Location: Private Royal Airport of the Ragnar Empire.
The air was thick with tension, the kind that lingered when the weight of an unseen power dictated every move. Several individuals were stationed strategically around the airport—inside and out—each clad in high-durability bulletproof suits and armed with advanced automatic weapons, ready to strike if necessary.
For the uninformed, this level of security would seem excessive. But to those who understood the true dangers lurking beneath the surface, these guards were little more than disposable shields. If chaos erupted, they would be the first to fall.
Normally, such precautions weren't necessary. Today was different.
Today, Alaric Ragnar himself stood on the airstrip, reviewing empire administration documents on his tablet, his focus unwavering despite the magnitude of what was about to transpire.
"Ensure the media remains under control. I don't want fabricated stories leaking onto the net." His tone was clipped yet composed.
"Understood, sir." His secretary responded promptly.
"How much time before he lands?"
"Four minutes at most, sir."
Alaric nodded but didn't lift his eyes from the screen. His assistant, a woman in her mid-thirties, shifted uncomfortably beside him.
The Ragnar royal family had been a crumbling relic once, barely surviving through sheer force of will. It was only due to Emperor Theron's ruthlessness that the empire stood as a dominant force today.
Yet, the assistant couldn't comprehend why the eldest prince himself was here—personally receiving his brother instead of merely sending someone in his stead. The bond between royal siblings was rarely strong, their relationships dictated by duty rather than sentiment.
She cast a glance toward the sky, just as the private Ragnar jumbo jet came into view.
Alaric closed his tablet, handing it off to his secretary as the aircraft descended.
Screech.
The plane touched down. The reinforced gate hissed open.
Solren emerged, stretching, as if he had spent the entire journey confined within the private bedroom of the plane, stiff from inactivity. His sharp gaze met Alaric's, who was watching him with quiet scrutiny.
A smirk pulled at Solren's lips. "Brother, I'm back."
Alaric's expression remained unreadable, but he still stepped forward, embracing his brother in a firm yet brief hug.
"I am home."
"Glad to see you back, Sol."
The warmth of the exchange lasted for barely a breath before Alaric tone shifted.
"Tell me... is that thing still on the plane?"
"Yes. Security monitored it closely throughout the flight, ensuring its sedation remained intact with high-dosage anesthetics administered every few minutes."
Solren's brow furrowed slightly. Then, his gaze sharpened as realization dawned.
"Wait... don't tell me you're not actually here for me."
A faint, knowing smile tugged at Alaric's lips, yet he didn't answer.
The silence between them said enough.
Solren exhaled sharply, placing a hand dramatically over his chest.
"You wound me, brother. You didn't come just for me?"
His voice carried the perfect balance of jest and complaint, his eyes gleaming with feigned betrayal.
Alaric didn't even dignify the performance with amusement. His response was swift, cold, and absolute.
"It's Father's order."
Just like that, the humor drained from Solren's features. He straightened, his easygoing demeanor fading into something more serious, more fitting of the situation at hand.
Alaric turned to the security chief, his words concise.
"Ensure that all luggage is transported to its proper location."
The chief met his gaze with unwavering professionalism, yet they both knew the true meaning behind the command.
It wasn't about suitcases or royal amenities—it was about the human-sized containment box currently resting within the aircraft's cargo hold. A secret that someone of his stature does not deserve to know about.
And in all honesty, he truly does not want to know anything about that box, in case he ends up four feet beneath the ground. So he did what he should.
"Understood, Your Highness."
With that matter handled, Alaric shifted his attention back to Solren, gesturing subtly toward the exit.
"Let's go, Sol. We have several things to discuss."
Solren said nothing, merely falling into stride beside his brother. The easy reunion was gone—replaced by something heavier, something unsaid.
The future had just begun shifting, and whether either of them liked it or not, their father's will had already set the course.
Inside the car, surrounded by several other vehicles of the same color for safety reasons, which is moving toward the royal palace at very high speed:
Only Alaric and Solren are present inside it.
Alaric took a deep breath while driving the car.
Solren knows what is going to happen; unfortunately, he is not capable of stopping it.
