A/N

Hey everyone, just a quick note before today's chapter. I just wanted to issue a warning that this chapter and the next few chapters will contain some graphic violence, just a warning for those who might want to know about that kind of stuff...

Chapter 36…

Verdant Bulwark pressed his hands deeper into the back of the cloth swivel chair he was leaning on. His sharp blue eyes were glued to the wall of classic television screens in front of him, each showing a different feed from the dozens of security cameras placed throughout his complex.

When the gangster had purchased the derelict and abandoned blacksite, he was planning to splurge on some state of the art technology. This plan was cut short when he realized the benefits of using outdated technology, there were less chances for something to go wrong and analog systems couldn't be hacked.

So his men had to deal with slow systems and faulty wiring… not that big a problem if it meant peace of mind.

"We just received communication from the bullhead, they're on the approach," the technician in the seat below him muttered, capturing Verdant's attention.

"Do they have the package?" Verdant questioned.

The technician said nothing, pulling over a small device and tapping out a coded message. An electronic warble of clicks and beeps came back. "Yes sir, the hardcase is in their possession. Should I direct them to fly in through the Bullhead hangar?"

"No… I want them to land on the tarmac in front."

"Sir?"

"You heard me… send the message."

The technician did as Verdant instructed. The green haired gangster released the back of the chair and walked off, wringing his hands together behind him. He walked through rows and rows of control panels, each manned by a different man or woman. Taking a moment to ensure no one was watching him before he ducked into a nearby strategy room.

Verdant shut the door behind himself to ensure that the meeting would be kept secret. In the middle of the room was a long table, covered with different schematics of the bunkers layout. The table was surrounded by over a dozen men, each gearing up with weaponry and armor.

"Gentlemen!" Verdant called, getting the attention of his fixers; he took a moment to ensure that the door was still closed before continuing. "Do you remember your orders?"

A chorus of "yes sirs".

"Good," Verdant nodded, heading back to the door and wrapping his brawny hand around the handle. "Once I have the package… tie up all the loose ends. Are the explosives ready?"

Another chorus of "yes sirs".

Verdant nodded at his team of hired killers. His sharp blue gaze settled on one particular man, who was busy slipping a pistol into his thigh mounted holster. "Casey…"

The gaze of the particular soldier snapped up. "Sir?"

"Our guest in the prison wing… would you do me a favor and take care of him?

"You no longer need him?"

"No… he was just serving as leverage," Verdant explained. "Since you're down there anyway… why don't you deal with the rest of the loose ends? That particular wing is isolated, the rest will remain ignorant."

"I'll pack some extra ammo, sir."

"I like your attitude," Verdant nodded with a little smile. "Keep things as quick and clean as possible… they were good employees, I owe them that at least."

Verdant shot one last nod in the direction of his fixers and then twisted the door handle. He exited the planning room and shut the door behind him to keep the soldiers concealed. There was one more stop he had to make before leaving the facility to wave down the bullhead- the relay station.

Ten minutes later…

Grey Casey loved his job…

The vibration of the gun in his gloved fingers, the thrum of the firing pin and the satisfying kick of the butt against his padded shoulder.

The closer he was to death… the more he felt alive.

His most recent target fell with a pathetic groan to his salvo of suppressed bullets, leaving a grisly smear of blood on the wall behind him. The body of the gangster joined the others lying on the ground of the prison wing… it had been a bloodbath.

Of course it had been a bloodbath… two dozen hoodies against a single Atlesian trooper? Well… he wasn't in the military anymore… but his uncontested point still stood.

Screw the military anyways… they didn't pay for shit. But Verdant Bulwark, Mantle's most brutal crime boss? Now he knew how to write a fat paycheck…

Casey stepped over the shuddering body of the gangster he had just shot. He heard a weak gurgle from the man and drew his pistol, firing two rounds into his neck to silence him. The ex-soldier waited for a moment to ensure there was no more movement before continuing to his final destination.

His black combat boots became soiled with blood as he approached the heavy steel door, leaving crimson boot prints as he crossed the unsullied ground of the threshold.

