Ampelius moved silently, closing the distance between him and this patrol. His speed hadn’t drastically increased, but he felt like something was different. His movements felt smoother and quieter. It was like his body absorbed the terrain beneath him.

  He lunged at the furthest soldier, the one isolated from the rest. The kill was effortless. But the moment his sharpened stick sank into flesh, he knew something was wrong.

  The wet gasp, the collapse of the body, the armor hitting the dirt, it wasn't totally silent, yet the rest of the patrol didn’t react.

  Ampelius stepped back behind a tree, controlling his breathing, forcing himself to listen.

  Then, he heard it. The soldiers’ voices had shifted into low, almost whispering tone. He focused, filtering through the murmur until one word stood out:

  “Insidiae.”

  The word Emmett had once explained to him, which mean't trap. Often used in hunting. Sometimes in war. He tightened his grip around the stick.

  The shift in their tone, the sudden pause in their movements, something wasn’t right.

  Then, they moved. Shouts erupted as the soldiers scattered in different directions, but not in panic. It was a sprung trap.

  Ampelius' muscles tensed, his instincts screaming, but before he could react, a

  a grenade was being pulled from a pocket. Followed by the sharp metallic click of a pin being pulled. Then the arc of something airborne.

  It landed next to him. But it wasn’t a fragmentation grenade.

  His hyper-aware mind processed it in an instant, a flash grenade.

  Without thinking, Ampelius kicked it mid-air. The device exploded just above the ground, sending a white-hot burst of light and sound flooding the area.

  The effect was instant.

  The flash warped his heightened senses, which magnified the intensity. It wasn’t just blinding; it felt like his mind had been hit directly, his equilibrium thrown off balance. His breath hitched and he had to move.

  Bullets began to tear through the air. His body reacted on it's own instinct. Like it was shifting and sprinting on it's own.

  Then he felt the impact of a bullet against his shoulder, though not deep enough to be lethal, but enough to send a violent jolt through his body.

  His momentum broke as he dived behind another tree, clutching the wound. Shadows shifted in his periphery. Two figures to his left. Another to his right. Both closing in.

  His pulse hammered in his ears, but his body betrayed him, the bullet wound burned, and a creeping weakness spread from the impact point.

  Something was wrong. He pushed himself to move, to sprint for the next tree line, but Casper wasn’t with him and he stopped mid-step.

  Where was Casper? His eyes darted back and saw a second group of Roman soldiers who stood exactly where he had woken up earlier. And there, trapped in their grasp, was Casper.

  How? Casper had been floating beside him just seconds ago. How had they captured him without him noticing?

  Before he could react, the Asventi whispered again.

  "Accept capture. They have you. Part of plan."

  His body screamed at him to run, to fight. But his limbs wouldn’t obey.

  "No… I can’t let them—" His thoughts were sluggish, slipping between his fingers like sand.

  "Part of the plan? What plan?"

  The edges of his vision darkened and tunneled inward. His limbs felt like lead. Whatever shot him wasn't a normal bullet. They had done something to him. His body was already failing him.

  There was no escape. The Romans had him as his vision began to fade. It was like trying to stay awake underwater, every movement felt sluggish, every thought he had was sinking beneath the weight of exhaustion.

  Whatever they injected me with…

  His body attempted to resist, but every pulse of effort came at a cost. His muscles moved unevenly, jerking with a disjointed rhythm, as though someone else was tugging at his strings. His senses flickered with sharp clarity one moment, then numb the next. It was like a rubber band being stretched tight inside him, straining toward the inevitable snap.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Shapes blurred in and out of focus. Shadows moved closer, shifting into the distinct outlines of Roman soldiers. Their rifles were trained on him as they closed in and stood over him.

  Move. Fight. Don’t let them—But his body didn’t listen.

  Restraints locked around his wrists, ankles, and neck. His limbs were pinned down, bound tightly to something rough. His mind lagged behind until the realization struck, he was strapped to a wheelbarrow, being pushed through the forest like nothing more than trash. Soldiers stood on each side of him, every movement betraying how prepared they had been for him.

  Casper.

  The thought came too late. The AI was gone, there was no pulse, no voice in his head, nothing.

  The trees blurred past him in jagged fragments, their outlines smearing against the dark sky. But something else caught his eye. Something glowing, then got brighter, until it carved across the sky like lightning.

  Dozens of Roman fighters streaked overhead, flying through the sky like silver blades. They flew fast as they veered toward Vetera’s burning horizon.

  The hum of their engines echoed throughout the forest, vibrations pulsing through the ground and into his bones. His senses caught fragments of sound, like muffled commands from soldiers. He could also make out the crackle of radios, and the distant thunder of gunfire.

