“We have you in possession of illegal military-grade equipment and stimulants, which we presume you’ve smuggled through customs; somehow, that’s the best of it. You’re associated with anti-world actors. Geddons, Mister Romanos. It doesn’t take much prejudice to pass the title onto you and your children.”

  “‘Geddon’...” Alistair whipped his head up, the thick muscles in his neck grinding together, doing his best to move his blood-crusted brown locks from his eyes. His broken glasses slid down on the bridge of his nose, yet he could see Agent Dwyer plain as day across the interrogation table. “This is the first time someone has called me that.”

  “Do they call you a ‘hero’?” Dwyer, with his stack of files, sat down and folded his arms on the cold metal surface.

  “They called me worse.”

  Ali scooted forward in his chair, but the magical chains around his wrists and ankles restricted his mobility. Multiple locks rooted him to the concrete floor, making escape virtually impossible and adjusting annoyingly painful. These were for Slayers, not for a ren. Though, most humans wouldn’t fearlessly battle a breacher.

  Dwyer chuckled, then his brief amusement dropped bitterly into resentment. “From the garbage you brought into the Capital, you certainly are a grand joy.” He rapped his knuckles against the table. “Look, Romanos—”

  “DId you give my kids any medical attention?” Ali asked, keeping his gaze still like a statue in a cathedral.

  “It’s coming,” replied Dwyer coldly. It wasn’t. He was delaying aid to exploit their weak constitutions. A common tactic, but highly unethical and illegal in the most circumstances. Scum.

  Dwyer slid one of his files forward. “I fully digested your biography since we last met.” Then he opened it, refamiliarizing himself with the material. “Alistair Romanos, a decorated rifle. You went down the pipeline of Marine to MARSOC, then Otherguards Special Operations picked you up.”

  Ali pleaded the Fifth.

  Dwyer threw his file aside as though it was scrap paper. “Let’s not play this game, Master Sergeant. Sitting there and mean-mugging me will only tighten your manacles. As I see it, your freedom—I know you Americans appreciate that bastardized concept—it’s quickly coming to a close. Smuggling weapons of incredible violence across international borders is, well, you know the prison sentence.”

  He tapped the table rhythmically like a ticking clock. Tap, tap, tap, tap.

  Ali didn’t speak. He couldn’t hear his own breathing or heartbeat. He might as well be a corpse.

  Dwyer licked his lips and adjusted his seat, taking a more authoritative posture. “We have enough to arrest you and your children. They'll be looking to spend more years behind bars than the civil world.”

  “...It was six years ago,” muttered Ali, intentionally quiet.

  “What?”

  “You obtained your First Class designation six years ago. Since then, you’ve handled numerous Black Orders. It’s a privilege to meet just one, but you’re ambitious.” (“What’s your point—?”) “You believe your current station is inadequate.”

  His deduction was met with a genuine sarcastic laugh. Dwyer made a small gesture with his hand and looked to the walls as if gauging a similar reaction from a ghost. “You’re talking nonsense—”

  “Why would a malie spearhead an investigation against Angels Guild?”

  “It’s our jurisdiction. Those…” Dwyer struggled for words and subsequently gave up. “...Things aren’t regular breachers.”

  “Yet you’re personally interrogating suspected geddons, not international criminals. You’re overstepping your boundaries far beyond your scope of work—”

  “Quiet.” A powerful finger was thrusted over the table like a pistol. “You should be more concerned with your own situation—”

  “I would go insane if I had yours,” Ali said, simply, and with those few words he’d forced the agent into silence. “You’re trekking into new territory, beyond Angels. Right now, you have a washed-up rifle and his kids, the second-in-line of the Ryu Family, the son of an airship captain, an exiled cultivator from the Maolin Sect, and an esper who might rival Hunter.”

  Dwyer smirked and glanced at his files, already familiar with his list of prisoners. “And—?”

  “You’re so focused on your enemies that you forgot how you’re sitting in that chair.” Ali lifted his arms as best as possible to push his glasses up. “Your friends.”

  The bastard’s pupils were whittled into shivering dots, and underneath the table, his pristine dress shoes shifted and accidentally bumped into Ali’s boots. In a moment of panic, Dwyer retracted his feet but maintained his well-practiced facade, letting his eyes return to normal and responding only by moving a confident hand to his lips.

  He responded, “Yes, I—”

  “You're not the only one aiming for a promotion, but you’re the only one willing to take this challenge. Everybody’s watching as they pray for Angels Guild’s downfall, but more than that, they’re praying for yours first. They don’t want you to succeed—”

  “So what?!” Dwyer coughed after raising his voice, and he tugged at his collar, cursing himself for his outburst. “So what? Are you suggesting they’ll sabotage me?”

