Chapter 115
Chapter 115
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 115
Chapter Title: Chapter 8: Oh Bloody, Boom Blada (4)
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****
“Romantic, isn’t it? A man who shows up out of nowhere, takes out the threatening thugs, and proposes on the spot.”
“Romantic? Yeah, it might look that way to others, but not to me. I was desperate. I knew the moment she let go of my hand, I’d fall back into that dark, silent sociopath’s world from the vibrant one colored by all those emotions.”
But she accepted his heart. He offered his heart, and received hers in return. To Ian, who had never experienced the natural exchange of emotions between people—like breathing—it felt like a miracle.
“Word spread through the Raptor Society. Ashfield the war maniac’s heartfelt confession! Something like that. People whispered about it, but it didn’t feel bad. No, I wanted to shout it myself. That’s right! That woman accepted my heart!... I wished the whole world knew. Molly, she was a masterpiece painting and an orchestra to me, a blind and deaf man! She let me see the world differently! Being by her side... I could see the world through her eyes.”
The Professor watched Ian explain his late wife, waving his arms wildly. He’d seen that guy’s smiling face and crying face, countless expressions swinging between hope and despair, but this dreamy look was a first. Knowing full well that the end of that story held nothing but pain—better than anyone—he was still soaked in happiness just imagining those moments.
The memory of the day before their first date, desperately recalling what the women he’d met numbly long ago had wanted, piecing together a date plan.
The memory of babbling on about what pattern tie would be best during an operations meeting until his subordinate snapped.
The memory of her looking tired one day, thinking of his bedroom set up for the most efficient, perfect rest, and casually saying, “Why don’t you rest at my place?”—turning her face tomato-red.
Conversely, the memory of her coming out of the shower actually ready to “rest,” leaving him breathless and needing her nursing.
Spring. Under the cheers of his only friend, Gustav, and his old subordinates, lifting her white veil and pledging their future.
Winter. On a miraculously sandstorm- and blizzard-free day, their daughter Leoni was born. Leoni Desmond. His wife, sobbing happily.
As soap-bubble memories bathed in sunlight flashed by one by one, moisture gathered on Ian’s face.
Dreamlike. Truly dreamlike days.
Those memories from that time were like a river—once they started flowing, he couldn’t stop them. Even knowing an ocean of pain waited at the end.
“It was the happiest time in my life. With her, I wasn’t the hollow explosion fanatic Ashfield—I could live as a person named Ian. But the more I became human by her side, the more it hurt, and the weaker I got.”
*Crunch-crunch-*
*Whoosh.*
Ashes scattered from the burned-down end of the cigar. Living as a person. As the price of that happiness, Ian had to face his past. From the perspective of human Ian, not Ashfield.
****
The Raptor Society was barbaric, but even barbarism had its rules.
Their basic structure copied the military: above soldiers were squad leaders, company commanders, battalion commanders, then Pack Leaders, and Swarm Alphas.
The unique ranks of Pack Leader and Swarm Alpha came from the fierce insistence of the Raptor Society’s Number One powerholder, Gustav al-Harb.
‘Stagnant water rots, and those in high positions grow complacent. A Raptor leader must always keep a razor-sharp edge, freshly honed. In that sense, the top ranks of Pack Leader and Swarm Alpha will be separated from the existing hierarchy with their own promotion system.’
The conditions were simple. Just like the essence of Raptors.
Kill and take.
Kill a Pack Leader to become Pack Leader, kill a Swarm Alpha to become Swarm Alpha. Direct challenges or assassinations were allowed. Any means except poison. It was an absurd rule that could collapse the group from the top down, but surprisingly, Swarm Alphas and Pack Leaders rarely changed.
‘Because everything’s permitted. If they challenge head-on, the Swarm Alpha’s elite guard—top veterans—plus assigned tanks, armored cars, and combat vehicles crush any battalion-level force. Hire the Noise Pack for 24/7 radar shifts, and raids with explosives or snipers handle most threats.’
