The Oval Chamber was quiet save for the soft hum of air filtering through marble-etched vents and the rustle of paper as President Cyrus Albrecht flipped through the latest intelligence briefings. The soft golden glow of the evening sun poured in from the arched windows, casting long shadows across the richly carpeted floor. But even in this sanctuary of power, something gnawed at the back of his mind—a rot he couldn't name.
His eyes lifted slowly as the tall double doors opened with a mechanical hiss. In walked a man in with a garbed in a crisp dark-blue suit with a white lab coat slung over it. Jason Whitesmith.
Jason's stride was deliberate, his face calm—too calm. Albrecht had known enough about men like Jason to know when someone was hiding something. Behind those polished glasses and scientific detachment lay an intellect sharper than the scalpels he'd once used on the operating table and a soul as elusive as vapor.
"Mr. President," Jason said, inclining his head slightly. "You wanted a status update."
Albrecht didn't rise. He sat back, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "Yes. But first... we have another guest."
The doors creaked again. This time, slower. He entered like a ghost slipping between the walls.
The Duelist Exterminator.
Silver streaked through his ash-gray hair. His coat, long and battle-worn, whispered against the floor as he approached. He looked like death not yet buried—and Albrecht, cursed with the ability to see duel spirits, flinched. There was no spirit hovering behind this man. Only a warped, dying shadow clawing at his back, like it wanted to escape the prison of the body it had been sewn into. The canvas of reality was whole, and this man was a smear.
Albrecht's throat tightened, but he did not show fear.
"Jason tells me you completed the Dartz job," the President said evenly.
The Exterminator nodded. His voice was low, gravelled, like stones grinding together. "Once these final jobs are done... I'm out. I have a grandson I want to see before the clock runs out."
Jason raised a brow slightly. "How poetic. You never struck me as sentimental."
Albrecht cleared his throat. "Which brings us to your next assignment. Maximillion Pegasus."
Jason's eyes flickered.
"Pegasus has grown... inconvenient," the President continued. "He's kept Industrial Illusions neutral, but now there's pressure from Japan—Kaiba wants to buy out the company. If Pegasus sells to him, Kaiba gains control over the Duel Monsters card system. Including the ancient approval process through the Egyptian gods themselves."
Jason tilted his head. "Ah, the divine printers."
Albrecht gave a humorless smile. "Exactly. And we can't allow that. So, I want him eliminated. Quietly."
"His death would raise eyebrows," Jason said. "He's eccentric, yes, but also beloved."
"We won't kill the myth," Albrecht said. "Just the man. We already have a candidate to replace him. One who listens. One who doesn't see spirits and talk to ancient pharaohs over tea."
Jason opened his mouth but was interrupted.
"I pulled strings with your help," Albrecht said, leaning forward. "And got our Butcher back."
The Duelist Exterminator didn't flinch.
Jason's eyes narrowed slightly. "You said you were done after Dartz."
"Two more," the older man muttered. "two more and I disappear. Bastion deserves that much."
Albrecht sat back in the heavy leather chair, the filtered light of the West Wing casting long, golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows. His fingers formed a steeple beneath his chin, elbows resting on the gleaming oak desk. Across from him stood Jason Whitesmith, arms folded with calculated calm. And standing like a silent tower beside the window, the Duelist Exterminator watched the room with eyes like frostbitten glass.
"Your grandson," Albrecht said quietly.
There was a flicker—just a flicker—of something human in the Exterminator's pale, sun-worn eyes. He didn't move, but Albrecht, who had known him since the early black-letter days of the Cold Dueling Wars, knew what that flicker meant.
Jason's voice cut through the air. "Bastion Misawa. You remember the boy, don't you, Mr. President? I saved his life. His body was failing. So I transferred his mind into a comatose child. No parents. No records. No duel energy. Clean. Healthy. Untouched."
Albrecht nodded slowly, eyes narrowing with memory. "Yes. But he came back with... nothing."
