Soul Land 2: Peerless Tang Sect Meet Ruthless Silba

Chapter 4: Brother Through Thick And Thin

...

Far from the warzone that was taking place above was a very special place located beneath the earth but lying above the realm of Hades. An in-between realm, as it were, and its name was the Labyrinth, a complex underground network of passages created by Daedalus, an ancient demigod gifted with the power of the mind.

During the ancient Greek time period, the man was known far and wide as a legendary Greek figure, not as a slayer of monsters but as an exceptional inventor and craftsman, admired by all. One of the most recognizable things he was known for was the Labyrinth, an intricate and ever-shifting maze that defied logic because of its nigh impossibility to navigate through.

It was commissioned by King Minos of Crete to imprison a man-eating monster, the Minotaur. Even after the Tale of Theseus and the Minotaur concluded, the Labyrinth's existence remained—for one simple, dark reason in turn. In its creation, Daedalus, because of his use of dark magic to give it life, gave it a malevolent nature.

The magic corrupted the Labyrinth, twisting it into a living entity that hungered for despair, causing anyone who entered to find themselves unable to leave and become lost by its cruel will as it did its best to kill, either by causing them to rot inside it or them getting killed or eaten by the monsters that made themselves at home inside. Poor souls would wander through its corridors to find a way out until eventually becoming mad in their vain attempts.

But the Labyrinth was not content to remain cooped up in Crete. Over the centuries, it grew beyond Daedalus's control, spreading itself across the world, connecting itself almost everywhere. What was once confined to Crete became a global enigma, with its center located in the United States.

But even the Labyrinth, no matter how wicked it was, could not escape the tides of change. Because in this era, someone did the unimaginable. The greatest demigod of this era, Perseus Silba Jackson, with the aid of his grandfather, entered its passages, found the creator, and subjugated the evil maze to submit to his will.

He forged a contract with the dark dungeon. Either it listened to him obediently or suffered destruction at his hands. Needless to say, it didn't have much of a choice and accepted the circumstance. The Labyrinth now served a new purpose: to obey the commands of its master.

Its endless, ever-shifting rooms became his to do as he pleased. With a mere thought, Perseus could reshape its terrain, bending the ever-shifting maze to construct foundations for laboratories, grand halls, living quarters, and anything else he required to advance his ambitions. It became his base of operations for him and the team he led, the supernatural terrorist organization Team Silba. After all, what's a leader without a place to call his?

Let it never be said that the son of Poseidon lived like a pauper, surrounded by damp stone, cold drafts, or bats flapping all over the place. Such an insult, if uttered aloud in his presence, would earn someone a black eye. Perseus was not a fan of caves. It was precisely why he gave it a complete makeover with the assistance of his teacher.

He infused the maze with cutting-edge technologies, blending modern styling with heavy inspiration from Greek architecture. The result was a labyrinthine masterpiece—a domain as awe-inspiring as it was deadly. Smooth marble halls glowed with soft, ambient light, flanked by towering columns etched.

Every entrance was a fortress in itself, locked tight and impenetrable. Without the proper authorization, no one could get in or out without his say. And if anyone tried sneaking in, the Labyrinth's defenses would immediately be on sight. With magic-infused weapons and Silver Soldiers at every corner, any intruder foolish enough to trespass found themselves getting a full-course lesson in why this maze was terrifying.

The last time deities were sent to investigate the area, they never came out. That's how dangerous the new labyrinth was.

At the heart of the Labyrinth, nestled in its very core, an underground city bathed in the resplendent glow of golden and silver lights. Towering skyscrapers kissed the ceiling. Volcanoes dotted the landscape, their fiery veins spilling magma into deep, endless trenches. Scattered throughout the cityscape were fighting arenas where warriors honed their skills, armories filled with weapons of both myth and modernity, and vibrant neighborhoods alive with activity. Dense woods rustled with an eerie breeze, while crystal-clear lakes reflected the ambient glow of the city.

The atmosphere itself seemed to hum with magic. Warmth radiated gently, warding off the chill of the underground, while an unseen force supplied the city with a steady flow of oxygen, ensuring the air was as refreshing as the surface.

And finally, towering above the sprawling underground city, visible from every angle, was a colossal floating palace, pure white and shimmering as if carved from diamonds.

Everything was so breathtaking that one might easily mistake this place for a fantasy world. Here, in the heart of the Labyrinth, Perseus's vision was in full display, a city unlike any other, thriving beneath the Olympians' gaze.

