Alec Trevelyan, his face a mask of carefully cultivated charm, savored a sip of fine cognac, the rich aroma filling his senses. He glanced at the ornate clock on the wall of his private train car, a smug smile playing on his lips. In a matter of hours, his plan, his masterpiece of revenge, would unfold. He would cripple the Western world, cripple the nation that had betrayed him, and bathe in the chaos he had created.
Natalya Simonova, the beautiful, brilliant programmer he'd captured, sat silently in a chair across from him, her eyes narrowed with a mixture of apprehension and defiance. He rose from his plush armchair, his tall, imposing frame casting a shadow over her.
"Either you've brought me the perfect gift, General," he purred, his voice a smooth, velvety baritone that masked the icy rage that simmered beneath the surface, "or you've made me a very unhappy man. I—"
His sentence was abruptly cut short as the door to his train car burst open, interrupting his carefully orchestrated intimidation schtick. A young Russian soldier, his face pale with terror, stumbled into the room, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Emergency satellite call for you… sir!" he stammered, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route.
Alec's smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of irritation. "Can this wait, Private?" he asked, his voice clipped and impatient. "I'm in the middle of something…"
"It's… it's urgent, sir," the soldier insisted, holding out a satellite phone with a trembling hand.
Alec sighed, annoyance giving way to a grudging curiosity. He took the phone, pressing it to his ear. "Yes? I am Trevelyan."
A pause. The indistinct crackle of static filled the air, audible only to him. Then, his eyes widened, his face paling as the voice on the other end delivered news that shattered his carefully constructed composure.
His smug grin was frozen on his face and his eyes were wide in shock for a full three seconds.
Then the look shattered as his charismatic look devolved into a mess of rage, ugly burnt ugliness, and uncomprehending fury.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE SECOND GOLDENYE SATELITE THAT THE ENTIRE PLAN HINGES ON EXPLODED?!" he roared, his voice a thunderous boom that rattled the fine china on the table. His carefully cultivated facade of charm crumbled, revealing the cold, calculating rage that fueled his every action. "How is that even possible?!"
The soldier, his face whiter than the snow outside, remained silent.
"THEN FIND OUT!" Alec screamed into the phone, flinging it across the room with a force that shattered it against the wall.
He slammed his fist on the table, sending a crystal decanter of cognac crashing to the floor. This was impossible. Unthinkable. His plan, so meticulously crafted, so perfectly executed, was unraveling before his very eyes. And the worst part? He had absolutely no idea why.
His anger, a white-hot inferno that threatened to consume him, burned with a new intensity. Someone, something, had dared to interfere with his plans. And he would find them. He would crush them. He would make them pay.
But first, he had to deal with this… inconvenience. He turned his gaze towards Natalya, his eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flickering within their depths. She was the key, the programmer who could unlock the secrets of this impossible attack, the one who could lead him to the source of this inexplicable sabotage.
"I think you're actually done here," a voice, cool and laced with an unmistakable disdain, cut through the tension in the train car. "Do you realize how dumb, how stupid, how absolutely fucking hairbrained all of this is?"
Alec, his rage momentarily eclipsed by confusion, turned towards the source of the voice. "What?" he sputtered, his carefully crafted facade of menacing authority crumbling under the weight of this unexpected interruption.
"You definitely should have died eight years ago so I could have avoided this… conversation… with someone so profoundly asinine," the voice continued, its tone dripping with a sardonic amusement. "Like, what even is your plan, besides shooting the mega-satellite at London and conveniently forgetting that the interconnected power grid, combined with the satellite's beam, will amplify itself to stupid levels, turn half of Earth into a crater, and send the other half hurtling into outer space? Did you even bother to run the numbers?"
Alec, his mind reeling, his carefully constructed world of control and revenge collapsing around him, finally took a moment to observe his surroundings. Natalya, her face pale with terror, was scrambling towards the exit, disappearing into the mid-day streets. Where his loyal Russian soldiers had once stood, there were now only… puddles. Puddles of blood, so viscous and extensive that they could only have come from bodies that had been pulverized beyond recognition.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
He turned his gaze towards Xenia Onatopp, his beautiful, deadly associate, who had been lounging seductively on a nearby couch. Or rather, where Xenia had been lounging. Now, there was only another crimson puddle, gruesome evidence of the unseen force that had swept through his train car.
His eyes finally settled on the source of the voice. A man, clad in an armor of gleaming grey metal, its surface etched with intricate geometric patterns, stood in the center of the car. His face, devoid of a helmet, was framed by short, neatly combed black hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see through him, dissecting his soul with a single, contemptuous glance.
Alec's mind, desperately grasping for a solution, a way to regain control, latched onto a fleeting glimmer of hope. He could see the man's face foolishly without a helmet. He could fire his gun at him and-
"I was going to scold you," the man interrupted, his voice as sharp and cold as a shard of ice, "maybe even try to see if you would actually use that pathetic excuse for a brain you call your cracked walnut in between your ears. But that seems… impossible. Bye, Travestyface."
Those were the last words Alec Trevelyan ever heard. A crushing pressure, an unbearable weight, descended upon him, compressing his body, his bones, his very being into a dense, crimson puddle. His thoughts, his ambitions, his rage- all extinguished in an instant, leaving behind only a sticky residue and the lingering scent of iron.
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Kirito stepped out of the train car, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he surveyed the scene. Puddles of blood, viscous and crimson, adorned the loading dock, gruesome evidence of his handiwork. The Russian soldiers, their "lawful evil" alignments flashing bright red in his enhanced vision, had been effortlessly reduced to nothing more than organic stains on the concrete. He shook his head, a sigh escaping his lips. Even with his newly acquired divine powers, dealing with this level of stupidity was exhausting.
He pulled out his phone – a sleek, futuristic device that put anything in this primitive world to shame – and sent a message to Asuna.
Kirito: Hey, I know I said tag and eliminate the evil-aligned people at -100 alignment or more using your Administration divinity and my spatial powers, and leave the ones at -300 or lower for me to talk to and mock… but with the sheer number of those still existing, and the level of disappointment I feel after talking to that satellite-firing moron, I just don't have the energy for it anymore. Gimme the other targets, and then we can get to taking over the world properly.
Asuna's response was almost instantaneous:
Asuna: Sure, sure. Let me just… yeah, there they are. Go wild, hubby. <3
A list of names and locations appeared in his mind, each one accompanied by a glowing red marker that pulsed with a malevolent energy. Warlords, dictators, corrupt CEOs, fanatics, mad scientists… the usual assortment of power-hungry, morally bankrupt individuals who thrived in the shadows of this world. Kirito sighed. It seemed even in a world as technologically backward as this one, humanity's capacity for self-destruction was truly boundless.
"Alright," he muttered, pocketing his phone and adjusting the grip on his sword. "Time for a little… pest control."
With a thought, he activated his spatial manipulation abilities. The world around him blurred, reality twisting and folding upon itself as he teleported from one location to the next, a whirlwind of divine retribution cleansing the world of its most egregious offenders.
His methods were swift, precise, and utterly devoid of mercy. He didn't bother with monologues, with explanations, with attempts to appeal to their nonexistent consciences. They were garbage, and garbage needed to be disposed of. Efficiently. Quietly. And permanently.
The world, oblivious to the cleansing taking place within its darkest corners, continued to spin, its inhabitants going about their lives, unaware of the unseen forces that were shaping their destiny.
And as Kirito moved, a silent, invisible specter of death, he couldn't help but feel a sense of… satisfaction. This world, this broken, chaotic mess of a world, was about to be remade. In his image. In Asuna's image. In their image.
And it was going to be glorious.