C31 No Way Out

"Wake up, Dion! We lost before the war even started! The moment that b*stard walked into the palace and took the throne, we were f*cked!"

A heavy, crushing silence fell upon them. No one wanted to admit it. But deep down, they all knew the truth. The Imperator wasn't just some madman.

He was something else. Something they couldn't fight. A man who had turned the entire Ducatum into a singular, unbreakable war machine in under a week.

Another nobleman, one of the last remaining patricians still clinging to his old wealth and influence, spoke next, his voice shaking slightly.

"We… we must reach out for foreign aid."

Several men scoffed.

"Aid? From who? The Gunderians? He's already making deals with them. The Hellenum Dominion? They're too busy with their own damn civil wars. The Teutons? They'd sooner burn us alive than fight him!"

A younger man, barely in his mid 20s, a former student turned radical revolutionary, clenched his jaw.

"There is still one path left."

The others turned toward him. He leaned forward, his dark eyes burning with madness.

"Assassination."

A pause. Then, laughter. Bitter, dry, hollow laughter. One of the older men, an aristocrat who had lost all his wealth when the Imperator condemned his relative In the senate but luckily managed to escape the purge, smirked.

"Are you insane? Assassinate the Imperator?"

The young radical's hands trembled as he clenched them into fists.

"Why not?! He's still flesh and blood! Still a man! If we take his head, the Ducatum will collapse into chaos!"

Another noble leaned back, rubbing his temple.

"Do you even hear yourself? We don't even know what he is anymore! Did you see what happened at the airfield? The Valkyrie? The… the way those men howled? That wasn't just fanatical loyalty. That was something else."

Gael closed his eyes, breathing heavily.

"He isn't a man. He's a monster in human skin."

The younger radical shook his head violently.

"No! No, I refuse to believe that! No man is invincible! No tyrant is immortal! He can bleed, and if he can bleed, we can KILL him!"

The room fell into dead silence. For the first time in hours, hope flickered in their broken eyes. Aurelian leaned forward, voice hushed.

"Do we… even have a way to get close to him?"

The young radical hesitated. Then, he nodded.

"The palace still uses civilian servants, does it not? There are still nobles who have access to his court, even if under heavy surveillance. We bribe someone. A servant. A guard. Someone who can place a blade in his throat while he sleeps."

A noblewoman, one of the last remaining aristocrats still seated in the bunker, sighed heavily.

"And if that fails? If we try and miss? If he survives?"

Aurelian gritted his teeth.

"Then we all die. But isn't that better than waiting for him to come for us? Would you rather be dragged out of your homes, paraded through the streets like animals, before you and your children are executed in front of cheering crowds?"

Gael scoffed.

"That's if we're lucky."

Silence once again. The younger radical swallowed hard, his throat dry.

"This is our only chance. We take it, or we accept our fate."

Aurelian closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. Then, finally, he spoke.

"Fine. We do it. We find a way into the palace. We find someone willing to plant the blade. And we kill the Imperator."

A chorus of slow, reluctant nods followed only for the sound of gunshots and screams to reach their ears.

...

MC POV A few minutes earlier...

The low, steady rumble of the engine vibrated through my bones, the rhythmic jolting of the truck lulling me into a half-conscious haze.

My helmet covered head rested against the cold, dented steel of the truck's side, my body slumped between two of my death squad warriors. Their armor like mine was already scarred with peeled paint, deep bullet dents, and dried blood.

For the last three days, we had been running on nothing but sheer endurance. Cell after cell. Den after den. Raid after raid.

Barely a wink of sleep. No proper meals. Just moving, fighting, killing. Then moving again.

And yet… despite the exhaustion that gnawed at my body, despite the lingering scent of blood still clinging to my skin, despite the fact that my arms felt like lead and my muscles screamed for rest while periodically experiencing, cramps, twitching and convulsions.

I felt alive.

For the first time since my brain augmentations, I felt something more than just cold calculation. More than just commanding from a throne.

The adrenaline, the rush of battle, the way my thoughts sharpened under the pressure of combat it was thrilling.

I expected fear. I expected hesitation. I expected to panic the first time someone tried to stab me in the throat with a rusted bayonet, because even though I was an ex army grunt I was never deployed.

But instead? I reacted. I countered. I killed.

No hesitation. No wasted motion. My blade had sunk through flesh like it was meant to be there. The man's breath had hitched, his eyes wide with horror as The Reaper carved through his ribs.

But I had felt nothing. No remorse. No guilt. No regret. Only clarity.

My brain augmentations had shown their true value in combat. I could read my enemy's movements before they even committed to them.

My reaction time was beyond human limits. My ability to analyze the battlefield, to make split second decisions it was like instinct.

It should have been terrifying. I should have felt disturbed by how easily I slipped into the role of a killer.

But I didn't. Because this was exactly how I had written it. The most baddest, meaniest and nastiest motherf*cker In the whole universe a warrior who fought alongside his men. A ruler who bathed in blood to forge an empire.

And now? Now, I was simply playing my part. I couldn't afford to deviate. The butterfly effect was unpredictable. Every small change could lead to catastrophic consequences.

So here I was, clad in the MCs legionnaire armor modified for the modern battlefield, its once centuries old design now reinforced with molybedum plating, lightweight but strong, just thick enough that I could keep up with my death squad.

It wasn't as good as my death squad's armor that was as twice as thick, of course. My body hadn't fully matured yet, and I wasn't about to accelerate my growth with the same systems cocktails I used on them.

Because every single percentage point of ERC mattered. Every time I altered myself further using the system, I pushed closer to the eventuality I was desperately trying to avoid.

And if I went too far? Then very, very, very bad things on a cosmic f*cking scale would happen ahead of time and I wasnt ready for It one bit.

The truck hit a bump, jostling me forward slightly. I blinked, letting out a slow breath before glancing at Zero One, my death squad commander.

He was still alert, his body rigid despite the exhaustion, his heaviliest damaged armor blending into the dim light of the truck's interior.

Outside, the faint glow of firelight flickered through the narrow streets. The terrorist hideout was close.

Another bump, then the truck slowed to a stop. The moment it did, Zero One moved.

In one fluid motion, he kicked open the truck's back hatch and jumped out, his rifle raised as he stalked toward the Cerberus officer waiting for us.

I didn't follow. Didn't need to. I already knew what was happening. Knew how this would play out. My presence wasn't needed yet.

Instead, I closed my eyes, letting my body rest for just a few more seconds as the murmuring voices outside drifted into the truck.

"Perimeter's secured."

"We have the objective surrounded."

"The rats are cornered. They have nowhere to run."

"The men are ready we can attack it in seconds."

A few seconds later, Zero One climbed back in, his assault rifle still slung across his chest, his combat boots scraping against the truck's floor as he approached.

"Imperator."

I didn't bother looking at him. Didn't need to. I just listened.

"Target objective secured. Cerberus has the perimeter locked down. Orders?"

I finally opened my eyes. Then, without a word, I rose to my feet. The moment I did, Lupa moved. She had been waiting. Silent. Unmoving. A massive, looming shadow just beyond the truck's open end.

The moment I stepped forward, she turned, her golden eyes locking onto mine. Then, she crouched slightly. I smirked. Without hesitation, I jumped.

The moment I landed on her she lunged forward, her alloy claws digging deep into the dirt road as she charged. Behind me, my death squad followed.

Ten armored figures, their black, red and white camo streaked with dried blood and battle scars, sprinting in perfect unison.

We moved as one entity. An arrow of death. A nightmare given form. The forest around us blurred, the wind howling past my ears, my breath steady, controlled.