An alarm sounded sharply from Mr. Ambrosia's elegant watch, its insistent beeping accompanied by a small, red, blinking light that pulsed like a heartbeat. His expression remained stoic, betraying no hint of the urgency that lay ahead. Without hesitation, he stood up, the plush leather of his chair creaking slightly as he pushed it back. He strode purposefully out of his spacious office, located high on the penthouse level of a towering skyscraper, where the city sprawled beneath him like a living, breathing entity.
The corridor he traversed was a testament to opulence, adorned with luxurious paintings depicting grand historical scenes and statues of mythical figures that would usually capture his attention. Yet, today, he paid them no mind, his focus solely on the pressing matters at hand. Each step he took was brisk, his polished shoes echoing on the marble floor as he mentally calculated the consequences of the situation he was about to confront. The longer this particular issue was allowed to fester, the more severe the repercussions would become, and Mr. Ambrosia knew that time was of the essence.
Within a matter of minutes, he reached the only elevator that would take him to the rooftop room where his employer's office awaited. The elevator was a sleek, modern design, but he hardly noticed its aesthetics as he quickly retrieved a small access card from his blazer pocket. With a practiced motion, he held the card against the security lock, watching intently as the green light flashed, signaling his admittance. The doors slid open with a soft hiss, and he stepped inside, pressing the solitary button that would elevate him to his destination. As the doors closed, the elevator began its ascent, the soft hum of machinery the only sound accompanying his thoughts.
Moments later, the elevator came to a halt, and the doors opened to reveal a glass-enclosed walkway, offering a breathtaking view of the cityscape below. The walkway led directly to a polished mahogany door that gleamed under the ambient lighting, a stark contrast to the modern opulence surrounding it. Mr. Ambrosia walked down the short hallway, his footsteps firm and resolute, and paused momentarily before knocking lightly on the door.
"Come in," a deep, commanding voice resonated from within, echoing with authority.
With a gentle push, Mr. Ambrosia opened the door and stepped into the office. The interior was surprisingly plain compared to the extravagant decor of the rest of the skyscraper, as if this room existed in a different realm entirely. It exuded a sense of understated power and calm, which Mr. Ambrosia had grown to appreciate during his years of service to this man.
"We have a dilemma, sir," Mr. Ambrosia said, his tone formal yet urgent. "It appears that your daughter is in trouble, and she has activated the distress signal."
The other man looked momentarily taken aback, his brow furrowing in concern as he muttered to himself, "She knows never to push that button unless the situation is dire." His gaze then shifted to meet Mr. Ambrosia's, the weight of his responsibilities evident in his eyes. "I need you to go to the Training Facility she was enlisted in. Use any means necessary to locate my daughter, retrieve her, gather any intelligence you can along the way, and ensure that whoever has harmed her pays for their crimes."
"Understood, Mr. Windholme. I will leave immediately," Mr. Ambrosia replied with a curt nod, a faint smile touching his lips as he turned to exit. It had been far too long since he had been allowed out to play in the field, and the thrill of the impending mission ignited a spark within him.
-
Paine was increasingly uneasy about the entire situation he found himself in. The mere thought of having to take a child into custody seemed utterly ludicrous to him. He cast a sideways glance at the poor girl, Cherry, who was walking beside him, her demeanor a haunting mix of resignation and fear. What was the general thinking?! he pondered, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface as he observed her small frame, trembling slightly under the weight of her predicament.
The cuffs he had reluctantly fastened around her wrists were a stark reminder of the military's latest technological advancements. Constructed from a newly discovered, unbreakable blue metal mined from deep within the earth's crust, these cuffs were designed to ensure that the wearer's hands remained completely immobile. They functioned on a mechanism that tightened with any attempt to pull the hands apart or bring them closer together. Paine watched as Cherry fidgeted with her cuffs, her small hands struggling against the oppressive restraints, a futile act that only served to tighten them further. He sighed heavily, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him, as if the very air around them had thickened with tension.
"Let's go!" barked Paine, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. He nodded curtly at Sergeant Briggs, the unyielding authority figure who had been by his side through numerous operations. "I don't have all night, Windholme!" he snapped again, his tone sharp and commanding, leaving no room for disobedience. He stood behind Cherry, his hand pressing firmly on her shoulder to guide her toward the side entrance door. The gesture was meant to be reassuring, but it felt more like a shackle than a comfort. Once they reached the door, he turned to Briggs, who stood at attention, ready to follow orders. "Thank you, Sergeant. I've got it from here!" He waited for the sergeant to salute him before watching him head out, the door closing with a definitive thud that echoed in the hallway.
They walked in silence, a heavy air of dread enveloping them. Paine couldn't even begin to fathom what must be going through Cherry's mind as she walked solemnly beside him, her small shoulders slightly hunched. His hand remained on her shoulder, a firm grip that was meant to keep her from escaping, but deep down, he wished she would try to break free. If she attempted to harm him, at least then she'd have a chance to leave the confines of the Training Facility, and he would have a plausible excuse to present to the General about why she was not being held in a cell for questioning.
