Wayward frowned at the 10 Km wide pit he of glass he found himself in. He touched the ground and fumbled. His head leaked with migraine and his balance was a shambling wreck. The destruction of his Dantian and the excess energy he barely able to tame ran a havoc on his equilibrium. Wayward gritted his teeth. The pointless battle with the royal-knights was his victory, but it felt more like loss dispenser on both the victor and the defeat. Hex lost the fight. Wayward wasted valuable time. And both the royal-mages and royal-knights got wiped out of existence. All for what? An honor that couldn’t even buy him a croissant.

The entire battle was an exercise in futility.

Wayward studied at the smoldering pit and identified the only sign of life in this wasteland. The body was blacken from unbelievable burns, but it was still breathing through its charred lungs.

Wayward cast a rune over it. He needed to at least salvage something from this.

…

Rem closed his eyes after seeing the blue volcanic eruption that turned the royal-knights into a piece of history.

He closed the duffle bag packaging his new combat-suit Melody made before she got taken out. Doubting his plan from head-to-foot, the boy swung the bag over his shoulder.

Could he had done it any better? Maybe calling Hex and suggested that he split some of his force to save the civilian would be enough to save some lives from Stuart Hex’s stubbornness. Or not. Analysis provided by Breaker’s CCC pointed to 95% probability Hex would call this an internal affair with an added disadvantage for compulsory order to help arrest Wayward. He would get dragged to that debacle like Shyme did and lost Wayward’s trust as an unnecessary price.

Hex already retreated from Orwell Mehest. Having him backed down from Wayward would be too much bruise to his ego in the Grand Empire.

Yet again, Remus Breaker failed to participate in the battle before it even begun.

“Why is it I always fail to try when it matters the most?” Rem asked the coward he saw in the mirror every morning.

Rem refocused his attention. The past lost was no longer salvagable. He allowed Hex walked to his doom for nothing. As an atonement, he would save this city. Rem thought of this as a compensation.

Thus, Rem walked. He strolled through the street of burnt building, littered with shards of stones, discarded weapon and bodies. He was nearly there.

Hoard of skeletons and wrath encircled him.

Rem eyed them sternly. Like usual, Orwell Mehest’s spyware was up-to-date.

The collapsed house beside him exploded, as a construct of a rock burst from the earth below.

Rem drew his handgun and slipped a crystalize Holy Blue into his hand, enhancing it with his [Supercharge].

The undead hoard, plus an enormous Amalgam construct, surged toward one lone hero.

“Holy Force,” Rem released a mass-destruction Arcane.

The street lit up a light plowed into the small army.

…

Like any organization in a crisis without a leader, the Liberator utterly lost their marble.

“We need to run away, right now!?” One member said. “Marley is gone!”

“Do you know what happens outside, you idiot! Someone dropped a dome on top of us and released an undead hoard on the damned city,” another member screamed. “This is a perfect time to loot those upper-class fuckers?”

“Do you think we will survive long enough to enjoy the loot!”

“Maybe we can bargain to guy behind those damn undead?” A nervous wreck of a member floated the idea. “He must need some hire help, right? Hell, we might get a sweet gig from this.”

“Are you trusting a mass-murderer? Have you gone nut!?”

“At least we are not getting slaughter!”

“What should we do Vice-cammander!”

Complaints and cries of frustration piled on Bruno like a satchel of brick to the face. Thing went south ever since the failed Hyper-channel raid months ago. He got his ass beaten by an elf lass, scolded by Marley, found out the guy who beaten him is his boss’ newest best friend. Now, Marley disappeared in a grasp of darkness, leaving him to deal with a band of chaotic young men slowly sliding toward anarchy.

Next to him, Marley’s aide, Sasha, poured herself a drink. She needed an alcohol fortification to make it through the rest of her short-lives. Bruno glanced to the side. No good. The most level-head person beside himself already gave up.

During his gladiator career, a teenage Bruno once fought a tiger with a stick. It was terrifying, but nothing to compare to the wreck facing him now. They were like rats trapped under a lid, being serve to an all-powerful god on a plate. At least he could throw the stick at the tiger. He didn’t believe he could throw stick high enough to hit abominable celestial object.

Bruno glanced at his sword. Between falling on the pointy end and getting tore apart by skeleton, he wondered what was more painful?

