Ampelius saw no alternative. The choices laid before him were an illusion, a cruel mockery of free will. He could either submit or become a lifeless puppet, his body controlled like the hollow shells the Asventi had shown him. He clenched his jaw. If he was to be used, then he would make use of them in return. Accepting their power meant keeping some control. And control, no matter how thin, was better than nothing. The Romans had taken nearly everything from him and his family. They took his freedom, his future. The Asventi were no different in their methods, but at least they offered him something in return. If their power could be wielded against Rome, perhaps that alone made it worth it. Casper pulsed slightly, acknowledging his decision with cool detachment.

  “You are wise to accept your fate. The Asventi are pleased.”

  Something in the air shifted. The presence in his mind, once suffocating, seemed to recede slightly, loosening its grip, but not disappearing. Instead, it settled into something more insidious: a whisper just beneath the surface, waiting. Then, the voice came again, clearer than before.

  “You are now… one of us.”

  The Asventi’s presence surged within him, warmth spreading through his body like something stirring from dormancy. It wasn’t painful, just deep and fundamentally unnatural. His veins pulsed faintly, as if something crawled beneath his skin, weaving itself into him. His limbs felt lighter, stronger but also foreign. Then, his vision distorted. The world blurred, flickered, then sharpened unnaturally, colors too vivid, too precise. Casper’s voice cut through the haze, cool and clinical.

  “The Asventi have tapped into your brain, unlocking what lies dormant. Your body is capable of far more than you have ever known.”

  Ampelius barely registered the words before another shift struck him. A new awareness flooded his mind—like doors he hadn’t known existed had been thrown open. His perception expanded, his senses stretching beyond their natural limits. A strange bubbling sensation welled up behind his eyes. Ampelius blinked, and for a split second, the world flickered like a glitching screen struggling to stabilize. Until he saw it.

  A neon yellow ring edged into his vision, forming just outside his pupils, expanding outward like something unfurling inside him. The glow was faint at first, barely noticeable until it deepened, intensified, like an ember being stoked into flame. Casper hovered nearby, wordlessly extending a small mirror.

  Ampelius hesitated before taking it, his fingers stiff, unsteady. When he finally raised the mirror, his reflection stared back almost unchanged, yet undeniably different. His pupils remained intact, but now a razor-sharp halo of neon yellow surrounded them, pulsing faintly with an unnatural light. Then, his hearing sharpened.

  Sound poured into him all at once, a flood of noise his mind struggled to process. The rustling of leaves nearby became deafening. In the distance, he heard the snap of gunfire, the thunder of explosions from Vetera as the battle raged on. And beneath it all, something deeper, stranger, a low, pulsing hum, vibrating from within him.

  His heartbeat faltered, or no, it had changed. It no longer did it follow the steady rhythm he had always known. Instead, it thrummed mechanically, as a steady calculated beat, like something was syncing with him. Then, the whisper came again.

  "You are becoming… complete."

  But something felt off. His fingers twitched. First a small tremor, then a sharper movement. His hands curled involuntarily, as though his body wasn’t entirely his own anymore. A creeping unease settled into his chest. How much of this was still him?

  Ampelius was still processing the changes, his mind struggling to keep up with his newly sharpened senses. Then, he noticed the movement. Boots crunched against dirt. Metal clinked softly. Low voices murmured in an unfamiliar rhythm, layered beneath the steady drag of something heavy. His body reacted before his mind did, his posture lowered, his breathing slowed, and a creeping sense of readiness settled over him. Something inside him was rewriting his instincts.

  Then, he saw them. A group of soldiers, pale silhouettes against the trees, methodically maneuvering a massive artillery battery into position. There were only five, maybe six of them, but something about them was different. Their uniforms weren’t like the standard patrols in Vetera, they wore white-gray armor from their helmets to their boots, almost unnatural in its lack of camouflage. And then it clicked.

  These weren’t just soldiers. They were Imperial troops. Men from Rome itself. Ampelius’ chest tightened. For all his hatred of the Empire, he had never actually seen its true soldiers up close. The ones who came directly from the heart of the Empire, the ones who ruled, not just occupied.

  They spoke Latin, the language of Rome, the language of the oppressors. His enhanced hearing picked up their words with razor clarity, but he still couldn’t understand them. But he didn’t need to. The artillery battery they were setting up told him enough. They were preparing to bomb Vetera. His fingers twitched. They hadn’t seen him yet. And something was…off. They didn’t have the alertness he would expect in the middle of a battle. They moved with a strange calmness, not the usual tension of men preparing to fire.

  That unease stirred at the back of his mind, but another feeling overpowered it. This was an opportunity as the Asventi’s whisper curled around his thoughts.

  "Strike. Prove your strength."

  Casper followed, cold and logical.

  "You are much stronger now. You’re still early in the transformation, but this is an opportunity to test what you’ve become."

  Ampelius’ grip tightened. This was it. The first real test of his new power. Ampelius moved swiftly and silently, closing the distance between him and the patrol. His speed hadn’t drastically increased, but something was different—his movements felt smoother, quieter. It was like his body absorbed the terrain beneath him, eliminating the usual sound of footfalls.