"Tell me, Sol, when will you learn to start using that brain of yours, huh?"
"Do you know the consequences of your reckless action?"
"What face would I have shown to Father if you were to die in the middle of a fucking desert without even my knowledge?"
Solren did not reply nor take it to heart because he knew his brother was just worried about him. Unlike what others think, their bond is very strong.
"Speak something."
"Sorry, brother." Solren said with a subdued tone.
"At least you know."
"Now, tell me, how is he?"
Solren understood what his brother was talking about.
"To tell you the truth, I cannot say anything about him with certainty. One moment he talked like a crazy psychopath, talking about killing people like playing a game, and then suddenly the next moment he was fighting like a mindless beast. He kept attacking regardless of his own injuries, but the greatest threat about him is not his regeneration speed but his progress speed."
"In the beginning, even as a mindless beast, he was just attacking without any pattern, but just as the fight kept dragging, his moves began to truly reach me."
"If that's the case, then let's make sure to properly tame this mindless beast." Alaric said with a smirk.
"How?" Solren questioned.
Much to his annoyance Alaric just smiled in response.
Alaric touched the button of the communicator in his car and ordered before turning the steering wheel in a different direction.
"We are going toward Apex Hospital."
The Imperial Apex Medical Facility stands as a testament to the Ragnar Empire's unwavering commitment to perfection—both in healing and in evolution.
From the outside, it is nothing short of a marvel. Towering at 80 stories, the sleek obsidian and titanium-clad structure gleams under the empire's banners, seamlessly blending modern luxury with medical excellence.
The facility boasts private royal suites, each resembling a penthouse rather than a hospital room, equipped with AI-driven health monitors, neural-stabilizing beds, and fully automated surgical assistance systems. Every hall is lined with holographic interfaces, allowing instant access to patient records, genetic sequencing, and live feeds from ongoing procedures.
Elite medical professionals—hand-selected from across the empire—operate with precision, utilizing cutting-edge nanotechnology, bio-enhancement therapies, and rapid cellular regeneration treatments that ensure recovery times unthinkable to the common world.
Yet, beneath the surface lies the true heart of Imperial Apex.
Deep within its underground levels—buried beneath reinforced layers of alloyed steel, quantum-secure locks, and biometric scanners—the Vault exists in absolute secrecy. This facility is the empire's classified laboratory, dedicated solely to the research, experimentation, and enhancement of its superhuman assets.
The Vault is a labyrinth of sterile corridors, each one leading to restricted areas where genetic modification, nerve-augmentation trials, and classified bioengineering projects take place. The air hums with the quiet whir of machines optimizing human physiology far beyond natural limits.
In its most restricted depths, subjects undergo specialized treatments designed to refine their abilities—controlled injections of tailored nanobot swarms, exposure to hyper-accelerated gene therapy, and neurological augmentation designed to elevate cognitive and combat proficiency. Every procedure is overseen by top-tier scientists, operating under direct orders from Emperor Theron Ragnar himself.
Only those within the emperor's inner circle truly comprehend the full extent of what occurs within the Vault. Here, the future of superhuman warfare is being forged—hidden beneath the very place meant for healing.
Step Step
A man wearing a lab coat could be seen walking in the corridors of this vault and moving toward the underground parking with quick steps. His face carries a resemblance to Theron Ragnar, just a little too young; he looks like someone in the middle of his twenties.
Right now there is a smile on his face.
"Finally, finally, it's here," the boy muttered under his breath.
Thud
He slammed the underground parking gate open, where the security chief is ordering his subordinates to carry a human-sized box with care.
The security chief got startled by the loud noise.
The moment his eyes fell on the man, he made a 90-degree bow toward him.
"Your Highness"
Yes, he is Nael Ragnar. The third and youngest prince of the Ragnar empire.
Nael ignored the security chief and walked straight toward the box.
"Is that thing inside this?" He questioned with an excited tone.
"Yes, your highness."
"Open it; I want to look at what's inside." Nael ordered.
Sweat began to form on the forehead of every person around Nael. They cursed internally for the youngest prince being so spoiled.
"Did you not hear me?"
"Or"
"Are you all defying my order?"