Vescrutia: Legacy

[Continued From Here]

The Theta Jet descended through a canopy of storm-gray clouds, the shimmering expanse of the Western Isles unfurling below—a cluster of small islands just outside the continent of Muu. The once-azure waters of the surrounding ocean were now tinted with the industrial grit of the ishi camps, where sprawling refineries belched dark plumes of smoke into the air. Hitomi sat in silence, her gaze fixed on the distorted reflection of the jet’s underside on the water’s surface as they approached the landing strip.

From above, the main island was a mosaic of natural beauty scarred by industry. Verdant jungles bordered barren stretches of rocky shorelines, while the metallic gleam of factories and shipping docks marred the horizon. In the heart of the island stood the Gōkùdo Corporation’s central compound—a fortress of glass and steel, wreathed by towering black spires that cut through the haze like obsidian knives.

The jet’s landing gear hissed with the pressure of hydraulics as it touched down, the runway a stark stretch of blackened concrete lined with armed guards. Nearby, a convoy of armored vehicles waited, their engines purring like predators preparing to strike.

Akiko glanced nervously at the scene below, the weight of her task evident in the way her fingers twisted together. She looked to Hitomi for some indication of her mood, but the Xhi’on’s expression was unreadable. Hitomi didn’t rise from her seat until the jet had fully settled, then stood with unhurried precision and strode toward the exit. Akiko followed, her steps measured, her breathing controlled—a child walking in the shadow of a dragon.

The hatch opened with a sharp hiss, and the salty air of the Western Isles rushed inside, tinged with smoke and steel. Hitomi descended the staircase, her crimson robe billowing in the ocean breeze. At the bottom of the stairs, a man stepped forward—a stark figure clad in a tailored black suit, his expression neutral but his eyes sharp. Lord Rii’yuu, the Gōkùdo’s liaison to the Yaarou Clan, offered a precise bow, his silver hair catching the faint sunlight.

“Lady Xhi’on,” he intoned, bowing low. His voice was low and measured, each syllable clipped and precise. “Welcome to the Western Isles. The council awaits your arrival.”

Hitomi nodded in acknowledgment, her pace unbroken as she strode past him toward the convoy. The man fell in step beside her, his long stride easily matching hers.

“I have taken the liberty of ensuring the meeting is... secure. However, some members of the council have voiced doubts about the necessity of your visit.” he continued, his tone carefully respectful.

Hitomi glanced at him, her crimson eyes gleaming. “I look forward to hearing from them.”

Rii’yuu’s lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile, but he wisely offered no further comment.

The convoy moved swiftly through the compound gates, passing rows of armed guards and surveillance drones hovering like mechanical wasps. Beyond the outer perimeter, the fortress loomed closer, its walls reflecting the dull gray of the overcast sky. The deeper they traveled into the compound, the more oppressive the atmosphere became, as though the weight of power and ambition itself had sunk into the very soil.

Inside the fortress, the council chamber stood in stark contrast to the grim exterior. The circular hall was lined with intricate carvings of dragons, serpents, and waves—symbols of power and dominion. At its center was a massive table of black marble, surrounded by high-backed chairs occupied by the corporation’s highest-ranking members.

Hitomi entered with measured steps, her presence instantly commanding attention. Conversations ceased as the council members turned to face her, their gazes a mixture of curiosity, skepticism, and carefully masked hostility.

At the head of the table sat Don Rio Niatsu', the de facto leader of the council in the Xhi’on's abscence. His heavyset frame and rose-tinted shades gave him an imposing air of authority. Despite the tailored fit of his suit, his bulk strained against the fabric, a testament to years of indulgence paired with otherworldly physical strength.

“Ah... speak of the Devil,” Rio said, ashing his cigar and standing to address Hitomi’s arrival. His voice was rough, each word dragging like gravel. “Lady Xhi’on, we were just talkin’ about'cha.”

His tone was polite but devoid of warmth, like a wolf dressed in silk and finery. The rest of the council mirrored his gesture, rising from their seats in deference.

“I speak for the family when I say this: we’re honored to officially meet you.”

Hitomi stopped before the table, her gaze sweeping over the assembled members like a predator assessing its prey. She recognized a number of them from the files she had studied during her flight. Standing to Rio’s right was a far younger man known as Ryōshi Ahui. His sharp jawline and slicked back hair gave him a polished appearance. However, among the underworld he was a notorious weapons trafficker who hailed from a family of engineers. And beneath his sleek black suit was the Ahui Tribes claim to glory; cybernetic prosthetics that only looked like his arms and legs.