But no, Cherry continued to walk beside him, her expression vacant, as if she had completely accepted her fate. This passive compliance unsettled him. Everything about this situation felt wrong, as if the universe itself was out of alignment. The General's decision to involve a child in this mess, Cherry's haunting solemnity, and the fact that Zane had survived a direct demon attack—it all swirled together in a confusing fog that clouded his judgment. Paine felt an urgent need to unravel the mystery of it all, to understand what was truly happening beneath the surface.
Resolving himself to break the silence, he turned to Cherry, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Windholme," he said, his heart racing at the audacity of what he was about to propose. He waited as she turned to look at him, her eyes wide and blank, as if she were trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. "How would you like to escape from this place?" The question hung in the air, charged with possibility, and he held his breath, hoping to ignite a spark of rebellion in her eyes.
-
Mr. Ambrosia reclined in the plush leather seat of the private black jet, soaring gracefully through the sky at an altitude of just over thirty-five thousand feet. The cabin was a sanctuary of luxury, with soft ambient lighting and a sleek design that conveyed both elegance and efficiency. He could feel the subtle hum of the engines as they powered him toward his destination, the anticipation of landing within the hour stirring a sense of purpose within him. Though he had little to prepare before arriving at the private runway, he used the time to mentally strategize for the task ahead.
He regarded this particular case as a mere trifle—an inconvenience that he would resolve swiftly, ensuring it wouldn't have the opportunity to escalate into a more complicated affair. Confidence radiated from him; Mr. Ambrosia had never lost an engagement, and he had no intention of starting now. Especially not when the adversaries he faced were little more than low-born, high-ranking military personnel, whose authority he found laughable in the grand scheme of things. His primary focus was clear: retrieve Cherry from the military base as quickly and efficiently as possible. A fleeting thought crossed his mind regarding the boy she had been seen with—Zane. The idea of rescuing both of them intrigued him.
As the jet glided through the clouds, he seized the opportunity to delve deeper into his research. With access to military intelligence systems at his fingertips, he quickly uncovered pertinent information about this enigmatic teenager named Zane. Oddly enough, Zane had no last name, no birth records, and no traceable family lineage. Yet, against all odds, he had accomplished something remarkable—he had thwarted a demon attack, saving not only Cherry's life but also those of several other teenagers and a military officer, Lieutenant Paine. The thought of this boy's extraordinary feats brought a wry smile to Mr. Ambrosia's lips.
He pondered the various routes this engagement could take him, each scenario more tantalizing than the last. While he was uncertain how his employer would react to his decision to include the boy in their escape, he was resolute in his willingness to take full responsibility for bringing Zane along. After all, it took an exceptional individual to single-handedly repel a horde of demons, and Mr. Ambrosia had a keen interest in nurturing such potential.
A few minutes later, the jet began its descent, descending toward a small, secluded runway nestled within a dense forest. This discreet facility, owned by the Windholme family, was equipped with everything he might need for his upcoming venture. He envisioned an impressive arsenal at his disposal: a variety of sharp blades, firearms, crossbows, dart guns, bows and arrows, and an array of protective gear. Beyond just weaponry, the facility housed several vehicles of differing types, clothing suitable for various situations, and even a fully functional house for long-term stays should the need arise.
Once the jet touched down and the engines wound down, Mr. Ambrosia would quickly assess his options, outfitting himself with whatever he deemed necessary for their mission. He was determined to make his move swiftly, ready to end this affair quickly and return home.
It wasn't long before Mr. Ambrosia had stepped off the plane, his polished shoes striking a rhythmic cadence against the tarmac as he made his way toward the imposing entrance of the weaponry. The heavy, reinforced doors loomed ahead, their metallic surfaces gleaming under the flickering overhead lights. He approached the security lock with a confident demeanor, clearly accustomed to this routine, and spoke his name with a calm authority that resonated in the quiet space. The doors hissed open, revealing a vast inner sanctum filled with an impressive array of armaments.
Inside, the walls were lined with an eclectic selection of weapons and blades, each meticulously displayed as if they were pieces of artwork rather than instruments of death. The atmosphere was thick with a sense of power and danger, and Mr. Ambrosia took a moment to absorb the sight before him. He strolled through the aisles, his fingers lightly grazing the cool metal surfaces of the weapons, each one whispering tales of battles fought and victories claimed. His eyes flickered over everything from intricately designed swords to sleek firearms, but he was on a mission, and his focus was unwavering.
After careful consideration, he made his selections: a belt adorned with expertly crafted throwing daggers, each one balanced perfectly for precision; a small, almost surgical blade that was the length of his forearm, its edge gleaming with a promise of lethality; and a pair of sleeve daggers that could be easily concealed and swiftly deployed. With his choices secured beneath the dark fabric of his coat, Mr. Ambrosia felt a familiar rush of adrenaline. He bypassed the more conventional weapons like guns and crossbows, and the rows of armor that seemed to watch him pass, until he was drawn toward a table laden with intriguing artifacts.
