Chapter 30: Falcatore Needia.
The night in Gregor Naught had turned restless.
FWOOSH!
Wind pushed through the narrow alleys as cloaked figures moved silently between rooftops and taverns. The city never truly slept—but tonight something felt different.
Across the city, the team had already split up.
Each member moving into position.
Each carrying a piece of Daito Greyhell's plan.
And the first move… belonged to chaos.
* * *
Northern Armory District
The Northern Armory Depot stood like a fortress of steel.
Rows of armored vehicles.
Weapons storage buildings.
Guard towers scanning the district.
It was one of the most protected sections of Gregor Naught.
Exactly why Champagne had chosen it.
He leaned casually against a crate outside the wall.
Beside him stood Brandon, cracking his knuckles.
Champagne checked the street once more.
"Alright," he said casually.
"This should be loud enough."
Brandon looked at the depot walls.
"…You're about to blow something up, aren't you?"
Champagne grinned.
"Obviously."
SNAP!
He snapped his fingers.
SWOOSH!
Energy gathered in his palm.
BZWOO!
A dense sphere of compressed power began forming.
The air vibrated.
Then—
SWOOSH!
He tossed it.
The glowing sphere landed inside the depot yard.
For a brief moment, Nothing happened.
Then—
BOOOOOOOOOOOM!
The explosion ripped through the depot like thunder.
TWISH!
SHATTER!
The shockwave shattered windows across the district.
CRASH!
SWOOSH!
Metal containers flipped into the air.
ZWIING! ZWIING! ZWIING!
Alarm sirens erupted instantly.
Guards shouted from the towers.
"INTRUDERS!"
"ARMORY BREACH!"
Before the dust even settled—
SWOOSH!
Champagne leapt over the wall.
Brandon followed without hesitation.
Inside the depot chaos erupted.
CRASH!
SWIISH!
Champagne crashed into a weapons rack and swung it like a bat, smashing through armored vehicles.
SWOOSH!
Brandon lifted a steel supply crate bigger than a car and hurled it through a guard tower.
CRAAASH!
The tower collapsed instantly.
Guards rushed from every direction.
"STOP THEM!"
RATATATATAT!
Rifles fired.
SWOOSH
PAW!
PANG!
KA-POW!
POW!
But Champagne moved like lightning, smashing through the formation with brutal punches.
GRAB!
SMASH!
Brandon grabbed two soldiers by their armor and slammed them into the ground hard enough to crack the pavement.
BOOM!
BAAM!
More explosions echoed.
The entire northern district lit up like a warzone.
Exactly what Daito wanted.
* * *
Across Gregor Naught
Guard patrols began redirecting immediately.
Sirens screamed through the streets.
VRRMM!
Dozens of armored police trucks sped toward the armory.
Radio chatter flooded the city.
"Massive disturbance in the northern district!"
"Multiple Savages attacking!"
"Send reinforcements immediately!"
Within minutes—
SWOOSH!
Nearly half the city's guards began moving north.
The trap had started working.
But then—
VRRMM!
A new vehicle arrived.
Black and heavy.
Marked with the crest of the city police.
The truck stopped at the edge of the battlefield.
Its door opened.
And the man who stepped out instantly changed the atmosphere.
Commander Arrival
The guards around him stood straighter.
Even the chaos seemed to pause slightly.
Walking toward the battlefield was Falcatore Needia.
Tall.
Broad shouldered.
Grey streaks ran through his short black hair.
His coat carried the medals of a decorated war veteran.
Years ago he had fought in frontier wars against entire Savage battalions.
He survived battles where entire units were wiped out.
More importantly.....he had learned how to fight Savages.
The soldiers behind him respected him deeply.
Some even feared him.
FWOO....
Falcatore surveyed the destruction calmly.
His voice was steady.
"…Two attackers."
SWOOSH!
CRASH!
His sharp eyes watched Champagne toss another guard through a truck.
"And they're not amateurs."
One of the officers saluted nervously.
"Commander, these two are definitely Savages."
Falcatore sighed quietly.
"…Of course they are."
He stepped forward.
Then spoke loudly.
"DEFENSE FORMATION."
Immediately the surrounding police units shifted.
CLOG–CLOG–CLOG!
Their stance changed.
Weapons lowered slightly.
FWOOSH!
Hands forming strange martial positions.
This was Defence Arts.
A specialized combat style designed specifically to counter Savage powers.
SWOOSH!
Energy began flowing between the soldiers as they synchronized their breathing and stance.
ZWOOFFF!
