Interrogation

Jethro's mind flashed back to the shattered cathedral when Padva had vanished with her Doomsday Panther, and Decterion had gone after her.

When the conqueror returned alone, Jethro assumed Padva was dead. But, thinking about it now— even though memories of what happened after the flames were vague —when he stepped out of the Rift, he had seen Padva.

She was kneeling on the iron roof of the mechhouse, her wounded Panther sprawled on the ground.

So it was true. She had survived.

There was this sudden sense of relief he felt, like a strong weight of guilt had been uplifted from his shoulders. He wasn't the sole survivor anymore, and even though he preferred that everyone had survived, one more was good enough.

"You seem very pleased about that," Velara Ardent observed, her violet eyes dissecting his reaction unnervingly.

Jethro's brows squeezed at the remark. "Should I not be?"

"It depends," Velara countered, her tone analytical and sharp. "Some new tamers would want to be titled as the sole survivor of the Darc Throne Depths, especially when they have very little to cling to. But you have to share that spotlight with someone else."

Jethro squinted his gaze at her. "I don't know what kind of reaction you're trying to get from me. Or what you're even trying to insinuate. But I don't care about that stuff. In fact, up until now, I was fine with not being a Riftwalker."

"Up until now?" Velara's sculpted eyebrow arched curiously. "What has changed?"

Realizing himself, Jethro's eyes widened for a moment, looking at the president's deadpan face before slumping back slightly in the cold crystal chair, a bored exhale escaping him. "What exactly does this psychoanalysis have to do with anything anyway?"

Velara paused, though her gaze lingered on his face for a moment, studying his features. Then she looked at the holoprojector which was presently beeping red. She adjusted herself and sat back. "Perhaps I let my curiosity distract me. Moving on to the next question."

Jethro eyed the holoprojector, then the president. 'What was that all about?'

"Can you name the Darcbeasts you all encountered inside the Rift?"

Jethro allowed himself to think for a moment. "All of them? Or just the ones we met after changing paths."

"All of them will be preferable." Velara was stern.

"Moss Skitters. Demon Swamphogs. Both Grey-Ranked Darcbeasts. A Terravore Slugbeast, a Blight-Tusk Howler, a Graven Vulturefiend, a Spireback Serpent. Those were the Platinum Ranks. Then a Demonflame Hyena and a Horned Widow. Black Ranks."

Velara appeared startled. She turned to look at Orlance whose reaction was masked with his shiny helm, before her gaze returned to a confused Jethro.

"What?" he asked them.

"That's impressive," she said. "To not just name all the Darcbeasts but also know their Ranks by heart."

Jethro frowned. She was right. That was impressive. But… "I remember Padva and the escort calling them out each time one of them appeared, so I think I just memorized them."

Then he thought quietly to himself. 'That is how I know that, right?'

"Were any of these beasts killed? Did you come out with their cores?" Velara inquired, swiftly moving past his explanation.

"None of the Platinums or Blacks were killed," Jethro replied. "As for the Gray Ranks, I lost my backpack with their cores inside, but I'm sure you guys don't care a bit about the Gray Rank cores."

Velara decided to ignore that statement.

"The escort, Keirnan Pard. Was he the one who defended you all from the Darcbeasts?"

Hearing the escort's real name, Jethro's head lowered, filled with thoughts and emotions from the battle. "Yeah. He was a great fighter. But the Darcbeasts were just too much, and even then, we still had a sliver of a chance." His eyes fell. "Until he showed up."

Velara's expression became grimly knowing. "The Conqueror."

"Decterion." Jethro said the name like it was an abomination.

Sensing the raw nerve from him, Velara leaned forward, placing her crossed fingers on the crystal table. "Can you describe what he looked like?"

Jethro's eyes snapped up. "You want me to describe Decterion?"

"Yes." Velara said, unyielding.

"Don't you all know what he looks like? Did Padva describe him for you as well?"

"Precisely because we know what he looks like is the reason why we want you to describe him. That way, we can be certain that it is truly the conqueror that caused this."

Jethro's jaw tightened in held back defiance. He looked at Orlance, who was still standing like a solid shadow, before returning his gaze to Velara.

Then, a bitter scoff left him. "He was taller than him," he jerked his head towards Orlance. "His shoulders were broader, his dark hair was longer, his helm was scarier. It was fused into his head and it had sharp curved heads. The rest of his body was covered in some kind of sentient armor that…" His lips tightened. "...that moved."

"His hair was like smoke. His eyes were like fire with the color of the ocean. He had arms as big as tree trunks which made sense because that's the only thing that could lift the massive sword he carried with him. His voice sent flutters of dread every single time he spoke. Now is that enough description for you?!"

Jethro was leaning forward now, his palm placed on the edge of the table as he glared at Velara who didn't flinch and merely looked back at him. This boy didn't know it yet but he was going to be traumatized forever by that encounter. The evidence was already present.

"What Darcbeast did he ride?" she asked next.

Jethro's brows creased suddenly, thrown by the sudden pivot. "What?"

Velara's expression turned matter-of-fact, but she didn't move, or didn't show any expression. "Decterion Darc is the Dark Lord of Beasts. He rules Darcworld, an extradimensional realm where every living thing is a monster of habitat bent under his will. He is the only Overclocked Tamer known in history which means he can bond with an infinite amount of beasts. Yet, he is always accompanied by one paramount beast, his mount." Her gaze intensified, pinning him. "Jethro Merrick, what… is… it?"

