“S security! SECURITY!!!” Both of them cried out loudly, but no one came.
“Oh don’t run. I took so much trouble in reminding your peers of your mistakes.” Mugen whispered, his anger still not having died down. “And if you do wish to play only with them and not me.... well.... I’ll just have to send you both there, don’t I?”
Raising his palms, 2 blue orbs glowed in front of his open palms, facing the 2 scientists who gulped down and muttered their last prayers. Luckily, they were answered.
“Mugen! Please! Stop!” Leila cried. “Please! They’ll come after us again if you kill them!”
Mugen froze on the spot, his hands still faced towards them and turned towards Leila. He looked at her, right in the eyes, and she looked back.
“They tried to kidnap you.” His voice wasn’t the oozing maxima of anger it once was, rather it was the melodious tone she had come to love. “They tried to part us, take you away from me. Why should I let them go?”
“Because they will come behind you, and me, and our baby.” She said, not even looking away from him. “Please, Mugen, please, not for me but think of what is to come.”
Mugen looked at her, his eyes looking into her resolute ones and he stopped, sighing in defeat and the glow in his palms dying. He then glared at the covering scientists with glowing eyes and glared at them, right through their very souls.
“Tell your superiors that you made a mistake. You will take the brunt of this.” The menacing voice returned. “You will tell how your actions caused my, all of your peoples and my mate’s death, and that I destroyed the ship before I died. Tell them you failed in your task to ‘collect’ the Alien and see what happens. And if they don’t punish you, you are to walk across the ocean, and drown if you cannot.”
And then, he grabbed Leila and then disappeared, never to be seen in the country, ever again.
***
The next 5 months, people wondered what had destroyed the building in Rio de Janeiro. They asked questions, but all remained unanswered. No one knew what was happening and why it happened. But they all knew that someone had fudged up very badly. On the other side of things, all the information about Leila Jones disappeared as she was declared dead, her family members strangely not as affected as they would seem. Some suspected something deeper, but no one could bother to come to ask them of the questions that they needed.
On the other hand, on a beach in Ibiza, Spain, Leila Jones, now renamed as Lydia Mugen Smith, newlywed wife of Menos Dylan Smith, or Mugen, found herself cuddled up against his chest in their new home in Ibiza, Spain. She was 5 months pregnant, her stomach bulging with their child, and was extremely happy.
“So whatever did you do to those people who tried to snoop around Mum’s house.” Lydia, or Leila, asked. “Mugen.....”
“Jeez, you’re saying as if I am a murdering maniac.” Mugen replied, his hands running up and down her hair and back. He smirked at her, and she punched him in the thigh. “Ouch! That hurt!”
“It should. Now tell me.” His wife demanded. “What did you do to them?”
“Oh well.... let’s just say the last thing that they would want to do is look at the fire the same way again, shall we?” Mugen winked. He traced the mark on her bare shoulder, remembering the night he had pledged his very soul to her. She was openly crying when he had said, 2 days after she had been kidnapped, that he wasn’t going to go anywhere and was going to stay with her, on earth, till the very destruction of the planet and if that happened, taking her away from the planet and into a new one himself.
Of course, that had earned him a new round of loving from his wife, and at than they were in the early weeks of her pregnancy, so that also made her very, very randy at times and he found himself liking the fact that he made her randy. Leila sighed and rubbed her head with her own hand.
“Why? Just why?” She asked pitifully. At his smirk, she sighed and shook her head. “Why do I even try?”
“Exactly love.” He winked and pecked her on the chin. “Just don’t try, simply give in.”
“Just shut up you loveable wanker.” She said fondly and pecked him on the lips again and again. “You know, back then, I’m glad that it was me that you kissed.”
“See.... told you you’ll get used to it.” He said cheekily. He had to avoid her from biting his nose out, but he did indulge her in the sweetest and longest of all the kisses they had shared.
Yeah, even though it was definitely not foreseen, she didn’t mind this, at all.
THE END
Unchained
Chapter 1- Arrival of a Warrior
Journeying from his home back in the big village of Drenston to the large city of Nephil all the way in the Land of Marqueis wasn’t any small task. Quinn Suthell was a warrior, a journeyman, a knight and a noble combined into one or so he termed himself as. Son of the former Lord Suthell from Drenston, in the northern countries of the world, Quinn was a very well known individual especially in the northern countries because of his skills in sword-fighting and also for his strict and stern exterior.
To the women of Drenston, though, he was known as the kindest and charming young man as everytime he passed by, he would do something or the other to make them blush and giggle. The ‘Noble Charmer’ they called him, and it was quite literal. He was a charmer, and he was a noble. His family could trace all the way back to the courts of Actnare, and the very king, where his family had served as one of the noble families in the court of the king, Quinn however, was also known as a journeying contestant in various tournaments that took place all over the continent of Deni. More specifically, he was in the City of Nephil in the Land of Marqueis for the coming ‘Grand Nephil Sword Challange.’