A defensive aura spread across their formation.
Champagne noticed immediately.
"…Oh."
He grinned wider.
"Now this is interesting."
Brandon looked at the soldiers surrounding them.
"…Yeah."
"Finally someone trained."
Falcatore stepped into the front of the formation.
His presence alone carried weight.
Years of battlefield experience radiated from him.
His hand rested calmly on the hilt of a long tactical blade.
"You two have caused enough trouble tonight."
His voice was calm but commanding.
"Stand down."
Champagne laughed.
"Sorry commander."
He cracked his neck.
"Not really our style."
Falcatore studied them carefully.
Then nodded slightly.
"…Very well."
SHING!
His blade slid from its sheath.
The sound echoed sharply through the ruined depot.
FWOOSH!
Behind him the guards moved in perfect synchronization.
ZWOOFFF!
Their Defence Arts energy forming a protective lattice across the battlefield.
Falcatore's eyes sharpened.
"Let's see how long Savages last… against discipline."
Champagne rolled his shoulders.
Brandon stepped forward.
And the real fight began.
* * *
BRRMM!
The burning wreckage of the Northern Armory Depot lit the sky above Gregor Naught.
Flames licked the sides of collapsed towers.
Metal groaned.
ZWIING! ZWIING!
Sirens screamed endlessly through the night.
SWOOSH!
"Hahaha!"
Amid the chaos, Champagne suddenly dashed backward, laughing loudly.
"HEY SHORTIES!" he shouted at the officers. "You wanted the Savage? Come catch me!"
Several squads immediately reacted.
But before they could reorganize—
Fwoo..
Commander Falcatore Needia raised his hand.
His voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
"UNIT THREE, FOUR AND SIX!"
His sharp eyes locked onto Champagne.
"Focus on the short one."
CLOG!
The guards immediately adjusted formation.
"YES SIR!"
Falcatore continued calmly.
"I'll handle the big one."
Behind Champagne, Brandon stood quietly, watching.
Champagne grinned.
"Works for me."
SWOOSH!
DASH!
Then he suddenly sprinted north.
Fast.
Very fast.
The officers using Defence Arts immediately gave chase, their movements synchronized and disciplined.
"AFTER HIM!"
"DON'T LET HIM ESCAPE!"
SWOOSH!
Champagne glanced back while running across rooftops.
He flashed Brandon a grin.
"HEY BIG GUY!"
"Don't forget the plan!"
Brandon gave a small nod.
"I won't."
Then Champagne disappeared into the northern streets, dragging several squads of trained guards with him.
Exactly as planned.
Now the battlefield grew quiet.
Only two figures remained standing in the burning armory yard.
Brandon.
And Commander Falcatore.
FWOOSH!
The wind blew ash between them.
Falcatore slowly rolled his blade.
His sharp veteran eyes studied Brandon carefully.
Then he spoke.
"…Interesting."
Brandon frowned slightly.
Falcatore continued calmly.
"You separated."
His blade lowered slightly as if he was thinking more than fighting.
"That means this attack was never about destroying the depot."
Brandon's expression shifted slightly.
Falcatore noticed immediately.
A faint smile crossed the commander's face.
"So I was correct."
Ting...
He tapped the ground lightly with the tip of his blade.
"This was a distraction."
Brandon blinked once.
The commander continued speaking calmly as if analyzing a battlefield.
"You attack a high-value military location."
"Make a lot of noise."
"Pull guards away from somewhere important."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"What are you trying to reach?"
Brandon stood silent.
Falcatore tilted his head.
"What do you want from my city?"
The firelight flickered across his hardened face.
Years of war had sharpened his instincts beyond most soldiers.
He wasn't just strong.
He was intelligent.
Strategic.
The kind of man who could smell a plan through pure chaos.
Brandon scratched the back of his neck.
"…Damn."
Falcatore raised an eyebrow.
Brandon sighed slightly.
"You figured that out fast."
Falcatore smirked faintly.
"I fought Savages long before this city was built."
He stepped forward slightly.
"Your tricks are not new to me."
Brandon cracked his neck slowly.
"Yeah well…"
Crack...
He planted his feet firmly on the cracked pavement.
"…If you want answers…"
His fists tightened.
"…you better come and make me talk."
Falcatore's eyes sharpened immediately.
SHING!
The commander lifted his blade and took a precise fighting stance.
His posture was flawless.
Balanced.
Efficient.
Every movement refined through years of brutal battlefield experience.
His breathing slowed.
The air around him changed.
The stance of Defence Arts activated fully.