Jason's eyes glinted with a mixture of pride and something colder. "He has no duel energy. Just like the Exterminator."
The room chilled, as if the temperature had dropped ten degrees.
Albrecht remembered. God, did he remember.
It was buried in sealed codenames and redacted transcripts. Operation Pharaoh's Seed. A program born from hubris. From envy. An attempt to breed duelists with high resonance—potent enough duel energy to rival the Pharaoh, the original duelist of legend. The records were clear: Egyptian kings had once engaged in bloodline purification, trying to breed vessels that could contain divine cards.
The U.S. had tried to replicate that.
It failed. Horribly.
Dozens of children, stillborn or broken, unable to bond with even the simplest monsters. Until one boy survived. Quiet. Withdrawn. Methodical. The one of the few duelists ever produced from that program.
The Exterminator.
A man with zero duel energy. No spirit bonds. No destiny draws. A blank slate. He could not hear the spirits, could not feel the warmth of his cards. And because of that, something in him broke. A connection that should've made him human... snapped. What remained was cold logic, surgical brutality, and endless resentment.
Albrecht met the Exterminator's gaze now and felt something ancient stir in his gut—a wrongness. Even now, decades later, he could see it: the soul that tried to claw its way out of that body.
"At first," Albrecht said aloud, "I thought he was a failure. A duelist without duel energy? Pointless. A waste."
Jason smirked.
"But then he started killing them," Albrecht continued. "One by one. Duelists with more power than he could ever dream of. Toppling entire circuits. He carried multiple decks—built, tested, and calibrated to destroy individuals. It wasn't long before duelists started fearing the shadows."
Jason chuckled darkly. "The monster under the bed. The bogeyman of the dueling world."
The Exterminator didn't move. He didn't speak. He only blinked.
Jason turned to Albrecht with theatrical bravado. "And now Bastion is just like him. No duel energy. No chosen destiny. Just the capacity to become something the gods can't predict."
He grinned wider. "He'll grow into a cold killer. A future nightmare. The new monster under the bed for the next generation of duelists. Just like you made this one."
The Exterminator's head turned. Just slightly.
His eyes locked onto Jason.
The smirk vanished.
Jason backed up a step, involuntarily. His grin faltered, the bravado evaporating in the chill of that gaze. There was a flash of something in his eyes—fear. Real fear.
The Exterminator didn't speak. He didn't have to. His glare was a scalpel.
Jason cleared his throat, smoothing his coat. "It was just a joke."
Albrecht leaned back, turning slightly in his chair. "Once these two jobs are done, you're free, old friend. Pegasus dies quietly, and we replace him with someone more aligned with our vision. Someone who won't sell his company to Kaiba."
He stood, walking toward the large window overlooking the night-lit skyline. "The Egyptian Gods control what cards are allowed to be printed. Kaiba doesn't understand that yet. Pegasus was the gatekeeper. But he's gone soft."
He turned back to them.
Jason nodded, his fear faded but not forgotten. "It'll be done."
Albrecht met the Exterminator's gaze once more.
"After this... spend what time you have left with your grandson."
The old killer said nothing. But something subtle shifted in his stance.
And for the first time, Albrecht thought—maybe, just maybe—there was a man behind the shadow after all.
Albrecht stood and walked to the window. Outside, the lights of Washington glowed faintly, veiled under the dusk sky.
The Duelist Exterminator coughed harshly. A real cough this time. He held his chest, grimacing slightly.
Albrecht turned back. "Jason, once Pegasus is gone, I want Industrial Illusions under a new CEO within the week. Exterminator... you know what to do."
The old man nodded. "Just give me the clearance."
Jason pulled out a folder, sealed with a red stamp:He handed it to the Exterminator.
"Pegasus is at his island estate.
Albrecht looked at both men, this unholy pairing of science and death. A stain against the perfect canvas of reality, and the artist ready to paint something worse.
"Dismissed," the President said.
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I uploaded a new cover, Do you prefer that one over the older one.