Jethro froze. Not because he couldn't remember, but because a flash of memory images has assaulted his still healing mind.

The six malevolent eyes that appeared from the shadows. The three heads lunging at him. One of fire. One of ice. And one of earth.

That monstrosity.

"The Three-headed Dragon," Jethro mumbled, his face litting up with dark realization.

Silence filled the room.

Jethro and the President locked eyes across the table, though his own eyes were quivering compared to her still, cold ones. "Is that its name?" he whispered hoarsely. "A Three-headed Dragon?"

"No," Velara replied, leaning back and assuming a more corporate posture. "Though you are correct about the Darcbeast, its actual name is an Obli—"

"—vion Triarch," Jethro finished the words. "The World-Ender Dragon. It has three heads with seemingly straightforward abilities. But the fire head can create black holes that crush matter as big as mountains into neutron dust. The ice head is an entropy engine that sends regions into rapid death. The earth head spits antimatter storms that trigger catastrophic implosions. It's the deadliest Black Rank beast to ever exist."

Velara appeared startled for the first time since the interrogation began. She looked at Orlance again, then at the holoprojector, before returning to Jethro's own bewildered face. "I thought you said you didn't know the beast?"

Jethro's brows furrowed, realizing himself. "Did I? I just…" He appeared completely confused. "I just… couldn't remember the name."

Velara's brow of suspicion raised. "You knew all of that. But you couldn't remember the name?"

"Y—yes," Jethro replied, not even believing it himself.

Velara tapped her wristbrace and a hologram appeared above it, having his passport and what appeared to be information about him. "You're the son of a low-end mechvet who's so poor he can not afford to live inside the city of a Lower Sector, yet you possess information that only the most expensive of glyphs can share?"

Jethro shrugged. "Maybe I overheard it in passing. You shouldn't be so judgmental, President Ardent."

Velara raised another brow at him, before moving on with what she had to say, eyes lowering to the screen again. "So you just happen to know it by chance? Just like you survived the conqueror by chance. You seem to have a propensity for that. Luck."

The screen went off and she folded her arms. "Which leaves me to wonder if it's actually truly by mere luck."

Jethro's eyes narrowed and darkened at her. "What are you saying?"

"You were the lowest ranked tamer amongst your squad," Velara stated. "Your Red Lizard was the lowest ranked mechbeast. Yet, when the likes of Songred, Pott and our employee died, you managed to somehow survive. How?"

Jethro held her gaze in silence for a long moment. Then he leaned back, feigning nonchalance. "If I'm being honest with you, President, I really don't know. All I remember is my Red Lizard's thermal durability saving me from burning to death. After that, it's all a blur."

Velara's brows creased. Her patience was being tested. "You don't know how you left the Darc Throne Depths and casually walked out of the Rift?"

"That's what I just said," he shrugged. "I really wish I could help, but that's just about as much as I can remember."

Velara's glare could have frozen plasma. "The conqueror didn't do something to you?"

"Apart from melting my skin off my bone, nothing at all."

Velara closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, a rare display of controlled exasperation. When they opened, her violet pupils held a stern gravity.

"This is not a joke, Jethro Merrick. What the Conqueror plans to do to this world is tragic, worse than what he did to the world now existing as his realm. The only thing standing between his way is the Dimensional Wall and our proud and strong Riftwalkers. You survived direct contact with the most dangerous being in existence— the very being that haunts our most powerful tamers, the very reason this and other Beastcorp facilities exist."

She leaned forward, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper that somehow filled the silent room. "If there is anything… any fragment of knowledge, anything at all that you know, now is the time to tell us."

Jethro's face hardened, all traces of forced nonchalance vanishing. He was silent for a moment, thinking of any possible things he could tell the President.

Finally, he answered, voice low and gravelly. "All I know is that I'd do anything to never face him again. The kind of beasts that bowed to him, treated him with reverence when he arrived. If that is the army he's bringing to take over this world… then I hope that Dimensional Wall holds long enough for all of us to evacuate."

Everyone was silent again, the walls vibrating, a tangible pressure filled the room, formed from Jethro's words. Velara's expression was of tight concern while Orlance remained silent by the corner.

"You're free to go now," she stated, her voice regaining its steely composure as she sat back.

Jethro's eyes perked. "Really? What about my mechbeast?"

"Troopers are waiting outside the door. They'll take you to the mechvet that attended to your beast."

"Okay." Jethro said, standing up.

"For what it's worth, Jethro Merrick," Velara's voice stopped him as he turned. He looked back. "I think you'll make a fine Riftwalker."

Jethro's eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise.

"From the way Padva Darlstarc accounted for you; you were brave in the face of danger. Beastcorp could use a lot more bravery for what is to come."

Jethro only nodded, before continuing out of the room, giving Orlance one last glance as he walked through the hissing door.

The silence in the wake of his departure was profound. Velara stared at the closed door for several heartbeats.

"So…" she finally said. "What do you think?"

The holoprojector, placed by the wall to Velara's left, lit up and the image of a man materialized above it.

He was imperial looking, chiseled but aged. One eye was covered by a black cybernetic monocle, matching his stark black hair dyed grey by the side and swept dramatically from his temples. And one his chin were mechanical implants, just above the golden badge of Beastcorp on his collar.

"Prime Minister."