To Rio’s left sat Mei Takahara, the lone woman on the council. Dressed in a flowing, high-collared suit that exudes understated power, she carried herself with an air of calculated precision. Her files dictated that she controlled the corporation’s intelligence network, and her piercing gaze looked attuned to discerning secrets.

Each figure around the table radiated their own brand of power, but Hitomi felt no intimidation, only the quiet thrill of confrontation. She inclined her head slightly, her movements deliberate and regal.

“I trust our discussions will be as productive as they are respectful.”

Hitomi said, her voice cold and deliberate as her gaze lingered on Rio, a subtle warning cloaked in diplomacy. She gestured for them to return to their seats.

Rio smirked, his cigar clenched between his teeth as he slowly sat back down. “Well, respect’s a two-way street, m'fraid.. And it's bit hard to respect or trust someone you don't really know.” His sentiment echoed in low rumbles of agreement around the table. He took another drag of his cigar and allowed the smoke to roll out of his nose. “That being said, we expect nothing less. So tell me—what brings the Xhi’on to my little island?”

Hitomi stepped forward, her presence as icy as her tone. “Your Xhi’on expects your loyalty to be unwavering and absolute. My visit is to ensure the Gōkùdo remembers where their power originates—as well as where it ends.”

The room tensed as her words sank in, the thin veneer of civility stretching dangerously close to its breaking point.

Ryōshi was the first to respond. He crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing behind his shades. “And tell me, your highness, what if some of us believe loyalty is earned, not inherited?” he asked, his voice smooth but edged with arrogance. “Are you also here to convince us, Lady Xhi’on, why an eighteen-year-old deserves the same, blind allegiance we gave to the men who earned it thousands of years ago?”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the council, and Rio chuckled low, his massive shoulders shaking.

Hitomi straightened, her expression betraying no offense at the challenge. Instead, she took a slow, deliberate step toward Ryōshi. “Loyalty is earned,” she agreed, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “but disrespect is punished. Which lesson would you like to learn first?”

Ryōshi's smirk faltered, and the room seemed to hold its breath. Mei’s sharp eyes darted between them, and even Rio leaned forward slightly, intrigued by how the Xhi’on would handle the rising tension.

Hitomi’s crimson gaze bore into Ryōshi, unflinching and cold. The silence that followed her words was thick with anticipation, like the charged stillness before a thunderstorm. The council members exchanged glances, measuring the young Xhi’on’s resolve against her predecessor’s legacy.

Ryōshi’s arrogant smirk wavered just a bit, but he held his ground, his cybernetic fingers flexing imperceptibly. “Punishment?” He repeated, as if the words were foreign to his ears. “Is that a threat, Lady Xhi’on?”

Don Rio, watching intently, exhaled a plume of smoke and broke the tension with a low, gravelly chuckle. “Alright, alright. Let’s not let our egos get the best of us..” His gravelly voice dripped with false magnanimity as he adjusted his tie.

“In fact– I'd say we’ve all worked up an appetite. No reason to let business overshadow hospitality, eh?” He gestured with a wave of his cigar hand, and the double doors at the end of the chamber creaked open.

A line of Ishi slaves entered, their shackled wrists betraying the supposed civility of the setting. Clad in rough gray tunics, they moved with quiet precision, balancing trays of ornate dishes and fine drinks. Their faces covered by masks or bandages, their heads fixed downward as they placed the refreshments on the table.

“Please, help yourselves,” Rio said, leaning back in his chair. He gestured toward the spread—a lavish display of roasted meats, fresh seafood, and gilded bottles of wine.

Hitomi’s gaze lingered on the slaves, her face impassive but her mind cataloging the scene. She declined the refreshments and remained standing as she addressed the group. “Let’s not lose sight of why we’re here, Don Rio. I’d hate for this visit to feel like a wasted effort.”

Rio smirked, raising his own glass. “Of course not, Lady Xhi’on. Let’s get down to brass tacks, then.”

The council murmured in agreement, their earlier tension slightly dulled by the arrival of food and drink. Hitomi took her seat, folding her hands in her lap as her sharp gaze cut through the room.

“First,” she began, her voice slicing through the air, “I want an explanation for the... discrepancies in the Ishi reports. Specifically, the recent loss of labor.”

Rio’s smirk faltered, though he quickly recovered, taking a deliberate sip from his glass. “We’ve had... some disruptions,” he admitted, his tone carefully casual. “Nothing we can’t handle. A few rogue elements have been stirring up trouble, but it’s being dealt with.”

Hitomi raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘rogue elements’.’’

