Fatum suum accepit-LXXXII
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DATE:16th of August, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
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I thought about staying back to explain the situation at the ice cream shop. Maybe even taking statements or dealing with the fallout.
But why would I care?
Was I supposed to deal with the endless paperwork, the interviews, and the barrage of complaints from the Civil Militia? Fuck no.
Emily confirmed as I made my way back to HQ that the navy-coated bastard had vanished from any camera view. He got into a van, and she was already tracking it to what looked like his base.
"Later," I muttered under my breath. I'd deal with him later.
---
I reached the HQ, still bloodied from the massacre, and made my way to the meeting room. A few wide-eyed heroes turned to stare as I sank into an empty chair, leaving a faint smear of blood on the armrest.
No one said a word. Maybe they were too shocked to comment, or maybe they'd seen worse.
"Start," I said flatly.
The room hesitated for a moment before the presenter, a woman I vaguely recognized as Phanta, began her briefing.
---
I half-listened at first, annoyed at being dragged into this mess, until Phanta mentioned the Combine Gang.
"They're different from most criminal organizations in Concord," she explained, her voice even and professional. "Unlike groups with roots in Ventian crime, the Combine Gang was originally a workers' rights movement."
Workers' rights? Now that was rich.
"Of course, things spiraled out of control," she continued, "largely due to the intervention of Archibald, an immigrant from Helvetia."
I raised an eyebrow. A foreigner training a gang of low-life thugs to become a militarized force? That kind of ambition didn't come cheap.
Phanta gestured to a projection screen, showing an organizational map of the Combine Gang's leadership. "Archibald transformed them into a structured group, implementing a system of lieutenants, smaller gangs, and rigorous training. Their rise was bolstered by competition between the city's 'triple monopoly'—Silvian Morris, Matthew D. A., and the Old Donn—and, more recently, their coalition with Secundo Manus."
"So, let me get this straight," I said, leaning back in my chair. "The Combine Gang starts as a workers' movement, spirals into militarized anarchy, and now threatens the entire city? Why should we even bother stopping them? Wouldn't a revolution just bring in the unified government?"
Phanta's expression darkened. "Trust me, you don't want the Royal Governor to intervene."
"Why not?"
A veiled hero at the far end of the table chimed in. "Because the last time he did, thousands died. And that was when the city was half as populated as it is now."
---
That caught my attention.
"What makes him so dangerous?" I asked.
Phanta sighed, her calm demeanor shifting slightly. "It's classified, but... the Royal Governor is no mere figurehead. He's possibly the first superhuman to ever exist."
I frowned. "Superhuman? I thought those didn't appear until twenty years ago."
"Officially, yes," Phanta replied. "But the Royal Governor's first documented appearance was during the final assault on Concord nearly a century ago. His abilities are... devastating. Speculation suggests some kind of proximity-based rot, something that decays everything near him."
I blinked. "Rotting? That sounds more like a demon's ability."
Phanta nodded gravely. "Some say he's a demon. But he only left his castle three times in the last century—once for the King's coronation 70 years ago, and twice when his children were born. His last public appearance was 30 years ago, but he's still very much alive."
A veiled hero near me shows me a picture of the Governor's last appearance. He was certainly old, but not 70 like he was supposed to. HE looked like a bearded middle aged man.
"That doesn't make sense," I said, narrowing my eyes. "If he's at least 70 years old, how did he look 40 three decades ago?"
The veiled hero spoke up again. "There are theories. Either he receives some kind of treatment to slow his aging, or his abilities grant him longevity."
I exhaled sharply, leaning back in my chair. "So, what exactly am I supposed to do about all of this?"
Phanta folded her hands, glancing nervously around the table before continuing.
"Our current strategy for combating the Combine Gang focuses on maintaining public order while the Inquisition locates their bases. Over the past few months, the Legion has taken down three bases and seven lieutenants."
She paused, her voice growing heavier. "But despite those successes, the gang continues to thrive."
