Chapter 22:

Raging Phoenix: Part Four

FFF-Class 'Unlucky Antagonist'


A carriage stopped in the middle of a vast expanse of cultivated camps. The thumbs of combine harvesters backgrounded the last fruitful moments before the Imperfect Winter would blanket the golden grain beneath a white and soft sheet. A mere fistful of peasants inhabited this rural outskirt, yet the fruit of their labor brought solace throughout the myriads of islands that together formed the Miraval Commonwealth. The Basket of the Pacific was formed by two peninsulas that, from the northern tip of the Natural Reserve, arcing outward and then arcing inward, encircling the whole lake but stopping just before touching one another. From above, one could admire the unmistakable figure that gave the area its name—Fercheval, the Horseshoe.

After handing five Marini to the old coachman, a tall man with his hair tied in a top knot leapt from the carriage, stretching his arms as the sunlight caressed his half-naked body. Although the wind reminded everyone that autumn was nearing its abrupt end, he felt perfectly comfortable in his floral-patterned and short-sleeved shirt, which he left unbuttoned to proudly display his sculpted abs. “It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve seen it….” He whistled loudly before putting on a pair of oversized sunglasses, protecting his aquamarine eyes as he gazed out at the landscape. From up there, even his own city looked insignificant compared to the marvel unfolding before his eyes. “…That damn dam always leaves me speechless.”

The Miraval Lake was an artificial basin. Originally, it had been a small gulf connected to the sea by a narrow strait between the two horns of Fercheval. However, as the Miraval Institute of Magic and Technology expanded, so too did its insatiable demand for resources, and after yet another crippling blackout, a drastic decision was made—close the strait.

”If humans can master God’s Art, then we are, without doubt, the superior species.”

In the distance, a lone plant dominated the horizon. A strange tree it was, enormous, but not in the usual way—its width was dozens of times its height. Its mastodontic trunk stretched for kilometers upon kilometers, crowned by a canopy of billions of red and yellow leaves, forming a forest perched atop the highest peak of the Natural Reserve.

A vast net of ivy draped the colossus like an immense tapestry, its vines dyed blue by the adulterated liquid that nourished them—glowing water cascading from waterfalls that spilled through massive holes carved into the wood. At the sun’s zenith, the great wall's azure surface shimmered with countless gleaming reflections, while the leaves danced gently in the wind. That blue marvel mirrored the hidden panorama beyond so perfectly that, to an unknowing observer, it would appear as if that red-and-yellow forest was floating between ocean and sky—the secret garden of the gods.

“Now, where the hell is Ludwig?” The man scratched his golden hair, squinting at the map attached to the [Email]. “Oh well, who cares?” Life had taught him never to waste time on pointless problems. Instead, he chose a new perspective—a higher one. “Let’s fucking dance!” Excited, he raised both arms to the sky, summoning two towering columns of fire that surged upward from his back, growing tens of meters per second in a desperate attempt to pierce the blue prison Adam had imposed on humanity. However, hubris is known for its powerful momentum but fragile perseverance, and soon the red twin towers began to collapse, their flames crashing down onto the golden fields below. “Oops…” The gluttonous fire began to devour the harvest, expandin freely across the golden plains—the first pagan ritual Miraval Island had witness in millennia.

“Ergh…Mayor Miraval ought to be ashamed of himself. He should’ve known that vetoing the Soil Protection Bill would spark dozens of spontaneous fires.” As the man vented his indignation at such irresponsible administration, the two collapsed towers of flame shrank into serpentine tongues of fire, then slithered onto his back before reshaping into a majestic pair of wings—each feather a flickering flame. With a sharp gust, the blazing angel took flight, soaring into the pillar of soot and vanishing from sight just in time to avoid the furious mob now approaching the hill, their rage ignited by the sight of months of hard labour reduced to ash.

”Here, I should be safe.” Once he rose above the clouds, the man exhaled a deep sigh of relief. ”Now, where are you, Ludwig—found you!” He spotted his target standing on a motorboat beside a small pier at the base of the white cliffs that lined the northern section of the Fercheval—directly perpendicular to his position. ”Here I come!” The golden-haired angel shouted as he spread his wings wide, diving toward the narrow dock like a flaming meteor. “LUDDDDDDWIIIII—OH, SHIT!” But he had miscalculated, and with a resounding crash, he slammed into the fragile wooden structure, sending both it and himself deep into the sea.