Mei Takahara leaned forward, her sharp features framed by the soft glow of the room’s low light. “A faction of shinobi,” she said. Her tone was clipped, efficient. “Highly organized, highly skilled. We’ve traced their activities to Edo, but their identities and full motives remain unclear. They’ve liberated several camps over the last month.”

Hitomi’s gaze darkened. “And how long has this been happening?”

Rio grunted, his massive hand waving dismissively. “Long enough to know it’s a thorn in our side but not a knife in our back.” He said, shooting a glance at Mei. Aside from being the de facto CEO of the Gōkùdo, the export of Ishi labor was his primary domain.

“Yet,” Hitomi said, her tone icy. The single word landed like a hammer on the table. “If this information has reached me, I assure you it’s no secret. Your ineptitude reflects on the Gōkùdo and, by extension, Me. And I expect solutions, not excuses.”

Mei cleared her throat, clearly eager to shift the conversation. “There are bigger problems on the horizon—the Bhalian Empire. My sources indicate they are moving closer to the Western Isles, and their presence is becoming harder to ignore.”

“Yes, I am aware.” Hitomi turned her attention to Rio, her expression unreadable. “And what are the Gōkùdo doing about it?”

Rii’yuu interjected, his voice calm but firm. “We’ve fortified our holdings and increased surveillance. But the truth is, Lady Xhi’on, the Bhalian threat is unlike anything we’ve faced before. Their reach extends far beyond mere military power. They’re buying loyalties, subverting alliances. It’s... insidious.”

Hitomi’s fingers tapped lightly on the table, her mind racing through the implications. The Bhalian Empire’s growing influence posed a direct challenge not only to the Gōkùdo but to the Yaarou’s supremacy as well.

Rio exhaled a plume of smoke, his voice gravelly and low. “What we need, your grace, is clarity. We know we aren't their target, but B'halia swings with a pretty big stick. Our territories would be caught in the crossfire, and we need to know if the Yaarou are capable of backing us if we come to blows with a fuckin’ Empire. Or would we be expected to fend for ourselves?”

Hitomi stood, her presence once again commanding the room. “The Yaarou do not abandon their allies,” she said. “But loyalty is a two-way street, as you so aptly put it. Show me you’re worthy of our support. Fix the situation with the shinobi. Strengthen your defenses against the Empire. Prove to me that the Gōkùdo remains an asset—not a liability.”

The council members exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of her words pressing down on them like a stormcloud. Rio met her gaze, his lips curling into a reluctant smile. “Fair enough,” he said, raising his glass in a mock toast. “To loyalty, then.”

Hitomi didn’t return the gesture, but her crimson eyes gleamed with a dangerous satisfaction. “To loyalty,” she echoed, her tone as cold as steel.

The chamber buzzed faintly with nervous energy as Don Rio’s toast concluded, the tension lingering in the air like the low hum of distant machinery. Yet Ryōshi, seated with a composed arrogance, was clearly unsatisfied.

He leaned forward, the dim light casting sharp shadows across his angular features, his expression a deliberate mix of mirth and menace.

“Before we move on,” he began, his voice smooth but cutting, “there’s still the matter of my punishment, Lady Xhi’on.”

The room stilled instantly.

Ryōshi let the silence linger, savoring the weight of every pair of eyes now fixed on him.

“You see, I’ve been reflecting on your earlier remarks,” he continued, gesturing faintly with one hand as if conducting the room's attention, “and I find them… troubling.”

Mei shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her expression darkening. “Ryōshi, this isn’t the—”

“On the contrary,” Ryōshi interjected sharply, his gaze never leaving Hitomi. “I believe this is precisely the time. After all, I suspect I’m not the only one wondering… What exactly gives you the authority to speak to me, or to any of us, in such a manner?”

A ripple of unease passed through the council, their silence betraying no one’s willingness to intercede. Even Don Rio, who had been casually swirling his wine moments earlier, now held his glass aloft in still contemplation.

Ryōshi’s lips curled into a wolfish grin. “I’ve heard the tales,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “The youngest Xhi’on in the Yaarou’s history, and yet proclaimed to be the most powerful? Surely a jest.”

“Ryōshi—” Mei tried again, her voice tense, but he ignored her entirely.

“No, no, allow me,” he said, leaning back with exaggerated confidence. “Because here you are, a child, untested, unearned, mouthing the language of power and punishment like it belongs to you.”

The air thickened, charged with unspoken warnings.