In the end, the easiest way to become Swarm Alpha was to build a force equal to the current one and challenge. Of course, challenges themselves were rare. Holding the Swarm Alpha position proved you’d built the strongest force. No idiot would risk a disadvantageous fight unless you showed weakness. Indeed, challenges to upper ranks since the Raptor Society’s founding numbered only about four—all against Pack Leaders, none against Swarm Alphas. Until Ian got married.
After starting a family, over the next year and a half, Swarm Alpha Ian Desmond faced two challenges. He slaughtered them all, but lost quite a few of his elite guard in the process.
Today was the third.
“Sorry, Ashfield.”
“...Carter. I thought we’d crossed plenty of death lines together.”
“You back then and you now are completely different people. No point clinging to a sinking ship. Didn’t you always tell us? Only by shedding emotions can you see the right path.”
“Puhahaha, we’re just doing what you taught us, Ashfield. We wanna remember you at your best, so go quietly without a fuss, heh heh heh...”
“Sol... Carter, Ashley. All of you betrayed me?”
Ian could feel himself weakening. Every time he returned home to Molly’s radiant smile, every time he saw Leoni in her arms, he couldn’t escape the thought that the people he’d burned alive with his own hands once had welcoming families too.
At some point, he stopped killing all prisoners. A Dome spy was found among escapees.
He no longer used bold tactics like before. He was still an excellent commander, but to his elite guard who remembered the old him, he felt like “incomplete combustion.”
And that led to this: his elite guard who arrived with him now standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the enemy, facing him.
“Ptoo! Gutless bastards! How many times did Ashfield spare your lives, and now you bail just ‘cause a few guys next to you died? Balls shriveled up?”
“Kenichi, you really staying over there? You know how much Tuco values you?”
“Shove it up your ass, Carter! I’d rather die here than lick that Shorty asshole’s butt!”
Tuco Brahe. Hated Ian that much, and now came all this way. The nameless Pack Leader, that ridiculously large force— all under that guy’s line. Five tanks and combat vehicles the Swarm Alpha could personally mobilize. Betrayed elite guard on their side; here, just a handful of elite guard left, one combat vehicle. Excluding Kenichi and a few, the rest were green rookies no one wanted.
With the Noise Pack gone too, choosing formal challenge over assassination was just to mock his fall as spectacle.
“But as founding members who built the Raptor Society, we’ll yield the first move out of respect! Go ahead, Ashfield! Might even fire a shot before dinner! That gunshot’d be as good as starting the execution! Wahahahaha!”
“Gotta shoot first if you don’t wanna lose your wife and kid who went ahead! Gotta hurry even one step faster!”
Through the taunt-filled comms from the enemy tank, the voice of the once-fat man from his elite guard blared over the speaker.
“Puhahaha! Didn’t you teach us that, Ashfield? Leave no loose ends. Pretty wife and daughter, huh. You tried hiding ‘em, noticing something, but what’s a guy who only knows blowing shit up doing playing smart?”
“...”
“When you meet ‘em later, you’ll have to sweet-talk ‘em good. Sent the worst scum I know! Since they ruined our respected Ashfield, give ‘em the full Dome spy treatment! Puahahahaha!”
*Crack!*
The plastic handset shattered in Ian’s grip. The slower he reversed, the closer they closed in. Positions skewed with betrayers switching sides, but this was enough. No more time to waste.
Ian picked up the crackling broken handset.
“You... learned well.”
“Sorry, but can’t spare you even if you beg and cry! Puhahaha!”
“Yeah. Come this far, hard to let you live.”
Ian pulled a small switch and detonator from his pocket.
“Two challenges. Dozens of kidnapping and assassination attempts on my wife and child. Couldn’t resist the glaring weakness, huh? Raptors are like that. The group’s built that way.”
But before Swarm Alpha, before the elite guard existed, he was a man named Ian Desmond. A mercenary from another country who earned the moniker Ashfield.
He’d weakened, but never turned idiot.
“One last lesson.”
“Bullshit, acting all cocky...”
“Don’t step carelessly into an enemy-prepared battlefield.”