However, before Bruno discovered answers to life’s greatest mystery. The World Greatest Detective paid him a visit.

Crash!!!

…

A mountain of rock thunderously fell from the ceiling down to their formerly top-secret headquarter. Bruno gulped. They made a cellar under a random wine-store as a base of operation in Venistalis’ Earth-quarter. It was a decision that ended with them getting stuck in the middle of undead invasion. While the Earth-quarter didn’t get wash to the last man like the Water-quarter where Orwell Mehest’s was at his strongest, it suffered a severe injury from the hoard of undead. Jury still out about the Fire-quarter, but the report Bruno’s received showed a band of survivor pitching a desperate fight against the hoard. Orwell hit every section of Venistalis. The Water-quarter—the crown jewel of Venistalis — was overrun. Fire and Earth about to follow it. Meanwhile, Bruno heard nothing about Wind. Someone laid a tight defense there and no information was getting out.

Witnessing the majestic image before his eyes, Bruno had a guess who was commanding the Wind-quarter.

Eleven of his people balked in the image of their nightmare. A woman fell to the floor and wet herself.

Sasha dropped her alcohol.

The man in black stood atop a dying construct made of rock and dirt. Waterfall of wine from the wrecked shop above flow behind him like a curtain of greatness. Dust cloud erupting from his descent floated in their air to paint the angelic image.

Bruno looked at his gear.

The boy was wearing a new upgrade. Bruno groaned. Great, his worst nightmare had a competent craftsman now.

Rem swapped his voluminous black coat for an environmental-proof trench-coat lined with Cytortia-approved anti-magic steel (named Aria Steel). The boy swapped a tunic robe for Aria Steel lined suit with a necktie. He sported a belt hosting multiple grenades and a holster for his sidearm. Rem’s interlocking steel lightweight metal gauntlet and boot clicked as he stepped from the corpse of the tool which once terrorized so many and stared at the band of Liberator surrounding him. The red-visor on his white-mask shimmered coral as he scanned the room.

Bruno mustered only one response.

“Whatever is your problem, it isn’t use this time.”

The man in black answered was short and brutal.

“My current problem is one organization's spinelessness,” the man said calmly. “I am not pointing finger, but someone is not doing their job.”

Bruno and Sasha glanced at each other. Holy hammerstrike about to land on them. They communicated through glances. Could they take him together?

To prove them wrong, one of the Liberator looked up at the mysterious stranger and lifted his hand.

BANG!

The draw was ridiculously fast. Rem barely needed to shift to put a bullet through the over-excited mage’s hand.

“Arrrrgh!”

Everyone looked at their comrade who sprawled through the ground bleeding. Bruno shivered. The kid improved too fast. It was barely a month and Bruno already felt his power eclipsing himself. The boy barely watched where he aimed that bull-eyes at the timing above Bruno's paygrade.

After witnessing their comrade when down, most of the Liberator came out of their stupor and turned hostile toward this new stranger. The men who went with Marley on the train operation behave differently. A glimpse of that mask already awakened thier trauma. A gunshot was enough to persuade them to avoid moving an inch — barring one woman who fainted from the stress.

Sasha drew her throwing knife, and Bruno picked his sword. Better held thier weapon before more bullet flew.

“Okay, kid,” Bruno looked back at his screaming underling. “That is uncalled for.”

“I just pre-emptively shot down an attack,” Rem’s replies froze the air. “Your side start first.”

The surrounding Liberator got nervous.

“Bruno, who is he?” A man asked.

“Marley’s contact,” Bruno answered. “He is on our side, but heavily disagree with our method.”

“Because your method sucks,” Rem stated. “Do you ever ask yourself why you are fighting?”

Bruno didn’t appreciate where this was heading.

“To tear down Aurorin.”

“Why?”

“Why do you ask? Because they are the oppressor!”

“Why do you even care?”

“What with these stupid questions?” Bruno yelled. “All we want is freedom to live our lives without bowing down to those tyrannical bastards! We want equality for everyone!”

Rem cocked his head to the side.

“Yet you are here bowing your head to tyrannical mage with an army of undead while innocent people died,” Rem verbally flattened Bruno's fortification. “You call yourself a Liberator? What a joke. The only thing you liberate is the powerless' hard-earn peace-of-mind. You take and steal for so-called greater good. But the moment people you claim to protect is dying in mass, you hide like a coward.”