I leaned back in my chair, letting her words wash over me. None of it felt new. The Combine Gang wasn't just a criminal organization—it was a movement built on grudges, desperation, and power dynamics far bigger than any single gang.
"It's been decided," Phanta continued, "that we need to target their corporate founders before the gang grows strong enough to force the Royal Governor's intervention."
Ah, yes. The mysterious, rotting man in his castle. A superhuman legend no one wanted to test.
I narrowed my eyes and asked again, coldly, "What am I supposed to do?"
Phanta flinched, startled by the bluntness of my tone. "It's... kind of your job to figure that out," she said hesitantly. "As leader, you play a huge role in maintaining morale. Your reputation is critical. Speaking of which—" she gestured at me, her voice rising slightly— "why are you covered in blood?"
"Villain attack," I replied curtly.
Her brows furrowed. "Where? There haven't been any reports today."
"An old enemy hunted me," I said, standing up. "I took his arm. Now I'll take the rest."
I tapped the earpiece almost by reflex. "Did you find his base?"
Her voice buzzed in my ear. "Confirmed. Tracking indicates he's holed up in an old industrial facility outside the city."
Phanta's voice cut in again, rising in alarm. "Wait, where are you going? We still have administrative matters to discuss!"
Ignoring their protests, I strode toward the door. "Send me an email."
"An email?! What are you—"
The door shut behind me, muffling the rest of her words.
---
I stepped into a storage closet, the cramped space barely lit by the dim glow of my watch.
"Emily," I muttered.
"Coordinates locked," she replied. "Are you sure about this? You're not exactly in peak condition."
I exhaled softly, steadying my nerves. "Just get me there."
The teleportation sequence activated, and in an instant, the world around me dissolved into a blur of light and static. I clenched my fists, my body briefly weightless as the system recalibrated.
When the light faded, I was standing in the shadow of the facility.
The air was heavy, thick with the industrial stink of rust and oil. The building loomed before me, its windows shattered and walls streaked with grime.
I tightened the grip on my SmartGun, taking a step forward. Every instinct screamed at me to be cautious.
This wasn't just about vengeance. This time, I wouldn't let him walk away.
I activated the night vision in my mask, and the factory came to life in shades of green and gray. The professor's upgrades almost elevated this suit to the level of the Hao system. Almost. I still preferred the Hao—it felt more like a second skin.
The factory was eerily quiet. For a building so close to the city, it felt impossibly secluded. Prime real estate, yet untouched for decades. Why?
Something was wrong. If this place was abandoned after the fire Emily mentioned, why hadn't it been rebuilt? Why had it been left to rot?
The cracked walls let in faint beams of moonlight, illuminating rusted machinery that towered around me. Five meters tall, with multiple mechanical arms, the machines looked like something out of a modern assembly line. But if this factory was as old as its records suggested, none of this made sense.
"Emily," I murmured, my voice breaking the silence. "You said there was a fire here?"
"Decades ago," she confirmed. "The cause wasn't documented, but it was significant enough to shut the facility down permanently. The owners never rebuilt."
I frowned. A fire alone didn't explain this place. It didn't explain the oppressive feeling of death lingering in the air, or the way the creaks of the machinery seemed to echo like whispers around me.
I wasn't scared, but I wasn't at ease, either.
The moustached man wasn't alone. Someone drove him here, at the very least. Considering his importance, there had to be more. So where were they?
The creaking grew louder, almost rhythmic, like the machines were alive. Emily's voice crackled in my ear. "There's no power connected to the facility. Whatever you're hearing... it's not electricity."
I tightened my grip on the SmartGun, stepping carefully around a corner. That's when I saw him.
A flash of navy blue.
I jerked back just as his blade slashed through the air, narrowly missing my shoulder.
"Didn't get you *away* enough, did I?" he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.
I fired a shot, but he was already gone, his movements too quick and silent for me to track. I pursued him deeper into the labyrinth of machinery, frustration bubbling beneath my calm exterior.
"How the hell did this factory even function?" I muttered, my eyes scanning the towering machines. "It looks like it's from another century, but these systems... they're far advanced for their time."
