Empires | Arc 2 | Chapter 6 | Field Trip

Taglia and Makisa are in the western borders of Royal City.

This jungle closely resembles an Amazonian tropical rainforest—dense, oppressive groves and towering, ancient trees with vines so massive they look like standalone trunks. Unlike the forest on the East Side, this environment is damp, muddy, and wildly overgrown. Sunlight only manages to pierce the canopy in isolated shafts, leaving the rest of the jungle submerged in such deep shadow that nocturnal insects sing their lullabies in the middle of the morning. The trees here are so wide that apex predators could easily take shelter within their sprawling roots, while giant, mythical birds nest undisturbed at their absolute peaks. Yet, even in this solemn, suffocating space, vibrant flowers and plump fruits thrive, proving that life persists in the darkness.

Looking bored and entirely starved, Taglia is perched on the highest branch of a giant tree, scouting the canopy for something to eat. He leans perfectly against the core of the trunk, his legs casually dangling over either side. It is a dizzying height, but he occasionally sighs, “Ahh, I am hungry,” completely unaffected by the vertigo that would paralyze a normal man.

A hundred feet below, at the colossal roots of the tree, Makisa sits with her own legs dangling over the muddy forest floor.

She is busy eating what looks like an apple, though it splits open with the deep pink, juicy texture of a mango.

Taglia looks down, easily spotting her and saying, “How the fuck can you eat those things?”

“You are welcome to join,” Makisa calls back. She then looks up, her face twisting in annoyance, and snaps, “And why are you nagging? This is your fault.” She looks back down at the fruit in her hand, muttering under her breath, “Trying to seduce her best friend… you whoremonger.” She raises her voice to shout back up, “Otherwise, we would still be in the capital!”

Makisa is visibly irritated that they have to spend their time in the mud, but notably, she isn’t surprised by Taglia‘s behavior. Her reaction is clear proof that she understands him better than anyone, and it certainly isn’t the first time he has pulled a stunt like this.

Taglia stays silent for a moment. When he finally speaks, there is a distinctly guilty but playful tone in his voice. “Hey, she was giving me signals, okay? And who am I to resist the temptation of flesh and lust?” He looks down, roaring back defensively, “Plus, women are divine blessings from our Creator, meant to be admired. I was just playing my role as it was assigned to me.”

Makisa scoffs. “Playing your role, my ass. You got bored fucking the same woman. She was always agreeing with you, there was zero conflict, so you chose to spice things up. Didn’t you?”

“That’s one way to put it,” Taglia admits.

Suddenly, a violent screech tears through the sky to Taglia‘s left.

He swiftly turns his head to see a massive creature soaring through the air. It has a long, spiked tail, giant bat-like wings, and a narrow Komodo dragon snout that widens thickly at the neck. Two powerful legs are tucked against its black-scaled body, ending in three razor-sharp front claws, while amber eyes with vertical black slits scan the horizon. Its underbelly is a pale grayish tone as it cruises in from the north, its leisurely speed suggesting it is just strolling rather than actively hunting.

As it flies directly over the canopy above their heads, Taglia smirks, “A wyvern for lunch, huh?”

“Got one,” Taglia announces.

Sitting in the exact same relaxed position, he simply tilts his head to the left, extends his left arm into the open air, and waits. Given the dense leaves, he cannot see his target clearly; only the screeching gives away its position.

A moment passes.

Taglia keeps his arm suspended.

SwuuWhoosh.

The wyvern completes its circle over the tree, flying east and finally entering Taglia‘s direct line of sight. He does not shift his core. He does not brace his legs. Keeping his shoulder and torso completely rigid, he casually swats his fingers—generating a displacement of air using nothing but the isolated muscles in his forearm, wrist, and hand.

Five wind cutters erupt from his fingers, raging linearly toward the flying beast.

A faint shhhhhhh slices through the sky, immediately followed by a wet, echoing SLUCKKK!

Mid-air, the wyvern is instantly sectioned into five asymmetrical pieces.

A sudden rain of hot blood showers the leaves below, followed immediately by the heavy thuds of the severed meat crashing through the branches and hitting the forest floor.

Taglia roars down, “Makisa, get the pieces.”

Makisa huffs, tossing the remains of her fruit over her shoulder. She drops down into the thick mud, her hiking boots sinking in as she walks toward where the pieces have fallen, muttering, “Finally, some real food.”

Taglia slowly crawls down the trunk of the massive tree.

It is a highly unusual, for him to come down this way, given that he could simply jump from the top and land perfectly, but his deeply unpredictable behavior is exactly what makes him Taglia.

Makisa returns to the base of the tree carrying only a few chunks—the neck, the thighs, and the spiked tail.

Taglia hits the ground and shouts, “What the fuck… where’s the rest?”

“It landed right where a bunch of oversized cats were sleeping!” Makisa mutters back. “I took what I could and came back.”

