MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Anthony sat alongside Spectre and Clement, his two trusted companions, who, like him, were not under investigation at the moment.

Spectre and Clement held only the rank of Corporal; what valuable intelligence could they possibly possess that would interest the demons?

While it was true that anyone in the military could potentially be a sleeper agent, it was neither feasible nor practical for the entire Alpha-9 military base to launch a full-scale investigation into every single soldier.

At that moment, Anthony and Spectre sat quietly, immersed in a card game, untouched by the turmoil unfolding beyond the room's walls.

The world outside reeled from the weight of the recent revelations, but none of it concerned them. The betrayal of those who had sold their loyalty to the demons meant nothing here. Only the cards in their hands held meaning now.

As time slipped by, they moved on to chess. No powers, no enhancements, just the clash of minds, a silent duel of pure intellect. And in that quiet space, they drowned themselves in the simplicity and focus of the game, leaving the chaos of the outside world behind.

"Check," Spectre said, his voice calm and measured.

Anthony responded with a quiet movement of his hand. Spectre's eyes narrowed slightly as he mirrored the motion.

"Castling. I see," Spectre murmured, still composed, as he made his next move.

"Checkmate," Anthony declared just as calmly, bringing the game to its quiet end.

"Another round," Spectre said without hesitation.

Anthony chuckled as he replied.

"Don't be such a sore loser. That's five games in a row. You're not going to beat me. You should try your luck against Dale or Reynold."

But Spectre paid him no mind. Wordlessly, he began setting the board once more.

At the edge of the seat, Clement remained silent, detached from the games and the conversation. Shrouded entirely in shadow, he watched them with unreadable eyes.

Anthony felt no concern for his teammates. Though he no longer wandered through people's minds as he once had during his days at Omni Peak Academy, his instincts remained sharp, and they told him these men were trustworthy.

He was certain none of them was a traitor. And if, by some cruel twist, he turned out to be wrong, just as his father had been years ago, then so be it.

Suddenly, Anthony froze. His body stilled, and his head turned sharply, his gaze narrowing in a different direction. A flicker passed through his blue eyes, brief but unmistakable. Without a word, he retrieved his phone and placed a call.

To his mother.

--------

Within a space of absolute darkness, where even the concept of light seemed forgotten, shadows reigned supreme, swallowing everything whole. Here, the very air felt cursed, and it was said that those who lingered for even a single day left with pieces of their sanity shattered.

Deep within this darkness, in a confined enclosure walled by towering steel and barred like a cage for monsters, a man sat in silence. Heavy chains bound him, forged to suppress any form of energy or ability he might attempt to use.

He had black hair, and eyes equally void of light, mirroring the abyss around him. Yet he didn't spare a single glance at the chains. He knew their futility. They could not hold him.

And still, he remained seated, immersed in the pitch-black stillness.

Waiting.

Suddenly, a figure emerged into the darkness, her steps composed and unhurried, unbothered by the oppressive feeling around her, as if the shadows held no power over her presence. She advanced until she stood before the steel bars that caged the man within.

He sat there, unnervingly calm, as though imprisonment were a trivial inconvenience.

The figure said nothing. She simply moved forward, phasing through the steel as though it were no more substantial than mist. Without a word, she placed a hand upon the man's shoulder.

In that instant, the darkness responded, twisting, coiling, bending to her will. Then, like a living tide, it surged and swallowed them both whole.

They reappeared in a starkly different place, a chamber of pristine white walls that gleamed with sterile clarity. The man now sat in silence, eyes opening slowly as light spilled into his vision. He was no longer bound, no longer cloaked in chains or swallowed by darkness.

Not that they had ever truly held him.

His expression remained unchanged, still and unreadable, carved in stone.

Seated across from him now was the figure who had retrieved him. An Elven woman, her long green hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of ivy, perfectly complementing her vivid emerald eyes. She looked as though nature itself had sculpted her with reverence, a being of beauty and quiet power.

