The ceiling of the Royal HQ corridor blurred past as the gurney rattled over the concrete floors. Ryan Mitchell stared blankly upward, the sterile lights blinking like distant, dying stars. During the final chaotic explosion of the black hole, he had been thrown nearly fifty meters. As one of the ten original logistics workers chosen for the Worm Nectar program, he possessed a physical resilience that would have been impossible for a human a year ago. His body was a patchwork of deep lacerations and internal bruising, but his heart beat with a steady, rhythmic thrum.

He remembered the faces of the other nine. They were guys he had shared coffee with, men who had joked about the "easy life" of moving crates while the vanguard did the heavy lifting. They were all gone.

Instead of the crushing weight of despair, Ryan felt a cold, sharp clarity. When he first joined Royal, he felt lucky to have a roof and a job. When he became a super-soldier, he felt invincible—a god among men. But today, he had seen the truth. Even with Ethan’s god-like technology and their enhanced bodies, they were barely ants in the eyes of the monsters that roamed the earth. The "Ancient Arts" and the "Regenerators" had shattered his ego, leaving behind a desperate, driving urge to work harder, to push his limits, and to become a true shield for his people.

His eyelids grew heavy, and the sounds of the hospital faded into a dark, dreamless sleep.

When Ryan finally opened his eyes, the harsh white lights had been replaced by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. He felt a familiar warmth pressing against his hand. He turned his head slowly to see his wife, her head resting on the edge of his bed. Her face was marked with dried tear tracks, her breath hitching even in her sleep.

As he shifted his weight, his wife’s eyes snapped open. For a second, she stared at him in disbelief, her breath catching in her throat.

"Ryan?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "Oh god, Ryan! I... I have to call the nurse!"

Before he could speak, she scrambled out of the chair and ran into the hallway. Moments later, a nurse entered, checking his vitals and scanning his biometric readings with a tablet.

"Your internal injuries have stabilized, and the regenerative properties of the Nectar have finished closing the deep wounds," the nurse said, her voice professional but tired. "You’ve cleared the danger zone. I’ll bring your clothes and the discharge forms. You’re lucky, soldier."

As the nurse left, the room fell silent again. Ryan’s wife stood by the bed, her shoulders shaking. Suddenly, she lunged forward, sobbing as she pounded her fists weakly against his chest.

"You idiot!" she cried. "I thought you were gone! I thought I’d never see you again! Why do you always have to be the hero? Why do you have to be the one in the line of fire? Do you even care about us?"

Ryan didn’t pull away. He ignored the dull ache in his chest and reached out, pulling her into a tight, protective embrace. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then her lips, tasting the salt of her tears.

"I’m not going anywhere," he whispered into her hair, his voice gravelly but firm. "I promise you. I’m staying right here."

He held her as she wept, but his eyes remained fixed on the window, looking toward the training grounds of the HQ. He had made a promise to his wife, but in his mind, he made another to his fallen brothers: Next time, I will be strong enough so that no one has to cry.

-----------------

Ethan sat alone on the edge of the rooftop of the main building, staring out at the sprawling lights of Royal HQ. These past few days had been a violent rollercoaster of emotions. First, he had traveled to the summit in Washington, shrouded in the fear of being assassinated by the global powers. Then, through cunning and political intrigue, he had secured the entire East Coast without firing a single bullet. He had discovered ancient treasures, reached a level of power that made him feel nearly invincible, and in his pride, he sought to use a real battlefield to "train" his men into true warriors.

He had underestimated the enemy.

The "what-ifs" tore at his mind like vultures. What if he had attacked the moment he sensed them? What if he hadn’t given the Patriarchs a chance to speak or react? How many lives would have been saved if he had executed the Celestial Patriarch instantly, preventing the activation of that cursed talisman that had wiped out nearly his entire army?

Reproach, pain, and a crushing sense of guilt settled deep within his heart.

"Crul," Ethan whispered, his voice cold and hollow. "Give me the final data from the battle." 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

The AI appeared by his side, her holographic glow flickering slightly as she pulled up the grim statistics.

[ Master, the loss of life stands at 89% of the expeditionary force. 95% of our transport and combat vehicles were confirmed destroyed. Regarding the materials extracted from the canyon, 92% was either vaporized during the spatial collapse or remains scattered across the wasteland. ]

Crul paused for a millisecond before delivering the final blow.

[ Furthermore, to restore our previous military capacity and equipment, we will require at least six months. Due to the urgency of the mission, we exhausted all available high-grade resources to create this force. We currently have zero reserves. We must begin trading with other factions to survive. ]

Ethan closed his eyes, his jaw tightening until the bone felt like it would snap. "I understand..."

He stood up, the air around him beginning to hum with a dark, amethyst resonance. The grief in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating malice that was far more dangerous.

"To hell with trading," Ethan spat. "Crul, send a global broadcast to every major faction, union, and mercenary group in the world. I am placing a bounty. I will give one high-grade Health Potion to any group that declares open war on the Scavenger and Celestial Unions and brings me the heads of their generals."

He leaned over the railing, looking out toward the horizon where his enemies hid.

"And tell them this: If someone brings me the head of an Ancestor, I will reward them with ten maximum-quality potions. Broadcast the videos we prepared—show them the footage of the potions regenerating limbs, purging ancient curses, and defying death itself. I want those bastards to understand that fucking with me was the worst mistake they could have made in their miserable lives...!!!"