  Ali looked down at the assorted files of everyone arrested: himself, Alexander’s friends, Leo. “No. With this large of an investigation, all they have to do is wait for you to make a mistake. I think this as bad as a mistake as any, enough to compromise your entire team and have them feed intel to your ‘friends.”

  "They're loyal—!”

  “Do you really believe that when you crossed so many powerful people? Believe me, Agent Dwyer, there are very few real friends you can make in this career. As we speak?” Ali addressed the metal door sealing him from the outside world. “Because you haven’t given my kids any medical attention yet, your ‘agents’ might already be reporting this violation. That alone will shut down your investigation in its tracks. As it stands?”

  Alistair widened his bloody lips and showed his pink, ravenous teeth. "You angered everyone in the city. You're fucking done. Your friends are writing your resignation letter on your behalf."

  On the table, Dwyer had his hands rested against the surface. They were clenched, knuckles white, before suddenly returning to his lap. His right hand seemingly patted at his pocket, his phone perhaps, and his gaze was directed toward the floor. Failure visibly occupied his headspace, straining the muscles and wrinkles on his cheeks. It wasn’t the mere thought of failure; it was absolute failure. The thought of decades of work and survival gone just like that.

  His life would be ruined.

  His life was ruined.

  “...Dammit.” Dwyer quickly rose to his feet and snatched his files underneath his armpit.

  He left the room.

  ***

  When I opened my eyes, I half-expected to wake up in Hell. Instead, I woke up in a steel box with my arms and legs chained to the floor, trapping me to the most uncomfortable chair in the world. Alright, I'll take it back. This really might be Hell.

  I couldn’t observe my surroundings much. My vision was so damned blurry, and it hurt to lift my neck more than a couple inches. The pain was getting to my head. My consciousness faded in and out, yet the scene remained the same: an empty steel chamber with me, a bare table, and an unoccupied chair.

  Until someone’s hands fell on my shoulders.

  “Hold still,” the mysterious stranger said next to me. “I’m mending your wounds with mana.”

  The healer—did they really give me a healer?—was a good one. I physically felt the mana dragging the pieces of my body back together and sealing the cracks: cuts on my skin, fractures in my bones, and whatever else was wrong with me. Normally, that would cause an immense amount of pain but the healing must’ve nullified that too. By the time she was done, she was audibly panting and her skin was paler than before.

  Personally, I still felt like shit, but I wasn’t dying. It wasn’t too different compared to when I first got injured after fighting Alternate Seraph.

  “Alright…” The healer walked to the side of the table, hunched over and letting her sweaty hair fall over her small eyes. “Standard mana healing rules apply. Let your body absorb the healing and avoid physical activity, unless you want to hurt yourself all over again.”

  She wiped her lips using a sleeve then approached the door. Before she left me to rot in this cell, she had one last thing to say: “Good luck.”

  The door swung open and she jumped a few feet in the air. Standing on the other side was a tired, bruised eight-fourteen who’d been waiting for an autograph: Dietrich. He whispered something and the healer nodded, kept her head low, and sped away.

  Dietrich rolled his eyes and took her spot in the room, except he wasn’t going to heal me. Probably the opposite. He thought about sitting down but instead, he grabbed the back of the chair and let his head drop against the metal. He groaned.

  I sat there. “Long day?”

  “Shut up,” he exhaustedly fought and picked himself up. “Dwyer doesn’t know I’m here, but he has bigger things to worry about. Like your friend, Victor. His daddy’s bringing a storm.”

  Looks like they couldn’t leverage Father Taslim’s position in the military. I said, “You brought that onto yourself. What government would allow a blatant political attack on their military?”

  Dietrich gave me jazz-hands. “It’s Dwyer’s problem now. One conversation with your uncle and he completely fell apart. About fifteen minutes ago, he chewed my head out for—ah, nevermind. I’m gossiping like a schoolgirl.”

  I see. Guess Dwyer had spoken with Uncle first, which was his first and fatal mistake. Whenever you sat at a table with my uncle, there were realistically only two outcomes: he’d either grab a pistol and shoot you, or he’d hand you the iron so you could do it yourself. Dwyer had chosen the latter, whether he realized it or not.

  His dream, capturing half-a-dozen Angels, became his worst nightmare.

  Made sense. With our collection of weirdos, he basically armed a political nuke and strapped it to himself.

  Now there was Dietrich.