As the guy who called the shots around here, the son of Poseidon learned from his grandfather's mistakes and ensured that his authority came with responsibility. He was not so cruel as to neglect the needs of those who pledged their loyalty. For every ally who stood by his side, there was a place to call home. Neighborhoods stretched across the city, offering warmth, safety, and a semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos of their lives.

Many of his followers were demigods, outcasts who were sick and tired of their parents' neglect or oppression. They joined his cause, not out of fear, but with the hope of reclaiming their lives, to not be puppets or toys. They admired him, his strength, his fury, and his leadership. When they saw him, they saw a fighter who wouldn't stop until he was free.

Aside from being a local hero, among monsters and immortals alike, he was not only a leader but a figure to be feared. They followed him out of fear instead of respect because he reminded them of Kronos. He proved he was heartless like the Titan King multiple times and, on the battlefield, displayed just how ruthless he really was. Prideful Titans like Atlas never talked back to him so as to not get on his bad side, and monsters made sure to not make eye contact when he addressed them.

Monsters and Titans were granted their own spaces, far from the half-blood population, minimizing the risk of conflict unless it was part of training. The monsters, wild by nature, resided in the woods and lakes, where they could do as they pleased. As for the Titans, to calm their ego trips, they were housed at the city's edges where the towers were.

The demigods, on the other hand, lived beneath the floating palace in neighborhoods filled with modest but comfortable homes. Though not as extravagant as the immortals' residences, these homes provided the half-bloods with stability and a sense of community.

To maintain order within his domain, he implemented a delicate balance with rules that could not be more clearer. In here, hurting, cursing, eating, killing, or anything of the sort was not allowed. Anyone that disobeyed his laws would find out why he was the descendant of Kronos. Until the war was done, everyone had to play nice.

*EARTHQUAKE!*

The underground city quaked, the ceilings trembling violently as distant battles raged on above. Dust fell from the high arches, and slight tremors rumbled everywhere. Yet, there was no panic among the half-bloods. They remained calm, as it wasn't the first time something like this happened. 

Layers over layers of magical seals reinforced their home. Not even Typhon's strength could bust a hole through, so they had faith in their safety. After all, their leader would protect them even when he wasn't here.

*EARTHQUAKE!*

At the moment, all of them were in their home under orders to withdraw to wait out the war, the demigods. Their spirits restless, the command to retreat had left them bewildered, many questioning the rationale behind it. Some were more than a little resistant, yet their leader's authority held firm, compelling them to follow his directive no matter how much it rubbed them the wrong way.

What gnawed at them most was the absence of similar orders for the monsters and Titans. When pressed for answers, the butler simply responded with, "Your skills, as appreciated as they are, weren't needed anymore. From now on, all sides battling will suffer. This is the end."

Besides half-bloods, only two trusted groups were exempt from battling, and it's because they were far more trustworthy than typical monsters. The place where they lived was near the demigod settlement, nestled within the fiery embrace of the ever-flowing volcano, lay the place where the grand forge was located. Rivers of molten magma served not as a threat but as the lifeblood of this workspace. This was where the loyal monsters, such as the mighty Cyclops, worked and lived.

In the blistering heat, they hammered raw materials into mystical weapons and enchanted armor, chanting old shanties. Despite his mastery of science and technology, Perseus saw the value in the old ways. While science and innovation brought new possibilities, blacksmithing had areas where it held its own advantages, and by combining the two, new innovations could come to life.

It's why he recruited Cyclops into the forces in the first place. In the beginning it wasn't as easy as the ones who knew the art. They were loyal to his father so bringing them to his side was a lost cause, so he had to do it the hard way and recruit the wild ones abandoned by Poseidon.

The reason why is because of their inability to think outside of their wild, barbaric nature, which was a very difficult task on its own. All they knew was how to eat, sleep, and fight, which, as nice as it was to add to his combat forces, wasn't what he was looking for.

They tested the limit of his patience, and there were times when he wanted to send them all to Tartarus. It was a very daunting task for him and the most irritating long-term project, but he needed blacksmiths, and to get what he wanted, he first had to beat discipline into them using a mixture of threats along with the promise of good food. It took months, but his efforts weren't in vain.