“The Yaarou,” Ryōshi continued, spreading his arms as if addressing a grand audience, “were indeed mighty once. Rii’ku the Stormbringer was perhaps their last great flame. But now? Your tribe is an echo, a relic of a forgotten era.”

His gaze swept around the room, landing on each council member before returning to Hitomi.

“The Gōkùdo, on the other hand, embodies power incarnate. Products of our predecessors sure, but we are the force of the present—of the future.” He inclined his head toward Don Rio. “With respect to our esteemed leader, there isn’t a living being more dangerous than me.”

Ryōshi’s voice carried a triumphant weight, a man convinced of his invincibility. ”With one of my arms, I could wipe out an entire country while I drink my wine with the other.”

The chamber remained silent. Hitomi, for her part, had yet to say a word. Her expression was unreadable, her crimson eyes fixed on him with unnerving calm.

Ryōshi leaned forward again, emboldened by her quiet. “So, Lady Xhi’on,” he said, his voice thick with condescension, “if you wish to command respect, you’ll need to earn it. Perhaps a demonstration– to show us what makes you worthy of that seat.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Mei’s knuckles whitened as she gripped her chair. “Ryōshi, that’s enou—”

“No,” Hitomi interrupted, her voice soft but carrying an unmistakable finality. She rose from her chair, her movements deliberate, her presence suddenly dominating the room. “He’s right.”

The council exchanged uneasy glances.

Hitomi’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “I should demonstrate.”

Ryōshi straightened in his seat, momentarily surprised by her agreement, but quickly masked it with his signature arrogance.

“Well then,” he said, spreading his arms. “By all means. Let’s see what the youngest Xhi’on in history is capable of.”

The whirring of gears within his prosthetics echoed faintly in the chamber as steam hissed from hidden vents. His limbs tensed, radiating heat, ready for action.

Hitomi tilted her head slightly, her gaze never wavering.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then, a crimson blur.

Ryōshi’s head vanished, replaced by a fine mist of blood that painted the wall behind him in a grotesque mural. A dark, hand-shaped smear trailed down the ornate paneling, as though marking the finality of his life.

The mechanical whirs of his prosthetics sputtered briefly before falling silent. His body sat upright for a fraction of a second, lifeless, before collapsing forward onto the table with a resounding thud.

The room froze in collective shock.

Gasps and muted exclamations broke the silence, but no one dared move. Even Don Rio, his face as impassive as stone, seemed momentarily taken aback.

Mei’s trembling voice was the first to break through. “What… what just—”

Hitomi, already seated again, adjusted the cuff of her sleeve with measured precision. She wiped a stray speck of blood from her cheek before addressing the stunned council.

“Now then.. were there.. any more discrepancies that needed to be addressed? Specifically concerning my age, and or my apparent lack of strength? I understand that Ryōshi may have spoken for a lot of you. So if any of you have anything you'd like to say.. ”

No one answered.

The silence stretched until Akiko, ever composed, stepped forward. “Shall I note this incident, Lady Xhi’on?”

Hitomi waved her hand dismissively. “No need.” She turned her gaze to Akiko, her tone businesslike. “Though I do expect Ryōshi’s prosthetics to be salvaged and repurposed. Waste is unbecoming.”

Akiko nodded, making a quick note on her tablet. “Of course, My Paragon. Shall I proceed with the itinerary?”

“Do,” Hitomi replied, her voice calm, almost bored.

Akiko glanced at her screen. “Next, we have a representative from the Santmano Corporation here to discuss agricultural matters—”

“Agriculture?” Hitomi interrupted, arching a skeptical brow as her gaze flicked to Lord Rii'yuu, who'd been entirely stunned up until now.

He cleared his throat, “Yes, My Paragon. They are more than they seem. A bloodline of pioneers with a… certain predilection for power.”

Hitomi’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the table as she considered his words. Finally, she gave a slight nod.

“Send them in.”

Waiting in the hall way checking the relays on his wrist watch was Avon Quinn. Dressed for the occasion in a clean business suit that was of course company property for the appropriate first impression. Not that the inquisitive mind inside of it couldn't afford it himself, it was easier to cover the cost if it was destroyed or stolen. Coming all the way out to the boonies of the Edo wasn't on Avon's bucket list but he certainly didn't scoff at the view, the carvings and statues especially added to the islands stormy destructive atmosphere, the dreamscape of a tyrant if he ever came across one.

Being the liasion for entities that needed to support entire nations had led him across a few such settings, and many that flourished after his departure never for him to lay eyes on again. Regardless there were many examples of their products a few that could be seen upon entry into the airspace of the Gōkùdo corporation. Decloaking his Spectre Jet and engaging in clearance for landing should have revealed a signature that was completely outside of the light spectrum beforehand, whether or not the Gōkùdo had means to detect him it wasn't their machines he had intentions of deceiving.

