The cigarette glow moved as the man adjusted in his sit.

"John Chord is one man. Samantha Liner is only a girl" He paused. "These are not obstacles. These are small fires. And small fires go out on their own." 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

He let the silence stretch just long enough to make his point clear.

"But sir..." George paused, weighing his words. "We need to be careful. The election is underway. The senator and his allies will—"

"Don’t worry about him," the voice cut in. "He will be history soon."

The room went dead silent.

He just declared that the richest man in the country would be history. That meant they were crossing a line with no way back.

"What are you planning, sir?" George asked, keeping his tone respectful.

A short pause followed from the other end.

"All you need to understand is this—soon, we won’t have to worry about public favor. Big changes are coming."

"You’re lucky you’re on the right side, so forget about those two. I have a more important mission for you."

Before George could respond, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, then opened an encrypted email.

It took him a few seconds to understand what he was seeing.

"This is... is this for real? It’s already happening? I thought it would take two years."

Now he understood why his master no longer cared about the Liner family or even the election to keep control of the administration.

George asked, "Sir, is this why the monster attacks have become less frequent?"

The figure nodded. "I now holds the key to maintaining the safety of this country, but of course, it won’t come free."

Everyone in the room understood what it meant. If this got out, the nation’s entire political system would be turned upside down.

The defense force existed to respond when attacks happened, but casualties were unavoidable.

But what if none of it ever happened at all?

Safety was the most valuable and expensive product one could buy. Whoever held absolute control over it held the wealth, influence, and power to negotiate.

"We won’t disappoint you, sir."

They all stood up and bowed their heads, but they could not hide the thrill in their eyes or the greedy smiles now etched on their faces.

A new era was coming, and their side would be the one to benefit from it all.

.

.

.

Liner Family Household - Capital City.

"You heartless bastard!"

The study room doors swung open hard enough to hit the wall behind them.

Dark mahogany shelves lined every wall, filled with books that were more decorative than read.

A single lamp cast warm light over the wide desk at the center, where financial reports and company documents sat in neat, organized stacks.

Behind all of it sat Erick Liner.

He was in front of his personal computer, his eyes moving steadily across multiple open windows.

Financial data on one side. On the other, something that looked less like business and more like surveillance.

Location reports. Timestamped photographs. A document with a name on it that he closed the moment the doors swung open.

He did not flinch at the sound. He simply minimized the windows with one calm press of a key and looked up.

"I’m busy,"

"You’re busy? Our daughter is missing, and you’re sitting here staring at your stocks?"

Helena Liner stood in the doorway. She did not back down and showed she was not just a trophy wife.

Before she became the wife of the richest man in the country, she has her own legacy.

A name people recognized without needing context. A face that appeared on magazine covers and television screens.

Behind it was an even deeper family background linked to the military.

That was a long time ago. But time was remarkably unfair to everyone who ever hoped she would fade.

She didn’t.

Her pink hair, usually kept neat had come loose on one side. A few strands fell across the face area, but she did not fix them.

Her eyes, the same soft shade Samantha inherited, were red from crying, yet they still held their beauty.

There were women half her age who would have looked at her and quietly felt insecure by her natural charisma.

"Helena. Close the door."

"Don’t Helena me." She crossed the room and stopped at the edge of his desk.

"I have been calling you since last night. Last night, Erick. And your assistant kept telling me you were unavailable."

"I was handling something import--"

SLAP!

A red mark formed on his face, but he still did not react.

"Do something about it, or I’ll ask my father to do it." She didn’t wait for a reply and walked away.

Erick let out an exhausted sigh. He pressed a key, and the photos on the screen reflected in his eyes.

’Those bastards... to think they went this far.’ His fist tightened. Despite all his money, he knew he was backed into a corner.

After calming down, he picked up the phone on his desk and dialed a number.

A few seconds later, a woman’s voice answered.

(Mr. Liner, you finally contacted me. Have you already gotten wind of it?)

"Yes."

(Oh, then you already know how much danger this puts you and your family in.)

"I am aware. That’s why I’m agreeing to your terms."

There was a few seconds of silence before the person on the other line replied.

(You made the right decision, Mr. Liner. My organization will ensure your protection.)

(Welcome to my Covenant.)

The call ended. He let out a slow sigh, filled with defeat.

He never thought there would come a time when he would have to work with a terrorist group.

The masses believed beasts were the country’s greatest threat, but the truth was far worst—humans, given enough power and influence are more destructive.

While things moved quickly in the background, Francis stayed focused on training, unaware of the gears now set in motion.

Soon, three days passed without him really noticing.

The rock formation was no longer the same place he had arrived at.

The rocky hills nearby told the story of every hour he spent there, each surface marked and reworked beyond recognition.

Craters overlapped craters. Entire sections of stone had been carved away, reshaped, or simply removed from existence.

The smooth mountain face he had first pressed his hand against was now covered in holes of different sizes and depths, each one a record of something he tested, refined, and pushed further.

’One more time.’

Francis stood at the base with his spear, one arm now noticeably longer than the other. On closer look, it had been segmented, allowing it to snap and extend more than usual.

He exhaled once.

Then he threw it.

ZZZZZZZZZ.

A beam of concentrated force followed the tip, rotating as it traveled, boring a perfect tunnel straight through the rock face and out the other side.

Debris did not scatter outward. It was pulled inward by the rotational force, ground down and compressed.

The result was a perfect hole, so clean that the edges looked like polished marble.

Francis raised his right hand.

The spear reversed and snapped back into his palm.

’I’m ready.’