“Jericho…what the hell are you doing?” Asked the man standing on the ship, clad in armor black as obsidian but as sharp and smooth as forged stainless steel—the Carbon-Woven Armor. Emblazoned on his chest was the symbol of the Miraval Family—Miraval Tree—positioned just above the acronym ’MCPD’—Miraval City Police Department.

”Ludwig, I’m u-u-under the w-w-water! Pl-e-e-se hel—” Jericho’s flaming wings twitched erratically as he struggled to stay afloat, a curtain of steam rising around him and misting over the wide eye-shield of Ludwig’s helmet.

“Just stay still for a moment, you idiot.” Gripping the boat’s guardrail with one hand, the officer leaned forward just far enough for his Carbon-Woven Glove to catch hold of Jericho’s flaming hand, and after a few failed attempts, Ludwig managed to yank his friend onto the deck with a single powerful pull.

“Ludwig, you saved my life—I LOVE YOU, BRO!” Jericho cried out, lunging for a hug, but he was promptly and firmly rejected.

“Shut up, you lazy, immature, and irresponsible fool!” Ludwig barked, tapping his colleague’s large forehead three times with exaggerated dramacy. “How many times have I told you—DON’T BE LATE! I’ve been waiting three hours and seven minutes, and instead of apologizing, you show up acting like a child?” The Carbon-Woven Helmet had been engineered to modulate the wearer’s voice, preserving anonymity. Yet, that tone was unmistakable to Jericho. “Maybe the Naturians are right. I must’ve committed some unspeakable atrocity in a past life to end up as your partner. But what’s done is done, and it’s time you understood this—your screw-ups are also mine. Captain Larsan’s already blamed me for not keeping you in line, and I’m not going to lose my job because of you!” Jericho thanked the helmet for hiding whatever terrifying expression Ludwig was now sporting.

“Relax, bro. I just had a really busy night—if you know what I mean.” Jericho winked, his burning eyelashes sending a tiny heart of fire at Ludwig. “I'm pretty sure I broke the world’s record.” BBB-Class ‘Raging Phoenix’ Special Agent Jericho Van Kasteel proudly beamed as he recalled the legendary night.

“Keep your disgusting stories to yourself,” C-Class ‘Defender’ Special Agent Ludwig Diflas snapped, pushing him away. “At the very least, did you bring the equipment I asked for in the [Email] you probably didn’t even read?!” Jericho, unfazed, casually pulled a suitcase from his [Inventory] and tossed it to his colleague. “Good.” Ludwig caught it mid-air. “Now, put your armor on.”

“Are you mad? How am I supposed to sunbathe in that walking cag—wait a minute.” Jericho froze out of shock, his flaming index finger now aimed toward the far end of the boat. “Who the fuck are those two?” Sitting on the boat’s edge were two figures clad in Carbon-Woven Armor, both awkwardly waving at him. “[CompleteView]... why can’t I see their damn [Classes]?!” He blurted out, his thick brows tightening into a frown because the black eyeshields of their oversized helmets distorted Jericho’s reflection—seeing his own face on another man’s body twisted his gut.

”New guidelines from the Ministry of the Interior,” Agent Diflas explained, snapping open his suitcase to perform a quick inspection. ”From now on, during special operations, our [Classes] must remain concealed. We can’t risk giving the enemy any tactical advantage.”

”And what about chivalry? What about Connor’s speech in Connor Two: Magical Boogaloo—‘If you keep your strengths hidden from the enemy, you might as well call them weaknesses.’” Agent Van Kasteel protested, but Agent Diflas didn’t even bother to look at him.

“An emergency implies our enemies are behaving unworthily. So I see no problem in committing a few dishonorable acts of our own.” He locked the suitcase with a decisive click. “Besides, don’t worry. Minister Hammarskjöld confirmed the law won’t apply in the event of an actual war.”

”Meh. When was the last time you trusted a politician? They just want us to swallow the pill slowly until nobody cares anymore.” Jericho shrugged, then shifted his attention back at the newcomers. ”Anyway, who are these two?”