Grey Casey slung his rifle onto his back and pulled his pistol from his thigh mounted holster. He reached into his vest pocket and withdrew a long suppressor, taking a moment to thread it onto the barrel of the small weapon.

Poor kid… beaten senseless and locked in a tiny room… only to be executed at point blank range; the least Casey could do was use a suppressor, at least the guy would die quickly with no idea what was going on.

The ex-soldier wrapped his hand against the door and undid the lock, pushing it open slowly and quietly until it was ajar. He stepped into the dark room quietly, pistol barrel aloft and probing around.

Grey Casey was greeted with an empty chair, complete with loose binds and an anti-aura collar lying around on the floor.

"What the hell!?" The soldier seethed, whipping his gaze around the dimly lit room. A metallic screech caught his attention and he spun around to find the heavy metal door closing. He leapt towards the barrier but it was too late, the steel door nearly closing on his gloved fingers…

"Fuck!" Casey roared, desperately pounding his fists against the closed door. He yelped in fear when the lock clicked, a heavy noise that echoed in the tiny space.

Grey Casey fell to his knees and began to hyperventilate.

Asher huffed to himself as he made sure the steel door was locked. He could hear pounding and shrieking on the other side but fought down the urge to free the person he had trapped; they didn't look like anyone he knew and the drawn pistol made him uneasy.

"I think you should kill him," the stranger grumbled in Asher's mind, their voice warbly and scratchy.

"No…" Asher breathed as he patted the door handle. "Not him… if he's lucky one of his buddies will let him out-"

"And warn the rest!" The stranger warned. "He is your enemy… it would be more dangerous to leave him alive!"

"Still no…" Asher growled. "Besides, there's only one man on Remnant that I actually want to kill."

"Yes, Verdant…" The stranger growled. "Let us finish this vendetta… I will assist you."

"Can you tell me how to get out of here?"

"No… but I will be your guide for the new power you acquired. That and having an extra set of… 'eyes' can prove to be beneficial."

"Alright," Asher turned away from the door. "I'll need a gun… even a knife will do."

"Something tells me you should be able to find one here… you should come back to 'the place' we do not want them to see you coming."

Asher repeated the instructions the stranger had drilled into his head while they were waiting for the door to open. He allowed the image of a door to flicker amongst his vision and imagined himself opening it. Asher's vision turned grayscale as he shifted into the alternate space, but it soon returned to normal.

Asher looked down at the smoke that was still binding his wounds together. "This smoke… how long does it last?"

"I am currently infusing your body with it."

"So I have to depend on you? Can I do it independently?"

"It is a difficult skill that takes time to master… you can call forth 'the place' to extend your life in battle… for a time."

"It makes me invincible?"

"No… it will merely stave off death… you should still seek a healer after this is done. Once the smoke stops manifesting all of your wounds will re-open…"

"What about my aura?"

"It is still recovering… do not push yourself…"

"Okay then…" Asher grumbled as he began walking down the hallway, wisps of smoke curling off his ghostly form. He felt confident that he could now sneak past (and through) whatever guards were in front of him.

Asher's mind was still whirring, considering the possibilities of his new power. "Hey… I have a question."

"Speak…"

"The first time I did this it was unwittingly," Asher began. "But I remember picking up a rifle while I was in this state and brought it with me."

"With enough concentration you can bring small objects with you… a useful power for thieving."

"Right," Asher drawled out. "If that's the case… why couldn't I turn the door handle and leave on my own?"

"There is no logic in that!" The stranger warbled. "What would stop you from phasing through the ground and falling endlessly toward Remnant's core?"

"I-" Asher stuttered as he peeked around a corner. He took a moment to remind himself that he was effectively invisible before taking a step out into the hall. "I guess you're ri-"

The fair haired boy choked out a gasp of surprise as he viewed the violent display in front of him. Over a dozen people Asher had never seen before were lying in pools of their own blood. Weapons and spent shell casings littered the ground and surrounded the fresh corpses.

