Basileus looked at the motley group of mostly Factionless mercenaries that were willing to go on the mission. Manticorps did not have the reputation it once had, nor did it have the same financial clout either. His father, the founder of Manticorps, had found some resources though.
Somehow Archon had managed to gather more candidates than expected. No doubt he was expecting some to not make it, so their contracts wouldn’t have to be paid. Surprising how many mercs didn’t insist on a clause in their contracts that would require payment to another in case of their demise. If they weren’t that savvy, it certainly wasn’t his business.
Finally, he was going to clean up this mess. He had botched the job all those years ago, and though his father didn’t know about his involvement, he was concerned about what would happen if he found out. Archon was all about results, and he didn’t care about good intentions if you couldn’t deliver on your promises—even for flesh and blood.
There was still a lot Basileus didn’t know about the Traitor. Methiochos shouldn’t have been able to get the shield up if everything had gone to plan. He knew he should’ve gone himself, but Annie said she could do it. Part of him refused to admit his cowardice in allowing her to go instead, but he had a legacy to uphold. With her powers, she would always be support staff, probably in HR. He had to think about carrying on his father’s legacy and the company. The familiar justification made him feel only slightly less guilty and even angrier. Since then, he had rarely failed. In fact, he knew the exact number: thirty-four times. Not bad for almost five decades, but they had taught him much.
He thinks he’s not a failure! a voice said in his head, followed by a chorus of laughter.
Shut up, all of you. You all are failures! Basileus pushed his eyes closed and hit his temples ferociously with balled-up fists. Bit by bit, he distanced the heckling voices until they were imperceptible. He wiped away an errant drop of blood trickling down the side of his face. They were gone. He rubbed the copper-scented drop on his fingertips, feeling it get sticky as it dried.
Basileus was used to succeeding at whatever he tried. He overcame, often by sheer effort of will. But his failure with the nano-virus was both a mystery and evidence of his fallibility. And that could not stand. He would get the island back and the manor with it. He didn’t care what Methiochos managed to achieve in the decades he had been on the island. Basileus had been tireless in his preparation as well and knew that the isolation would also put restraints on the Traitor and his crew. He had no doubt they weren’t as well off as Archon believed. He would take everything back and then his father would never have to know.
He was under strict orders not to waste those under his charge, as there would be no replacements. They didn’t need to know that, though. Basileus could make the calls on the mission but, ultimately, he was responsible for its success or failure. If he could pull this off, not only would he redeem himself in his own eyes, but his father would hand over the reins to Manticorps.
A new Manticorps with the resources to make them an unstoppable powerhouse. Then the retribution for all those who refused to help them or who were conveniently ‘busy’ when his father and Manticorps were in need. Basileus knew them all. And they would be repaid for their indifference, with interest.
The plan was to send his scouts out first. They would stealth in, gather intel on the situation, and return so they could plan their assault. What they found would determine if they made a large push or relied on planning and tactics. He excelled at any form of strategy, and almost welcomed the challenge.
He hoped Methiochos would struggle. Despite his healing abilities, the Traitor would be older and weaker by now. He wondered if he would recognize Basileus.
Only two of the mercs had stealth abilities, but they were also fliers which made things more convenient for him. They could go in alone and didn’t need anyone to ferry them to the island and back.
They had extrapolated the location of the island from the beacon placed on Methiochos’ ship all those years ago. Annie had gotten that right, at least, and the fact that it was still working after all this time was a miracle in itself. As soon as they had confirmation of the island, they would destroy the beacon to keep the island’s location all to themselves. If one of the Factions found out, Manticorps wouldn’t be able to compete with the sheer volume of resources they would throw at the island and their golden opportunity would have been lost.
Basileus thought they would obtain more intel from the space station assault as well as from their prisoner. Something must have worked though, because the wall came down just a little after the station. He’d had to kill Graviton in the process but, fortunately, there was no record connecting Manticorps to the attack, so they were in the clear as long as that stayed true. That meant Aurora would eventually have to go.
Such a waste. She was pretty, but when Manticorps rose from the ashes, he would have his pick of women. He was sure of that. Still, killing her was less ideal than turning her. She was unusually resilient though. He had done enough interrogations and torture sessions to see who would change and who would cling on to the bitter end. Aurora was a bitter-ender. She had really offered no useful intel about the island or the manor. Basileus was astonished that someone in her position would have no knowledge about their mission, but it could have been a brilliant move by Purple Faction.
He would deal
