Chương 82: Episode 27: Admiral Basher

Basher carved through the night sky like it was nothing, twisting between clouds as sky-blue energy snapped off his body like static. Arms spread wide, cape whipping behind him like a torn banner, he surged forward, air itself cracking with a low sonic boom. Below, the city of Nezerath shimmered faintly through breaks in the clouds. He dipped under one cloud, shot over another, then rolled his shoulders mid-air like he owned the entire atmosphere. A grin cut across his face as he laughed into the wind.

"WOO HOO!!" Basher pushed harder. Speed climbed past anything normal, everything around him dissolving into streaks of light and blur. His cape couldn't keep up anymore, flailing behind him like it was late to the same race. He stayed tight, controlled, slicing through the sky with effortless precision anyway. He dropped lower, diving through cloud layers like he was ripping through cotton.

"This is the LIFE!" Up ahead in the night sky, movement. A massive aircraft cut through the air. Painted along its side: Z-AIRLINES. Basher angled in, curiosity flickering through his focus. He matched its speed effortlessly and hovered alongside it, cape billowing in the wind. Inside the plane, passengers turned toward the window. A kid spotted him first. Eyes widened. He tugged at his mom's sleeve, pointing as if he'd just seen a myth come alive.

Basher leaned in toward the glass and flashed a casual thumbs-up, like this was just another friendly flyby. The passengers smiled, and some waved. To them, he was still "that Hero of Avangard"—a name they clearly didn't understand beyond stories. Basher waved back, "THANK YOU! THANK YOU! LOVE THE SUPPORT! YOU GUYS ARE GREAT!" Sky-blue energy flickered around his fist as he tapped the window. A shockwave snapped outward. The frame groaned as stress tore through it mid-air. Stability vanished.

The aircraft lurched, then began to spiral downward into the dark, losing itself to gravity. Basher stopped flying and started floating, watching the demise of a plane from above. He gave a lazy wave to the falling aircraft.

"…Have a nice trip!" Then he turned away like it no longer mattered, gaze drifting back toward Nezerath below.

"Welp, Grandfather," he muttered.

"That rock… I'll get it." His knees bent slightly. Energy ignited around him. BOOM— He shot downward again, ripping through the clouds as if the night itself couldn't hold him back, diving straight toward the city.

A golden hill rose beneath the midday sun. Wind rolled through the tall grass, stirring the trees beneath the bright sky. Prince Lock walked forward, unhurried. Each step parted the golden grass with a soft rustle. His pointed yellow shoes slipped through the blades while his cape drifted behind him. His eyes settled on the grave ahead. A simple circlet rested on his head. A white, skin-tight suit marked with golden sigils caught the sunlight with every step.

At the peak of the hill, beneath a towering golden tree, the grave stood. Nine feet tall. Forged from pure gold with white accents. Carved into its face: R. I. P King Vigilzante. Rest in peace… Lock stepped closer and placed a hand against the surface. His eyes closed. A faint yellow glow spread from his palm. His tails swayed behind him. His wings folded inward.

"Father… I don't know what to do."

"I'm about to be chosen as the next King of the Celestianites… because Mom's been gone for so long. And you… you were gone before I could even remember."

"I didn't even know who you were until I was four. Just stories. About how you protected everyone. How you kept the tribe strong… disciplined enough to stand against the Lunaranites."

"I get that. I really do. But I don't think I'm ready." He stood quietly beside the grave.

"I know what you did mattered. You proved that. But when you left—and when Mom left—it felt like everything just… disappeared." If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. His hand slipped from the grave. He faced it with his chin raised.

"The Celestianites have gone years without a king. And that scares me." Lock folded his arms.

"The Lunaranites only went three months—and everything fell apart. Violence. Chaos. Foreshade couldn't hold it together."

"And now King Dominator is back. Alive. An older ruler with more experience than I'll ever have." He let out a dry laugh.

"He's King Dreadixz's father… and I'm supposed to stand against that?" His jaw tightened.

"I don't know if I can."

"But I'm your son." The prince met the carved face of his father.

"If anyone could stand up to something like that… it'd be you. And I believe that. I always have."

"…I just don't know if I believe in me yet."

"I'm trying, though. The war—it's taught me things. I've led people. I've trained every day. I'm not the same as I was before." His hand tapped lightly against the grave. A small smile crossed his face as he looked at the carved image of his father.

"Even if you weren't here… I'm still going to change things. For our tribe." Lock smiled.

"And one day… I'll pass it on to Don. When it's his time to fulfill the prophecy." He stepped back and turned away with a quiet groan.

"Man… I'm really talking to a grave." After a few steps, he stopped. Then glanced back over his shoulder.

"…but I hope you can still hear me."

A parade of explosions is what came next. Basher pursued the city, flitting between buildings and ripping through them—wood and glass bursting from tremendous blows. People looked up too late. SHRAKK! He tore through the upper half of a skyscraper. Glass and steel rained down, smashing into the streets below in catastrophic blows. BASHK! BISHK! CRISHNK! Sky-blue light engulfed him in massive arcs, "RR—" SNAP!