“Are we there yet?” Quinn was a tall man, reaching over 6 feet in height. His shoulders were broad and muscular, with a lean body build. He was wearing a blue royal robe, complete with an upper ‘shirt’ of sorts made out of fine silk and armored black pants with really, really tough looking boots made out of what looked like snakeskin, or at least of some other reptile. He had golden brown hair, short, yet not too short. The hair was of the perfect length for someone with his body-structure and was spiking in a messy and golden tufts. “We have been traveling for over 3 days.”
“Yes my Lord, we are almost there,” the coachman said. Quinn was sitting inside of his carriage, with his favorite steward driving him around. His steward was also his good friend from his childhood, with black hair and blue eyes and quite a figure for someone his age. “The road was much bumpier then I thought it would be.”
Quinn sighed and sat back down in his carriage, looking up at the roof and wondering what had happened and why was he getting so impatient. Usually, he wasn’t this impatient.
“Well, you need to speed up Azzie,” Quinn said from the opening in front of the carriage facing his steward’s back. Azzie, what a strange name for a strange man, but Quinn knew he wouldn’t replace him with anything. He just knew it. “I am getting tired sitting inside here.”
“Oh hush up you.” Azzie shushed him from up front. “We all know you are getting impatient because you’ve not had anything to do for the past endless amount of days. So please cut me the slack and just focus on your ‘reciting’ of words that you’re supposed to use with the other lords and contestants.”
“I do not recite anything!” Quinn exclaimed, affronted. “But...... now that you have reminded me, please do tell me why we couldn’t take others along with us?”
“Because if we did then you wouldn’t have focused on any of the other duties you have and forced everything up on them.” Azzie snorted. “And you, my Lord, need to ‘get a move on’ as the people say, and start acting as a lord. Maybe take a wife or 2.”
“I am not going to practice polygamy, no matter what the court says,” Quinn growled. “I’ll take a nice and wonderful woman as a wife when I find her no matter her status or wealth.”
“*sigh* There is only so much to repel the hundreds of girls that die
behind you.” Azzie shook his head. “Alright, have it your way then. We’re here, I can see the city’s main gates.”
Quinn perked up and opened the side curtain of the carriage to peek outside. Indeed he could see the signs of settlements surely visible in the distance and soon enough, they stopped to let the security guards of the city check out for any ‘unwanted’ guests. He could hear Azzie speaking with the guards and getting directions in return. Much to his relief, it didn’t take much time and they were off once again.
“The tournament starts at 8:00 AM the day after tomorrow and will last for over 5 weeks or so they say. There is a massive amount of participants,” Azzie said to him. “This will give you enough time to rest and practice if you even need time that is. All you’ve been doing the past few days is practice, practice, practice.”
“Hey, I want to win this tournament,” Quinn said, folding his arms. He had made sure he was presentable to the other nobles in the city and was looking good enough to meet the ruler of this city, Vesille. “And get whatever prize they are going to offer. Have you checked anything on that?”
“Yes. They are going to offer ‘8 kingly horses’ to the winner. Apparently, the horses are said to be the best and the most expensive horses one can find, but I sense something amiss in all this.” Azzie said. “I’m taking the turn towards the royal palace. Make sure you’re properly presentable, with your sword.”
At that Quinn grinned. He never went anywhere without his sword, whether it be outside for a walk, to meetings with the other royals or so on. His sword was his most prized possession, made by the great blacksmiths of Actnare. Some said that there was something magical about his sword, saying it was enchanted by a powerful wizard or witch so the wielder would get eternal victory over anything and anyone. The handle of the sword was a simple blue in color, wrapped around the sword and the blade was glowing silver with a golden cross guard, studded with two red brilliant jewels. Some called the sword a piece of art belonging in the museum, mainly cocky opponents that looked down upon him because of his noble heritage. Even now, when they had lost against him in spars, called that his sword wasn’t made for battle and there was something wrong with it because ‘no sword should look so beautiful when used in battle’ or something along the lines of that, but that was not the case with Quinn’s sword. He had named it Classico, a name he had found enticing when a bladesmith of a nearby foreign country called it a ‘classic piece of art’.
His blade was sitting beside him, in its black sheath and waiting to be united with its master and Quinn did so, wrapping the harness of the sheath around his hip so the sword was loyally around his hip, waiting to be drawn out for battle.
The carriage suddenly stopped and Quinn got out when the door was opened for him and onto a red colored carpet. All around him, the contestants and the various betters on the tournament had gathered up to size the competition and weed out the instant losers. While most of them didn’t recognize Quinn, those that did, especially the betters, had instant greedy, gold lusted faces as they realized there was a firm winner in the ‘sea of losers’ as they put it. Most of the competition was very intimidated by Quinn’s large and stern body and a completely emotionless face.
“Lord Suthell, how nice to see you here.” In front of him was the lord of the city and the noble, by the name of Vesille Cyzen. His head was bald, completely bald, and his skin looked greasy from a mile away, let alone think about feeling it. He was wearing robes befitting of a god, such was the amount of gold and luster of them, with the amount of jewelry he had on him and the 2 girls on each of his arms. It pained his eyes to even look at the heavy set, fat man. “I hope your ride here wasn’t too much for you.”
