Vescrutia: Legacy

The Tarkan Plains stretched endlessly beneath the Aeonian sky, a vast, rolling sea of golden grass swaying in the wind. It was a land untouched by industry, its ecosystem balanced by the slow, deliberate passage of the seasons. Wildlife thrived among the tall stalks, and for centuries, nomadic clans navigated the open expanse, living in harmony with the land.

But in a matter of months, the serenity of the Tarkan Plains would be shattered to ruin.

--

At the behest of the Hitomi Yaarou and the Gōkùdo Corporation, a calculated, methodical devastation of the land began. The first phase of construction saw the arrival of heavy excavation machines—towering mechanical leviathans leased from Santmano Corporation. These machines moved in tight, disciplined formations, razing entire acres at a time beneath their tread until the once-verdant landscape became a skeletal ruin of upturned soil, torn roots, and displaced life. The few surviving wildlife either fled or perished in the wake of the destruction. What remained was repurposed as food or experimental fodder.

In days, the horizon of the Tarkan Planes drastically changed. Where once there were sweeping forests, their ancient canopies stretching high with an untamed majesty, now lay an expanse of scorched earth and raw industry. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning wood, the distant crackle of trees succumbing to the relentless march of progress. Smoke curled into the sky in thin, black ribbons, a funeral pyre for the land that once was.

With the land stripped bare, engineers and surveyors arrived to mark the location of the Santiva Complex–facility dedicated to the planting, cultivation, and refinement of the Santmano's Sanctiva Lily. Every inch of the project site was mapped and sectioned with military precision, ensuring no wasted space..

The Sanctiva Complex was designed to be self-sustaining—a sprawling fortress of industry, cultivation, and containment. The facility would feature massive automated greenhouses, capable of adjusting internal climates to optimize the Sanctiva Lily’s unnatural growth cycle. The Santmano Corporation had genetically designed these seeds to flourish in any environment that could sustain human life, but the Tarkan Plains’ nutrient-rich soil would maximize its yield.

To construct this industrial marvel in record time, the Gōkùdo Corporation turned to Ishi Slaves. Entire encampments of Ishi were transported en masse to the Tarkan Plains from the Yaarou compounds in Edo, where their hands were soon bloodied from a relentless toil under the Aeonian sun. Their tasks were brutal: hauling stones, erecting steel supports, laying irrigation channels, and reinforcing the facility’s structural integrity.

Beyond the facility’s main perimeter, slave encampments were erected to accommodate the growing workforce. Rows of prefabricated barracks, reinforced yet bare, stood as temporary housing for the enslaved laborers. Rations were minimal, medical care nonexistent, and any sign of defiance was swiftly and publicly punished.

In addition to the enslaved workforce, third-party contractors—lured under the guise of lucrative labor contracts—were brought in for specialized tasks. Most arrived unaware of the true nature of their employment, only to find themselves effectively imprisoned within the growing complex. The Gōkùdo Corporation had no intention of allowing them to leave with knowledge of its operations. Upon completion of their work, most would be forcibly “reassigned” to other black sites or quietly disposed of.

A ten-meter-high electrified perimeter fence, also designed by Santmano, was erected first as a means to reinforce security. This fence pulsed with an energy field that not only delivered fatal shocks but also interfered with communication signals, preventing unwanted transmissions from within the facility. Drone sentries, equipped with high-resolution scanning technology, patrolled the skies, while guard towers, operated by Gōkùdo mercenaries, ensured no unauthorized personnel entered or exited.

Massive prefabricated factory components, sourced from Gōkùdo’s extensive network of corporate partners and suppliers, were airlifted and positioned with near-mechanical precision almost daily. Within weeks, thousands of laborers—both human and machine—assembled the skeletal framework of the industrial complex. Automated assembly drones, outfitted with Santmano’s proprietary engineering protocols, accelerated construction to an almost inhuman pace.

By the end of the third month, the Sanctiva Complex loomed over the Tarkan Plains like an iron edict—an unyielding monument to unchecked ambition. Where once the grasslands stretched in wild defiance, now stood a vast, mechanized cathedral of agriculture and industry, its foundation laid upon the broken backs of the enslaved.