  “...Okay.” I shook my chains to make a point. “If gossiping is your idea of torture, it’s working.”

  He sensed the invisible question: “Why the hell are you even here?” Dietrich sighed and rolled an invisible gumball inside his mouth. “Back there, when the first breacher attacked, why did you save me? Did you want good credit or…?”

  …Right, I did do that. I’d pulled Dietrich from harm’s way before Dad would’ve killed him.

  “I’m not that clever,” I told the questioning eight-fourteen. “I don’t have a reason either. Maybe, to soothe both our consciences, I’d rather keep our body count as low as possible. On that note, how’s everybody else? Any… Any fatalities?”

  Dietrich paused for a second, and my heart dropped to my waist. “...Fortunately, no one was killed. We’re blessed for that.”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  I sighed in relief—my life had sunk so low lately, huh? Being relieved that no internationals were killed. Most anti-government punks would burn me at the stake for doing that. “I wish nobody had to get hurt, but here we are. That begs the question, though: what now?”

  Dietrich said nothing.

  “I’m not expecting you to return the favor; hell, give me a reason to regret my decision, I don’t care. You do you. My uncle already did his part.” In other words, if Dwyer was self-destructing, it was a matter of time before we would be released.

  I think Dietrich reached the same conclusion too. He should’ve. He witnessed his “superior” breaking down in real-time due to being overambitious, which meant all the outside pressure would collapse inward. Ordo, the military, Angels Guild, even the International Agency and Anomaly Bureau.

  If he was smart, he’d start cutting ties and shifting blame.

  After some time, Dietrich said, “Whatever happens, happens. If you fuck up further, we’ll know and we’ll can you, properly this time.”

  “You won’t have to wait long in that case.”

  ***

  It was generally difficult to imprison Slayers, for both their ability to use [Skills] and their unrestricted access to the System. For the former, they had anti-magic equipment; for the latter, you needed twenty-four-seven monitoring to ensure your swords wouldn’t contact anyone unscrupulous.

  Too bad my captors were too busy with office drama.

  I wasn’t the one who thought about opening the System, though.

  [Private Message - Celestial Empress]

  [Celestial Empress]

  Conqueror, report in.

  Seeing the message first, I was more confused than surprised. Leo should be in the same position as me: chained to the chair, floor, table, everything. She couldn’t type, but I remembered you could dictate your texts in the System. Yeah, my brain wasn't exactly operating at peak efficiency right now. But with this feature, the System functioned better than your phone. Could just whisper and it’d understand.

  I eyed the walls like the agents could see right through, but I risked it anyway.

  [Conqueror]

  I’m alive.

  [Celestial Empress]

  Thank goodness. Did you get healed?

  [Conqueror]

  Mostly.

  [Celestial Empress]

  I guess my suspicions are true. Dwyer’s melting down from the pressure. I heard some shouting when one of the agents checked up on me.

  [Conqueror]

  Thank my uncle for that. He squirmed his way in Dwyer’s head. Dietrich told me himself.

  [Celestial Empress]

  Dietrich told you? What did he want?

  [Conqueror]

  Nothing. He’s seeing how disastrous this stunt is turning out and probably prepping a rough exit to save his skin.

  [Celestial Empress]

  That’s what happens when you attack not only Angels Guild but also the military and the Demonic Cult. Even by my standards, this was ballsy.

  [Conqueror]

  Ha, speaking of… Mind if I ask something?

  [Celestial Empress]

  Confessing already? I know your new sword is my memento.

  She was too smart for me. Too smart and too full of herself.

  [Conqueror]

  Mhm, I’m not sure if you’re drugged or delusional, but I wanted to ask about the three musketeers. Why did you bring them?

  [Celestial Empress]

  That…

  After your uncle decided to go in alone, we were stuck in a hard place. We knew whoever we sent as reinforcements, they’d get picked up by the internationals. For that reason, we couldn’t bring Sage, Firebrand, or Rei. Problem was with Sophos. That left me, and I can’t fight an Alternate alone let alone two. Until my inbox was bombarded by a hundred messages.

  [Conqueror]

  Vic?

  [Celestial Empress]

  Correct!

  I figured it was him. Chunhua wouldn’t dare reach out to a demonic cultivator, and Kotone was too timid for that.

  [Celestial Empress]

  Victor told me what was going on in his family, and despite the drama, he wanted to help.

  [Conqueror]

  That led to you contacting Chunhua and Kotone, yeah?

  [Celestial Empress]

  Mhm. We laid our cards out, and they didn’t hesitate to help. You have good friends, Alex. I wish I had friends from college, but some things don’t work out.