Energy flowed subtly through his muscles.
His voice remained calm.
"Very well then."
His blade pointed toward Brandon.
"Let's begin."
* * *
They moved at the same time.
BOOM!
CRACK!
The ground cracked as Brandon launched forward like a cannonball.
FWOOSH!
SLIDE!
Falcatore slid forward smoothly, his movement surprisingly fast for someone his size.
Brandon swung a massive punch toward the commander's head—
SWING!
FWOOSH!
Falcatore twisted sideways.
The punch missed by inches.
THWISHH!
The shockwave alone shattered a nearby vehicle window.
Falcatore countered instantly.
SLASH!
His blade flashed upward toward Brandon's ribs.
CLANG!
Brandon blocked the strike with his forearm.
The impact echoed like metal colliding.
Falcatore's eyes widened slightly.
"…Dense muscle structure."
Brandon grinned.
"Been working out."
Falcatore immediately pivoted.
His knee shot toward Brandon's stomach.
THUD!
The strike landed hard.
But Brandon barely moved.
Falcatore reacted instantly again, jumping back as Brandon's massive fist slammed into the ground where he stood.
BOOOOM!
CRAAASH!
Concrete exploded upward.
Falcatore landed lightly a few meters away.
"…Impressive."
Brandon rolled his shoulders.
"You're not bad yourself, old man."
Falcatore smirked slightly.
"Old?"
In the next instant—
SWOOSH!
He vanished forward.
His blade flashed in rapid arcs, striking Brandon's arms, shoulders, and legs with surgical precision.
CLANG!
CLANG!
CLANG!
CLANG!
Each strike aimed at pressure points designed to weaken Savage muscle control.
Brandon grunted slightly.
"…Okay yeah."
"You definitely fought Savages before."
Falcatore suddenly spun.
His heel smashed into Brandon's jaw.
CRACK!
SLIDE!
The impact forced Brandon to slide back across the pavement.
Dust kicked into the air.
Falcatore landed smoothly.
His blade lowered slightly again.
"…You're holding back."
Brandon wiped blood from his lip.
Then he smiled slowly.
"Maybe."
He cracked his knuckles.
"But so are you."
For a brief moment…
The two warriors simply stared at each other through the smoke and fire.
Then Falcatore smiled.
The kind of smile only old battlefield veterans have.
"…Good."
His grip tightened on his blade.
"Because I would hate to defeat you too easily."
Brandon leaned forward slightly.
The ground beneath his feet began to crack.
"Oh trust me…"
He grinned.
"…that's not happening."
And then they charged again.
CLAAAASH!
BOOOM!
* * *
Deep inside Iron Bastion, the air felt heavy.
Cold.
Metallic.
Oppressive.
The prison had been designed to hold the worst Savages in the region, and every wall seemed to carry the weight of their hatred.
Massive steel doors lined the corridors.
Buzz...
Electric restraint fields hummed softly.
Guards moved through the halls with disciplined caution.
Yet tonight…
Something felt wrong.
Distant tremors echoed faintly through the structure.
From outside the prison walls, the sounds of explosions and alarms carried through the night air.
GLING!
Inside the main cell block, prisoners slammed their fists against the bars.
"HEY!"
"What the hell is going on out there?!"
"Sounds like a damn war!"
One inmate spat toward a passing guard.
Another leaned against the bars and shouted across the block.
"Oi!"
His eyes turned toward the back of the cell block.
"Boss!"
At the far end of the prison wing sat a large man on the floor of his cell.
His back was turned to everyone.
Dark tattoos spread across his broad shoulders like war markings.
The man didn't even bother turning around.
"Boss," the prisoner called again nervously. "You got good ears. Tell us what's happening outside."
Silence.
Then the large man spoke in a low, irritated voice.
"…You idiots are loud."
He cracked his neck slowly.
"Always asking stupid questions."
Another prisoner chuckled nervously.
"Well you usually know things."
The tattooed man sighed.
"Whatever's happening out there…"
He paused.
"…has nothing to do with us."
He finally turned his head slightly.
His eyes were cold.
"Just pray you don't wake the monsters under this floor."
The entire cell block suddenly went quiet.
Everyone in the prison knew about the lower levels.
Solitary containment.
The place where the real monsters were kept.
Savages so dangerous they were buried beneath layers of reinforced steel and suppression fields.
If those inmates ever broke free…
The Bastion itself might not survive.
One prisoner swallowed nervously.
"…Right."
"Let's not do that."
The tattooed man leaned back against the wall.
"Exactly."
To be continued.....