If the general public were to know the provider of their grain seed and power supplies was making deals with leaders known for being less than righteous to their people, they could possibly lose quit a lot of business. Thankfully the cloaking ability of the Alphos generator was not a factory function and kept mostly confidential amongst those that could take apart the machine and actually understand what they were looking at.

By far not one of the common quality products, it was their advancements into magnetic fields that allowed their magitechnology to be so successful, most wouldn't consider it unique amongst the competition but it thoroughly proved the efficiency in even its most redundant features. It wouldn't be the versatility of the Spectre he was selling today though, and the only reason his attention was drawn to its stabilization levels was the sudden spike of 'free' ectoplasm in the building even though there was no discernable commotion.

To Avon that meant one of two things either this place was haunted or the Gōkùdo were no stranger to sacrifice. Either way the hair on the back of his neck stood up and fluttered across his skin, disappearing as quickly as they came as he straightened his cufflink back and regained composure of his thoughts, the implications of such a relationship bringing excitement and optimism to what he thought would have been a boring presentation otherwise.

The door opening up would have revealed him waiting patiently off to the side to be invited into the chambers, and once inside he brought with him the refreshing buzz of curiosity with him. Setting his briefcase down next to him he found himself being observed by such a diverse set of emotions he knew his work was cut out for him, until he saw the reason slumped in one of the chairs he was examining. He almost made a pained face but he couldn't reveal yet the waste he thought of such a decision, but instead savoring the suspense in the value of such a liquid margin.

"Avon Quinn, Senior Member of International Marketing for Santmano Magricultural, pleased to make all of your acquaintances. I assure you I appreciate, And Respect, all of your time, so I would like to inquire. Is there anyone completely unfamiliar with our products or can I proceed with our Covert Community Catalog?"

He said emphatically, speaking with an air and a nose for power and money. Almost praising the egos in the room that allowed him in their space, and further rewarding their knowledge with the eye contact and smile of a successful salesmen. Even tactfully and honestly allowing space for and all scrutiny that could exist about the reliability of the company he worked for. The energy he spoke with might have betrayed his knowledge of psychology and years of experience in sales but it was pretty brown-nosey nonetheless, it was not Avon's intention to make anything but friends on this trip, as was his job, even if he left without a dime.

The air in the chamber was thick with a palpable tension, the kind that seemed to press down on every surface, amplifying the muffled sound of footsteps and the faint rustle of fabric. A trace of unease clung to the council members, their postures betraying the psychological weight of what had just transpired. Eyes flickered nervously to where an attendant, silent as a shadow, worked to remove the remains of Ryōshi’s decapitated body. The sharp metallic scent of blood lingered faintly, mingling with the room's incense—a stark contrast that seemed almost purposeful.

The wall where Ryōshi’s life had ended bore a faint smear of crimson, hastily cleaned but still visible enough to remind everyone of the consequences of failure. It loomed as a silent witness to the council’s ruthlessness, its presence a quiet but undeniable threat.

Hitomi sat apart from the tension, her figure reclining with an almost insulting casualness in her chair. She hadn’t moved or spoken since Avon entered the chamber, and her crimson eyes remained fixed on him, smoldering like embers beneath a paper-thin calm. There was no need for grand gestures or theatrical displays of power—her aura alone was enough. It demanded attention while offering nothing in return, a silent proclamation that she was the true weight in the room.

The council members exchanged subtle glances, each assessing Avon with varying degrees of interest and suspicion. Don Rio, seated nearest to the center, finally leaned forward, his sharp features partially obscured by the room’s dim lighting. His thin fingers swirled the wine in his glass with a deliberate grace, the ruby liquid catching the faint glow of the chamber’s lanterns.

“The Santmono Company’s reputation precedes you,” he said, his tone smooth and unhurried, like a predator circling prey. “However, I’ve sat through more pitches than I can count in these very halls, each one promising to be groundbreaking, indispensable.” He paused, letting his words hang in the air like smoke before adding with a faint smirk, “Rarely, though, do they deliver anything of substance.”

His words were a challenge wrapped in diplomacy, but his gaze briefly flicked to Hitomi, as if to gauge her reaction or perhaps to defer to her authority. She gave none, remaining still, her expression unreadable, though her gaze never left Avon. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken tension.