  Yeah, only they would be stupid enough to put themselves in the Global Union’s crosshairs; not only that, in the crosshairs of many organizations across the world. They were the second-biggest idiots in the world, just inches behind the idiot they saved.

  Without them, without Leo, I wouldn’t have the will to stand again. I…

  [Conqueror]

  …I wasn’t at my best back there.

  [Celestial Empress]

  Name someone who’d be peachy with fighting a monster version of their parents.

  [Conqueror]

  Jin Tianyou.

  [Celestial Empress]

  Okay, I should’ve set the bar higher.

  That doesn’t matter. Just tell me something, Alex. Do you really mean what you said?

  I didn’t hesitate.

  [Conqueror]

  I want to. I want to figure it out.

  [Celestial Empress]

  Haha.

  Guess that makes both of us.

  Leo went dark after that.

  I waited in that cell for a couple more hours, having no one to talk to other than my own boring thoughts. During that time, I didn’t receive any [PMs] or any further guests. Only at the end of the two hours that the door finally creaked open and natural light flickered through the crack.

  Dietrich again, accompanied by two other agents. He nodded in my direction. The agents walked in and undid my restraints lock-by-lock. Each satisfying click lightened a pressure I didn’t know was applied, and as the chains thumped onto the floor, an euphoric sense of freedom rushed through my head.

  Once everything was all find and dandy, I carefully stood, being assisted by the agents so I wouldn’t topple over the table. My legs… They weren’t buckling under my weight. That’s a good sign.

  “Time to head home,” said Dietrich, and he guided me to the light.

  As I stepped out the heavy and thick door, I saw that we were in a warehouse not dissimilar to the one we had fought in—except it was ten times cleaner and organized. The command center. Where we were at, they’d set up a host of temporary interrogation chambers in the back corner. High-tech for what it was, as I couldn't hear anything beyond the walls.

  My cell was one of seemingly ten, maybe more, and I didn’t know if anyone else was still inside. Then, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I was being watched. More specifically, watched by an army of agents, Ordoian and international.

  The rest of the warehouse was dedicated to the investigation. Agents stood behind, in front of, and around islands of messy plastic tables, their roughened dress shoes kicking against snaking wires and fallen pens and pencils. They stared at me with questioning looks and pushed-up glasses and pursed lips. Some had more: anger and frustration, resignation, defeat, and I swore one of them was smiling.

  Dietrich didn’t allow me to stay and gawk, as him and his friends corralled me toward the nearest exit. Not through their cobbled-together office floor—no perp walk, unfortunately—but out the back.

  I was the last to join the party. Figures. Leo and Althea had been talking—I see the agents had given Thea treatment too—while Uncle was interrogating my friends. As he was the only human here, his injuries were patched the old-fashioned way. Chunhua, meanwhile, was noticeably trying to avoid the gaze of a certain princess.

  When I came along to interrupt their fun, they all turned toward the big damn doofus. I joined them, saying nothing because no words came to mind, and it was the most awkward second of my life.

  Before we could break the silence, Dietrich loudly smacked his lips like he was tapping an imaginary microphone. “You got lucky this time. All of you.”

  “Does Dwyer not know?” Thea asked.

  He shrugged. “I have my orders, and he has his.” The International Agency must’ve told him to release us underneath Dwyer’s nose. Guess they were going to shove this pile of shit to the Anomaly Bureau. Try to, anyway. Wonder how that will work out.

  Victor spoke up, “What happens now?”

  “Ask your daddy that.” Dietrich then eyed us, the full-time Angels. “Or your new employers. You kids made your beds, so from here on out, lay in them—“

  Suddenly between our two factions, a purple magic circle was being etched onto the asphalt by an invisible pen. We backed off and observed. Within three seconds, the entire formation was impeccably drawn. It glowed brightly, blinding my still-sensitive eyes, and a low hum vibrated my fragile bones.

  Once the light faded, Morgan stood at the center, hood shrouding his youthful face. The circle remained, his creation. I’d never seen a teleportation circle before but it was the right choice. Scrolls, like what Uncle had likely used, were one-use and couldn’t teleport a large group.

  Morgan looked between the internationals and his Angels, and through a small nod, he seemed happy that we were alive. “I didn’t mean to make a dramatic entrance, but I’m not against these theatrics.”

  Dietrich sarcastically bowed his head. “I thought I would meet Ordoian royalty.”

