The opulent corridors of the Arkworld AW-03's upper decks were a study in silent, polished privilege, a stark contrast to the grim purpose driving Gaiard and Tiama. Locating Edward's private quarters was a simple matter of following the trail of his wealth and influence—a sprawling suite located in the most secure and luxurious section of the ship. They didn't bother with stealth. Their approach was a declaration of intent.
Inside the suite, the air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and rage. Edward paced amidst the wreckage of what had once been fine furniture, his face still a swollen, bruised mess from Gaiard's fist. Spittle flew from his lips as he roared curses, his voice a shrill counterpoint to the low hum of the ship's engines.
"Those lower-deck scum! I'll have them skinned and tossed to the deep-sea mutants! I'll own her! I'll break him!"
Slouched on a pristine white sofa, seemingly untouched by the surrounding chaos, was his younger brother, Almond. He was lean where Edward was bulky, with sharp, calculating eyes and a perpetual, condescending smirk. He watched his brother's tantrum with open amusement.
"Brother, dear," Almond drawled, his voice smooth as oil. "All this shouting is so... uncouth. And ineffective." He took a slow sip from a crystal glass. "You're thinking like a brute. You need to think like a strategist."
Edward stopped his pacing, glaring at his brother. "What are you talking about?"
Almond's smirk widened into something truly unpleasant. "The girl. This Tiama. She's proud. She thinks her strength makes her untouchable. So, you don't challenge her strength. You circumvent it." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Wait. Wait until the middle of the night, when she's deep in sleep, her guard down. A little chemical assistance in the ventilation system to ensure she doesn't wake... then, you pay her a visit. Once she's been... compromised, once her 'virtue' is a memory, what choice does she have? She'll be ruined. She'll have no one to turn to but you. She'll be in the palm of your hand, utterly dependent."
A slow, ugly light of understanding dawned in Edward's eyes. The rage was replaced by a greedy, predatory anticipation. He nodded, a foul smile spreading across his battered face. "Yes... yes, you're right. I'll have her—"
He was cut off by a voice from the doorway, cold and clear as shattering crystal.
"See? I told you he wouldn't give up easily."
Another voice, a low, tectonic rumble, answered. "Okay, okay! You're right."
Edward and Almond spun around. Standing in the open doorway, their forms silhouetted against the brighter hallway light, were Gaiard and Tiama. Tiama's arms were crossed, her expression one of icy, vindicated contempt. Gaiard stood beside her, his massive frame seeming to fill the entire doorframe, his face a mask of grim finality.
Almond shot to his feet, his smug composure shattered. "How did you get in here?!" he sputtered, his voice cracking. "I arranged a full contingent of guards! They're the best on the ship!"
Tiama didn't even glance behind her. "You mean those weaklings?" she said, her tone dripping with disdain. "Got it."
Edward's eyes darted past them to the corridor. Littering the floor, in a neatly stacked pile of groaning, unconscious bodies, were all of his elite guards. "Gone," he whispered, the color draining from his face.
Gaiard took a step into the room, the deck plating groaning under his weight. He rolled his shoulders and cracked the knuckles of his Terracrasher-clad hands. The sound was like stones grinding together.
"Okay," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion except a quiet, terrifying purpose. "Let's do this quickly."
He and Tiama advanced. There was no rush, no frenzy. Their movements were deliberate, inevitable, like the tide coming in. The two brothers, their scheming bravado utterly evaporated, stumbled backward. Edward tripped over a broken chair leg and fell hard on his backside. Almond backed into a wall, his hands raised in a futile gesture of surrender.
"Please!" Edward begged, scrambling backward like a crab, his fine clothes tearing on the splintered wood. "Don't! I was wrong! I'll give you anything! Credits! A higher deck! Just don't hurt me!"
Almond simply slid down the wall, his face a mask of pure terror, unable to form any words.
Their pleas fell on deaf ears. The time for warnings was past. The line had been crossed not by a threat of violence, but by a threat of something far more vile. Gaiard and Tiama loomed over them, the avenging spirits of the earth, their cold smiles promising not just punishment, but eradication.
And then, a single, high-pitched, utterly terrified scream ripped through the soundproofed walls of the suite, a stark, human sound of agony and fear that echoed through the sterile, opulent halls of the AW-03. It was cut off with brutal suddenness, but its echo lingered.