Chapter 67 – Embers Before the Fire
Bega didn't give speeches.
That alone made him more terrifying than any self-proclaimed king Jean-Daniel had ever seen.
He stood near the center of the warehouse, flames rolling lazily along his forearms as if they were nothing more than decoration—like they belonged there, like they had always been part of him. He didn't shout. Didn't posture. He didn't need to.
Power didn't need to announce itself.
"All right, gang," Bega said, his voice calm but carrying easily across the wide space. "Listen up."
The low hum of conversation died instantly.
Jean-Daniel stood near the back, hands buried deep in his pockets, shoulders squared. He kept his face neutral, jaw tight, eyes steady. Beside him, Wilkens adjusted the strap of his helmet with nervous fingers, a habit he hadn't quite shaken yet.
Around them, members of the former DED gang—now proudly calling themselves The Pyro Kingdom—waited in loose clusters. Some leaned casually against crates stacked with scavenged supplies. Others stood with weapons already in hand, flame flickering faintly around their knuckles, shoulders, or eyes.
Bega spread his arms slightly, and for a brief moment the flames along his forearms flared higher, casting dancing shadows across the walls before settling again.
"So, my dear children of fire," he continued, a smile tugging at his lips, "beasts are popping up everywhere. Portals. Dens. Nests. You've seen it, right? You've heard it."
A few people nodded. Someone let out a low chuckle.
"And as you all know," Bega went on, "I want those beast crystals. I want them so we can grow our kingdom even stronger."
That was it.
No rallying cry. No dramatic promise of glory or destiny. Just a clear objective laid bare.
The room shifted.
Some people grinned, flames flickering brighter in excitement. Others cracked their knuckles or adjusted their weapons. A few exchanged looks that said finally—like they'd been waiting for this moment.
"Let me make something clear," Bega added, his gaze sweeping slowly across the crowd. When his eyes passed over Jean-Daniel and Wilkens, they lingered for just half a second longer than necessary. "I want high-tier crystals. Bring me something legendary at least, and I'll make it worth your time."
Jean-Daniel felt Wilkens tense beside him.
Bega's smile widened, clearly enjoying the reaction. "You bring me results, and I'll reward you with one of my finest epic weapons or armor. Your choice. Straight from the vault."
That got murmurs.
Some excited. Some greedy.
Wilkens swallowed hard.
"And don't worry," Bega finished casually, flames flaring briefly along his fingers, "if you die out there, you won't need it anyway."
Laughter rippled through the warehouse—some of it genuine, some forced, some just loud enough to avoid standing out.
Jean-Daniel didn't laugh.
Neither did Wilkens.
They watched as the gang began organizing, flame-wielders clustering together, weapons clanking softly as gear was checked and rechecked. Bega turned away, already done with them, already thinking ahead like a man who assumed obedience without question.
"Guess that's our cue," Wilkens muttered.
Jean-Daniel nodded once. "Stay close."
They moved with the others toward the exit, boots echoing against concrete as the massive doors rolled open with a metallic groan.
Outside, the bus waited.
It was big—too big to be subtle. Reinforced with welded steel plates and patched windows, it looked like something dragged back from a battlefield and barely stitched together. Burn marks streaked along its sides, old and new, overlapping like scars. The tires were caked with dried mud and ash, and someone had spray-painted a crude flame emblem on the side, half peeling and barely recognizable.
Jean-Daniel climbed aboard first, the weight of his earth-aligned chest piece settling firmly against his ribs. The blue crystal embedded at its center pulsed faintly, steady and reassuring. Every time he moved, it felt like gravity itself paid him just a little more attention.
Wilkens followed, ducking slightly as he stepped inside. The helmet on his head hummed quietly, the green crystal at its front warming as it synced with his senses.
The bus lurched forward, engine groaning as it pulled away from the warehouse.
Inside, the air was thick.
Flame users sat scattered throughout the seats, some leaning against the windows, others stretched out casually like this was just another ride across town. Sparks flickered now and then, quickly smothered by annoyed looks or sharp words.
"Hey," someone barked from the front. "No fire tricks on the bus unless you wanna walk."
A man with braided hair sticking up like spikes snorted. His military pants were stained with soot, and his white tank top was no longer white—yellowed, burned, and heavily worn. Everyone knew him as Tèt Pikan.
"Relax," he said, flames dancing lazily across his knuckles. "I can control it."
"Yeah?" someone replied from the back. "You control it when the gas tank explodes too?"
That earned a laugh.
Jean-Daniel took a seat near the middle, resting his warhammer between his boots. The weapon was heavy and solid, its weight grounding him. The blue crystal embedded near its head glowed faintly, resonating with the earth-type energy of his armor.
Wilkens slid into the seat beside him, adjusting his gloves.
"So," Wilkens said quietly, "Pyro Kingdom."
Jean-Daniel exhaled through his nose. "Stupid name."
Wilkens smiled faintly. "At least it's honest."
A voice from across the aisle chimed in. "You two still rocking only gear instead of powers?"
Jean-Daniel didn't look up.
Wilkens turned his head slightly. "Seems to be enough."
The man smirked, flames dancing along his knuckles. "For now."
Another voice joined in. "Bega must really not trust you yet."
Jean-Daniel's grip tightened on the handle of his warhammer. The earth crystal pulsed in response, sending a subtle vibration up his arm.
Wilkens spoke first, his tone calm. "Trust takes time, you know."
"Or maybe results," someone shot back.
Laughter followed.
Jean-Daniel finally raised his eyes, gaze sharp. "You done talking?"
The laughter died quickly.
The man shrugged and leaned back. "Relax. Just saying. Don't fall behind."
Jean-Daniel didn't respond.
The bus rumbled on.
As the cityscape changed outside the windows, Wilkens leaned closer. "Just… ignore them."
"I am," Jean-Daniel muttered.
Wilkens smiled. "You're gripping that hammer like you want to cave someone's skull in."
Jean-Daniel glanced down, then loosened his grip slightly. "It's just… a habit."
They rode in uneasy silence.
Buildings grew more damaged the farther they went. Windows shattered. Walls cracked. Entire blocks stood abandoned, swallowed by creeping vines and soot-stained rubble. Water pooled in broken streets, reflecting distorted versions of the world above.
The bus slowed.
"Cité Madeline," someone said under their breath.
The engine cut.
They stepped out into damp air, boots sinking slightly into mud. The ground here never seemed dry anymore. Water clung to everything—walls, streets, even the air itself.
Destroyed houses lined the roads, some collapsed entirely, others standing crooked and hollow. Burn marks scarred doorways. In some places, claw marks gouged deep into concrete.
Wilkens' helmet hummed louder.
His vision shifted.
Colors bled into view—faint glows behind walls, beneath rubble, down alleyways. White. Green. Blue. Some clustered together. Some isolated.
Crystals.
And beasts.
Jean-Daniel noticed him slowing. "You seeing something?"
Wilkens nodded, voice low. "Yeah. There's a lot of them here."
They moved behind the group as it fanned out, flame users taking point. Jean-Daniel's warhammer felt heavier here—but also more right, like the ground beneath the city recognized the earth crystal's presence.
They walked deeper into the ruined streets.
A distant crash echoed somewhere ahead.
Someone laughed nervously. "Sounds like dinner."
Jean-Daniel's jaw tightened.
Wilkens leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Let's survive until we see Peterson again."
Jean-Daniel glanced at him, then nodded. "You didn't even need to say it."
Wilkens smiled despite himself. "Survival is kind of my thing."
Jean-Daniel huffed. "Yeah. I remember."
They kept moving.
Somewhere in the distance, something growled.
And the city waited.
End of Chapter 67