  “Agent Dietrich, aren’t you?” Morgan visibly resisted the urge to spit in his face. “Unfortunately, you’re meeting me and I despise the thought of diplomacy. With that said: you should lose your career, your mother’s a whore, and not even a monkey in a dress would fuck you. Anyway, come on, Angels. I don’t want to spend a second longer in this damned place.”

  …Didn’t know he had that in him, but alright, we squeezed together inside the magic circle.

  But Dietrich had one final thing to say, “Hold on a sec—!

  The teleportation circle had the last word.

  ***

  To nobody’s surprise, we found ourselves in Angels Headquarters Hospital. It’d been quite some time since I last found myself here. By that, a few days ago when Seraph punched my ticket. We didn’t get a chance to unwind from the incident, because our teleportation was anticipated by a crew of medical personnel.

  The next hour was a blur of procedures and questions as doctors and healers assessed our conditions. For us Slayers, the healers finished the internationals’ patchwork; Uncle Ali had to move to another room for his treatment. The check-up also included a thorough inspection to ensure the internationals didn’t leave any “traces.” The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but fortunately they didn't place any trackers on us.

  Once we were given an all-clear, we reconvened in one of the larger patient rooms. The room was filled with chatty people, but nobody was talking. It was almost completely silent. We coughed and scratched at our gauze and bandages. We understood the conversation didn't start until Rector or Morgan arrived; thus, in place of dialogue, I scrolled through my phone.

  Every social media platform was blowing up about the recent news but not because of the recent breakthrough. The focus was on the internationals. Word spread that they’d “unjustly arrested” a team of Angels—one of which being Empress—and the son of an airship captain under the suspicion of apocalyptic activities. To many pundits, this was the “grossest act of persecution they’d seen” which was definitely a fucking lie, but dramatics got clicks.

  Yeah, it took a real genius to piss off a top ten castle, an entire country, and one of the continental superpowers in Asia. Like I said, political nuke.

  However the news was leaked, Rector and Seraph definitely had a part to play. They’d got ahead of the story and established the narrative before the Union could. Even if Uncle Ali hadn’t got into Dwyer’s head, the public attention would’ve nailed his coffin anyway.

  After scrolling for far too long, the door opened and in came the youngest Slayer in history: Morgan. We stood at attention. He levitated to the front of the room, and through his hood, he took attendance with his eyes. “Good afternoon, everyone, we’re alive. Some of us have more scars than others, but I count that as a victory.”

  Morgan looked at the weirdest family in the room. “I, erm, Sophos and I never anticipated that the Mother would base her chimeras off of your family, Shens.”

  Victor put a hand close to his mouth. “Shit, those breachers were actually your parents? It’s like Seraph then?”

  Chunhua followed, “And Zhu Xinyue?” (Kotone gave us an awkward but encouraging thumbs-up.)

  “It’s…” I started, the memories lodging my throat, “...it’s alright. I can’t say I completely made my peace—that’s not something you can achieve in a single day—but I’ll work for it. You have my arms, as banged-up they are, but send my good wishes to Rector and Seraph for me.”

  Morgan hummed, then he looked at Thea and Uncle. They nodded. One of these days, I was going to have their mental strength. Maybe then, I’d stop bitching so much—nah, I think complaining was going to be a lifelong trait of mine.

  “Excellent,” said Morgan, and I sensed a sympathetic smile underneath his hood. “We might need your arms again.”

  Leo’s expression flashed with alarm and she stepped forward. “Hold on, Problem, Alex barely got through this incident—!”

  “It’s not my choice,” he stopped her. “Sophos is nearly finished with her machinations and explicitly ordered for Conqueror. I don’t know why, but if she requests his presence, then who are we to deny her?”

  Leo quietly cursed to herself in Korean and crossed her arms. Of all people to defend me, I thought Uncle or Althea would get the first word in.

  Althea got the second, “Can you take a guess?”

  Morgan sighed. “I can only assume it’s precisely because of your brother’s work. Out of everyone, only he witnessed every Alternate since Primordial Plaza.” (“So we were correct…” Chunhua muttered.) “Angels, Martials, Glory, and then your family.”

  Wait, Morgan was right. I was present for all Alternate encounters since I joined Angels. Then… Then, couldn’t I put the pieces together myself?

  Before I went down the rabbit hole, Morgan had something else to mention: “And… Sophos did say one thing, and it doesn’t seem to be a joke.”

  He paused, seemingly debating if he should even reveal it. When he came to a decision, he looked at me through the darkness of his hood.

  “She said you’re the ‘real mastermind behind the crisis.’”

  [Complete: Part 5 - For Tomorrow]

  [Next: Final Part - For Stars]