Of course, the man was sizing him up as well. It was something that most of the royals and the noble’s did to him whenever he had come to their country for a tournament, mainly because they had their own champions inside of the tournament and it didn’t surprise him that Vesille would also have a champion in the tournament.
“Of course not, Lord Cyzen. I found myself enjoying the ride, let alone the pace we have set. I am sure that your government takes great care of the roads for me to complain about anything wrong with the roads.” Looking at the slowly reddening face of the fat Royal, Quinn found himself pleased with what was going on. He had not only returned his veiled insult but also set him in his place using his own tactics. “And I cannot wait to fight in the tournament, especially to see what the people of Nephil have to offer, for I am sure they won’t be anything like Corsen that I had the unfortunate luck of meeting a couple of months back.”
“Oh, I assure you they are nothing like Corsen.” Vesille sneered at the name. “Please, let us head inside, I have a feast waiting for you.”
Knowing it was forced politeness that the man was showing for Quinn had no doubts that the man would throw him out the moment he had enough of him, Quinn shot his steward a look, who nodded at it and followed the fat man inside of his palace with the 2 ladies still in his hands. Both of them were dressed in a way no woman would want to dress in, so he wasn’t going to comment on them.
He also found out that it wasn’t only the lord that was huge but also his house. Vesille’s palace was absolutely massive, making Quinn wonder what would the man had done in the middle of the night if he was thirsty. There was no way he was going to climb down 3 to 4 entire floors to get to the kitchens and the mess-halls to get some water. And exactly how many servants did one need to run this place?
While yes, Quinn also had servants, they all were paid and very dear to his house, it was something his house was famous for. The Suthell’s never abused the power they had over their servants, so for Quinn, it was all the more enraging to see the Servants, dressed in nothing but rags, bowing to their lord as he passed down.
‘Slaves, more like.’ Eyeing a collar around a girl that was bowing right beside where they turned, he glared at Vesille’s back in contempt, as if he wanted to just draw his sword out and sink it inside of the man’s back, and watch him die. ‘Pathetic, just, pathetic. How disgraceful can he be as a man?’
Burying his thoughts deep inside of his head as his training had taught him, he entered a large hall with various other noble contestants sitting around a table. Some of them he recognized and nodded at, while the others he simply ignored as they seemed to look down upon him.
“Please, sit down,” Vesille said as everyone got up, while the fat man walked to the host side of the room. “Our chefs have prepared the best feast that anyone can hope of preparing in this country, and I am sure it will be up to your requirements.”
Not even wanting to stay in the man’s company for what was longer than necessary, Quinn sat down, not looking at the fat man as the feast officially started. One thing was certain, even if the man was a disgusting pig, he did have a good feast prepared for them and after a 3 and a half day journey, this was all that Quinn needed. So he settled himself to eating whatever was on the table and wondered where his fate would lead him in the tournament. Wherever it was, he hoped it led him to victory or his patience on the man in front of him was going to die out and he was really going to kill the fat man with the way he was looking at the female servers.
Chapter 2- The Slave
After the feast was over, Vesille stood up, as if to give a speech. But with the way the food he had eaten and the wine he had drunk during the feast dribbling down his robes and staining them, he didn’t look the elegant and imposing host that he was supposed to look.
“I welcome all of you to the tournament of Nephil.” The man said, his eyes lighting up in an emotion that Quinn couldn’t decipher. “As you all must know, I am Lord Vesille Cyzen, the lord of Nephil and the host of the tournament. I simply wish to give you some details, so please give me at least 10 minutes of your time before I have you moved on to your quarters for your stay.”
Quinn looked at the reactions of everyone. Some of them were paying him rapt attention, while the others, like him, simply look
ed bored. As if anything the man was going to say was even going to be worth something to them.
“The tournament will start the day after tomorrow, at 8:00 AM in the morning for the locals. You all, however, are considered in the VIP and important contestants, you will be given the entrance time after 11:00 AM, giving you enough time to enjoy a hearty breakfast and the time to settle it down before you will fight,” Vesille said, gaining murmurs of approval. Quinn only found himself frowning at the thought. Who had a ‘hearty breakfast’ especially before fighting. Not him, for sure.
“The tournament was supposed to last over 5 weeks, but I believe 3 weeks will be enough to complete the tournament. With your reputations, especially, I find myself....... quite excited, to see what the outcome will be,” Vesille said, his eyes once again glinting as he looked at a certain individual sitting on the table. He had long, golden hair, golden eyes and the traditional smug look on his face. Undoubtedly this was Vesille’s champion, and Quinn couldn’t wait to face him in battle.
“The tournament will, of course, be Sword fighting, with nothing other than swords and types of swords allowed. Anything else will be disqualified and any cheating will face a...... steep price.” Expecting the case, Quinn snorted quietly and shook his head. If there was anyone he counted to cheat it was the man that was supposed to represent Nephil. “Now I shall not take any more of your time. You shall be escorted to your quarters immediately.”
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