"Good Lord…" Asher mumbled as he bent down. He squeezed his eyes shut and imagined walking through a door, his vision turning grayscale as he shifted back to Remnant. He reached down his bare hand and tapped an unsoiled part of the floor to feel its texture, mostly to confirm that he was indeed back on Remnant. "What happened to these people?"

Asher narrowed his grey eyes as he observed one particular corpse, the unfortunate man had been perforated with bullet holes and had a permanent look of shock etched on his face.

"Be cautious…" The voice warned Asher. "I may be able to provide a theory as to what happened."

"Let's hear it…"

"The man we locked in the room was an assassin, perhaps you were not his only target."

"What?" Asher blinked. "Are you saying what I think you're saying? Verdant would have his own men killed?"

"As I said… it's a theory. Now tell me… if my assumption is correct, why would he do this?"

"He doesn't want anyone left alive," Asher mumbled, tearing his gaze away from the ghastly scene. "Is he trying to run?"

"That is likely, why else would he have his own men silenced? You should hurry…"

Asher said nothing further, instead gingerly stepping forwards to reach out to the closest corpse. The gangster had died with a rifle in his hand and Asher gently wrapped his hands around the stock. The fair haired boy wrinkled his wounded nose in disgust as he gently pried the rifle away.

It was an Atlesian pulse rifle… a design that he found gaudy and overcomplicated, but a gun was a gun. Asher scrounged around for ammunition and other weapons for a few minutes, uttering an apology every few seconds as he did.

Now suitably armed, Asher imagined walking through a door again, his vision turning grayscale for a moment as he re-entered "the place". He walked straight through the bodies and blood as he approached the metal staircase, hoping it would lead him to the man who had taken so much from him…

In the relay room…

"Is it ready yet?" Verdant growled impatiently. He was standing in the isolated relay room, a dank and isolated little cubby in the furthest reaches of the blacksite. A system of old computers were connected to a makeshift CCT relay, one of many Verdant had installed around Remnant after the collapse of the CCT tower in Vale. It was a crude and slow method of communication, but it allowed him to coordinate his efforts around the world.

That was assuming it would work… the hired help wasn't instilling much confidence in him.

"Almost, sir," the technician in charge of the relay system frantically answered back. "This technology is very outdated… I have to replace wires regularly."

"That is not my problem, you have a job and I expect you to fulfill it in a timely manner," Verdant complained. "I have to be out on the tarmac in the next few minutes… how long will this take?"

"Just about… done!" The technician sighed, sliding out from under the control booth and wiping his forehead. "Ready to go…"

"Man your station…"

The technician took his seat and booted up the relay, watching as the dashboard lit up. He turned a few knobs and checked some dials before reporting to his imposingly tall boss. "All systems are running and the other relay towers are ready to transmit… your orders?"

"Our associate near Vale," Verdant muttered his blue eyes observing the control panel. "Inform her that the contract is live and the target available."

The technician wordlessly typed out the message to the intended recipient and sent it off. "And done… anything else, sir?"

"That will be all…"

In a smooth motion Verdant drew a suppressed pistol from the interior pocket of his winter parka. A single bullet found its way into the skull of the unwary technician; the man slumped over dead, a pool of blood seeping from the wound and soiling the knobs and buttons.

Verdant wrinkled his nose at the bloody scene he had made and concealed his pistol again. He left the room silently, ensuring that the door was closed and locked so that no one would find out what he had done.

The make-shift CCT relay hummed and blinked as it carried the message Verdant had sent. It bounced from the relay in the tundra, to the one near Argus, then to the three or four dotted through Mistral… the signal then jumped the distance between Mistral and Vale to interact with the relay's placed near the kingdom.

Dozens of relays intercepted and sent off the simple message, all so that it ended up reaching the scroll of its intended recipient.

An individual in a dark cloak leaned in the shade and privacy of a tall oak tree on the outskirts of Haven. A small buzzing from their scroll indicated that a message had been received.

The small device was unfurled and a sinister smile crawled up the cracked lips of the person underneath the hooded cloak.

"Finally…"