At its core rose the Administrative Citadel, a monolithic structure of reinforced steel and mirrored glass. Within its walls, research laboratories, genetic refinement chambers, and high-security storage vaults ensured the sanctity of the Gōkùdo Corporation’s most insidious creation. Here, scientists in sterilized suits worked tirelessly to perfect the Sanctiva Lily’s genetic lineage, modifying its reproductive cycles, optimizing its potency, and refining the molecular composition of its fruit for mass consumption.

Beyond the citadel, the industrial sector of the complex pulsed with mechanical precision. Towering processing plants roared day and night, their cavernous interiors illuminated by the rhythmic glow of hydroponic lighting. Conveyor belts clattered as autonomous assembly lines sorted, packaged, and sealed the harvested crop into neatly labeled containers—each one an unassuming vector for control. From seed to shipment, every step in the process was engineered not just for efficiency but for absolute dominion.

----

By the fourth month, the once-untamed plains had been reshaped into a landscape of sterile perfection. Rows of Sanctiva crops stretched toward the horizon in regimented symmetry, their growth accelerated by the bioengineered resilience woven into their DNA. Unlike ordinary flora, these plants did not merely draw sustenance from soil and water; they fed upon something far more vital—the Naten of those who worked the fields.

With every hour spent toiling in the plantation, the laborers unwittingly fueled the very organism that bound them. And the effects were immediate. The Sanctiva Lily was no mere agricultural marvel; it was a biochemical tether, an organic instrument of subjugation. Its fruit bestowed unnatural vitality, heightened perception, and sharpened reflexes, but at a price no ledger recorded—each bite eroded the consumer’s capacity for dissent. Willpower yielded to instinct, instinct yielded to structure, and structure became obedience.

Fatigue among the workforce became rare, replaced by a relentless, almost mechanical efficiency. Yet with this newfound stamina came something more insidious—an erosion of will. Whispers spread through the camps, voices hushed yet eerily aligned. Awareness sharpened, but the instinct for defiance dulled. Slowly, imperceptibly, the Sanctiva fruit was making its way into their rations, its influence seeding itself within their very being.

In the grand calculus of the Gōkùdo’s vision, the Sanctiva Complex was not merely a plantation. It was the quiet architecture of an empire—built not through conquest, but through compliance.. Growing not crops, but subjects.

Officially, the crop was to be heralded as a breakthrough in sustainable nutrition—a marvel of modern bioengineering, capable of feeding entire populations with minimal ecological strain. But in truth, it was a weapon masquerading as sustenance. And as the Sanctiva Plantation neared completion, the Gōkùdo Corporation prepared to unveil the next phase: distribution.

—

Lord Rii’yuu stood atop the northern observation tower, his silhouette framed against the artificial glow of the Sanctiva Complex. The air was thick with the scent of processed soil and synthetic nutrients, a manufactured ecosystem designed for one purpose alone: expansion.

With a practiced, unreadable gaze, he surveyed the final stages of completion. Below, teams of laborers—both trafficked and unwittingly conscripted—moved with eerie synchronization, their minds dulled by the fruits of the Sanctiva Lily. The project was no longer just a theory; the effects were real, measurable, and absolute. Dissent among captives was dissolving. Resistance had become an afterthought. Each harvest fed the plants, and in turn, the plants fed the workforce, an unbroken cycle of obedience that required no chains, no shackles—only continued consumption.

And Rii’yuu loathed it.

Not for its purpose—he harbored no sentiment for the fate of lesser beings, and held the utmost respect for the Gōkùdo's ambitions—but because he had been ordered to remain here, overseeing logistics like some glorified steward.

He was a warrior, an enforcer of Gōkùdo’s will, not a warden tending to fields of mind-altering flora. He should have been at the Xhi’on's Hitomi’s side, ensuring her path remained unchallenged. Instead, he was stuck here, in this barren stretch of Aeon, watching crops grow.

“This truly is a loathsome land..” He murmured to himself, still unaccustomed to the frigid temperatures of Aeon. “Perhaps the ugliest I've ever been so unlucky to see.. But what bettter place to grow this poison."

A low vibration rippled through the facility as the final shipments were prepared for transport. Massive cargo drones lifted from the ground, their reinforced hulls packed with sealed containers, each filled with the fruits of their labor—both literal and figurative. Soon, the Sanctiva Lily would spread across Vescrutua, an invasion masquerading as trade.

