Dozens of heavy and lightweight scrap loads came crashing down from above, landing with crushing force all around the three Supplementary Military Corps members. The sheer weight of the falling debris would have undoubtedly knocked them out or at least disoriented them if not for Xander's quick intervention at the very last possible second.
With the instincts of someone trained to react under pressure, Xander, who was only aware of the debris after hearing the warning call from Samuel, shifted his focus away from toying with Orion and instead redirected all of his energy into creating protection for himself and his group.
His control over the element, though not perfect, was powerful enough to conjure a defensive barrier. A swirling wall of compressed air erupted around him and his two comrades, shielding their bodies from the barrage of steel and wood fragments.
The defensive wall, though effective, came at a steep cost. The strain forced Xander's concentration to slip, and both Orion and the stolen carrier—previously suspended midair by his grip on the wind currents—plummeted unceremoniously to the ground.
Orion hit the cobblestone with a bone-jarring thud. His battered body groaned in protest as he lay sprawled, his muscles screaming from the abuse he had already endured. His vision blurred from the severe ache in his skull, but despite the overwhelming exhaustion, Orion knew he couldn't remain down for long.
Taking in a deep, steadying breath, the cool afternoon air flooding into his bruised lungs felt like life itself. He forced his aching frame upright, clutching his ribs as if to hold himself together. His posture remained hunched, but his eyes—half swollen and hazy—snapped toward his right.
There, entangled in a mess of knotted ropes, were the very men pursuing him. By some stroke of divine irony, or perhaps sheer luck, the uncontrolled gusts Xander had unleashed while forming his barrier had carried rogue fishnets into their path. These nets, known for their wide perforations yet stubborn strength, ignored the violent winds entirely and instead coiled tightly around the three young soldiers. Their flailing limbs only made the bonds worse, tangling them further like prey caught in a hunter's snare.
Orion's lips curled into a pained smirk. A flicker of triumph gleamed in his battered expression. He bent down, ignoring the stab of agony that raced through his ribs, and retrieved the carrier lying just a foot away from him. The weight of it in his hand felt like salvation.
In his mind, Orion reasoned that since he was already in deep trouble for stealing the carrier, there was no point abandoning it now. The least he could do was make his suffering worth it. Better to limp away with spoils in hand than limp nonetheless but empty-handed.
Fortunately for Orion, he had been wearing a face cover when he stole from Xander, and Xander never got close enough to see his true, unconcealed identity. Juliet, on the other hand, had been discreet enough in her assistance that she could plausibly lie to Xander if and when he eventually questioned her about Orion. And as a native of the town which was under the protection of the Supplementary Military Corps, Xander was prohibited from using force against her.
With renewed determination, Orion gave Juliet—a girl whose loyalty warmed even his morally bankrupt heart—a brief nod and a strained but genuine smile of gratitude. He then began his slow, limping retreat, clutching the carrier tightly against his side as though it were more precious than gold.
Behind him, Xander's forehead vein pulsed angrily with fury, while Marcel and Samuel struggled desperately to wrestle free from the stubborn fishnets that bound them.
"Hey, kid!" Marcel called out suddenly, his voice hoarse with frustration. He turned toward Juliet, who quickly hid the knife she still clutched behind her back.
"Yes?" Juliet responded nervously, feigning innocence though her pounding heart betrayed her.
"Do us a favor and cut these nets once my friend drops these floating chunks of junk above us, will you?" Marcel grunted, tugging against the rope.
Juliet lifted her gaze upward at the massive heap of metal and wood scraps still suspended by Xander's volatile vortex. For a moment, she hesitated, then sighed with an odd sense of relief. Orion was gone. She scanned the horizon, and indeed, he was nowhere to be seen. Pride swelled in her chest. Her risky choice to intervene on behalf of her crush had worked.
"Of course," Juliet replied sweetly, though her voice carried a mischievous undertone. She would help them, yes—but only after dragging her feet just long enough to buy Orion every extra second to minutes he needed for a clean getaway.
Meanwhile, several streets away, Orion dragged his injured body step by agonizing step up a series of uneven cobblestone stairs. His hand clutched the side of his rib, each breath sharp with pain. Blood pounded in his ears, his vision darkening at the edges, but the thought of safety urged him forward.
At last, he stood before a weather-beaten wooden door, its surface cracked and chipped from years of neglect. His trembling hand rested on the handle as he took one deep breath to steady himself. Slowly, he forced his grimace into a crooked smile, masking his pain with an air of false normalcy.
Just as he was about to enter, his eye caught the fractured reflection in the cracked window beside the door. The sight froze him. His battered state stared back—one eye swollen, his cheek purple with bruises, his skin pale from the disrupted circulation caused by Xander's brutal spinning attack. The image filled him with shame.