When no response came from her, Don Rio took it as permission to continue. He raised his glass to his lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip, the faint clink of crystal breaking the quiet. “You may proceed,” he said, his voice laced with a mix of indifference and intrigue, his sharp eyes watching Avon for the slightest reaction.

All attention shifted to the man at the center of the room, the weight of expectation settling squarely on his shoulders.

Avon released a tension in his shoulders that a brought a vulnerable expression to his face, he smiled. Grateful for the surprise of an orderly reception. Relishing the attention of such a powerful audience so quickly was not usually such a demure task. Avon had stood through enough monologues and distracted audiences to know the value of a good leader.

Clearing his throat he met the young ladies gaze fully before bowing before the secure reigns that she held over the room.

"Thank you so kindly for the opportunity to represent my company to your court."

It was all but obvious who the culprit of authority was in the room. As a business man that was all that matter to Avon, everything else like age, race, name, relations was semantics to this walking catalog. Money and power were his second and third languages besides Vescrutian and only one person in the room had nothing at all to prove with those words, his job was abundantly clear to him.

"I promise no such thing as an indispensable product. The only thing I can promise might interest you is the client list I might have already."


As he said this he scrolled through some options on his relay watch before stepping away from his suitcase. While he took off his glasses and stretched them casually into a pointer a light popped out the top of the suitcase. A hologram manifested above it with three rolling dials each one enhancing pictures as they scrolled by slowly, one dial had seeds, another fertilizer, and the last, generators. Stepping towards the reminder on the wall in faux examination before he began speaking.

"Now I would say I'm a peaceful man but to be peaceful in this age you need a reliable backbone, something to hold your boundaries, uphold your rules, and trod down your enemies. That sounds an awful lot like an army to me, but it could also be any skilled community willing to band together."


He said with a smirk and a humorous shrug, he had done an abrupt 180. Watching his footsteps mostly as he spoke thoughtfully, heading back to the briefcase he had left to be a spectacle, but still sparing two seconds to glance and make sure everyone was following.

"Now, when I think about an army, or any community of well trained individuals with a purpose, there are a few key things I consider when determining its reliability. Food, Order, and Strength, if all of those things are in order then I don't see how any army could fail with a competent commander. I am here, cunning ladies and fair gentlemen, to provide you with the most direct means my company has to offer in support of those intentions."

Pointing at his diagram finally he begun the breakdown of naked essentials of what Sontmano had to offer.

"Our seeds are genetically enhanced to grow and reproduce in any climate that you can find a human doing the same, thus our claim to fame. These seeds here allow the consumer to benefit from that trait by literally draining all wasted conscious energy back into the soil, growing plants, while sharpening the consumers awareness to established obedience and danger stimuli. Continued consumption of the fruit of these seeds increases strength while decreasing the ability to object to any established order consciously."

He spoke while scrolling through the different fruits and vegetables that had this affect. Some were more potent than others in physical affects other were attuned for the senses, and then there were clearly those without benefit to the consumer while still draining energy, some of them deliberately more than necessary.

"Our fertilizers, as you know, can change the phenological expression of the plants; bigger, better juicier. The special deal I have for you today, and so long as you have my number,"

He diverted their attention to his charming smile as he joked by giving the new Xhi'on a glance and a wink.

"Allows access to fertilizer that will store extra conscious energy right beneath your feet. This saturates the ground with everything your seeds need to produce good nutrients for your soldiers, as well as a well stocked supply of fuel for your generators to turn into electricity. The variety for this product as you see here comes in various forms of vibrancy and discretion."

The most subtle would form rock like particles of this energy only to reflect light under direct moonlight, while the flashy, gaudy variant radiated patterns of light that echoed against every motion that touched its surface.

"And lastly, but certainly not least, are our Power Field Generators."

Moving his pointer accordingly he prepared for the beginning of the end of his rant on what he saw as the companies bread and butter, the sinker, the extraordinary triumph of Sontmano. While an ordinary citizen would have no business exerting enough force on the magnetic field to destabilize the ectoplasmic core to the point of failure, the dangerous high end clients shattered the common load limit like mountain ice when both suns are out. The only machines they provided to common knowledge that even had a function that could overload the core were military grade but that had yet to be explained.

"Like most of our products we try to provide the Fulgus in every shape a Vescrutian might need to accommodate space, they can be recharged 'Indefinitely' and replaceable under warranty blah blah blah"


Putting actual finger quotes up could imply deceptive intentions behind their advertising but he definitely gave the leader of this powerful table of men a a quick knowing glance as he said the word. The image people had of Sontmano's products were important even though everyone that bought them knew they were about as useful as an electric heater in a blizzard if you didn't have the means to support a farm in the first place. None of their products were a quick fix, but they promised solutions. This new leader might not be the smartest, strongest, person at the council, but she commanded them with that authority.