It was time.

"Finally."

Turning from the tower, Rii’yuu descended swiftly, his dark robes trailing behind him as he moved through the cold corridors of the Administrative Citadel. The air inside was sterile, humming with the subtle pulse of artificial climate control. Reaching the secure communications chamber, he approached the console at the center of the room and activated the link.

“This is Lord Rii’yuu, Overseer of the Sanctiva Complex, requesting an audience with Lady Xhi’on.”

His voice was measured, devoid of emotion. A request was never guaranteed an immediate response. The Xhi’on granted audience at her discretion, and he would wait, as was expected of him.

He exhaled slowly, stepping back from the console. His duty here was nearly finished, but until he was called upon, he would remain. Not because he cared for this place.

But because his Xhi’on had willed it..

The construction of the Goku’s Plantation marred the goldenrod Tarkan Plains with the stench of death and industry. The clear, tundra air once crisp and clean now grew stagnant with the pungent smell of oppression riding the exhaust of their mechanical production and subjugation. The slave encampments on the outskirts of their annexed property carried the worst of it, letting the purely human stench of their shantytown dwellings stain the snow caps of some of the nearby mountains. The plantation was a blight on the land and an affront to the former peace that stretched across Aeon’s chilly landscape.

“It’s so gross. Are you sure we’re rolling out tonight?,” Frankie asked David as she stepped behind the bar of Cold Frontier after dropping a round of drinks prepared by David at her table. At the base of the Hyperion Mountains across the plains from the blighted fields, even the cozy bed and breakfast was marred by the light scent of the Gokudo’s operations barely visible across the dried and drying grassland.

David finished polishing the last of his glassware, restocking the lowball glasses in a meticulous set of stepped layers on the back bar. “That’s the plan. Those slaves need our help and they’re completely ruining the environment,” he said, leaning on the bar and peering out the window at the tower of despair that seemed to grow closer and closers every day. Cold Frontier was a respite in the cold, a warm place where people came to rejuvenate themselves, but since the plantation neared completion, fewer and fewer people crossed the threshold of its doors, prompting Fenri to put a hold on the Tinjutsu performances on the continent until they could ensure the safety of the guests who attended.

David and Fenri already briefed on the night’s operation, separately from the rest of their team they concocted a plan to infiltrate the plantation and sow the seeds of its dismantling from working, but with its pungent aura, high observation towers, and presumably numerous security measures, they disagreed on key components of the plan. What they could agree on, however, was the necessity of neutralizing the plantations expansion and liberating the workers within. In the months leading up to the operation, they leveraged the shadow work of Sandra Ban, the Frigid Puppetmaster to glean a level of reconnaissance about its inner workings, but by herself, she came back with limited information from outside the facility. Marquae Noel, outfitted with Ovan Hellgate’s high precision optical tools gained visual information, but was called to the request of their homeland to perform some traditional duties before a comprehensive report could be compiled. Ovan himself also found himself pulled away for a tribal event and lacked the physical fortitude at the time to risk high quality visuals without compromising the whole organization so Fenri and David developed a new, more aggressive front.

The time had come to make their move and Fenri and Frankie would stay behind to run the house while David and some key others carried out the mission. It was risky, their intel was lacking, but they couldn’t let the treachery that oozed over the plains from the compound to continue to grow unfettered.

“Don’t feel guilty about staying. Everyone plays a part,” David told Frankie, reaching underneath the bar and shuffling through more intricate glassware and potions, preparing his kit for the evening. The sun dipped behind the Hyperion Mountains as twilight approached, marching on to their zero hour to deploy.

“I don’t… I’m just worried is all. Uran left a bad taste in my mou—“

“You should stop right there. That was a very special situation,” he spat out with a goofy smile filling the space between his ears. If there was anything the bartender and Quencher of Hyperion was known for, it was his optimism in the face of great adversity. It served Diamond Dust and their wards well, bringing a rejuvenating spirit to every operation he was part of. This one would be no different.

