Aurum City
King Roland Hospital
Skyler ran through the corridors of the hospital, dodging the staff and patients.
"How is he?" he asked, breathless. He bent down, hands on his knees, trying to calm his raging heart.
"He is fine. I was there," his brother replied, voice unusually calm.
"What the heck happened?"
"An obsessive bitch overdosed him with narcotics for relaxation."
"Stay here," he said, rising from his seat, eyes threatening to burn a hole in the wall. "I have to handle something."
Skyler got on Thairon's way, trying to stop him. "Look, I know you are..."
"Stay. Here," his brother said, jabbing a finger on his chest with each word.
"Damn it," he muttered, moving aside.
—
He watched the house through the satellite. Arlene was running away. Her father was smart enough to understand he could not swipe this under the rug. There were too many witnesses and security recordings, and Kael was something of a local celebrity.
He had listened through Arlene's phone as her father raged before deciding to fly her to the Republic. With no extradition agreement, she would be safe there.
Borrowing the nearest truck he could find, he waited outside their home. He wouldn't have touched the parents, but they just became complicit in her crime.
His visor zoomed in on the entrance of the manor. The family members came out with bags, loading them into the back of the car. Her luggage was light, as speed was of the essence. The gate opened, and he started the dump truck at the same time the Odel family started theirs.
He hit the gas, having been waiting at the optimal range to flatten their vehicle. The black luxury car came out, taking the left turn. He did not know if they heard him coming, but it was too late.
The ten tonnes of metal rammed the smaller car to the mansion's wall, sending rubble flying away, but did not stop there. He continued to drive, jolting as the truck flattened the family vehicle to the adjacent wall.
He scanned for any signs of life and was teleported out of the scene.
—
"He will wake up soon; you should go to the hospital."
"Skyler is there; he is fine. Find me where she bought the drugs," he ordered, looking over the city from their favorite hill.
Nax's sigh echoed inside his mind. "This is not over, is it?"
"It will be over when I kill everyone down to the bastard who supplied basic materials to the manufacturers," he growled. If the Kingdom could not be bothered to solve this situation, he would.
"Oh boy."
—
Glassport
He teleported back into the lab, drafting a mental list for gear. "Did you finish T-9?"
"You mean the Neuroveil Emitter? Here," Nax said.
"You can call it whatever you want."
"Do you have a target?"
Images of a club appeared before him, along with a face. "She bought the pills from this rat in a club, Axiom First."
"And where is this rat?"
"Still in the club."
"Excellent."
—
He marched to the door of the club. The ocular scanners checked the guards to see if they had a part in the drug trade. Once they were flagged as clear, he merely pushed them aside.
Kicking the door open, he already knew where the dealer was, his networked connection highlighting him beyond the walls.
The clubbers did not even hear the ruckus at the door. He navigated through the dense crowd, reaching the bar before the guards could catch up.
He held the dealer by his blonde locks and slammed him face down to the counter, breaking the glass and sending shards into his face. The screams of the man, as well as the barman and patrons, finally broke through the blaring music.
The clubbers began to run for the exit, leaving the dealer alone.
"You sold drugs to a young girl yesterday. Where do you get them from?"
The man kept screaming, struggling to break free.
In hindsight, perhaps he should not have caused so much pain when he wanted answers.
"Watch out for the barman," Nax's voice echoed in his head.
The barman, who had not escaped, pulled a shotgun from beneath the counter and aimed at him. His left hand caught the barrel, squeezing. The metal groaned and crumpled like paper, becoming unusable.
The man pulled the rifle back, eyes bulging at the condition his weapon has been rendered to. Thairon backhanded the barman, sending him crashing into the bottle racks behind.
"I won't ask again. Where did you get those drugs?"
"Pilgrim Street, number 36. Ethan sells them," the small-time dealer screamed out. Thairon's nose wrinkled as the sharp stench of ammonia assaulted his nose.
"Good." He pulled his arm back and punched the dealer on the back of his neck. The spine broke, jutting out of the front with blood and pieces of flesh. He let the corpse go, and the man lay there, slumped on the counter.
