurred. "He was... too strong. I couldn't... keep up. Thought I... could stop him... but..." She coughed violently, blood trickling from her lips. "Iron Head... he thought I was dead. That's why... he left."
Alice tightened her grip on SuperiorWoman, anger and worry etched across her face. "You're going to be okay," she said, though it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.
I stepped back, assessing the situation. "We need to get her out of here, fast. Sophie, any ideas?"
Sophie strolled in casually, completely unbothered by the scene. "Yeah, yeah, I'll help you drag her out. But you better not expect me to carry all your problems on my back."
"Helpful as always," I muttered.
Alice was still in her daze, mechanically trying to help SuperiorWoman stand. Sophie supported SuperiorWoman on the other side, grumbling about the dead weight, while I focused on John. He wasn't injured, but the dizziness made him stagger with every step.
"Can you lower their gravity a bit?" I asked Alice.
No response. She didn't even look at me. Her blank stare and muted movements were unnerving. She wasn't present, not really.
We struggled to the next floor, a cargo area filled with weapon crates stacked high and secured in rows. Beyond this was the hospital wing, and after that, another storage area. Emily buzzed in through my earpiece.
"Will, there's a cargo elevator in this space. Its structural integrity is... fair. Suggest using it."
Fair wasn't promising, but it was our best shot.
The aftermath of the battle became clearer as we moved through the floor. The guards were mostly neutralized—defeated or fleeing. Those still present were barely alive, crawling on the ground, clutching at wounds or missing limbs. They weren't threats anymore, just remnants of a brutal purge.
The carnage bore the hallmarks of Crusader's squad. They were known for their excessive violence, and the trail of cuts and dismemberment was unmistakable.
Crusader. Self-titled knight. It was almost laughable that Blazer was canceled first and not him. Everyone knew Crusader was a serial killer masquerading as a hero. His infamous motto—"judge, jury, and executioner"—was less justice and more justification for his bloodlust.
I was ready to comment on how predictable his work was, but then we saw it: Crusader's remains. His armor, once polished and gleaming, was plastered across a support column, mixed with the viscera of his body.
It wasn't just an execution; it was obliteration.
This meant Barry was awake.
Barryvard stood before the cargo elevator, his form a grotesque spectacle. Blood trickled from his eyes and ears, a chilling grin stretched across his face. He raised his hand, revealing a hidden button.
With a single press, the elevator erupted into a deafening explosion, sending debris flying across the room.
"Haha, you don't look too good, Chou," he sneered, his tone dripping with malice.
I stood firm, ignoring the smoke and the ringing in my ears. "The Don is dead. There's no need to continue this."
He chuckled darkly. "Him? My loyalty was never to him, but to the syndicate. And if he's gone... well, that just means I can cut loose!"
I released John, letting him slump to the ground, and sprinted toward Barryvard, activating my ability. Time slowed as I pushed forward, but Barryvard anticipated my charge.
He tossed three fragmentation grenades into my path, their deadly arcs predictable in the slowed world. I maneuvered through the explosions, the shrapnel grazing my suit but failing to stop me.
But then he threw a larger grenade—one I hadn't accounted for.
The blast tore through the floor and ceiling, sending me sprawling as the shockwave overwhelmed me. My suit crumpled under the force, the protective layers peeling away. I deactivated my ability to regain my balance, breathing heavily.
Barryvard paused, his grin fading into stunned disbelief as his gaze settled on my face.
"You... How are you alive?"
I didn't give him time to process. Pulling an impact grenade from my belt, I hurled it at him. He dodged left, and I followed, closing the distance.
Barryvard pulled a knife, lunging at me with practiced precision. I raised my gloved hand, deflecting the blade with a sharp *clink* as the suit's reinforced material held firm. He slashed again, aiming for my neck, but I countered by parrying the strike and forcing his wrist downward.
Our fight was quick and brutal. I jabbed toward his gut, forcing him to retreat a step, but he lunged again. This time, I caught his knife hand, twisting it away with a sharp motion, disarming him.
Before he could recover, I pulled out my taser and slammed it against the side of his head. Sparks crackled as the remaining charge surged through him. His body convulsed violently, but I held the taser in place, keeping the current flowing.
After a few seconds, Barryvard collapsed, unconscious.
I stumbled back, falling to my knees, exhaustion hitting me like a wave. My breathing was ragged, and my body ached from the strain. But Barryvard was down, and for now, that was enough.
I forced myself back onto my feet, my legs shaky but determined. I picked up my phone from the ground, relieved to see it was still functional despite the explosions and chaos. Emily's handiwork, it seemed. The device was far tougher than anything I'd used before.
I connected a spare earbud and reestablished my link with Emily.
"Emily, is there even a point in trying to get up the stairs now?" I asked, my voice flat.
She began calculating our odds, offering suggestions, but her voice faded into the background as I noticed movement ahead. Armed personnel descended the stairs with sharp, practiced movements.
It wasn't the gangsters. These were military.
Relief fought for dominance in my chest. This was part of the plan. We were to neutralize the gangsters, and the army would move in to secure the area. Ventia wasn't allowed to maintain a garrison under the Unified Kingdom's treaties, and the local police were far too intertwined with the Balmundis to be reliable. That left us reliant on the "Unified Kingdom Central Defence Force"—a name as unwieldy as their bureaucracy.
They identified us quickly, assisting as they herded us up the stairs. Their precision and focus left no room for small talk or pleasantries.
We were loaded into armored ambulances—standard protocol for high-risk missions like this. The vehicles were fortified against potential retaliation from the Balmundi Mafia. The drive to Concord was grim and silent, the air thick with unspoken exhaustion and trauma.
I shared the ambulance with Sarah and Alice. Sarah had lost consciousness somewhere along the way, and the medical assistant riding in the front kept his rifle at the ready, scanning for threats. It left Alice and me alone in the dim, confined space.
Alice didn't look at me. Her gaze was distant, her body curled defensively, as if trying to shield herself from the events of the day. She was still processing everything, her silence louder than any words she could have spoken.
I didn't try to reach out.
After three long hours, we arrived at the Central Hospital in Concord. The sight of the towering facility brought no comfort—just a promise of temporary reprieve.
Inside, I was processed quickly, moving through the clinical motions of check-ins, debriefs, and examinations. After a scalding shower to wash away the grime and blood, I collapsed into my assigned bed.
Sleep claimed me almost immediately, dragging me into a deep, dreamless void.-*-*-*-*-*