"What is Not sold to the general public are the different Field Applications the Fulgos can be applied to. The Aphos renders its magnetic field and its inhabitants completely invisible to any specifiable light spectrum. The Zincos generates an ionic pulse that boosts natural healing and general wellness within it's radius. Perfect for bedrooms, bathrooms, or war camps!"

Taking a casual shot at humor never hurt when he wasn't telling a lie. It helped even in the most stressful situations, besides it never failed to amuse him personally to see where selfish lords actually the put the most investment of their benefits towards. He didn't take a look to see if it landed.

"And then we have the Aphoshin."

Every iteration of this machine would have a net-like stand extending from its base, both firm and soft versions, interfacing with the surface of the surrounding magnetic field's structure more intricately.

A literal force field generator that uses any magnetic field that its attached to t begin repelling kinetic projectiles within a meter away or even further given the strength of the field. This machine is capable of becoming so strong it can keep anything from touching its target within centimeters as long as it's core remains stable.

Keeping his pointer on the image as he turned to emphasis his sentence, finish it with a bold daring look in the new Xi'on's eyes. He doubted t was a coincidence the Don responded to his request with a meeting while he was transferring his power. Thinking he was meant to bore the new ruler into certain delegations of power was not farfetched and it lit a certain inspirational fire to guarantee at least a good first impression.

"Would anyone care for a demonstration?"

He said as he folded his glasses back out of the pointer and returned them to his face. Checking his relays on his wrist once again the spinning of the hologram ceased and disappeared before covering it with his sleeve and holding out his left. Obviously a betting man, quietly hoping they had seen enough unnecessary bloodshed for the day. Even though he didn't want to believe his life was on the line he know it wasn't easy to take out a practitioner of Ahui cybernetics, much less leave them unrecognizable. They were seen as very honorable competition amidst Sontmano's genetic division, but Avon knew an opportunity when he saw one. Holding his arm out confidently he thought about the eight pure plasmoid cells apart of the Fulgos that was his briefcase, plus the single one that ran the Aphoshin strapped to his back. If the Aphoshin could protect him from a firing squad, the Fulgus should provide enough power to it to protect a small village from an airstrike. Even if it depleted the core and left him stranded he believed it would still leave him better off than the last guy that got dragged out.

The room was silent, save for the faint hum of Avon's technology as he stood poised, his arm outstretched. The atmosphere had shifted from mere intrigue to a palpable intensity, with the council members exchanging glances laden with calculation. The offer Avon had presented was as audacious as it was comprehensive—bordering on the realm of fantasy for any who did not know Sontmano's reputation.

Hitomi leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing as if she were weighing Avon's very soul. Her crimson gaze bore into him, assessing not just the man but the implications of his pitch. If she noticed the sly confidence in his stance, she gave no indication of approval—or disapproval, for that matter.

Don Rio broke the silence, his voice dripping with amusement, though it carried an edge. "A demonstration, you say?" He placed his glass down with deliberate care, the faint clink echoing in the chamber. "I must admit, Mr. Avon, you've crafted quite the spectacle. But words and holograms are as fleeting as smoke in this room. Proof, however, has weight."

He said as his glare drifted toward his Xhion, who had remained eerily still during Avon's pitch. She'd been processing what she'd heard compared to what she'd been briefed on. The Sontmano Company; agricultural pioneers, who were apparently capable of far more devastating potential than she realized. A concrete display of said potential was more than enough to garner her attention.

When she finally spoke, her voice was low but commanding. She did quirk her brow, intrigued by Avon's proposition. Her gaze rested on his extended arm. Offering it up to her as tribute? Or as a testimony to the validity of his product. Hitomi didnt bother to think about it for too long. She'd simply humor him.

”Bring me his hand.” Was all she said, her tone devoid of emotion. Don Rio did well withholding his devilish smirk. But when given the go ahead, he didn't hesitate. He rose up from his seat, the shift in his weight enough to cause the table to shake as he slowly walked over to Avon.

Don Rio was an enormous man, nearly 7” tall and few hundred pounds of pudgy muscle, bound behind his button up suit. He reached Avon with a smile resting on his lips as he casually took Avon's hand into his own. His palm was large enough to literally swallow Avon's entire hand within his grasp. And upon doing so, Rio then displayed the strength that was fabled to reduce mountains. He attempted to yank Avon's hand right off.