*Click!*
Pressing the left switch raised a familiar blue barrier for Raptor soldiers. A deep-colored, high-output shield looted from an enemy officer. The right detonator: hundreds of high-explosive shells Ian had buried beforehand, to minimize losses with his diminished force after two battles.
That blast would shatter the enemy force, blow away the combat vehicle relying on just one shield.
‘Originally prepped so I’d draw enemy fire up front, vanish with them, opening an escape for the rest...’
“Funny thing. Using something I prepped to save you bastards... to kill you instead.”
“What? What the hell...!”
*Rumble-*
.
.
.
.
The voice beyond the speaker never finished. A massive explosion rocked the desolate wasteland.
****
*Creak- click! Creak-*
It was wrecked, but still moved. The enemy gear, more than expected, must’ve blocked some blast.
Winter. Nests halted, enduring cold with engine heat. Perfect timing to slip away. He’d prepped a hidden shelter no one knew. Enough for our family of three. Just over this hill, home. Just over this hill...
“Ah, aaah...”
Ian couldn’t believe his eyes. Didn’t want to. All illusion. Brain shaken by blast, seeing ghosts. A nightmare mirage that’d vanish with a swipe—like smoke!
But with each step closer, it sharpened instead of fading.
On the shelter wall dividing inside from out, a long pole before blood-red “Traitor” letters.
The dress he’d gifted fluttered in the wind. Nailed up like a criminal.
“Mo, Molly.... honey!!!”
He hurled his cane, limping toward her.
*Trip!*
Someone hooked his foot.
“How touching, friend.”
Familiar voice, but no time to turn. Amid agony, Ian crawled forward. He saw it. Briefly, but she moved! Lifted her head! Still alive. Her too, and the baby in the swaddling on her! Still ali-
*Click-*
*BOOOOM!*
Flash. Explosion. All crystal clear. Flames bursting from inside the shelter. Swelling smoke engulfing crumbling walls, and his wife before them, into the fire...!
“UAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!”
*Thud!*
“AAAAK! UAAAAK! AAAAAA!!!”
*Thud! Thud thud!*
Gone. Shelter, pole, his bleeding wife hanging there, his child!
Collapsed, Ian pounded the ground twice, three times, endlessly with both fists. No matter his screams, knuckles cracking, the searing pain wouldn’t fade. His world lost color. Turning to ash alongside all he’d had.
“You look rough, Ashfield. Truly, truly tragic.”
*Step, step, step.*
The man who’d tripped him approached.
“Gustav... Raptor!”
“The most capable tool in my life, lost so pointlessly.”
“You.... why! Killing me gains you nothing!”
“Oh my. Judgment clouded, eh? Think carefully. I really didn’t want to kill you. Got a big weakness now—thought I could wield you harder. Problem is, you took too much presence in the Raptors. Outsiders think Raptors, picture your face.”
*Ting-*
A bullet flicked by thumb spun playfully into Gustav’s hand.
“The Raptor Society must symbolize violence and terror. You played that role perfectly till now. Mad bomber turning adults and kids alike to ash. But now? Look at you. Just two people! Two! Not even a fraction of what you’ve killed, and you’re bawling, screaming! If someone sees this wreck, won’t they think, ‘Ah, iron-blooded Desmond has a human side! Raptors are human too!’ All warm and fuzzy?”
Ian remembered. Why he’d once seen this man as a friend.
Gustav al-Harb. He could laugh, cry, connect like a normal person, but inside flowed blood as cold as past Ian’s. Not emotionless—just unwilling to share.
“So... this happened. Raptors must remain terror incarnate. Don’t take it bad. People say at goodbyes, ‘Remember the good times.’ Let’s do that. While they still see you as destruction’s avatar, cleanly. Hope you like the funeral. In the wasteland, virtue’s embedding lead in dying kin’s skull. For my dear friend, blended your lifelong loves: family and explosions. Your taste, right?”
*Click!*
Muzzle loomed over the kneeling man’s head.