He clicked his tongue, shaking his head at his own failure. But when his gaze dropped to the carrier in his hand, the corners of his mouth twitched upward again.
'At least I still got away with this," he muttered under his breath. "The Corps always bring plenty of their own supplies and upkeep funds for their month-long stay here, so whatever's inside this thing should be enough for us to scrape by for a while.'
With that thought, he pushed open the door and stepped into the dimly lit interior.
"I'm home," Orion called weakly. His voice rasped, worn from the constant screams forced out of him earlier under Xander's merciless assault.
The door shut behind him with a creak, leaving him standing in the center of a silent, empty living room. The air was stale, and for a moment, unease prickled down his spine—until faint splashing sounds drifted from the bathroom to his left. Someone was washing something.
"Hey, Ed! You doing laundry again?" Orion asked casually as he limped toward the sound. "Strange time for it, isn't it? Come to think of it, didn't you just do laundry two days ago? No way the three of us managed to dirty that many clothes already—"
He pushed open the bathroom door mid-sentence and froze. The words died on his tongue.
His brows drew together sharply.
"What happened?" he demanded, staring at the grim sight before him.
His younger brother of a few months, Eden, sat on a small stool, sleeves rolled up, silently scrubbing a pile of bloodstained clothes in a bucket of soapy water. Beside him, within the bathtub, lay their father—Kay. The man's eyes stared blankly at nothing, his body slack like a puppet with cut strings, utterly unaware of the world around him.
Eden remained silent, his focus entirely on the relentless motion of his hands scrubbing fabric against fabric.
"Ed, didn't you hear me?" Orion pressed, stepping further in, one hand gripping the doorframe for balance. "I asked what happened! Why does Kay look like this? Why are there so many bruises—cuts all over his face and arms—"
His gaze dropped to the bathwater itself. It was tinged a light red, faint crimson particles floating aimlessly. The sight made Orion's stomach twist.
"What happened while I was gone, huh?" Orion's voice grew sharp as he approached the tub, crouching to inspect Kay's fragile body more closely. "We agreed to take turns watching after him, remember? I left for just a short while, and now he looks worse than ever—"
"Kay moved," Eden interrupted flatly.
Orion froze, disbelief flashing in his swollen eyes.
"He… what?" His head snapped toward Eden, his voice a mixture of hope and suspicion.
Eden remained silent again, his face shadowed, his hands still wringing cloth with quiet determination. A strange aura clung to him, one Orion couldn't quite place.
"Don't just leave it at that! What do you mean, he moved? As in, on his own?" Orion pressed desperately.
"Yes," Eden replied simply. His tone was tired, his eyes weary, as though the revelation meant little. He poured the soapy water from the bucket onto the floor, rinsed the clothes with clean water from another container, and set them aside.
"Yes? That's all you've got to say?" Orion snapped, his frustration boiling over. "Kay hasn't moved a single muscle on his own in years! Three whole years of being trapped in his own body, unable to speak or even blink without our help—and the moment he finally does, you're acting like it doesn't matter?"
Eden ignored his brother's outrage, methodically wringing the dripping garments before laying them back in the bucket. His silence was louder than words.
"What's with you today?" Orion demanded, his voice strained. "Ever since you got back from your outing some minutes ago, you've been acting cold. Like I wronged you somehow. If you've got something to say, just spit it out."
Eden finally sighed, irritation seeping into his expression. "Did I ever say you wronged me? Did I accuse you of anything? No. You're the one imagining problems." His glare flicked toward Orion briefly before turning back to his task.
"You don't have to say it out loud. Your mood says it for you." Orion threw up his hands but then caught himself, shaking his head. "Wait. Forget that for now. Let's focus on the real issue—Kay moved. On his own. For the first time in three years."
A broad grin spread across his bruised face despite the pain. "This is it, Ed. This is the beginning of his recovery. I can feel it."
Eden offered no reply. His eyes studied Orion for a long, unreadable moment before he lowered his gaze again to the laundry.
But Orion's optimism burned brighter than ever. "This changes everything. What I went through today doesn't even matter anymore. I'd take ten more beatings if it meant hearing this news again."
He straightened, excitement giving him new energy.
"To celebrate, we'll have a feast—" He paused mid-sentence, wincing as reality struck him. His stomach sank at the thought of their tight budget. He glanced down at the carrier still clutched in his hand, realizing he hadn't checked its contents yet. He didn't know if it held enough for a true celebration.
After a moment's internal debate, he muttered under his breath, "Screw it." Then, reconsidering, he sighed and tempered his enthusiasm.
"Alright, maybe not a full feast," he admitted reluctantly, "but we'll eat something nice tonight. Something we haven't had in a long time."
Eden let out a dry, humorless chuckle.
"Somebody suddenly sounds rich. I wonder where that fortune came from." His tone dripped with sarcasm.