A door from the basement flew open and filled the mostly empty dining room with tired groans echoing from below. They were muddied, talking over one another, but none of them sounded very accomplished or satisfied. Lana stepped up through the doorway, shaking a bit of dust off her shoulders and rolling her neck lightly. “I told you boys, you can’t come with if you’re gonna whine about it and you’re already whining. Stay home and let mom and let the big kids handle it. Toddleoo!” She slammed the doors behind her, leaving the training floor and a cast of members down there disappointed.

“How’d they do?,” David asked, packing the last of his equipment into his satchel.

“Doesn’t sound too good,” Frankie said, looking over Lana’s shoulder to see if anyone would surprise them by making their way up the stairs.

“They’re fine, just get them some food and they’ll be good for the morning,” Lana said, going under the bar and picking up her own pack of tools for the mission as zero hour approached. She rose and looked out the window at the billowing smoke pouring out of a tower over what used to be a beautiful, golden horizon at this time of day. “We’re not wasting any more time here, right?”

“Right. If you’re ready, let’s move,” David said making his way toward the door.

“Don’t wait up,” Lana said, booping Frankie on the nose and following David out into the darkening field.

~~~~~~~~

David and Lana moved silently, already aware of the gravity of their task. The tall stalks of the Tarkan Plains disguised their travel well, but as they approached the plantation, the plant density grew steadily shorter and shorter until it stopped altogether and made a barren line in the dirt before the edge off the complex’s protective walls. They stayed hidden a little ways back from the wall, making sure their whole bodies were covered in the natural flora and stood close to one another, whispering to confirm their plan’s next steps.

“Front door, right?,” Lana asked?

“Front door,” David responded, navigating the perimeter to the road moving supply trucks in and and out of the facility. They stepped out of the safety of the tall stalks and walked along the barren path around the plantation in clear sight, taking note of the tall security tower in the center, the immense greenhouses, shabby prisoner’s quarters, the pungent smell of backbreaking work and invisible healthcare. It wasn’t death on the air, it wasn’t industry, but some kind of specific blend he could only describe as dread. He felt like taking a sip of water or breathing with his mouth open could infect him with that same sense and stopped Lana behind him. From his bag, he pulled out a pair of face masks adorned with the Arceneaux Corporation’s logo. They were some of their less deadly merchandise, capable of filtering out 99.9 percent of pathogens from the air, leaving pure unadulterated freshness for five million breaths. It sounded like a tall claim, but one thing they had learned about the Arc Tek is that it was rarely, if ever, oversold on its capabilities.

They let a giant vehicle pass them to enter the facility and quickly hitched a ride on the back of it. David attached a lick of water to its frame, grabbed Lana by the hand, and pulled themselves along with the device, flying up the road toward the central complex before it made a turn to go to a different part of the facility and they were left at the base of the central tower by themselves. Everything was an eerie sound, not silent, but a quiet, droning hum that drowned out the sound of the people and machinery working the fields behind them. David and Lana took a short look around, and the bleak state of the tattered individuals working the fields and thick exhaust shrouding moonlight and stars from above saddened them.

“Right on our doorstep,” David said to Lana and to himself, sobered by the state of the formerly rolling golden plains.

“And now we’re at theirs,” Lana replied, rolling her neck gently. The pair took a deep breath and bumped fists in solidarity before David stepped back to look up the length of the tower. There wasn’t a doorbell, nor any other sign that he could glean would notify anyone above they were here to greet their “neighbors.” So he cleared his throat and put on his most composed, salesman voice.

“Greetings from the Hyperion Hyperion Backcounry, The Arceneaux Corporation would like to discuss a business partnership with your company. May we please sit with you for a proposal?”

Lana remained quiet and vigilant, making sure their arrival wouldn’t be met with hostility. She watched his back, looking over the fields tilled by slaves to see if anyone worth speaking to would be watching them from within the crops or down the road.

Acquiring the Gokudo contract meant a big step in meeting the companies yearly sales quota, definitely putting them over the top for the quarter, but Avon's job was far from finished. There were quite a few tasks that were simply proper etiquette for a client of this caliber, certain things required his attention as an International Sales Liaison. Implementation and efficiency of the product was not something that was easily achievable without the proper methods.