Taglia sighs impatiently. “Some cats? And you couldn’t just kill them? We would have more food!”

“I am not getting my clothes covered in mud just so you can have a few extra pieces of meat,” Makisa snaps. “You want it? Go get them yourself.”

Finally, the two begin the long walk back toward Royal City, with Makisa carrying the bloody meat. Taglia casually reaches out to steal a piece, only to receive a sharp slap on the hand and a glare that clearly says, Patience.

As they walk away, Taglia can hear the deep, guttural growls of those cats feasting on those leftover pieces — their growl is far too primal and heavy to belong to standard cats.

---

Far away, under a blazing sun, the sand sparkles like crushed glass. The distinct, rhythmic hum of crashing waves echoes through the air, yet the landscape stretching inland looks exactly like a vast desert of golden sand.

Walking across this glaring desert, wearing his pristine three-piece suit, is Chaos. Rogue on his left, and Loyalist walks silently on his right.

“Loyalist, this is the spot?” Chaos asks.

“Yes, Sire. Right under these sands,” Loyalist replies smoothly. “They have to be here, according to the location Mr. Deus gave us.”

The trio stops.

Chaos looks down at the golden sand, then glances up at his left towards Rogue and says, “Dig it.”

Rogue runs a hand through his hair, scowling. “Can we actually trust that dead man? And what did he even say we would find out here?”

“Sire and Mr. Deus had a deal,” Loyalist explains. “The Royal City‘s Head Family knew that pirates tend to bury their most valuable treasures in this specific desert to keep them safe during their long voyages.”

“If he knew that, why didn’t he just come and get it?” Rogue asks, his lone eye narrowing. “Why tell a secret like this to Chaos?”

Chaos takes a step forward, sweeping his gaze across the barren desert. “Because he was only one man. He couldn’t even infiltrate Titan City to steal his plasma rifle without my help. How do you think he would find and unearth the treasures buried out here all by himself?”

Knowing that arguing only leads to more of Chaos‘s philosophical lectures, Rogue sighs.

He takes a single step forward, lifts his massive left leg, and violently stomps the sand.

DHUMPPP.

The sheer, terrifying weight of the impact violently cracks the earth wide open. Multiple deep fissures spiderweb across the beach as tons of golden sand begin pouring into a newly formed, massive crater. The tremor is so devastating that the shockwave travels for a mile, roaring uninterrupted across the treeless landscape.

“Loyalist,” Chaos says softly.

Loyalist nods and silently leaps down into the dark hole.

Above ground, the desert falls quiet again. Chaos waits patiently, surveying the horizon, while Rogue taps his heavy boot against the sand, visibly restless.

Annoyed by the fidgeting, Chaos finally asks, “You have something you want to say?”

“Why go through all this trouble?” Rogue grunts. “You already have us, you have your own Heat, and you have enough platinum to live in that fancy penthouse forever. Why look for more?”

Chaos chuckles. “My big friend, wealth is never enough. We are talking about a global purge here. I cannot alienate the entire world all at once. During the purge, I need to lure people in, and then I need to keep them fed during the aftermath.” He looks up at the blinding sun. “Not to mention, you can never have too much leverage, and that idiot Deus drained my vault quite a bit.” He looks back at Rogue with a mischievous, terrifying grin. “It is a give and take. I gave him what he wanted. Now, it is my time for the taking.”

From the depths of the dark crater, Loyalist effortlessly jumps back up onto the desert floor, carrying a heavy, metal-cornered wooden chest. He drops it onto the sand. “Sire, there are several more down there.”

Chaos looks at Rogue. “Go on. Help him get those boxes out.”

Just as Rogue is about to dive in, shadows begin to materialize on the horizon. First one, then two, until a massive group of fifty to sixty rugged, heavily armed men slowly walks up to them, surrounding the trio.

By the look of their sun dry wet clothes and marine like weapons, they are undoubtedly the pirates.

The leader steps forward, a grizzled veteran with a sneer says “So, you’re the ones who have been trying to steal our treasure.”

Chaos smiles warmly. “Well, they looked so inviting. And you were so foolish to put them underground, thinking no one would notice.”

“It’s not that we thought no one would notice,” the pirate leader barks. “We know no one would dare to touch it.”

Chaos‘s smile widens. “I guess you forgot to count us among those people.”

Rogue steps forward. He doesn’t need a direct command from Chaos; he is impatient, and this swarm of pirates is the perfect punching bag. Standing perfectly grounded, Rogue begins violently punching the empty space in front of him.

Unlike Taglia‘s sleek, supersonic wind cutters, there is no elegance here. It is pure, deafening noise—

DHAM DHAM DHAM DHAM

—as the sheer kinetic force of his fists displaces the atmosphere. Moments later, the invisible shockwaves slam into the frontline of pirates, violently throwing full-grown men backward through the air.