Scanning the assortment, his gaze landed on a small chunk of rock, its surface marked with an enigmatic square engraving. Something about it called to him, a sense of destiny intertwined with the past. After ensuring that his newly acquired weapons were completely secure and concealed from prying eyes, he exited the weaponry through a discreet back door, the weight of his choices settling comfortably on his shoulders as he moved toward the main house.
Ascending the stairs, he made his way to the bedroom with the ease of someone who had navigated these halls countless times before. In truth, the Windholmes' residences shared a striking resemblance, their layouts nearly identical, a design choice that spoke to the family's penchant for tradition and consistency. He opened a closet and rifled through its contents until he unearthed a sleek black outfit encased in protective plastic.
"Perfect," he mumbled to himself, a satisfied grin creeping across his face. The standard butler attire he typically donned wouldn't serve him well in the particular situation he was preparing for, and he had always felt an affinity for darker hues. The outfit he had chosen was sharp and sophisticated, consisting of a fitted vest, a long-sleeve button-down shirt that hugged his frame, impeccably pressed black pants, dress socks, polished black shoes that gleamed like obsidian, and a sharp blazer that completed the ensemble.
As he stood before the mirror, adjusting his tie with a practiced precision, he couldn't help but admire the reflection that stared back at him. The confident man in the glass was ready for whatever the night might throw at him. Satisfied with his appearance, he left the house and made his way to the garage. Without hesitation, he slipped into the sleek all-black Jeep parked inside, the vehicle almost blending into the shadows. He inserted the keys into the ignition with a decisive click, the engine roaring to life.
-
Lieutenant Paine stood with a mixture of urgency and desperation, watching Cherry as she walked ahead of him, her expression as unyielding as stone. The tension hung thick in the air, an unspoken understanding that something monumental was at stake. Each step she took towards the main headquarters of the facility felt like a countdown to disaster. The ominous gray walls loomed around them, a stark reminder of the fate that awaited her if she did not heed his warning.
He had offered her a chance, a fleeting opportunity for freedom, a glimmer of hope in what seemed to be an inescapable nightmare. Paine had meticulously plotted their route, guiding her through shadowy corridors and tight turns to avoid the watchful gaze of surveillance cameras. He had studied the facility's layout, memorizing the blind spots that could afford them a moment of escape. Yet, despite his careful planning, there she was, walking with an unnervingly solemn demeanor, as if she were resigned to her fate.
For the life of him, Paine couldn't comprehend her indifference. He felt a surge of frustration coursing through him, battling against the instinct to protect her. Was she truly unaware of the consequences that lay ahead? The lights surrounding HQ were not just a beacon of safety; they were a trap, a point of no return. Once they crossed that threshold, the eyes of the facility would be upon them, and escape would be utterly impossible.
After several agonizing minutes of watching her walk with that same blank expression, the weight of indecision settled heavily on Paine's shoulders. He couldn't just stand idly by any longer. With a determined stride, he stepped directly in front of Cherry, blocking her path. She collided with him unexpectedly, stumbling backward slightly before regaining her balance and coming to an abrupt halt.
"What are you doing?!" he whispered sharply, urgency clawing at his throat. "I'm offering you a chance at freedom! You are facing a lifetime of torture and imprisonment!" His words spilled out, laced with desperation, but she remained silent, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond him, as if she were lost in another realm entirely.
"Are you even listening to me?!" Paine pressed, unable to mask the harshness of his tone. His heart raced as the gravity of her situation sunk in deeper. "This isn't any ordinary holding cell; this is an interrogation cell! They aren't going to simply ask you questions; they are going to torture it out of you!" The urgency of his voice echoed in the hollow hallway, but still, she did not respond, her eyes vacant and distant.
A heavy sigh escaped him, a release of pent-up frustration mingled with concern. He could feel the tempest of emotions swirling within him, threatening to overwhelm. Taking a moment to breathe deeply, Paine sought to calm himself, to find a way to reach her. This time, he spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper, imbued with sincerity.
"Cherry," he began again, his gaze searching hers for any flicker of understanding. "I'm trying to help you. I want to save your life. And if we reach headquarters, you will die. And that is something I don't want to see happening to you or Zane."
In that moment, something shifted in her demeanor. Cherry's eyes, once so unfocused, sharpened as they met his. There was a flicker of clarity, a spark of awareness, as she looked deeply into his eyes. Her calmness was unsettling, but it held a weight that he hadn't seen before.
"Ambrosia is coming," she said, her voice steady and resolute. "And when he arrives, anybody who has ever laid a finger on me at the facility will meet a fate far worse than death."
Her words hung in the air like a dark omen, filling the space between them with a chilling sense of inevitability. Paine felt a shiver run down his spine as the reality of her statement settled in. This wasn't just about escaping; it was about a reckoning, a promise of vengeance that loomed on the horizon. The stakes had never been higher, and in that moment, he realized that Cherry was not just a victim; she was someone who had the potential to unleash something far more powerful than he could ever imagine.