She was Warlord Aerenya.

"So, according to the report, your name is Sky Kingsley. Lieutenant Kingsley, correct?"

She asked, her voice the embodiment of charm, smooth, inviting, and dangerously disarming. There was something about her presence that compelled trust, as if the world itself leaned closer when she spoke.

But the man was unmoved.

He regarded her with a blank stare, untouched by her beauty or the subtle pull of her aura.

"That is correct," he replied simply, his voice steady.

"Born into the Sky family. A twin brother. Both hailed as prodigies. Yet, during your awakening, you faltered, and in that moment of weakness, your brother struck, attempting to erase you entirely. An assassination, orchestrated by blood. But you lived. You vanished into obscurity, only to return years later and annihilate the very family that once cherished you... yet cast you aside the instant you no longer met their standards."

Warlord Aerenya's voice remained steady as her eyes lingered on the man before her, a man unmoved, unaffected. There was not a trace of emotion in him, not even in the face of his own arrest.

But Kingsley offered no response. It hadn't been a question, and so, he saw no reason to answer.

"You don't use mana, spiritual energy, or any known form of energy. Not even Chaos Energy. Help me understand you, Kingsley."

Warlord Aerenya's voice was measured, but laced with genuine intrigue. His very existence defied everything she understood. She had encountered many anomalies in her time, but never one like him.

"I don't need your understanding, Warlord. Nor do I owe you, or anyone else, an explanation for what I am."

Kingsley's reply was calm.

"Oh, but you do," she said, her lips curling into a composed smile. "In these times, everyone is deemed a traitor, until proven otherwise."

Though her tone remained gentle, the weight of her position lingered in the air. She was a Warlord, second only to a Supreme, and yet, the man before her didn't even flinch.

"Then send me to the Military High Court for trial, or take my head here and now."

Kingsley's voice was calm, almost indifferent, as if neither outcome concerned him in the slightest.

"I'm trying to help you, you know,"

Warlord Aerenya said softly. Her voice carried a melodious lilt, graceful, alluring, almost too gentle for the weight of the situation.

"We wouldn't even be standing here if anyone could read my mind. Don't blame me for the incompetence of your own soldiers, Warlord."

Kingsley replied evenly.

Their mind-reading attempts had failed, completely. But Kingsley had no intention of explaining why. His Talent, his abilities, they were not for public dissection.

Did anyone here even know what a Concept was? Had they ever witnessed one? Heard of one? Understood the magnitude?

In truth, it wasn't his abilities that shielded his mind. It was his Will, something so absolute, so defiant, that the universe itself was forced to acknowledge his existence.

A Will so immense, it rendered him impervious to charm, illusion, hypnosis, and anything of the sort.

But Kingsley didn't bother explaining. Why waste words on those incapable of comprehension?

Just as Warlord Aerenya prepared to press further, a voice echoed within her mind, calm, commanding, and unmistakable.

'Let him be. Set him free.'

There was no room for doubt. She recognized it instantly, it was the voice of the Supreme Monarch.

Her expression remained poised, betraying nothing. Not a flicker of surprise or resistance. Instead, she offered a faint, composed smile and spoke with grace.

"It seems our session ends here, Lieutenant Sky Kingsley. You are free to go. I do hope our paths cross again."

For the first time, Kingsley's expression shifted, subtle, yet unmistakable. A flicker of surprise. He hadn't expected this. Not this sudden reversal, not this sudden freedom.

Before he could utter a word, darkness surged around him, swallowing him whole and dragging him through space, teleporting him back to the location from which he had been taken from prior to his very first interrogation.

Warlord Aerenya stood in silence for a moment, then exhaled lightly and vanished.

She already had a guess. Only one person could have bent the Supreme Monarch's will with such ease.

Anthony.

The Supreme's son had pulled the strings. And though she found it frustrating, there was nothing she could do.

Not against that name.