"ACK!" A quake tremored, buildings sunk almost immediately, vehicles were thrown, then detonated in flames. The sounds of screams coming from Nomanites panicking at the horror should've filled Basher with delight. It didn't. He veered sideways—PASHK! —shot through another building, detonating from behind. He came to a halt and looked down with clenched fists of smoke. Dead bodies were already visible to his naked eyes. BOOM! He zoomed downcast in a streak.

Impact hit once his landing blasted the air and shattered the ground. Basher ambled through the disarray, unmoved. Around him, buildings crumbled, flames spread, and people ran—some stumbling, some crawling, some not fast enough. He stopped. BOOM! And shot back into the sky, twisting through the smoke before accelerating again. Then he looked ahead. Another section of the city still stood, lights glowing from countless windows. In the center, a tall wooden skyscraper, light spilling from within.

Basher's eyes narrowed, "I can't find it, but because I'm Basher, I know I will."

Eldritch sat alone in his room, rocking slowly in a worn wooden chair. A warm lamp rested on the nightstand beside him, casting an orange glow across the walls lined with pictures of himself and his staff. And one… of his sons. A grandson, and his real son. He adjusted his glasses and looked down at the book in his hands, quietly turning page after page as the room remained still except for the creak of the chair and the whisper of paper. He closed the book and set it aside before leaning back.

A dark green and brown rug stretched across the floor beneath him, calm and familiar. He lifted his coffee, took a slow sip, and looked out the window. Beyond the glass, a pitch-black sky hung over the glowing city as orange lights flickered from distant buildings. The curtains hung open. Eldritch exhaled. He reached for his staff, pulled a cloth from his pocket, and carefully polished the gem at its head before blowing across its surface until it gleamed. Then he turned.

His bed sat behind him, simple, wooden, and rigid. Empty. Resting on it was a picture of him and Basher back when Basher was still just a kid. Eldritch froze. Laughter. Small footsteps. Endless questions. Bedtime stories. His face hardened, and he shoved the memories aside. A streak tore across the night sky.

"… What the hell?" A figure ripped between the buildings at impossible speed, shattering windows and sending shockwaves through the air as the building trembled beneath the impact. CRASH! Basher burst through the wall and blasted out the opposite end in a spray of debris. Eldritch shot to his feet and hurried to the opening, stroking his beard as he looked down. Basher reformed in midair, then shot straight back.

WHOOSH— He ripped through the hole, tumbled across the floor, carved trenches through the wood, and skidded to a stop. One hand planted against the floor as he pushed himself upright, his hands curling into fists while a solemn smile spread across his face. Basher took a step and casually waved a hand through the air, "A little family reunion, I guess. Hello, grandfather." Eldritch didn't smile.

"Son," he muttered.

"I don't have time for this." Basher leaned against the nightstand.

"Oh? Not even for your grandson?" Without taking his eyes off him, Eldritch gripped his staff and circled his chair.

"No hard feelings. But you need to stay out of my life… at least until you change." Basher's smile disappeared, "Change? What do you mean, change?" The gem atop Eldritch's staff began to glow as faint energy swirled around it while Basher stepped closer.

"Ever since you killed my son… your father…" Eldritch tightened his grip.

"Nothing has been the same." Basher threw his hands into the air.

"Come on, don't say it like that. He wasn't doing his job—I had to do something!"

"You killed him because he wouldn't kill a villain!" Basher stopped. Eldritch leveled the staff at him.

"Your father was a great Hero," Eldritch said.

"But you envied him because he refused to commit murder." His grip tightened around the staff.

"So you committed two." Basher's voice lowered, "Do you not trust me anymore?" His face twitched despite his efforts to hide it.

"Am I not… your… grandson?"

"You are not." Eldritch's voice turned cold.

"Get out of my home." Basher raised both hands and stepped forward, "Wait, wait—relax. I'm just here for a… tiny favor."

"I said—""Do you remember those bedtime stories?" Basher interrupted.

"The one about the Lost Gem?" Eldritch's eyes drifted to the gem atop his staff.

"No… don't tell me—""Where is it, Grandpa?" Basher snapped his fingers.

"Tell me where the Lost Gem is… or—this entire city goes down."

"I'm not telling you anything!" Eldritch shouted.

"If you plan to abuse that power, then it dies with me!" Basher groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Oh my… just think of it as recollections. I forgot something. You remind me. That's it."

"That artifact is too important and too dangerous for you to have it!" Eldritch slammed his staff against the floor. THOOM! The impact echoed through the room.

"You don't deserve it. You're nothing but a selfish boy!" Basher drew a slow breath.

"Don't make me do this… p-please." Eldritch didn't budge.

"You were corrupted from the start. If you had any honor—if you had kept your father alive—you might have been a real hero." Basher flinched.

"I… I still do good things."

"All you do," Eldritch muttered, "is destroy something, kill someone, and call it justice. You're no different from the villains you fight." Basher stood still, looking down before scratching the back of his head and lifting his eyes again.

"…Yeah." He blasted out of the room. The force knocked Eldritch back onto his bed.

"OOF—!" Outside, Basher tore through the sky and disappeared into the city. Then an explosion echoed through the distance. Then another. Then dozens more as buildings collapsed, fire spread across the skyline, and the ground trembled beneath the city. Eldritch gripped the edge of his bed as cracks spread through the walls and the floor shook violently beneath him. Screams echoed from the streets below. The city was breaking. He tightened his grip.

"You were never my grandson…"