“Breaks my heart too. Thought it fleeting, but you’re this broken. Good I turned here hearing Shorty failed. Surprising! Your wife fought well? Wrecked but took half our early guys. Praise included, I cleaned ‘em up, nailed her myself. Attractive, but the wicked woman who ruined my friend deserves punishment.”
Ian crawled slowly toward him. No more groans or sobs. Just picturing fragile her battling Raptors to ruin, him watching amused, toying soldiers aside, dragging and nailing her. Each chew fueled hardening limbs.
“Sin... and... punishment...”
“Right. How many’ve you killed, Desmond? Innocents? Thousand? Ten thousand? Didn’t think you’d slip away in a warm bed with blessings.”
“Kuh, kuhahaha... Right. Truly... that’s spot on... kuhahaha...”
Reaching Gustav’s feet, Ian clung bloodied to his chest like embracing. Muzzle at his temple, begging death.
“Dreamed, Gustav.... Maybe by her side... I could live as human...”
“Worst mistake of your life.”
“Kuhuk, kuhahaha! Yeah.... Killer of thousands dreaming peace? No conscience.... Right to die miserably.”
*Rumble-*
Ian’s lolling head leaned into the muzzle. Instinct knew she was gone fully. Colors painting his world twisted gray again.
“Sinners... deserve death.”
One color lingered. Red. World drowned red. Like her bloodied dress.
Ian’s limp hand clawed Gustav’s shoulder vise-like. A tiny safety pin dangled from fingers.
“You... mad bastard!”
“Sinners... deserve miserable death!”
Ian sank last strength, teeth into neck.
Muzzle aimed at head flashed,
.
.
.
.
.
A small explosion atop the burning hill.
****
*Screech-*
*Screech-*
“Ah, awake? Thought to bury you. Tough lifeline, friend.”
Ian’s eyes opened to a flickering cheap incandescent bulb, bloodied green cloth, surgery tools everywhere.
“Uh, uuuh...”
“Ah, don’t talk. Upper jaw implant’s loose. Can’t anyway, no lower jaw hookup.”
*Rattle, rattle!*
The man sorting bloody tools on a silver cart grumbled, picking one.
“Bad luck. Just retiring for new life, then boom, gunfire, Raptor scum swarming a block away. Peeked hiding nearby. You tried dying with that coat guy?”
“...Uuh, uuuh.”
Ian glanced at the mirror on his left. Shattered reflection: slack tongue from blown jaw, crammed prosthetics. Took time recognizing his face.
“There, watched from tree by hill. You moved sudden, Magnum meant for head took jaw. Saw blue flash pre-grenade—coat guy had reactive shield. Killed blast power. You survived with cracked ribs, shards—thanks to him. Coat worse off, but alive. Reptile bastards swarmed, carted him off. Waited ‘em gone, dragged you.”
“Uuuuh, uuuh...”
“Me? No clue why I bothered. Heh heh heh! Mid-‘no more killing, chase doctor dream!’ half-corpse gasps before me. Did it ‘cause I wanted. No deep reason.”
Woojin tightened the jawless man’s prosthetics. No anesthesia, raw, but he stared blankly like numb.
“Ah, this? Tidied your place while asleep. Check salvageables, but fire, blasts, mess—scraps only. Least decent one. Yours?”
Ian’s hand clutched the soot-caked metal on the tray.
Not his. First kidnapping attempt day, he’d pressed it on gun-hating her with flowery words.
‘No way!’
‘Molly. Not to kill. Just threaten to protect yourself?’
‘Live rounds!’
‘Th-this... decorative! See? Our initials engraved! Looks toy-like...’
‘Eek! Hate it more! World full good things, why cling to guns!’
.
.
.
.
He wanted her armed for self-defense. Toy-like pistol picked for her. Derringer with I,M initials on grip.
*Click!*
Trigger pulled at exposed palate. Empty click sliced air. Confirmed loaded...?
“Tsk tsk. Saved you, now suicide? Ungrateful. Blanks. Owner pulled powder from two live rounds.”
Ian cracked the Derringer chamber. Hollow brass casing held paper scrap, not powder.
