Jacoda stood before the throne—lean muscle and dark armor molded for silence, for death. A pale scar carved across his jawline, a souvenir from a target who'd fought back. His eyes were twin voids, empty of mercy, empty of everything except the cold calculation of a predator.
He bowed, the movement precise. His thumb traced the raised tissue of his scar, a habit born from years of anticipation. "Dead," he said, voice low and rough as gravel, "or alive?"
The question hung in the stale air of the throne room. Jacoda, commander of King Bracandon's assassins, lived for the kill—the moment breath stopped, the light faded. But orders were orders. He needed clarity.
King Bracandon's fingers drummed against the armrest, a rhythmic tap-tap-tap that echoed off stone walls. Each beat measured out his schemes like a metronome counting down to someone's doom.
"No!" The word cracked through the chamber. "Are you that stupid?"
Bracandon leaned forward, knuckles white against the throne's edge. "We need him alive and WHOLE. He must first deliver me the God of Systems." His lips curved into something cruel. "And then—only then—is he all yours."
Dosanko, the king's second-in-command, had been turning his ring in slow, anxious circles. The gold caught the torchlight as he raised his hand.
"Speak, Dosanko." The king's permission was a command.
"Sire," Dosanko began, bowing his head just enough to show deference without submission, "if I may remind you—the seer, Magdalena, foresaw all of this. Tagota merely confirms her vision." He paused, letting the weight of prophecy settle. "We've also observed the Mighty Amatanganya airships loitering near planet Earth."
The throne room went silent.
Ten seconds stretched into an eternity. King Bracandon's aura thickened, pressing against the air like a living thing. His eyes ignited—twin crimson beacons that cast blood-red rays across the chamber.
The temperature rose. The council members turned away, shielding their faces, unable to meet that terrible gaze.
"Wow." The word dripped with dark fascination. Bracandon's smile widened.
"This makes it interesting. Difficult."
His fingers resumed their drumming. "The Mighty Amatanganya have been watching Earth for centuries. They're planning something—an invasion, perhaps. It's the only planet not crushed beneath their heel, the only world not bowing to Zubie's empire." His voice dropped to a growl.
"We've survived by bleeding ourselves dry in tribute. Any move toward Earth could be our last."
He rose, armor clinking, shadow stretching across the floor.
"Jacoda, proceed with the mission. I need Tagota." His eyes blazed brighter.
"Earth, I am coming for you." Then, quieter, almost to himself: "I just hope King Agaganeeyaa isn't after the God of Systems."
"In the meantime, Dosanko—brief our spies. Tell them to open their ears. I want to know everything about this God of Systems."
---
Back on planet Earth, the bright colorful sky painted the night in hues of gold and sapphire.
Delvin and Jasmine had been talking nonstop since they'd parked outside Volt-Amps Hardware, their conversation flowing with the easy rhythm of two people who'd forgotten how to be strangers.
Jasmine's laughter rang out as they walked toward the entrance, bright and unguarded.
The moment they stepped inside, the world shifted.
Conversations stuttered. Eyes followed. An elderly man straightening paint cans paused mid-reach.
A woman at the checkout counter stopped scanning items, her gaze tracking the couple as they moved down the aisle.
Jasmine felt it first—that prickle of awareness crawling up her spine. Her fingers found her pendant, worrying the smooth surface as heat crept into her cheeks.
"We need three of these," Delvin said, holding up cables, seemingly oblivious to the attention. But Jasmine noticed the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he avoided looking at anyone directly.
They gathered their items quickly—bubbles, wires, double sockets—and headed to the register. Jasmine's heart hammered against her ribs, each beat a drum announcing her presence.
An elderly woman leaned toward her friend, attempting a whisper that carried across the store: "This couple is heavenly matched. Just look at the chemistry they possess. The children of these two will be lucky."
Jasmine's face erupted in flames. Her hand clutched her pendant tighter, knuckles pale. 'Oh God. Oh God.' She wanted the floor to open up, to swallow her whole, to transport her anywhere but here under these knowing eyes.
But underneath the mortification, something else bloomed—a dangerous, thrilling pride. 'Tell them,' a voice whispered in her mind. 'Tell them you're not even together yet. Tell them to convince him to propose right here, right now, before one of those vultures circling him swoops in.'
She shoved the thought down and fumbled for her gold v-card, hands trembling slightly.
The machine beeped. A receipt crackled out, the sound too loud in the weighted silence. Delvin grabbed their bag, his fingers brushing hers for half a second—a touch that sent electricity racing up her arm.
They moved toward the exit, footsteps too fast, too deliberate.
Another couple blocked their path near the sliding doors. The woman clutched her husband's arm, eyes misty.
"Look at this young love. Aren't they cute? They make a perfect couple."
"They remind me of us," the man replied, voice thick with nostalgia. "It's the most thrilling feeling I've ever felt."
"Yes, darling." The woman's voice cracked with emotion. "They've refreshed memories I thought I'd forgotten. I feel young again."
Jasmine's foot caught on nothing. She stumbled, Delvin's hand shooting out to steady her elbow. His touch burned. Her blush deepened until she was certain she'd spontaneously combust right there on the linoleum floor.
'So it's not just me,' she thought, pulse racing. 'It's not just in my head. Everyone can feel it—this energy between us, this chemistry that defies logic.'
She glanced at Delvin through her lashes. 'Are you feeling this too, Mr. Dred? Just admit it. Stop fighting it. Let nature take its course.'
Delvin's jaw was clenched, every muscle rigid. He stared straight ahead, refusing to meet her eyes, shoving every whispered observation down into some locked compartment in his chest.
But his heart—traitor that it was—hammered wild and reckless, melting at every word, every knowing smile from the strangers witnessing whatever this thing was between them.
They burst through the exit into fresh air and murmured speculation.
---
Across the parking lot, someone else had been watching.
"Look," Gregory hissed, elbowing Peter hard enough to bruise.
"Stop disturbing me." Peter didn't turn, his attention locked on a blonde entering the shopping mall ahead. She had legs that went on forever.
"You don't want to miss this." Gregory's voice carried an edge now, urgent.
"Gregory," Peter snapped, volume rising, "this better be—" He turned. His eyes found what Gregory was pointing at. His jaw went slack. "I'll be damned." The words came out strangled, disbelieving. "Is that...?"