The terrified guards made a hasty retreat upon seeing the brutal murder.
—
"You know, I can just find the guy at the top in seconds."
"I need to work my aggression out."
"Can't argue with that."
"Also, if we leave the rest of the organization intact, someone else will just take over."
"Ethan Vercal. Suspected of being a part of the Table's drug trade at street level. The law enforcement couldn't go beyond catching him as a user."
"Is he home right now?"
"Yep. I am blanketing the entire city's comm network to keep them unaware. He won't see you coming."
—
Pilgrim Street was just another neighborhood from the outside. Inside, it was much the same, except for number 36.
It was a bleary, dark spot on the otherwise light atmosphere of the street. Its curtains were always closed, the neighbors never approached it unless they had to, and cops were regular visitors.
Ethan was in the main living room with two girls, while his goons were situated on the porch, playing cards.
He approached the house, throwing the grenade in his hand up and catching it again. He pressed the button and threw it on an arc. It landed near the table, rolling forward to the door while Ethan's men watched. It bumped the door with a metallic clink, rolling slightly back.
It went off, blooming into a miniature sun. The heat would have scorched his skin and cooked his flesh from this distance, but he only felt a mild breeze.
He waved his hand, clearing the ash from the men and the wooden parts of the front half of the house. The building was large enough; the living room was left relatively untouched except for the spreading fires.
"You two, out," he ordered the half-naked girls. They fled without even taking their clothes.
"Ethan Vercal. Where do you get your goods from?"
Rather than answer, Ethan sprung from his couch, running to the large flower pot, trying to dig something out.
He was faster.
His hand wrapped around Ethan's wrist, twisting it. The drug dealer cried out as a sharp snapping sound emanated from his arm. His screams were cut short when Thairon's other hand wrapped around his throat, pushing him to the wall.
"Speak, or I am going to make sure you can never speak again."
"They'll kill me."
He tilted his head, teeth showing in a grin. His bioelectricity moved like connecting to the nerves in Ethan's neck. Following the nervous system to the brain, he saw himself through the drug dealer's eyes, felt his fear, and finally saw his memories.
Zaver the Lonely, as he was called, operated out of a recycling plant, which served as a front for the Table's drug distribution network in Aurum City.
"What did you do?" Nathan choked out, but his gasps were silenced with a crack.
He tossed the corpse aside, rolling his neck, purging the foreign emotions and memories, except for Zaver.
—
Dawn Recycling Plant
The Kingdom's recycling policies were behind the Republic and the Union. Rather than a centralized, government-backed recycling operation on a national scale, it was left to the private sector.
Young men and women who gathered plastics, cardboard, glass, and other recyclable materials for the plant all served as Zaver's drug mules and informants.
The bastard himself was sitting in the office, going through some documents.
He walked through the open door and stopped to scan the area with his own eyes. Spying a sledgehammer on the right side of the entrance, he took it, checking to see if it was in good condition.
"Hey, what do you think you are doing here?"
"I am going to kill Zaver. Where is he?"
"You bastard!" the young man screamed, reaching for a knife. He was painfully slow and paid for it with his head. The blow crushed his skull with such a force, people meters away were covered in viscera.
The rest were better armed, pulling guns and machetes from the hand-pulled recycling carts.
He launched himself at the nearest recyclable, and the ground cracked beneath his feet. He held the hammer out, crushing the forehead in, sending him slamming to the ground.
These bastards weren't even worthy of his weapons.
He picked up the gun on the ground, ignoring the bullets shattering on his skin. He pulled the trigger nine times, emptying the clip. Each shot found its mark on lethal spots, putting Zaver's dogs down.
He dropped the gun and shouldered the hammer.
Zaver had taken cover in his office, close to the secondary door leading further inside the plant. He opened fire with an automatic rifle, bellowing like a madman.
He walked closer, letting bullets hit him. The fear in Zaver's heart grew with each bullet that shattered on his skin, while Thairon's grin, with the blood covering him, grew wider.
He tore the empty gun out of the man's hands and slammed it to his face, sending him down. He crushed the barrel, throwing the weapon away.