*CLINK!*

*TINK!*

*PING!*

*CLANG!*

Inside was also where the personal forge belonging to a special someone was held. He worked with relentless focus, the rhythmic clanging of his hammer echoing through the dimly lit chamber. His towering silhouette, illuminated by the flickering blaze of the hearth, loomed over the anvil. In his grip, a colossal bronze hammer struck with precision, shaping the raw metal into a weapon of unimaginable power.

*CLANK!*

With each strike, sparks danced in the air, casting an intense glow around the chamber.

Humming softly, he watched his work take shape, the satisfaction evident in his focus. "Hehe, almost there." He muttered, driving the hammer down with joy and determination. Every swing landed precisely, driven by polished skill and hard work.

*KINK!*

The heat radiating from the hearth was overwhelming, casting the room in a bright glow, as if the sun was inside. A demigod would have been driven to exhaustion and dehydration within moments, yet it barely fazed him. Sweat poured down his face, but he didn't mind. Lost in his work, the intensity of the forge felt like a welcome challenge—one he embraced with a grin, too engrossed in his craft to care.

*CLANK!*

He swung the hammer with the precision of a master who had spent countless days perfecting his work. "Big Bro's gonna freak out when he sees this!" He said, his big smile ever present. Above, a single eye sat fixed in the middle of his forehead.

That's right—he was a cyclops, big shocker. Like all of his kind, he was towering, but smaller compared to the rest of his race unless he went into his big form. His single, dark brown eye glinted with a faint red hue. His short, messy brown hair framed his rugged, copper-toned skin, gleaming under the scorching heat of the forge, which caused it to tint a reddish color like the ore on the anvil.

In the supernatural world, his face wasn't anything extraordinary, but among his kin, he was considered pretty decent. Dressed in a simple, rugged red shirt and dark, durable overalls and black sweatpants, he gave off an approachable vibe despite his domineering size. His friendly smile softened his fierce visage, making him seem more welcoming than one might expect. Unlike his other kind, he actually exercised, giving him quite the muscular and well-built look, like those buff man contestants from TV.

His name was Tyson Magma Jackson, the little brother of Perseus Silba Jackson. 

"Just a few more!" His infectious smile enlarged as he swung the mallet a few more times.

*PING!*

*CLANG!*

*CLINK!*

By the last swing, the ore had taken the shape of an actual sword. Beaming in excitement, Tyson placed his mallet down to grab a tool to pick up the almost finished work. Picking up the ore with a grabber, he went to a bathtub filled with dark, murky water. This tub was filled with the waters of the river Lethe, one of the rivers belonging to the underworld. It was one of the only waters cold enough to cool mystical weapons. The entire process of forging mystical weapons was complex and always required certain conditions to be met.

By the final swing, the once-raw ore had been transformed into the shape of an actual one-handed sword. Tyson beamed with pride, setting his mallet down to grab a pair of tongs. He carefully lifted the almost-finished weapon, the heat radiating from its surface nearly unbearable. Usually because of his immunity to fire, he would have just picked it by hand instead, but this weapon was made through special methods, so it had to be treated carefully.

When the tongs touched it, black ice appeared on it. With steady hands, he carried the sword to a large, dark basin filled with the murky waters of the river Lethe—one of the rivers of the underworld's own, known for its chilling, cold streams. It was one of the few substances capable of tempering and cooling the mystical weapons of his craft.

The process of forging such weapons was never simple; it demanded not only a know-how to blacksmithing but also other conditions like knowledge of how to deal with metals like these and connections to get them. Can't work with things you don't have in stock after all.

*STEAM.*

Dunking the red-hot weapon into the water, steam rose up to his face, bringing a cold air up to his face. Wiping the sweat off his brow, Tyson waited a few moments to let the power of the water take effect, making sure he timed it just right so there wouldn't be any repercussions.

"Alright, aaaand… now." He pulled the weapon up. The once fiery metal now shimmered with a deep, haunting blue hue aura

The sword is a long, straight dark blade, marked by black stains that give it a worn, eerie look. Its crossguard extends outward with sharp, skeletal-like designs. It radiated a dark aura fitting of a weapon crafted with ingredients found in Hades.

"Wow." Tyson's one eye glittered in appreciation. It was a fine work, but it wasn't yet battle-ready. The blade still needed sharpening. The proper enchantments needed to be made to regulate it and increase its lethality.

"You're going to be something else once I'm done." He placed it gently on the table. "Don't worry. I'll come up with a proper name for you."

A knock came at the door.

*KNOCK.*

*KNOCK.*

*KNOCK.*

"Master Tyson, may we come in? It's urgent." Came the voice of Richard from beyond the door.