Standing as leisurely as possible he glanced away in anticipation of the reaction. Using the most expensive version of the product would allow for he return of the force applied instead of mere dampening. It was usually a ricochet affect but the man's grip would have completely enveloped the area of repulsion and even though his shades would have protected him from the flash he always had a subconscious warning for himself and others.

A hexagonal pattern flashed upon his grip on the field, before even touching his suit, and arcs would fly into sparks against the force of his mighty grip. Whether it would send the man or his hand flying was up to the clients own structure and equipment. If he used enough strength to rip his own hand off before he realized it's futility, it might very well be lost, or the man would feel the full brunt of his attack against the ligaments of his phalanges.

Upon successful repulsion Avon would inquire with a stern gaze about the well being of the participant. Of course if he withstood his own strength and lacked the pain impulses to win an arm wrestling match with himself with every single digit alone Avon might very well be flung across the room with that yank. The force field however would remain intact.

"The only way I fear you could take my hand at the moment, would be in marriage my dear"

The most he would accomplish is flexing the Aphosin field to his grip and awkwardly carrying the merchant to his boss amidst sparks of electricity. Powered wirelessly he only needed to maintain a certain distance in in its radius to remain virtually invulnerable.

The chamber was deathly silent for a fraction of a second, as if the very room itself was stunned by the spectacle. Then— crack. A sharp, sickening sound echoed through the space as Don Rio’s own strength betrayed him.

The force field’s hexagonal pattern flared brilliantly, repelling his grip with unprecedented efficiency. Sparks snapped against his fingers, dancing like tiny bolts of lightning as the repulsion effect sent a shockwave through his arm. His wrist twisted unnaturally for a moment, muscles spasming from the backlash.

A breath later, a dull thud followed—his empty chair had tumbled backward as he caught himself on the table, barely maintaining his composure. He flexed his fingers experimentally, rolling his wrist with a measured slowness, as if testing for lasting damage beyond his sight. Though he remained outwardly composed, a muscle in his jaw twitched—a silent concession that the force field had bested him.

A low murmur rippled through the council. Some of the older members leaned forward, eyes narrowing in new interest. A few exchanged knowing glances, their previous skepticism melting into a more neutral, calculating gaze.

Hitomi, however, had not moved. She remained slouched in her chair, crimson eyes glinting beneath the low light. For a moment, she said nothing, merely observing the aftermath with detached amusement. Then, finally, a slow smirk curled at the edge of her lips.

“..cute.” Her voice was soft, yet it carried easily across the room.

Avon’s quip had been bold, and despite the electricity still crackling in the air, he had delivered it smoothly. Hitomi’s expression didn’t waver, but her fingers drummed idly against the armrest of her seat. A casual rhythm, but one that hinted at something deeper—perhaps a thoughtfulness masked beneath her apparent amusement.

“Quite the demonstration.” She tilted her head ever so slightly, eyes flicking toward Don Rio. “Wouldn’t you say so, Don?”

Don Rio exhaled through his nose, shaking off whatever tension still lingered in his fingers. He chuckled lowly, a sound like gravel sliding beneath a boot. “A hell of a kick on that thing,” he admitted, rolling his shoulder. “Wasn’t expecting to arm wrestle a damn storm.”

The council chuckled lightly—tentative, testing the mood. But the energy in the room had undeniably shifted..

Hitomi leaned forward, resting her chin against her palm. “I’ll admit, Mr. Avon, you’ve piqued my curiosity. That doesn’t happen often.”

She paused, then, with slow deliberation, gestured toward the space between them. “Again..”

The room fell silent once more. Eyes darted between Avon, Don Rio, and their leader. A second test—was it intrigue, or was she hunting for flaws? Whatever the case, the weight of her command settled into the air, thick and undeniable.

Hitomi's smile remained, lazy and unbothered. “I want to see what else it can do.”

However, Akiko silently leaned over Hitomi's shoulder, and whispered into her ear. Hitomi heaved a heavy sigh soon after. “..Actually, Mr Avon.. a second test won't be necessary. Apparently, I have another meeting in Muu. with some people less patient than I am. Which honestly, might be up for debate. " She said, suddenly rising from her seat– causing the surrounding members of the Gōkùdo to rise from the chairs in respect. “But your contributions to the Gōkùdo are acknowledged and appreciated. Relay to your superiors that we look forward to working with the Sontmano in the near future.”

A cloud of irritation circled her head as Hitomi made her way to the door, followed closely by Akiko. The remaining members bowed their heads in reverence upon her exit.




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