The four remaining salvagers huddled behind a makeshift barricade of supply crates and metal shelving. Krenach gripped his weapon with white knuckles, the barrel shaking visibly with each shallow breath.
“We can make it to the vehicles if we go now,” one of them whispered urgently.
“No one’s leaving,” Krenach hissed. “We hold position until—”
A shadow fell across the entrance, silhouetted against the dim emergency lights. The figure stood motionless, its outline distorted by the heavy armor that encased it from head to toe.
“What the hell is that?” one of the men whimpered.
The armored figure stepped forward, each step sending a haunting echo as he drew his sword, walking closer and closer.
“Open fire!” Krenach screamed, his voice breaking with panic.
The four men unleashed a barrage of bullets. The armored figure didn’t flinch, didn’t even slow its advance as the rounds ricocheted harmlessly off its surface.
One bullet was aimed perfectly at Alexander’s head, flying toward him with deadly purpose. In a display of impossible reflexes, as if he knew where the bullet was going before it ever reached him, Alexander raised the Mercier sword, the blade intercepting the round with a shower of sparks. The bullet split in two, the halves deflecting harmlessly to either side.
The sword hummed lightly as if it had devoured the kinetic force of the shot.
A collective gasp escaped the men. No ordinary human could track a bullet, let alone deflect it.
“Daedalus, analyze...” Alexander whispered in his dreadful armor.
Through his helmet’s advanced visor, Alexander saw the world differently. While would see a room with armed men firing, through Deadalus Alexander saw targeting systems tracking each attacker’s movements, predictive algorithms calculating trajectories before triggers were even pulled.
One of the men turned to flee. The sword moved in a blur, flying through the air, suddenly the fleeing man looked down to see his own blood spewing out as the blade had pierced through him. Then he collapsed. The blade hummed with subtle energy as it was pulled back into Alexander’s hand.
“The fuck is that? Magic?” one of the men cried.
“No, it's some type of magnetic tech. Keep firing!” Krenach screamed desperately.
The remaining three backed away, still firing desperately. Another round came dangerously close to Alexander’s neck joint. And again, the sword moved, intercepting the bullet before it found its mark.
“What are you?” Krenach demanded, his weapon clicking empty.
The figure didn’t respond. It continued its walk toward them.
The second man fell, the sword opening his chest. The third didn’t even have time to scream before his head rolled across the concrete floor.
Krenach dropped his weapon, falling to his knees. “Please,” he begged. “We were just following orders. We didn’t know this place was claimed.”
The armored figure stood over him, sword raised. For a moment, it seemed to consider his plea.
Then the blade descended.
…
“Lord Mercier has eliminated all targets.” came the report from the communication device.
CRUCH.
“Mmm…”
“Mmm…”
CRUNCH.
“Yummy!”
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“Shut up Vira!” Reja snapped.
“Why are you eating so damn loudly?” Reja continued her scolding.
Sai stared at Vira eating a bag of caramel popcorn.
“I’m getting hungry now after hearing you eat that,” he said as he opened his mouth a few times.
Vira grinned and tossed a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “See? Snacks during missions keep morale up.”
“It’s unprofessional,” Reja muttered, checking her weapon with practiced precision.
“Says who?” Vira countered, crunching another handful. “Show me where in the Arena handbook it says ‘no snacking during assassinations.’”
“You're not even allowed snacks during the Arena,” Reja insisted.
“Exactly I suffered ten dreadful years in that place, started since I was eight. Now I'm eighteen and a badass assassin person, I deserve these snacks!” Vira responded
Sai chewed thoughtfully. “These are pretty good. Did you get them from the cafeteria?”
“Smuggled them from the lounge,” Vira admitted with a mischievous smile. “They get the good stuff.”
“You’re going to get us all reprimanded,” Reja sighed, though there was a hint of resigned amusement in her voice.
“Trust me they honestly couldn't care less as long as it doesn’t affect the mission,” Vira replied, offering the bag to Reja, who hesitated before taking a small handful.
The sound of approaching footsteps silenced their conversation immediately. All three straightened, instantly alert as they recognized the heavy steps.
They rose in perfect unison, standing at attention as the armored figure entered the command post area. Blood still clung to the Mercier sword, dripping occasionally onto the concrete floor.
Alexander removed his helmet, revealing features carved from cold marble. His violet eyes surveying the scene.
“Children of the Arena,” he began. “Is it all done?”
They bowed their heads in subservience.
“Yes, Lord Mercier,” Vira responded, all traces of her previous playfulness gone. “The command post is secured. All hostiles have been eliminated.”
“We’ve recovered their communications equipment,” Reja added.
Alexander nodded once. “Secure the facility. Destroy any evidence of our presence.”
The three operatives moved to comply, but Alexander held up a hand, stopping Sai.
“Not you,” he said. “I have a matter to discuss.”
Vira and Reja exchanged curious glances before continuing with their tasks, leaving Sai alone with Alexander.
“Yes, Lord Mercier,” Sai replied.
Alexander studied him for a moment. “Report to Mr. O. He has a new assignment for you.”
“As you command, Lord Mercier.”
Alexander replaced his helmet and turned to leave. “The Children of the Arena exist for a reason, remember that.”
“Yes, Lord Mercier.”
…
…The next day…
Sai adjusted the stiff collar of his butler uniform, frowning at his reflection in the mirror. The formal attire felt strange after years of tactical gear.
“This is going to be troublesome,” he muttered, tugging at the vest.
Mr. O had been frustratingly brief in his instructions. “You are to serve as personal butler to young master Dante Mercier,” he had stated without elaboration. When Sai had asked for more details, Mr. O had simply adjusted his glasses and repeated, “You are to be his butler. That is all.”
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Come in,” Sai called, still fidgeting with his uniform.
A young maid with striking blonde-orange hair that caught the light in warm copper tones. Her nails were freshly painted to match her hair, the polish still looking new. She carried a stack of freshly pressed linens, stopping short when she saw him.
“Uh you are Lilly? Right?” Sai asked.
“Clare the name is Clare, I’ve told you this three times today!” Clare stomped her feet.
“You look like a child you know that right Sai?” she remarked, setting the linens down on a nearby table.
Sai gave her a flat look. “I’m older than I look.”
“No one would be able to tell,” Clare replied with a smirk. “You’ve got the height of a fourteen-year-old.”
“There are plenty of people that age who are taller than me and you,” Sai responded dryly.
Clare’s expression softened. “Come on, the young master is waiting.”
Sai sighed. He hadn’t expected to be assigned as an actual butler.
From the Arena, to the battlefield, and now butlering The Children of the Arena were trained for many things. But serving tea was not one of them.
“Just remember,” Clare whispered as they approached a set of ornate doors, “he’s the young master. Be respectful, after all he is a Mercier.”
Before Sai could respond, the doors opened.
A boy stood in the entranceway, his ocean blue eyes immediately locking onto Sai with a scrutiny that seemed beyond his thirteen years. His posture was casual but controlled, and something in his gaze.
Sai knew those eyes.
He had seen them plenty of times.
Just as with every Mercier, Sai knew that this was also a child of the Arena.
Yet something else, Sai could feel it. Dante was sharper than he was when he left the Arena.
Were all the Merciers like this?
Or was this boy different?
Only time would tell.