Tyson paused, glancing toward the entrance, his brow furrowed in thought. "Doors open, you can let yourself in." He replied.

The door creaked open, and Richard stepped through along with someone else. Though his voice remained the same, the same couldn't be said about his form. Gone was the refined butler, and instead was a robot with a sleek black exterior, shining beneath chrome accents. Articulated joints clicked as he entered, his angular, lifeless head. He was clad in a pristine white cloth adorned with a red border.

The reason he was currently in this body and not one with human facial features was because he was currently using the much newer and high-combat-amaging ones to fight on the surface. As an advanced AI, he was quite the multitasker. "Good evening, young master. Is this day treating you well?"

Tyson frowned, tilting his head as he inspected the unfamiliar figure. "Hi, Mr. Richard… What brings you here? I thought you were busy helping out Big Brother."

"Hi, Mr. Rich... what brings you here? I thought you were busy helping out big brother." He tilted his head in confusion.

Before the automaton could respond, a gruff cough cut through the air. Tyson glanced down and snickered, scratching the back of his head. "Oh, my bad. Kael. Didn't see you there. Hi."

The person he addressed was small in comparison to him and Richard, though no less fearsome. Short and pudgy, Kaeliron had the upper body of a wolf with a long, sharp snout, while his lower half was aquatic—scales of green and murky hues covering his lower body. His webbed hands and feet gave him a distinctly amphibious appearance, though he wore a suit that clung to his upper body. A thick cigar was clenched between his sharp teeth. His green eyes that were locked on Tyson had a mischievous look to them.

This forge wasn't just home to Cyclops but also to the Telchines—ancient, deep-sea blacksmiths who once served under Poseidon. They were banished by the sea god due to their dark magic style forging, forced to live deeper under the oceans. They had pledged their allegiance to Perseus after he earned their trust. They would follow, and in return, he promised them revenge against their former master. Since then, they had been granted refuge in the labyrinth, becoming key members of Team Silba—dedicated to crafting weapons and armor for the war along with the Cyclopes.

They also taught him the ways of the dark forging, which helped in his creation of Deeny. They were surprisingly more well-behaved than the cyclops, but even though he trusted them more than monsters like Python, he still kept a tight leash on them.

Kaeliron let out a puff of his cigar, the smoke curling around him as he spoke with a rough, gruff tone. "Hello to you too, boyo. But enough pleasantries—take a seat. We need to talk."

Tyson's smile faltered, his excitement giving way to suspicion. "Uh, okay." He reached for a stool and dragged it closer. "Is this about Big Bro?" He asked, and both Richard and Kaeliron nodded in unison.

"Yes." Richard's multiple eyes lit up as holographic blueprints appeared, projecting an image of a colossal space station. "This... is the vessel of the Ultimate Weapon."

Tyson leaned forward, his singular eye scanning the details of the projection. The design was unmistakably his brother's handiwork. "It's a space station." He murmured, tracing the edges of the blueprint. "This is definitely Bro's work, but..." His brow furrowed. "It's strange. The design—it feels... overprotective, like some kind of shell. Why would he build something like this? What's it for?"

"This boyo, called the Ultimate Weapon—or rather, the shell of it." Kaeliron said as the hologram shifted, zooming in on a golden, spine-like structure hidden at the core of the station. "The actual weapon is much smaller but infinitely more dangerous than anything you can imagine."

Tyson's heart sank. "H-how dangerous?"

Kaeliron took a puff from his cigar. "It feeds on divine remains deep beneath the earth—very unstable stuff, by the way." He stressed the words. "It stores them like a sponge, letting all those contradicting forces crash into each other like dirty laundry in a washing machine until it's activated."

"What happens to all that built-up divine power?" The cyclops inquired, but something told him he wasn't going to like the answer."

Richard interjected, his mechanical tone steady yet grim. "Unlike energy sourced from nature or elemental harmony, this weapon's source is pure instability. It will unleash a blast that can wipe out anything it's targeted on, deities included. And because our forces are currently fighting your brother—

"He's going to use it on the mountain!" Tyson's voice cracked as the realization struck, a look of dread splayed across his face. "Why?" He mouthed the word.

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by Tyson's shaky breaths. He didn't need a history lesson to understand his brother's beef with the Olympians—their father especially. Tyson knew why his brother took him in when they first met. He needed people with certain skills, why wouldn't he recruit a naive Cyclops? To him, he was another weapon in his arsenal, a tool to forge in his war with their family.