Thankfully Gokudo had plenty of practice prior to this particular facility, perhaps the third that Avon had visited before introducing himself to this particular well oiled plantation. The generators had been setup in prime locations for nearly perfect substrate integration. Avon would have been sorely disappointed if he had to report and duplicate mistakes to their Xhi'on. There wasn't enough time in a day to visit each and everyone of their clients faculties but this was one of those contracts that Avon had much respect for.

With the amount of equipment that Gokudo had conscripted his superiors were hard pressed not to allow him to gather a team of scientists and advisors that would ensure expansion on a need to know basis. Soil samples, genetic shortcuts, and a slew of other tips and tricks that allowed the Gokudo corporation to market the sustainability of such a breakthrough.

After verifying the catalog of products for abnormal statistics with their logistics manager Avon returned to the Administrative Citadel. There he could make the connections he needed to discuss further plans and solve any challenges that were only privy to the Gokudo. Arriving at the office in sublime timing to make a meeting with the Xhi'on he knocked lightly on the open door frame.

"I believe you have... guests."

Taking off a state of the art facemasks that had been given to each and every one of his team members for their field work. Losing any of these great minds would have been more than he wanted to explain to the management that loaned them out.

The security feed flickered as Rii’yuu observed the lone figure standing before the gated entrance. Clad in nondescript clothing, they bore no visible insignia, no identifiers—just the unmistakable posture of someone who did not belong. The fact that they had made it past the perimeter unnoticed was a problem in itself. Either their stealth techniques were enough to bypass a billion dollars in external patrols, or something had gone very, very wrong.

Rii’yuu exhaled through his nose, clasping his hands behind his back as he studied the screen. The plantation’s defenses were designed for deterrence, not engagement. After all, few had the courage to challenge Gōkùdo, and even fewer survived the attempt. But this…

“Activate the subdermal scans,” he ordered. “I want a full biometric read of the area before they take another breath.”

A low chime signaled the system's compliance, overlaying the figure with layers of data. Heart rates were steady. No erratic movements. Unarmed—at least, by conventional means.

“Presumptuous.” His tone was unreadable. “They want to be seen.”

Was this a trap? They were clearly trying to provoke a response, but he did not yet give the order to engage. Not until he understood why.

It was at that moment the knock came.

A measured, deliberate rhythm—neither urgent nor hesitant. Rii’yuu turned his head slightly, already aware of the identity of his guest before he stepped inside.

Avon Quinn.

The man carried himself with the smooth confidence of someone accustomed to high-stakes negotiation. Not arrogance—no, Avon was too refined for that—but an easy assurance that came from knowing the weight of his name in the right circles.

The Liason removed his facemask, as did his entourage, their movements synchronized. Rii’yuu noted the quality of the equipment. Santmano clearly needed no briefing on how to maneuver among the Plantation.

"I believe you have... guests,"

Avon remarked, his gaze flicking briefly to the security feed before settling on Rii’yuu with mild interest.

Rii’yuu did not look away from the screen.

“I am aware,” he replied evenly. “Though I doubt they are here for the pleasure of our company.”

He turned fully to face Avon, studying the man in the sterile glow of the chamber. The Santmano Corporation were essential asset in streamlining the plantation’s operations—resourceful, discreet, and unfailingly efficient. They were creators of the product after all.

But Rii'yuu couldn't help but note the timing of Avon's arrival and this unprecedented infiltration. The Gōkùdo didn't get far by being naive.

“You arrived at an interesting time,” Rii’yuu said, gesturing subtly to the feed. “What do you make of our unexpected visitors?”

There was no need to voice the real question.

Did Santmano have anything to do with this?

The air between them was thin, taut with the unspoken.

Outside, the infiltrator remained motionless before the gate, waiting.

For what, Rii’yuu had yet to determine.

And he did not like unanswered questions.

“Friends of yours?”

There were multiple reason's for Avon's visit one of them being the inevitable trespasser and modification of their base shielding package. The stark contrast of the land before and after industrialization was enough to move any environmentalist with a cause to look closer. The current Aphoshin generator provided shielding after the electric fences but were shuttered open at the delivery trucks specific frequency transmissions. However that was the one hole in the perimeter that Avon had not made it in time to patch.

"Unexpected? My good sir..."