[Think again!]
Tiny note, capsule hemostatic instead.
Her handwriting. Think again? On what? Pulling trigger?
“Kuhuk! Kehuk! Kuhuhu! Uhuh! Kruhuh!”
Couldn’t breathe. Her gingerly handling his gifted gun like poison, extracting powder—vivid as seen. World too absurd to bear.
Empty round engraved his name, hers. Hemostatic. Clear message: Before killing, think again. Try saving first. Like her nursing dying in wards.
“...Call when calm. Bell by side.”
“Kruhehehe! Hooo! Hahaha! Hooo!”
That day, endless mad laughter—laugh or cry?—echoed in the shelter basin post-Raptors. Till collapse from exhaustion, Ian laughed. Awakening, he’d heed her words. Woojin said Gustav survived. So reason to live remained. Death? After erasing his errors, Raptor Society—think again.
****
*Click.*
Ian opened the Derringer on the table. One round with note, hemostatic; one fresh with his name.
“That’s how I survived. Wanted death bad, but wife’s last words held me. Wandered with old man Woojin since. He set clinic in Zone 43, I settled there. World’s full good stuff, like she said. Now... think I’ve overcome. Pain lingers, but piled plenty atop.”
“Sniff!”
“Not the cheeriest tale? Got sentimental...”
“Pwaaang!”
“...What?”
“Uwaaa! You, too sad.... Kuhng!”
“F-fine! You’re awesome! Sis-in-law surely watches from heaven.... Uhheuk!”
Venue was tear ocean. Vex asleep with dried streaks, long sobbing; Azel bawling outright; Professor burst at end, barely holding.
“Kuhuhu. Should’ve stopped sooner. Glad entertaining. Wrap up, head in. Hey, Corduro!”
“Huuwaaa-! N-new master- huwaaa-!”
“What machine... Kids wrecked, handle cleanup. I’m crashing.”
“Order, perfectly, *sniff*, sleep well, khrng!”
Ian shook head, leaving tear sea for shelter. Derringer precious in hand.
****
*Static- static-*
[EZ-007. Reception good. Respond, EZ-007]
“Khrng! Hq. This Ez, Azel. Reception good, khrng!”
[Confirmed. Mission progress? Report in detail-]
“Sniff! Dream Chief.... We.... we erase it.”
[Wha, what.... Hey, this records! No names!]
Flustered Ralph leaked through receiver.
Admin out, crammed into post-drink chaos for three’s afterparty. Azel their friend, but too shocking for pure drinks—Ralph’s find.
“So erase record! Confirmed! Metal Joe—Ian! World’s kindest, pitifullest! That sorta... guy!”
[Hey! Don’t spout! Swarm Alpha! Raptor top brass! Missing one Dome couldn’t track! Know shock pulling comm logs from that APC? Info warrants bombing BDSM shelter now!]
Naturally, Dome-captured APCs included Ian-Sol comms one.
First post-capture: extract enemy data. Ralph did textbook, heard Ian-Sol talk, raced to Chief—snagged by Azel.
‘Let go! Beyond friendship cover!’
‘No, proof same guy? Bluff! Bluff maybe! Prof’s fave!’
‘Read contents! Clearer proof...’
‘I’ll check! They’re drinking anyway, dig real guts, judge!’
Thus Azel joined trio’s drinks. Recorded all past on mini-recorder, to sort foe or ally.
*Static-*
Azel’s secret recording leaked Ian’s calm voice through comms. Drunk-slurred life of one man.
[.....]
“Ian Desmond, called Ashfield, died that day. Left’s booze-loving, smoke-loving, kuhuhu-weird laugh Metal Joe.”
[....Fuck. Nothing with you ends clean.]
Ralph sighed huge.
[....Good work. Crash.]
“Please, Montclaire Chief.”
Azel’s plea furrowed Ralph’s brow more. Plea? Inspection runt, record-holding maverick Azel Leyden, pleading.
*Crunch!*
[....Pay big later, Azel.]
Data chip shards fell from Ralph’s grip.
***
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