Bruno gritted his teeth. The boy was right. His action came back to contradict his answer, and he knew it. Sasha quivered next to him, wanting to argue, but she knew Rem got her box in. But the rest of the Liberator still believed they got the moral high-ground above the man who looked down on them.

“Don’t you dare look down on us? Who gives you that right!?”

“A person who is marshalling the resistance against the debacle outside,” Rem answered. “I am wasting valuable time, so let make it quick. My result give me the authority to command you.”

“Result?” All Liberator received a fast-ball in the face.

Rem then deployed the last nail in the metaphorical coffin of the discussion.

“Throughout all your career, from the hour of your conception, how many people did all of you together save?” Rem smacked the question on their face. “Barring the exception of Marley, who I guess is the only real compassionate soul in the carcass of your ideology, what did you contribute for the betterment of the powerless?”

Silence.

Rem didn’t end the anvils descend.

“Wow, where does all the energy go?” Rem squeezed further. “Any charity? Any child rescued from starvation? Any criminal brought to justice? I will even accept helping an old-lady cross the street.”

Dead silence.

“Na dah, not even one kid stuck with his homework?” Rem planned to laugh for his next act, but he couldn’t. This was an antithesis to funny. “Pathetic. You call yourself Liberator, but liberate no one. Let do another question. Those of you who had murdered a living person; raise your hand.”

Bruno flipped his hand up. Sasha did the same. So did the rest of the room.

“I am serious,” Rem’s voice filled with the gravity of the Neutron Stars. “Those who crossed the most fundamental moral law of mankind — stupidly, blindingly ignored the sacredness of life — unable to see the irreversible grief of those who lost thier love to your utter idiocy fit for an animal in human’s skin, raise the mother-fucking arm you don’t deserve to keep.”

Everyone cursed themselves for falling for Rem’s bait. Half of them considered attacking Rem right now. But Rem started spinning his side arm with raw intimidation, waiting for anyone to take a bet.

No one did.

“Any excuse?” Rem launched another verbal feint. “Come on. Impress your grandpa. No one yelling self-defense? No one argues killing an enemy is fine?”

Everyone thought so, but they realized Rem wuld commit verbal slaughter the moment they said anything.

They were half-right, defending or not Rem would push his pawn, anyway.

“If any of you go for that lame excuse, ask a chimpanzee to donate some IQ into that skull. Self-defense happens while you are defending yourself and the innocent. But you are not defending anyone, do you? If you did, you would already be rescuing people outside, not hide like the coward you are. You made your bed, dumbass. Look at you, hypocrite boasting to be a champion of the helpless, while cheating the common man of their livelihood and families. Congratulation folks! You are Aurorin for the pauper.”

“We are nothing like them!”

“Partially true, you are as much of a jackass but without the connection and money,” Rem hammered reality down. “Believe it, there is no changing how people perceive you — another man-made hazard on this floating space-rock. Your fate will be a simple one: losing the fight against the nobility you hate. And as you flee like a coward you are, a vengeful victim will stab your back to avenge the fathers you killed.”

Sasha finally snapped.

“What the hell gives you a right to lord over us!? Fine! We are scum! But you are also a criminal.”

“I save twelve on a train you raid,” Rem shut Sasha down. “The hostages and families I save on that incident alone will disagree with you, because I have one power you fail to obtain — goodwill.”

Rem went for a home-run.

“You believe in nothing. You stand for nothing but shallow hatred—defined by what you are not rather than what you are. You build the bed of pain, and now it is your deathbed. Your fate is, in every sense, karmic. Hence, I am offering you an opportunity to dig yourself out of the hole.”

Rem gestured to the light above.

“There is a war coming, ladies and gents. Guess your day spending on smacking people with that worthless violence has a benefit. I am giving you freedom of choices you never give other. Stay in this hole or join me in rescuing the helpless people you should be saving. One option proves beyond doubt you are just as much a coward as your sworn enemy. Irredeemable scum deserves to die to the undead hoard. Another sent you in direct conflict with the bastard behind this. It will be a hard and desperate gamble, only rewarded by the pride of making a life you touch change for the better. One throw you against of man ruling a broken city with force, massacre and tyranny. Another is throwing yourself in the crossfire to redeem back some trust from the grieving.”

Rem eyed the room.

“Now, what would it be?”