The pirate leader, despite his veteran status, stares in absolute shock. “Wha… what is this?”

Chaos watches his enforcer work with a look of pure disgust, literally sticking his tongue out in a mock gag. “Air punches. I have seen air manipulation before, but the sheer, vulgar way he causes it is revolting.”

“The rest of you, hold these two down first!” the pirate leader roars, pointing at Chaos and Loyalist.

The pirate swarm surges forward, drawing rifles and pulling back bows, firing a lethal volley of bullets and arrows directly at Chaos.

Chaos doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t move an inch. He simply whispers, “Loyalist!”

Loyalist expands his belly, inhaling a massive gulp of air, and snaps his mouth shut, holding his breath tight.

Instantly, the world stops.

The raging volley of bullets and arrows freezes dead in the air. Loyalist looks around the stilled battlefield. The pirates, the flying projectiles, even Rogue and Chaos are frozen in place—or rather, because Rogue is actively punching the air, his movement is reduced to a microscopic, agonizingly slow crawl.

The crash of the ocean waves stretches into an eerie, endless SSSSSHHHH.

High above, the seagulls are locked mid-flap.

Even the sunlight itself feels like it is taking its time to send its warmth to the earth.

Moving calmly through the frozen battlefield, Loyalist steps directly into the path of the suspended gunfire. With gentle movements, he physically grabs the frozen bullets and arrows in the air and turns them around, pointing them directly back at the men who fired them.

He does not rush. His belly remains fully expanded, holding the breath.

After carefully redirecting the lethal volley, Loyalist calmly walks back to the exact spot he was standing beside Chaos.

He exhales.

ZHAH ZHAH ZHAH ZHAH!

Time snaps back into motion.

In a fraction of a second, the pirates are shredded by their own crossfire. Men scream as bullets bury into their deltoids; others collapse as arrows pierce their thighs and kneecaps. Muffled shrieks fill the beach as the surviving pirates crawl desperately across the bloody sand, their brains entirely unable to process what just happened.

Rogue finally stops punching the air. He looks back at Chaos, and then at the quiet presence of Loyalist. A deeply unnerved look flashes across his single eye as he whispers to himself, “What are these guys?”

The pirate leader has fallen back onto his ass, staring in horror at his shattered left shin where a redirected bullet just hit his bone.

Chaos surveys the carnage, perfectly satisfied. With that terrifying, all-knowing smile, he extends his arms to his sides and slowly walks toward the bleeding pirate leader.

Golden flames spark in Chaos‘s palms.

As he casually steps over the dead and dying, tiny drops of golden fire drip from his hands, landing softly onto the bodies below.

The moment the sparks touch flesh, the bodies—both dead and critically injured—violently crumple.

Bones crack, spines snap backward, and bodies fold inward, crushing themselves into compact meatballs consumed by golden fire.

By the time Chaos reaches the leader and squats down directly in front of him, the battlefield is lit with burning balls of human flesh.

Suddenly, tiny, pitch-black voids tear open in the air beneath each meatball, violently sucking the compacted corpses into the dark abyss.

Completely out of his depth and paralyzed by terror, the pirate leader begs, “Ta-take… take it all. Please, just take it and leave. You can see I am no threat to you! Hell, I can’t even walk properly. Just… please don’t make me into those.” His shaking hand points desperately toward one of the meatballs as it is swallowed by a black hole.

Chaos chuckles warmly. “Yes, yes, I know. My friend’s Heat…” He nods his head back toward Loyalist. “…is quite unique.”

Chaos raises his arm, curling a single finger asking the pirate leader to lean in.

Compelled by sheer terror, the pirate leader slowly leans in.

“Given that you are about to die,” Chaos whispers softly, “let me tell you his Heat’s name. It is called A Dying Man’s Last Breathe.”

Chaos winks.

He casually stands up, flicking a single, tiny spark of golden flame directly onto the pirate leader’s lap.

The man screams as his body violently folds, his bones snapping as he is instantly compacted into a burning meatball and swallowed by a newly formed black hole.

Chaos turns and begins walking away. While passing Loyalist and Rogue, he says, “You two, get the boxes out and bring them with you.”

As Chaos walks toward the horizon, Rogue steps up to Loyalist a little hessitant.

“Do you know what happens to those… those humans who go into the holes?” Rogue asks, his voice thick with unease.

Loyalist, whose eyes were fixed on his master’s back, slowly turns his head to look at him and says, “The meteors,” he says with casualness. “He turns into the meteors.”

Without another word, Loyalist walks back toward the hole that Rogue made previously, adding over his shoulder, “Now come on. Help me get the boxes out.”

Rogue does not move. He just stands alone in the golden desert, staring silently at the path Chaos took until he is completely out of sight. Then he slowly turns following Loyalist.