His left hand wrapped around Zaver's throat, while the nerve endings on his right hand glowed red. He laid his fingers on the bald head, tearing anything of importance out.
He was not gentle in the least.
—
Thermion
Moonrise Palace
"What is this I am hearing about Aurum City?" Octavian asked, his voice steady and face blank despite his irritation.
Just as he was having a relatively serene afternoon, news blared with exaggerated headlines concerning Aurum City. At least he hoped they were exaggerated.
"Your Grace," the director of the Royal Intelligence Agency gave a shallow nod over the screen, "someone is on a warpath. We believe it is Prince Thairon."
"Why?" he asked, hands grabbing the sides of his desk. His fingers went white with the force, and the only reason he did not throw it was to keep the decorum.
"Your youngest son, Kael, was overdosed with narcotics by a female who had romantic interests in him. An hour later, a truck was stolen and crushed the family to death as they attempted to fly the girl to the Republic."
Octavian felt like pulling his hair off. That was definitely Thairon's work.
"What else?"
"It appears he is hunting down everyone who had a hand in the narcotics trade. He has already killed close to a hundred people, each suspected to be grunts or middle men of an organization known as the Table, as well as an executive member. Twelve safe houses have been incinerated, depots across the city have gone up in flames, and every location we were watching is coming under assault one by one."
He knew that if this was not stopped, Aurum City would actually burn.
"All this, and you merely believe it is Thairon?"
The director averted his eyes. "Your Grace, every single camera, even those not connected to a network, are somehow being hacked. Witnesses remember the events, but when asked to describe the perpetrator, they cannot remember anything. Their memories are tampered with, but we don't know how."
"So the only proof of his involvement that you possess is circumstantial." If his son had created a device to erase himself from sight, Octavian would not be shocked.
"Agents are on the way to the hospital where young master Kael is to ascertain Prince Thairon's location. He is unlikely to leave his younger brother's side."
"Unless," he raised a hand, "it is to hunt down everyone who was tied to the situation, even if indirectly."
"Yes. Every location the local law enforcement responds to is already cleared by the time they reach there. If it is Prince Thairon, he is moving extremely fast."
"Find him, Director. Immediately."
"Yes, Your Grace." The man nodded, and he ended the call.
"What is happening?" his wife asked as she entered.
"Thairon."
She stopped, eyes locking on him. "What did he do again?"
"That boy never had a middle ground when it comes to responding to hostility. Too peaceful as a child that he avoided all confrontation, and now as an adult, he is butchering his way across Aurum because a dumb girl gave Kael drugs," he scowled.
Taking deep breaths to calm down, he explained the situation to his wife.
"Is he well?" She kept tabs on all her sons, even if they were not granted the title of prince. Last time she checked the reports, Kael had done well for himself, getting a master in economics while working as the manager of a beach on Aurum.
"Of course he is," he said.
"It is good there is no proof incriminating Thairon, only circumstantial ties. This would have been a nightmare otherwise." A prince going on a rampage against a criminal organization would make the royalty look incapable of controlling one of their own and the Kingdom weak that a prince had to clean up this mess.
It would still be a nightmare for her to solve the situation, but not as much.
"What the RIA knows does not matter; what they can prove does. Otherwise, he is innocent," she grumbled. How the boy had managed to keep himself invisible while waging a war was a mystery.
One that she begrudgingly applauded.
"You don't think he is responsible?" Octavian asked, calling the cause of his headache, waiting as the phone rang.
She rolled her eyes. "I know he is."
She could not forget that day in the palace, when a noble child older than Kael had pushed the boy around. Word reached quickly to Thairon, who, in the middle of the dinner thrown in honor of their guests, laid a knife on the throat of the heir to House Kellar and threatened to skin the boy alive.
He had gone as far as to draw blood, only standing down once the boy apologized in tears.
In full view of the upper echelon of the kingdom.
It had cemented his reputation as a sleeping dragon not to be trifled with.
He had not cared about the chaos he left behind in the days to come. Since he responded to violence with a disproportionate amount in return, and any attempts to restrict his freedom would end with him lashing at anyone who tried to stop him, they had merely revoked the funding for his research.
Which had backfired, of course.