“I’m FFF-Class ’Javelinist’ Jacques Dreux, and he’s FFF-Class ’Mafioso’ Jacques Dreux,” the ’Javelinist’ announced, stepping forward to greet the officer with a handshake. As their hands met, sparks flared—fire clashing with the carbon fibers of his glove.

“The fuck? Am I going crazy, or do both of you actually have the same name?” Jericho’s frown deepened, and the same happened with his reflection in that dark mirror—now more distorted than ever.

“Yes, a truly amusing coincidence,” the 'Mafioso' mumbled with a polite tone. “But nothing for you to worry about. Just call me Jude and my friend here, Jacques.” They both raised their thumbs.

“Luuuuudwigggggggg, would you please explain what the hell is going on?! Why are two fucking Class F working with us?!”

“What happened? You were late, and we got stuck with the bottom of the barrel,” Agent Diflas replied flatly.

“Yeap, I can confirm that,” Jacques chimed in. “Every other squad rejected us, and your partner here was the only one left. And so, here we are.”

“Oh, come on, bro. Are you seriously okay with bringing them along? I know it’s just a patrol, but what if we run into actual pirates?”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” the ’Javelinist’ confidently declared. “I’m a buffer, and Jude here’s a certified ship pilot. If things get problematic, we’ll keep our heads down and support the team however we can.” The ’Mafioso’ gave a silent yet confident nod.

“Moreover, the area we’re scouting is XXX-37,” the ’Defender’ added. “It’s in the eastern section of the Pacific Sea—the only part still true to its name. So our only unexpected guests might be dolphins or, at worst, sharks.” He paused to check the helm, then asked Jericho—“Did the Central brief you about the VIP?”

“Oh yes. Sweet Heidi interrupted me right in the middle of my world’s record to update me on today’s task. We’re to scout the thousands of islands that make up the Pacific Archipelago in search of a VIP kidnapped by pirates.” The ’Raging Phoenix’ grimaced, clenching his fist. “To think someone would do something so vile to a girl that young…these Naturians are truly uncivilized beasts. I swear—I’ll make them suffer.” Flames now completely shrouded the 'Raging Phoenix's' body.

Jacques frowned at the word girl. The VIP is a girl? Perhaps it’s Katrina. A kidnapper would rather deal with a defenseless Class F than a Class S, and despite her wealthy background, she isn’t a de jure noble—no risk of political retaliation. Yeah…if I were a pirate, I’d undoubtedly kidnap that girl. The ’Javelinist’ felt a flicker of disappointment, knowing he wouldn’t get to admire the pathetic look on the ’Data Analyst’s’ face after being rescued. He wondered whether she’d still be able to wear that malicious smirk despite all of that.

“The odds of finding the VIP in our zone are low. Still, we’re obligated to fulfill our duty,” Agent Diflas said as the boat growled to life. “Today, we’ve got a hundred islands to scout. Fifteen minutes per island—that’s twenty-five hours total. If we’re efficient, we might even squeeze in a few hours of sleep tonight.” Everyone gave their consent with a military salute. Then, without another word, the ’Defender’ turned the wheel, steering the boat toward their first target. However, just as he was about to press the accelerator, something caught his attention—a cloud of gray smoke rising above the top of the white cliff. “Oh, ’Imperfect Eclipser’—a fire in the fields?! Jericho, fast—we have to help them!”

“What’s that? Pfft, Ludwig, that’s why you should go out with me more.” Agent Van Kastleel abruptly stopped his colleague. “That’s the annual fertility ritual. The farmers burn part of their harvest for a good omen—it’s a fascinating tradition.” He spoke with casual confidence.

“Are you sure?” Jacques interjected. “I thought that participating in anything that even resembled paganism was punished by being burned at the stake.”

“YES.”

The ’Javelinist’ shrugged. “Sure, dude.”

Then, Jericho suddenly pulled out a camera from his [Inventory]. “Anyway, what about a photo to immortalize this memorable day?” With a wide grin, the broad-shouldered policeman pulled the three into a massive group hug. “Say—cheeeeeese!”

*Tweeeeeeet!*

WORLD'S END BLOG:

https://postimg.cc/pmKqhqXL

KinoMan
Author: