Maxwell

Jarathia | Volcano

Chisa faces the assembled bandits. “Hey. Sorry for all of this. Are you fine with these orders?”

A ripple of unease runs through the ranks.

“Also, I want you to do me a favor, please.“

“First, half of you will die in battle.” She says. “Are you ready for that?”

Four men vocally reject that, shaking. One spits, “WE WILL NOT DIE! Jerome is dead—you have nothing—”

Chisa’s axe leaves her hand like a thrown sickle. It returns to her bloody. The man drops where he stood.

She walks forward, voice flat. “I show compassion to my bandits. But if any of you lay hands on innocent girls, I’ll bring wrath.” Her gaze cuts sideways. “Ironically, the cowards who just exposed themselves were the ones neither I nor Jerome ever caught. The nobles never understood us—our mindset. Anyone unwilling to fight and die with us has the right to live as a civilian instead.” She lets the silence stretch. “And so, scared ones who out themselves will be executed properly.”

Laughter—mean, brittle—pops from a bundle of rougher faces. Other bandits seize the three men, now quiet, tying them up and flinging them at Chisa’s feet.

She studies them. “I don’t remember you.” A blink. “Dog-shit invaders, then. Last I recall, you killed a few of ours and hurt an innocent girl.”

One of the bound men stammers, “We did nothing wr—”

Steel flashes, a head rolls. Silence engulfs the crater’s rim.

“We are always ready to die,” Chisa says. “Always on the line. Always sacrificing everything.” A tired breath. “I’m shocked my brother missed you. Normally he kills invaders and gutless men fast and clean.”

A voice answers from the ranks—young, steady. “Jerome died.“ A pause. “We will follow you and punish everyone who is against us!“

Chisa turns to the speaker—golden eyes, long blond hair. “Jerome trusted you, Maxwell.” Her mouth twists. “But you know Chisa—”

A hundred throats answer as one: “Chisa is always aware.”

She laughs once, small and sharp. “I’ll be the villain, my bandits. I’ll sacrifice half of you. The other half gets the privilege to follow later and maybe survive…”

For a heartbeat she looks like a teenager again, and the bandits look like the kids they used to be.

“I’ll— die for our sake!” Maxwell starts.

“Nah,” Chisa cuts him off, almost gentle. “You’re an exception.”

“Why?” he asks.

Chisa exhales. “Because it’s as expected.”

She touches her left eye and peels out a contact lens. Gasps ripple through the ranks.

“I’ll join you too,” she says, voice even. “And to the rest—if the time comes… follow my order!”

Bandits glance to the magma, to veined stone, to red dust glittering like ash. Too late to turn back—everyone can feel it.

A bandit with reddened eyes swallows. “So we’re going to die… and while we die, we still have to defend against the guards’ attacks.”

Chisa nods once.

Another bandit lifts his chin. “Chisa, I’ll stay loyal. We’re children of the mines until death!”

The bandits infected with red dust syndrome stay inside the volcano, ready to fight.

Chisa grips the ropes tied around the necks of two bound intruders, pulling them aside. Then she turns to the gate.

Maxwell breaks the line, striding off to the upper mansion, and then returns bearing Jerome’s sword. He walks to the center. His golden eyes burn.

“ARGHH!” His roar cracks then he drives the silver blade deep into the central rock while everyone watches.

He looks at the blade. “Chisa and Jerome would never admit this. They liked to look all cool and tough.” He forces a smile past teary eyes. “But they’d still be endlessly proud of you all—for keeping up the façade.”

Bandits stare up at him, some biting back tears.

Maxwell leaves. The chosen descend into the volcano, the rest peel off toward the outskirts. A few people creep up to the spectacle, watching, wary.

Chisa’s voice drops to a whisper. “I got comfortable being the bad guy. They need to fear us. They need to think we’re not stable. They need to think… we are bloodthirsty.” Her mouth twists. “Rizario needs to think that. We need to show the right signs. Jerome… brother… we crossed this line together. I’ll end it for you.”

She raises her head and shouts, knowing civilians are watching as bodies are led out.

One of the bound bandits sobs. “Please—don’t kill me!”

A clean strike. He falls. Faces blanch. With a slow, merciless cut, she ends the other one.

Disgust shadows her features. “What a shame. I would have preferred to torture you for longer, but it would be too much for the innocent.”

The civilians are scared, staring at the blonde girl from afar.

Avort approaches Chisa, Maxwell at his side.

“Your decision is made?” Avort asks.

“Yes. Our last move.” Chisa studies his face. “Still so grim?”

“Greed has always won.” Avort mutters. “But… maybe I can change that. Are you sure about this?”

“I’ll kill them all,” she says calmly. “If I don’t, no one will punish them. No one will break the cycle. And the other ones who could—are too pure.”

Maxwell places a hand on her shoulder. “Give ’em hell.”

“Thanks, Maxwell. Avort.” She nods. “I will.”

“Chisa…” Avort hesitates. “Is it fine if we tell Nine about your true self?”

“It’s better if he thinks I’m the evil one. And I don’t have much time left.” She answers softly. “Black and white is easier, Avort. Otherwise he’ll stop me, and I will—”

Her palm presses to her chest. “—listen to him.”

A tear slips down Maxwell’s cheek. He glances at Avort for support.

“I'm already old, so let's meet in a better place.” Avort begins.

“Chisa— You don't want to turn back?” Maxwell’s voice breaks.

Chisa looks over the broken bodies. “I crossed the line a while ago. Now he has a companion strong enough to stand by his side—strong enough to truly save this island from what’s coming. I’m weak, and only good at killing things.” She turns away, voice barely a breath in the breeze. “Farewell, my dear bandits.”

Avort and Maxwell stand there, watching her walk off into the red-lit dark—until she’s gone.