It should have made him angry, but Tyson didn't care. His brother clothed him, gave him tons of yummy food to eat, a nice warm place to sleep, and his own forge to boot. He loved his brother dearly and always thought he was the coolest. People say he's scary and all that, but to him, Percy was his dependable older sibling that rescued him when their dad didn't bother to.

Richard turned off the projection. "Master Perseus has hidden this project from everyone, save me. I assisted in its development—something I deeply regret." Shame weighed heavily in his voice. "The weapon has undergone a number of tests and simulations, all successful... until we looked into the future."

Tyson tilted his head, confused. "What did you see?"

"Nothing." He answered.

"...Nothing?" The cyclops replied. He didn't understand complex stuff about divination and whatnot, but he knew it was something bad if Richard of all people made it sound like it was a bad thing.

"Every attempt to predict the outcome of this war has resulted in failure. Simulations error out. Scrying and temporal projections from the master have been rendered useless. The weapon's power is so unstable, so volatile, that it defies rationality."

"It's all been bent because it already has." Richard exclaimed, clenching his fist. "Space and time are going to be distorted!"

Tyson slammed his hand on the table, shattering it like a toothpick. "Then why is he still going through with this?! He can stop it from happening, can't he?"

"He either can't or won't, especially won't." Kaeliron spoke. "The robot thinks it's a destined paradox or something. Everything has already happened in the future. The reason why the bucket of bolts can't see the end is because it all arrived at this. Whatever happens next, who knows?"

"That's insane!" The cyclops shouted. Why are you even telling me this now, especially you?" He pointed to Richard.

The butler has always been loyal, serving his brother faithfully. When he wasn't beside Perseus, he'd always be off completing a task or helping in the research facilities they had. His brother trusted his creation a lot because he followed his master's order no matter what it entailed. This was betrayal.

"Since the night of my programming, it has been my duty to serve the master." He placed his gloved hand over his chest. "Following him through the years, I've learned many things. He's a cruel and heartless man, yet whatever little kindness he has in his heart allowed me to carry the name of a family member he knows next to nothing about."

"I am a machine meant to obey and look out for his well-being. I am well aware that what I'm doing is traitorous. That being said... I don't give a damn." He said, shocking the two since this was the first time they heard him curse. "Selfish as it is, this is my will... Please, Master Tyson, help Perseus." He pleaded.

"And what about you?" He turned to the sea monster in the room. "Your species is almost as loyal as Mr. Rich because of what he did for you."

Kaeliron smirked, taking a long drag of his cigar. "Frankly, your brother's being a... what do you call it? Oh yeah, a drama queen."

The cyclops and automaton crossed their arms, giving the Telchine incredulous looks, or as much as Richards's non expressive face could make.

"Ugh… look, when Robocop here came to me the day before, I immediately said no for fear of the consequence. Your brother is a very scary guy, but a certain lady friend of his convinced me she..." He shivered at the memory. "She threatened to turn me into a rat if I didn't stop her precious student. Crazy woman."

Letting out a deep sigh, Tyson said, "I don't know what I can possibly do. It's not like I have the strength to stop him." He looked down sadly.

It was a laughable idea. Perseus Silba Jackson might as well have been a world power. He stood toe to toe against the likes of Zeus and even earned the respect of four Primordial. Nix, Tartarus, Gaia, and Ouranos. Not to mention he's got their grandfather, who was not very fond of Tyson, backing him up. It's why a coup never happened. Monsters and Titans had a fear of their traitorous thoughts coming to light, knowing that the demigod would know beforehand. It's how he kept everyone in line.

"We are not looking for you to fight your brother. Though we could not prevent this before, our reasons are sound. He would have seen through us. Now is the opportune moment. It's why we chose now to ask for your help."

"We know full well you can't defeat him, but you can stop the machine." He began, "Because you worked with Master Perseus for years, you know better than anyone how his designs work and how to untangle them. The blueprints you have in your hands should help you locate the spine.

Thinking this over, the Cyclops sighed under his breath in contemplation. He didn't want to anger his brother by doing this. He would hate him a lot if he got between him and their uncle. It's why he was never allowed to leave the labyrinth. However, the part of him that was his family, his younger brother, wanted to help him, and if he could help stop his brother from doing something he'll regret, then...

Tyson exhaled deeply, his single eye narrowing in thought. He didn't want to cross his brother. Perseus had always been his savior, his mentor, and his family when their father wasn't. Yet, Tyson couldn't ignore the sense of duty stirring within him. If he could prevent his brother from making a terrible mistake—one he'd regret forever—then he had to try.

Taking a deep breath, Tyson said, "I'll do my best." His brown eye showed his resolve. He was scared, but his determination overshadowed it.

Grabbing his hand, the butler shook it as he bowed his head. "You have my utmost gratitude, Master Tyson. Thank you a million."

"Don't sweat it. I'm just doing my job as the little brother to help him out when he's in trouble, though I don't know how helpful I'll be." He chuckled nervously before looking over the blueprints. "Hmm, it looks like the only way I can think of disabling that spine isn't as simple as breaking a chair. This is more difficult than I thought. A heads-up would have been nice." He whined.

Kaelrion gave a huff before saying, "That's where these come in." He brought out two gadgets. "This was very last minute, but these should help stall for a little while at least so you can get the chance to calibrate the spine… probably." He handed them to Tyson, who looked wide-eyed at the objects.

The items were a pair of cores, each with a sleek, high-tech design. Both cores glowed, radiating energy in vivid hues of electric blue and neon purple. The surfaces of the cores are smooth and metallic, with intricate engraved patterns.

The first core has a rounded, slightly spherical shape with visible glowing seams running along its surface. These seams pulsate with light, giving the impression of a heartbeat-like energy flow. The edges of the core are reinforced with angular metallic elements, most likely celestial bronze.

The second core is more angular and compact, with a central purple glowing orb encased in a prismatic structure. The glow from this core is more concentrated, creating an aura of raw, untamed power.

"The one on the right is what will stall, so to speak, and the second is the finisher. It should safely disable the machine and prevent any significant backlash if this parasitic virus latches on a couple of minutes after the drainer does its magic. Be very careful because I was only able to prepare one of each, so if they break, there's no second chance."

"It's imperative the queller and parasite are set on the spine at different intervals rather than at the same time. If they are... well, let's just say it won't be good and leave it like that." Richard finished.

"A divine hammer that can break away from fate. What was my brother thinking?" The cyclops muttered, determined to stop him. "Is this all?" He asked, to which they shook their head.

"You'll also need this." He handed him a teleportation device. "Can't quite save the world if you can't even get to your destination. It will help you return back along with anyone else you're in contact within case things go awry. This is the only one that has access that your brother does know about, so be careful." He stressed the last part, to which Tyson nodded.

Deep down he wondered if he should've tried to open up with Percy more. If his attempts weren't enough, he should have doubled down on his attempts. Shaking his head, he put the items on the chair as he removed his apron. Grabbing his leather jacket from his coat rack, he put it on himself. He then took out a dagger that resembled a shortened lance. It glowed bright red as magma surrounded his arm, transforming into a weapon.

The weapon was a passion project of his. It was a sleek, elongated shaft that is dark, metallic, and slightly jagged, giving it a rugged appearance. The head of the pick is its most striking feature. It glows with molten orange and fiery red hues, resembling magma flowing within its form. The head is sharply angled, with one end forming a pointed pickaxe-like spike and the other curving slightly into a wedge or hammer shape. It brimmed with the power of a volcanic eruption.

Its name was Spryggan. This weapon ranked at the top of his, created from both celestial bronze infused with a large amount of nature magic to give it its explosive factor and obsidian blessed by the Polynesian goddess Pele. It was made with the very idea of creating devastating volcanoes and scorching heats that could combat against the best the supernatural world had to offer.

Taking his sunglasses from inside the jacket, he said, "Wish me luck." He grinned, putting the shades on as he turned on the teleportation device.

*HUMMING.*

Blue energy particles rose on him. Good luck." They both said as the Cyclops teleported in a blue light.

Alone, the Telchine turned to the automaton to ask, "Tell me honestly, what are the odds we fail and die?" He pressed his used cigar on the wall.

 "I do not know." The machine answered plainly.

"Welp, time to get drunk then. I heard rum tastes better when the world is in peril." He replied as he walked out of the room to the nearest bar they had in the city.

...

..

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(Don't worry, I'm still alive lol. Bad news. I got laid off—major bummer, but I'll get a new job. Good news. I've been working on drafts for upcoming chapters during this time, and the next one will definitely have the fight we've been looking forward to. Trust me, you'll love it. Chao.)