  He lunged at the furthest soldier, the one isolated from the rest. The kill was quick, effortless, almost too effortless. The moment his sharpened stick sank into flesh, he knew something was wrong.The others didn’t react. The wet gasp, the collapse of the body, the armor hitting the dirt—it hadn’t been silent, yet the rest of the patrol didn’t turn. A cold sense of unease crept down his spine. Ampelius stepped back behind a tree, controlling his breathing, forcing himself to listen. Then, he heard it. The soldiers’ voices had shifted to a low, almost whispering noise. He focused, filtering through the murmur until one word stood out:

  “Insidiae.”

  The word Emmett had once explained to him—a trap. Often used in hunting. Sometimes in war.

  His fingers tightened around his weapon.The shift in their tone, the sudden pause in their movements, something wasn’t right. Then, they moved.

  Shouts erupted as the soldiers scattered in different directions but not in panic, with precision. Ampelius' muscles tensed, instincts screaming, but before he could react—a grenade. The sharp metallic click of a pin being pulled. The arc of something airborne. It landed next to him but wasn’t an explosive. His hyper-aware mind processed it in an instant: a flash grenade.

  Without thinking, Ampelius kicked it mid-air. The device exploded just above the ground, sending a white-hot burst of light and sound flooding the area. But the effect was instant. The flash warped his senses as his new abilities magnified the intensity. It wasn’t just blinding; it felt like his mind had been hit directly, his equilibrium thrown into chaos. His breath hitched. He had to move.Bullets tore through the air. His body reacted on instinct, shifting, sprinting. But something about the gunfire was off. The sound, the impact, it wasn’t normal. Then it hit him, pain.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  A sharp impact against his shoulder ,but not deep enough to be lethal, though enough to send a violent jolt through his body. His momentum broke as he dived behind another tree, clutching the wound. The trap had been sprung.

  Shadows shifted in his periphery. Two figures to his left. Another to his right. Closing in. His pulse hammered in his ears, but his body betrayed him, the bullet wound burned, and a creeping weakness spread from the impact point. Something was wrong. He pushed himself to move, to sprint for the next tree line, but Casper wasn’t with him.

  He stopped mid-step. Where was Casper? His eyes darted back and his stomach dropped. A second group of Roman soldiers stood exactly where he had woken up earlier. And there, trapped in their grasp, was Casper. How? Casper had been floating beside him just minutes ago. How had they captured him without him noticing? A cold dread settled in his chest. Then, before he could react, the Asventi whispered again.

  "Accept capture. They have you. Part of plan."

  The words sent a jolt through him. No. He wasn’t ready to accept this. His body screamed at him to run, to fight. But his limbs wouldn’t obey.

  "No… I can’t let them—" His thoughts were sluggish, slipping between his fingers like sand.

  "Part of the plan? What plan?"

  His breath hitched. The edges of his vision darkened, tunneling inward. His limbs felt like lead. The shot, whatever it was, it wasn’t normal. They had done something to him. Panic surged, but it was useless. His body was already failing him.There was no escape. The Romans had him. His vision began to fade, a heavy, oppressive darkness creeping in from the edges. It was like trying to stay awake underwater. His every movement felt sluggish, every thought sinking beneath the weight of exhaustion.

  Whatever they injected me with…

  His body resisted, trembling with raw defiance, but every pulse of effort came at a cost. His muscles moved unevenly, jerking with a disjointed rhythm, as though someone else was tugging at his strings. His senses flickered, sharp clarity one moment, then numb, hollow silence the next. It was like a rubber band being stretched tight inside him, straining toward the inevitable snap. Shapes blurred in and out of focus. Shadows moved closer, shifting into the distinct outlines of Roman soldiers. Their rifles were trained on him, cold and unwavering, as they closed in and stood over him. Move. Fight. Don’t let them. But his body didn’t listen.

  The next moment hit like a jolt of cold metal: restraints locked around his wrists, ankles, and neck. His limbs were pinned down, bound tightly to something rough and unyielding. His mind lagged behind until the realization struck as he was strapped to a wheelbarrow, being pushed through the forest like nothing more than cargo. Soldiers flanked him, their footsteps methodical but measured, with every movement betraying how prepared they had been for him.

  Casper.

  The thought came too late. The AI was gone, no pulse, no voice in his head, nothing. The trees blurred past in jagged fragments, their outlines smearing against the night sky. But something else caught his eye. A pale glow, then it became brighter, until it carved across the darkness like lightning.

  Dozens of Roman fighters streaked overhead, cutting through the sky like silver blades. They flew fast, sharp, and unrelenting, veering toward Vetera’s burning horizon. The low hum of engines echoed through the forest, vibrations pulsing through the ground and into his bones. His senses caught fragments of sound that were muffled voices from the soldiers, crackle of radios, the distant thunder of gunfire.

  The restraints bit into his skin with every bump of the wheelbarrow, each jolt sending another wave of weakness through him. The drug still coursed through his veins, dragging him down, but somewhere deep inside, his body still fought and his heart hammered against the foreign rhythm that had taken hold.

  No. Not like this.