  The restraints bit into his skin with every bump of the wheelbarrow, each jolt sending another wave of weakness through him. The drug still coursed through his veins, dragging him down, but somewhere deep inside, his body still fought.

  But the fight was slipping away. His limbs grew heavier with every breath. Above him, the sky burned brighter, and with it, the terrible realization settled in.

  The battle isn’t over. It’s just the beginning.

  The sudden crashing of waves made their way into his fading awareness. Through the fog of exhaustion, he caught the scent of saltwater in the air.

  Water…

  Ampelius forced his head to tilt weakly to the left, just enough to glimpse the dark stretch of sea beside him. The dull thud of boots echoed around him as the soldiers steered him toward a dock.

  Across the water, Vetera still burned.

  The glow was so intense it banished the darkness, transforming night into a brutal, artificial dawn. Towers stood silhouetted against walls of fire, the skyline jagged and broken. The flames devoured everything indiscriminately, stretching upward like hands clawing at the heavens.

  Above the buildings, the sky was alive with violence.

  Turtle shells everywhere, though many were now engaged in brutal dogfights with the Roman fighters. They were outmatched, but put up a fight nonetheless. One by one, they'd explode or leave burning trails as they spiraled toward the ground like dying stars.

  But then, he happened to see one get a lucky shot.

  A Roman fighter struck true, the missile connecting with a turtle shell’s underbelly. The craft shuddered violently, smoke and fire bursting from its fractured shell. It veered off course and slammed into a towering skyscraper with a deafening crash. The impact was catastrophic.

  Steel groaned as the skyscraper’s structure buckled under the force, collapsing into a neighboring building. The chain reaction was merciless, as one tower crumbled into the next, each impact tearing through concrete and glass, raining debris upon the city streets below.

  A domino effect of destruction. He thought.

  Ampelius watched as those towers were swallowed by the chaos of their own making. Then his gaze drifted further east.

  There, looming like a silent god, stood Mount Nerva, the mountain that had started it all.

  Even now, it still spewed its final remnants of fury into the sky. Green-tinged ash clouds billowed from its jagged peak, but the strange hue was fading, replaced by the gray monotony of ordinary smoke. The violent beauty of the unnatural eruption was dying, leaving only the cold reminder of what had been unleashed.

  Yet, the world didn't seem dark. Fires and the explosions constantly painted the sky in shades of orange and crimson, casting a hellish glow across the horizon. The air itself appeared to pulse with the heat and violence.

  His body tangled with exhaustion that finally dragged him closer to unconsciousness. He could hear the boat’s clash with the water. Providing a low and relentless promise of captivity yet to come.

  As they neared the dock, Ampelius caught slight glimpses of his surroundings. Several soldiers stood guard, a mix of Imperial troops and local garrison forces. But it wasn’t the soldiers who seized his fading attention.

  There was a man who stood apart from them. No armor. No insignia. Just a white lab coat. In his hand, he held a syringe. Ampelius tried to focus on the man’s face, but his vision betrayed him as the shadows blurred into light, and all he could make out was the faint outline of glasses. He was too weak to resist as the figure approached.

  He didn’t even feel the needle slip beneath his skin when the the world vanished.

  The next sensations Ampelius experienced were fragmented. Like half-dreams caught between waves of unconsciousness. At first, a pale sky lightened by dawn. Then the faint warmth of sunlight kissed his skin through the haze of sedation.

  As his vision faded out, he opened his eyes into a dark space, and felt the cold concrete beneath him. He looked around, but couldn't make out anything but a thin shaft of pale light filtering from above. The air was damp and stale, and tasted metallic. As his senses adjusted, the reality of his situation started to focus.

  He was as prisoner. As far as he could tell, he was in a small, circular hole, carved from cold concrete. Metal bars stretched across the top like a cage, leaving only a thin ceiling above with a fan embedded at its center.

  As he eyes adjusted to the dark, he noticed a toilet crammed against one side. He could stand and stretch, and curl into sleep, but nothing more. Movement felt pointless.

  Where am I?

  The silence was maddening. Then—

  Click.

  The fan above flickered to life, bathing the cramped cell in sterile white light. A shadow darkened the space above him, someone was there. They stood still, as if silently studying him.

  Then, the figure leaned forward just enough for Ampelius to make out the outline of a white lab coat. A water bottle and a bruised orange dropped from above, hitting the ground with a hollow thud. A voice followed.

  "My name is Dr. Vulcan. You’re in a temporary holding cell. You’ll be moved within a few days."

  The voice paused, as if savoring the next words.

  "Welcome to the Nexum."