Emily didn't answer, and I wasn't sure I wanted her to.
Suddenly, I saw a figure in the distance. Raising my gun, I fired without hesitation. The shot landed, but the figure didn't fall.
I approached cautiously, keeping the SmartGun trained on it.
It wasn't him.
The figure was dressed in a worker's suit, its back turned to me. I called out, but it didn't respond. It just stood there, unnaturally still.
Then it turned around.
"Run," Emily hissed, her voice sharp and urgent.
My stomach twisted as the figure came into view. It wasn't human—not entirely. Rusted metal plates were grafted onto its flesh, jagged and uneven, like someone had surgically forced the two together with no regard for pain or functionality.
Primitive. Grotesque. A nightmare of flesh and steel.
The thing lurched toward me, its movements jerky and inhuman.
"Dangerous or not, I'm not in a horror movie," I muttered, pulling a grenade from my belt.
I lobbed it at the creature, stepping back as the explosion tore through the air. When the dust settled, bits of skin and metal were splattered across the walls.
Only the metal frame remained, still crawling toward me, its joints screeching with every movement.
"Such a loser," I spat, raising my SmartGun.
I raised the SmartGun, aiming it at the crawling metal frame of the rusted cyborg. But after a moment, I lowered it.
What was the point of wasting ammunition on a piece of junk?
I walked forward, before spotting more of the machines making noise in the distance. They were moving in a pile of sorts. Under the heat vision, Emily said it was something alive. Coming closer, I saw they were eating the corpse of a man. They didn't seem to be aware of my presence. The corpse was recent. Was he one of the soldiers of the Man with the Golden buttons?
Stepping past the twitching abomination, I focused on the path ahead. The factory's labyrinthine layout was starting to make me regret not asking the professor for reconnaissance drones.
That regret deepened when I spotted the swordsman in the distance, his navy blue coat barely visible in the darkness.
I sprinted after him, determined to end this.
He led me into a long hallway lined with rusted metal cabinets. At first, it seemed like just another obstacle, but halfway through, I noticed the cabinets weren't empty.
Figures stirred inside.
The swordsman moved quickly, weakening the gates of the cabinets as he passed. One by one, the doors burst open, releasing the horrors within.
They were like the cyborg from earlier, but worse.
Rusted metal grafted onto flesh, their bodies disfigured and grotesque, they staggered into the hallway with gargled screams, their movements jerky and unnatural.
I breathed in deeply, activating my ability one last time for the day. The world slowed to a crawl as I moved through the mass of abominations, weaving between them with calculated precision. Their outstretched arms clawed at empty air as I emerged from the hallway unscathed.
---
The swordsman was just ahead, his back turned to me.
Seven shots.
I fired into his back, each bullet landing with precision on his heart, lungs, and stomach.
His body lurched forward, stumbling to the ground. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and sticky, soaking into his navy blue coat.
"You're still awfully fast for a man with a ruptured artery," I said coldly, kicking him onto his back.
His face was calm, expressionless—not out of fear, but something colder. Calculated.
Before I could react, he pulled an automatic handgun from beneath his coat and emptied the clip into my chest and neck. The bullets clanged uselessly against my armor, but the impact sent me stumbling.
He grabbed his blade, swing aiming for my foot. The strike hit one of my plates, the metal sparking but holding firm.
I recovered quickly, grabbing the blade with one hand and pressing my foot onto his wrist.
He grunted, struggling against my grip, but I drove my other hand down hard against his fingers, using the blade as a pressure point. The bones snapped audibly, some breaking through the flesh entirely.
With his other hand already mangled and useless, and his artery still bleeding profusely, he was finished.
But still, he laughed.
"Impressive," he said, his voice strained but mocking. "Your technology is truly advanced."
I glared at him. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
He coughed, blood staining his teeth as he grinned. "I'm the peak of biology. Enhanced, perfected. You're just a man in a fancy suit. To lose to this..."
I tightened my grip on his blade. "Where's your team?"
