After months of grueling training, Cain had finally turned twelve — and now found himself sitting inside a metallic chamber.
But this wasn't any chamber. It was a half-kilometer-long cylindrical barrel — the back-mounted cannon of the Roosevelt Fortress. A cannon meant to launch siege-class payloads…
Or in this case, a terrified pre-teen inside a reinforced transport round.
He could already hear parts clanking, something metallic tumbling into place. Cain pressed a finger to his terminal mic, swallowing hard.
"Uncle J, is… is this safe?"
Static buzzed. On the other end, Arthur's voice rose in protest — followed by a crash, like someone was stopping him from saying more.
Then finally, Julius's smooth voice crackled through.
"Ehem. Yes. Very safe. This'll save you a good fifty to eighty kilometers of walking. You're inside a blank round. Just brace for the G-force. Nothing serious."
"Imagine flying to the moon — like when I tossed you up as a baby."
Cain's skin went pale, a chill running down his spine.
"Uncle Julius, this isn't funny. Stop joking around, I'm getting off —"
He fumbled at his harness, ready to unbuckle — when a sudden mechanical ka-chunk echoed behind him.
The shell casing locked. A heavy click rang like a sentence.
"I'm serious! I'm —"
The world vanished in a thunderous boom.
Cain's screams echoed inside the reinforced casing like a caged banshee. Comms on the fortress crackled to life, a grainy feed showing Cain's face frozen in mid-howl as the bullet blazed through the sky.
Arthur, watching from the command deck, couldn't help but chuckle.
"He'll be fine, right?"
Julius, ever the prankster, had even installed a speaker inside the shell — adding random sparks and crunches to make the kid believe the whole thing was falling apart mid-flight.
Cain was scared out of his wits. The metal shell around him creaked, groaned, and vibrated with every gust of wind as it ripped through the sky.
He clutched the sides of his seat and screamed for his grandfather, his voice barely audible over the howling air and rattling frame.
Just when he thought he might faint — Julius's face flickered to life on the wrist of his holo-terminal.
Strangely serious, eyes narrowed with rare gravity.
"Cain, get off the round at 3.5 kilometers. Glide from there."
"The nearest city's about a thousand miles, give or take. Be kind to people and kill assholes, then you'll be fine."
Cain's glanced at the analog altimeter — still five kilometers and falling fast.
But something outside the porthole caught his eye.
His fear froze into awe. A colossal skeleton loomed in the horizon — some ancient giant impaled by a spear larger than the Roosevelt Fortress.
To the west, the dying sun bathed the torn earth in fractured light, casting long shadows over scarred craters left by nuclear devastation centuries ago.
The land bore wounds too deep to forget — jagged ridges, glassy soil, blackened rock where fire once danced.
A sharp ping pulled his attention.
[Altitude: 4,007 Meters]
Cain steadied his breathing, eyes darting to the mechanical flappers folded along his arms.
The wingsuit's fabric was reinforced for g-force and small-caliber impact — standard survival gear for a launch like this.
Nothing seemed to be falling apart, so Cain let out a shaky sigh, his sweaty fingers hovering over the ejection control.
One glance around the cabin told him everything he needed to know.
'This thing was built for a single use… Is there anything in here I can salvage and sell?'
At twelve, Cain was no longer a boy. Arthur could've funded everything, could've paved the way to any school.
But Cain had refused. He didn't want a throne handed to him. He wanted stories of his own.
A trusty crew of his own — he knew no one got the best by standing around.
Cain steadied his breath, fingers twitching over the release.
The altimeter kept flashing red.
[Altitude: 3,523 Meters]
Time was up. Without hesitation, he slammed the ejector. A harsh click snapped through the capsule.
The rocket seat fired.
His body slammed against the restraints, bones rattling, eyes momentarily blurred. The force hurled him upward and forward in a violent arc, the wind screaming louder than his thoughts.
The jolt stretched his vision, squeezed his chest tight.
For a moment, he felt weightless — then the seat tilted downward, the shell falling away like discarded fruit peel.
Cain didn't wait for the automated parachute. He unbuckled, kicked the seat behind him, and stepped into open air. His arms spread like wings, the reinforced glide suit catching the air with a snap.
He dipped for half a second — then leveled out, soaring.
Cain reached for one of his pistols mid-glide on his holster.
With a flick, he pulled the trigger — not at an enemy, but at himself.
A weightlessness spell triggered on impact, reducing his drag.
Another shot — a subtle pulse of force pushed him forward.
'Weightless and wind boost are really great spells, I should think of other ways on utilizing them.'
Glancing at his terminal — it was already tracking his speed and his altitude.
[Altitude: 3,327 Meters]
[Speed: 422 km/h]
"Woo!"
Cain shouted, the wind roaring in his ears as freedom surged through him.
His thoughts drifted toward something lighter — a rare moment of optimism.
He imagined pinning down one of those giants, just like the one whose skeleton rested in the earth below.
A clean shot. A crowd cheering.
Grandpa Arthur, Uncle Julius, even Roberta — nodding in approval.
Patting his shoulder and saying he'd done well.
But in that sky, gliding over the scars of a world at war, he felt one step closer to earning it.
Cain glides effortlessly through the thinning air, body relaxed. The world below is a vast battlefield wrapped in smoke and decay.
He spots distant motion — too late.
A shadow overtakes the sun. Wings beat. Screeches echo. He barely begins to pivot left.
Cain crossed his forearms into an X and activated Fortification magic. A faint shimmer of blue coated the fabric of his suit.
A second later — Crash!
A flock of black-winged mutants crashed into him, their shapes twisted like corrupted cranes, each nearly two to four meters wide.
Their feathers were filthy, matted with ash and grime as if they'd crawled out of a burned wasteland.
Their beaks weren't sleek or graceful — they jutted out jagged and serrated, more like saw blades than anything natural. When they cawed, rows of exposed teeth lined the gaps, clicking with every cry.
The impact hit like a hammer blow, slamming into his garment's barrier and sending shockwaves through his bones.
The spell held, but the force still made his muscles shudder.
The birds crumpled mid-air, spiraling down.
Above him, a guttural caw echoed, its call rallying the rest.
A larger avian — easily four meters across, feathers jagged like broken glass.
The flock responded.
'Damn. I didn't even do anything.'
Cain swore. They weren't just mutated. They were coordinated.
He tapped the side of his pistol, scrolling through presets.
Click — Half pressed, a light exploded midair.
It bright and loud but mostly harmless — intentionally so like a flashbang.
Enough to make them dodge, hesitate, scatter.
But instead, they grew bolder. The lead bird, eyes gleaming with fury, swept beside him.
Then it opened wide — snap!
Its serrated beak, glowing with primal energy meant to tear through the toughest prey, clamped onto his right forearm — crunching against the spell's barrier.
Screech!
Cain grit his teeth, channeling more magicules into the protective layer, reinforcing it as cracks began to spiderweb across its surface.
'Frictionless'
With the frictionless spell coating his right arm, Cain slowly slipped free from the bird's serrated beak.
It thrashed its head, desperate to catch him again, but in its frenzy, it flung Cain away instead.
[Altitude: 2,961 Meters]
'Come on!'
His wingsuit flaps shrieked and twisted — then everything spun.
He wasn't gliding anymore, he was falling and losing altitude — fast.