He stated as he made his way further into the room. While a booming business was by no means anything to sneeze at, an enterprise sprawling and expanding at the rate that the Gokudo had achieved was bound to catch someone's attention.

"While I do find myself associating with the occasional concerned environmentalist, I cannot say it is simply for the pleasure."

Avon was only aware of the intrusion by the exponential leap of free radicals in the field generators power supply. The energy this group displaced was enough to caatch the liaison's monitoring watch, literally and figuratively. An essential part of ensuring the integration of the bioenhancing flora, monitoring the productivity of even the simplest Fulgos generator was a part of Avon's job that he took very seriously when he was on site. Finally approaching the monitor that held Rii'Yuu's attention.

"On the contrary, their presence here so soon after the production line has been finished... tsk"

Avon interrupted himself, smacking his teeth. The subjects were still acclimating to the biological stress of their product. Beings in communities as tight knit as they were screamed oppression. The lily itself was a beautiful product, but the fruit of the labor at hand was no covert in the slightest.

"Bad for business."

He wasn't sure whether or not Arceneaux had the botanists capable of reverse engineering their products but it wasn't his job to find out. The genetic code of their flora was a secret only to the best and brightest botanists, which Sontmano avidly sough to monopolize, but the generators were traceable back to his company directly. Since they could no longer protect the discretion of their operation they would have to be removed, and the subjects under their control wiykd have to be rallied or silenced. Still behind the Gokudo Overseer he raised his wrist to begin inputting some command codes into his watch as he studied the man in his peripheral.

"He said Arceneaux right... I'm going to have to call this in."

The rest of the team was already planning either demolition and relocation on screens both visible and unseen. Most with tablets and handhelds, while others were wearing glasses that allowed real time readings of the statistical output of each generator. One by one they would finish their updates and look towards the pair for the direction of their next step. They were well aware of the resources at their disposal and couldn't surmise on their own whether the targets were to be eradicated or accommodated, either option capable of being handled with an army of relentlessly obedient soldiers, an airtight force field that could be locked inside and out, and a grid of generators ready to be engaged in a self destruct protocol that would leave any traceable serial number or technology unrecognizable.

"Too bad we haven't replaced our Special Operations Security Director yet... your personnel could have handled this themselves."

He uttered to himself, but loud enough to reach the ears of the supervisor, technically he had his own jurisdiction to handle this himself but Avon could not afford for the competition to catch wind of their endeavors on his watch.

Rii’yuu didn’t look away from the screen.

The figure outside the gate hadn’t moved. Shrouded in mismatched gear, face hidden, but posture—deliberate. Not charging. Not hiding. In fact, the man had the audacity to demand an audience.

But to do so in this manner– infiltrating the defenses of a sensitive facility such as this? This kind of stunt wasn’t just intrusion—it was theater. A message, perhaps?

Rii’yuu let the silence stretch for a moment longer than necessary.

Then, coolly he responded to Avon.

“Don't get ahead of yourself.”

He finally turned toward the liaison, his crimson eyes flicking past the tech teams and researchers cluttering his office like scavengers circling opportunity. “Your shielding package was designed to prevent this. Your harmonics, your failsafes—your signature technology. And yet here they are.”

He stepped toward the display console, hand gliding across its surface until a command interface flickered open.

“I won't be authorizing demolition..” he said flatly. “And I’m certainly not evacuating or relocating anything without the Xhi’on's permission.” He said as he mind arrived at something. “..not when it's an issue she never has to know about.”

He tapped in a security code. A screen split open, displaying unit feeds from his on-site security teams. He selected one.

“Captain Yensu,” he said aloud, and the mercenary’s image sharpened on the screen—grizzled, eyes like old iron.

“Sir.”

“You’re to intercept the infiltrators near the north gate. Kill them. Prioritize the one claiming to be Arceneaux. Leave the body intact. I want visual confirmation for internal recordkeeping. No explosives. No unnecessary spectacle. I don't want to damage any of the yield.”

“Yes, Overseer.”

Rii’yuu cut the feed.

He glanced at Avon, voice even.

“There will be no craters today. Just corpses.”

A long pause, and another glance at the screen. The lone trespasser still hadn’t moved.

“Whoever you are..” Rii’yuu muttered. “Whoever has hired you, has sent you to die.”