His grin widened, and he clicked his tongue.
The world seemed to freeze as the sound echoed through the factory.
Then everything exploded.
---
Heat and light consumed my vision, the force of the blast swallowing the factory in an instant.
Before the shockwave could hit me, Emily's voice cut through the chaos. "Initiating emergency teleportation."
The next thing I knew, I was outside the factory, the air cool and still compared to the inferno I'd just escaped.
Flames engulfed the building, the roar of destruction echoing across the empty lot. I stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, the edges of my vision still tinted with the glow of the explosion.
"Thanks, Emily," I muttered, my voice low.
"Always," she replied.
I stared at the burning wreckage of the factory, thinking.
The swordsman's laughter still echoed in my mind. Did he think he will get me like that? Possibly if it was me from six months ago, not now. The factory itself felt... wrong. The air, the machinery, even the ground—it all felt like it was holding onto something, an unnatural presence that lingered long after he was gone.
"Emily," I muttered, breaking the silence. "What the hell happened back there? That place didn't feel real."
Her reply was delayed, the line unusually quiet.
"Emily?"
"Apologies," she said finally. "I was cross-referencing data from my records, but it's... extensive. Over a thousand terabytes. I'm still processing."
I frowned, waiting as the sounds of fire and metal distortion filled the background. Finally, she spoke again.
"It was one of the failed facilities of the Time-Warping Tyrant, Naomi." she explained, her voice clinical. Strange title, but whatever. "During her experimentation with time manipulation, she used the facility as a testing ground, traveling to the past with modern technology. But records suggest she encountered an unexpected obstacle."
"What kind of obstacle?"
She hesitated. "The Royal Governor. According to her notes, she fought him here."
I blinked, my breath catching for a moment. "That's impossible. He's only been seen in public three times."
"Publicly, yes," Emily replied. "But what makes you think his appearances are the only ones that matter? His ability to evade tracking suggests his true movements have never been fully documented. The events at the factory may have been one such instance."
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to process her words. If the Royal Governor truly fought the Tyrant there, what kind of power could leave a facility so... cursed decades later?
"And the state of the factory?" I asked. "The cyborgs, the machinery, the... whatever the hell was wrong with that place?"
"According to the Tyrant's notes," Emily said carefully, "it was the Governor's power that left the facility in its current state. She theorized that the souls of the workers from that day still inhabit the machinery and the corpses, unable to move on."
"Souls?" I repeated, my voice dripping with skepticism. "What kind of superpower does he have?"
"That's the thing," Emily replied. "The Tyrant didn't believe he was a superman. The curse he placed on the facility resembled the abilities of a mythological god worshiped in the eastern lands and Numidia—Baal Zebul."
The name stirred something in my memory, though I couldn't place it. "Baal Zebul?"
"He's thought to control the rotting and decay of objects," Emily continued, her tone thoughtful. "The curse on the factory aligns with that description. The machinery and corpses rot in perpetuity, never fully breaking down but never remaining whole."
I frowned, shaking my head. "A god? Really? That makes no sense."
She paused, then replied, "Neither does necromancy, yet it exists. Nor the superpowers that mysteriously appeared 20 years ago."
I couldn't argue with that.
---
The teleportation sequence activated once again, and moments later, I found myself standing at a dimly lit train station just outside the city. The air was cool and quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos I'd just left behind.
Sliding into the back of a waiting taxi, giving the driver a hundred Zols to let him know he will drive me whether he wants to or not and got in despite his look of protest. I leaned my head against the window, staring blankly at the passing city lights.
"Hey" I asked in a low voice, "Is there any recording of how he fought? I may face him..."
"Not really..." She responded, almost more disappointed than I was. "There were no security cameras back then and the ones the agents had apparently rusted." Damn.
"Emily," I muttered.
"Yes?"
I hesitated for a moment before asking, "If he's not a superman, then what the hell is he?"
Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet. "That's the question, isn't it?"
I didn't respond, my mind too preoccupied with what lay ahead.-*-*-*-*-*