  But the fight was slipping away. His limbs grew heavier with every breath. Above him, the sky burned brighter, and with it, the terrible realization settled in.

  The battle isn’t over. It’s just beginning.

  The sudden crashing of waves clawed at his fading awareness, a harsh reminder of movement. His body lurched as the wheelbarrow turned sharply, jostling his restraints. Through the fog of exhaustion, he caught the scent of saltwater thick in the air, something sharp, cold, and undeniable. Water…

  Ampelius forced his head to tilt weakly to the left, just enough to glimpse the dark stretch of sea beside him. The dull thud of boots echoed around him as the soldiers steered him toward a dock, their steps deliberate and mechanical. And then he saw it. Across the water Vetera burned.

  The city, once sprawling and alive beneath the night sky, was now an inferno. The glow was so intense it banished the darkness, transforming night into a brutal, artificial dawn. Towers stood silhouetted against walls of fire, the skyline jagged and broken. The flames devoured everything indiscriminately, stretching upward like hands clawing at the heavens. Above the chaos, the sky was alive with violence.Turtle shells, those monstrous invaders which soared through the air, engaged in brutal dogfights with the Roman fighters. The sleek Roman aircraft cut through the sky with a fierce roar, but they were outmatched. One by one, they exploded, leaving burning trails behind them as they spiraled toward the ground like dying stars.

  But then—one lucky shot.

  A Roman fighter struck true, the missile connecting with a turtle shell’s underbelly. The alien craft shuddered violently, smoke and fire bursting from its fractured shell. It veered off course and slammed into a towering skyscraper with a deafening crash. The impact was catastrophic. Steel groaned as the skyscraper’s structure buckled under the force, collapsing into a neighboring building. The chain reaction was merciless as one tower crumbled into the next, each impact tearing through concrete and glass, raining debris upon the city streets below. A domino effect of destruction.

  Ampelius watched, helpless, as those towers which were symbols of Rome’s might became swallowed by the chaos of their own making. But then his gaze drifted further east.

  There, looming like a silent god, stood Mount Nerva, the mountain that had started it all. Even now, it spewed its final remnants of fury into the sky. Green-tinged ash clouds still billowed from its jagged peak, but the strange hue was fading, replaced by the gray monotony of ordinary smoke. The violent beauty of the unnatural eruption was dying, leaving only the cold reminder of what had been unleashed.The smoke stretched high, blotting out the rising sun.

  Yet, even without the dawn’s light, the world was no longer dark. Fires and explosions painted the sky in shades of orange and crimson, casting a hellish glow across the horizon. The air itself seemed to pulse with heat and violence. And beneath it all, Ampelius felt it. It’s been a long night…

  His body sagged as exhaustion finally clawed its way to the forefront, dragging him closer to unconsciousness. The boat’s dull thrum echoed in the distance—a low, relentless promise of captivity yet to come. As they neared the dock, Ampelius caught fleeting glimpses of his surroundings. Several soldiers stood guard, a mix of Imperial troops and local garrison forces, their postures rigid and watchful. They flanked a small, nondescript speedboat bobbing against the pier. But it wasn’t the soldiers who seized his fading attention.

  A man stood apart from them. No armor. No insignia. Just a white lab coat, pristine against the grime and chaos surrounding them. In his hand, he held a syringe, its slender needle glinting coldly under the pale dawn light. Ampelius tried to focus on the man’s face, but his vision betrayed him as shadows blurred into light, and all he could make out was the faint outline of glasses reflecting the weak sun. His body was too weak to resist as the figure approached. He didn’t even feel the needle slip beneath his skin when the world vanished.

  The next sensations were fragmented, half-dreams that were caught between waves of unconsciousness. First, a pale sky lightened by dawn. The faint warmth of sunlight kissed his skin through the haze of sedation. Then, trees blurred into nothingness, only vast stretches of green, but wild and endless, passing by like a forgotten memory. And then it went cold. The sharp, bone-deep chill of concrete beneath him made its way through his body.

  His eyes snapped open to oppressive darkness, only broken by a thin shaft of pale light filtering from above. The air was damp, stale, and metallic. As his senses adjusted, the reality of his situation clawed its way into focus. He was trapped.

  A small, circular hole, carved from cold concrete, surrounded him. Metal bars stretched across the top like a cage, leaving only a thin ceiling above with a fan embedded at its center. The walls were too close, the space too confined.

  A crude toilet was crammed against one side, an afterthought in this inhumane space. He could stand, stretch, and curl into sleep, but nothing more. Movement felt pointless.

  Where am I?

  The silence was suffocating. Then—

  Click.

  The fan above flickered to life, bathing the cramped cell in sterile white light. A shadow darkened the space above him, someone was there. They stood still, silently studying him for what felt like an eternity. Then, the figure leaned forward just enough for Ampelius to make out the outline of a white lab coat. Suddenly a water bottle and a bruised orange dropped from above, hitting the ground with a hollow thud.

  A voice followed. Calm. Cold. Precise.

  "My name is Dr. Vulcan. You’re in a temporary holding cell. You’ll be moved within a few days."

  The voice paused, as if savoring the next words.

  "Welcome to the Nexum."