Chapter 13
Ryan (2)
....
Ryan eyed the woman—Regina Carlos—with a mix of amusement and calculated distance. She carried herself like a war empress, no-nonsense and sharp as a blade. But inside, Ryan smirked to himself.
He glanced sideways at IAM, whose face twisted with inner turmoil. Ryan's thoughts were a locked box to IAM. No one truly knew the man behind that mask. Because Ryan wasn't the honest, straightforward soldier he pretended to be. He was a pathological liar—an expert in deception and manipulation—and he reveled in it.
Sure, he hadn't lied about being scammed when he was younger. That was a hard lesson learned the bitter way. But what he hadn't shared was the promise he made to himself after that—a vow never to be a victim again. No. From then on, he would use every dirty, cunning trick in the book to claw his way out of Hope's End. If someone sinned against him, then why couldn't he do the same to another? The world was a cruel game, and Ryan planned to play it better than anyone.
This whole journey had started with the boss's offer about two months ago. At first, Ryan had no interest in marching off to die some meaningless death under the government's leash—an institution pushing this endless war. But then the promise of the Paths of Ascension caught his attention. That was the real prize. This was his chance—a way out of the dirt and shadows, and straight into the spotlight.
If he could perform well in this war, if he could survive and fight with enough skill and cunning to obtain a complete manual of his chosen path—the Justice Path—then everything could change.
Because justice, Ryan believed, was a weapon. It gave him the perfect excuse for everything he did. His actions were always justified. He was never truly wrong. Punishing him for what he'd done was impossible—because how could you punish justice itself? Justice was righteous. Any stain on its name was just an opposition to be crushed without mercy.
But Ryan was no fool. He knew the chances of making it out alive—out of the hundreds of thousands of recruits—were close to impossible, or at the very least, unimaginably difficult.
So what could he do?
Then, seeing IAM among the other volunteers, a plan began to take shape in his mind—a loyal meatshield and tool to elevate his own status within the army. He hadn't chosen IAM because they were close in age; no, it was because IAM was the youngest, with the least experience and therefore the easiest to manipulate.
To get close quickly, Ryan decided to be as talkative and helpful as possible—a classic technique to lower a person's guard. What most didn't realize was that when you talked to someone who seemed to overshare, they'd often unconsciously overshare back. It was a brilliant way to harvest critical information while shedding 'skin' that didn't matter—letting the target believe they had glimpsed the flesh beneath, when really it was just a mask.
Normally, Ryan would have gotten a pretty good read on IAM by now and figured out exactly how to use him.
But the guy was completely and utterly useless.
IAM gave off the impression of a newborn—completely clueless and directionless. He asked questions about anything and everything that seemed like common sense. Whenever Ryan confronted him or brought up a subject he should've known, IAM claimed to suffer from slight amnesia.
At first, Ryan thought this might be an advantage—a sign of ignorance that could be exploited.
But then it came to the process of forming an avien.
IAM's willpower was shockingly weak. Not what you'd expect from someone who had lived his whole life in the slums, surviving every day.
And on top of that, the guy was always greedy with food. One portion wasn't enough. He constantly complained, insisting he was a growing boy and needed more. To keep up appearances, Ryan often had to share some of his own rations, leaving himself hungry and unsatisfied.
He was just too slow. And while that made it easier to get IAM to rely on him, Ryan didn't want a one-time meatshield—he needed one that could take some serious beatings before being discarded like trash. So he wished IAM would at least make some decent progress.
His frustration peaked when he remembered what the boss said about his path. Waves of annoyance washed over him, threatening to drown him. This dumbass had picked a dead path. Who did he think he was? Struggling to form an avien himself, how the hell was he supposed to revive a path that was basically dead? Ridiculous.
Ryan kissed his teeth in irritation, turning the problem over in his mind again and again—what to do with a fool like IAM?
Then, salvation came in the form of the alluring figure named Regina Carlos. A new plan formed—simple and effective: use IAM to highlight his own strengths, make himself look competent, cozy up to the 2-star superior, and get in her good graces... or better yet, in her graces.
Giggling unpleasantly to himself, Ryan focused on the world around him and responded with a toothy grin: "Whatever you say, captain!" He saluted with an exaggerated motion, a stupid grin plastered across his face.
IAM glanced at Ryan, disbelief clear in his eyes. Damn, I ain't ever seen this brother act like that. Anything for the huzz, I guess...
Ryan laughs heartily, like he'd just cracked the funniest joke in the world. But his amusement is met with Regina's folded arms and icy glare.
He freezes mid-laugh. Damn, this might be tougher than I thought, he thinks, clicking his tongue in frustration. He's always considered himself fairly attractive, had no trouble seducing women—especially older, single, vulnerable ones. Those were the easiest targets to earn some quick benefits. In fact, that's how he'd scraped together the money for the expensive carriage and enlistment fee.
"Get in the truck," Regina orders sharply, nodding towards her vehicle. She climbs in first, then turns to find the two men just standing there, staring blankly into space.
"Move your fucking ass!" she snaps.
Startled, they finally snap out of it, grabbing their baggage and climbing into the truck. Notably, Ryan slides into the passenger seat right beside Regina.
With an amused expression, IAM quips, "Alright, passenger princess."
Ryan snaps his head to the back and retorts, "The hell is that supposed to mean… kid." Ryan emphasizes the last word, his tone sharp and deliberate.
IAM frowns slightly. The vibes from Ryan were… off. Not in a loud, obvious way, but in that subtle shift you notice when something that felt familiar suddenly doesn't anymore. It was enough to prick at the back of IAM's mind.
This change in demeanor didn't go unnoticed by Ryan—of course it didn't. In fact, it was intentional.
This was all part of the plan.
Sudden attitude shifts caught people off guard. They'd start wondering if they did something wrong. And most people, especially those craving connection or harmony, would seek to mend the rift—even if they weren't sure how it started. Especially if they thought the cause was something as small as jealousy or tension over a girl.
From IAM's perspective, Ryan knew it would seem logical to assume the sudden coldness was due to Regina's appearance. That maybe Ryan was trying to impress her, trying to stake his claim. And IAM, being who he was, would most likely brush it off to keep the peace.
Low cost, high psychological reward. Classic.
But Ryan wasn't laying the groundwork for just this one manipulation. No, this was a long con—he was setting the stage for a slow but steady erosion of IAM's self-worth. Every minor jab, every subtle shift, was another brick in the path leading to one of two outcomes: Ryan could either justify cutting IAM loose as dead weight… or make him believe it was his fault all along.
Whether he wanted to blame his failures on IAM for being a distraction, or use IAM as a tool to make himself look better, the outcome was the same. He'd win. And IAM wouldn't even realize it until it was too late.
As the truck bounced forward through the fog-choked landscape of the Deadline, IAM leaned into the window and stared out into the desolate greys. He tried to shake off the tension, telling himself it was just stress, just nerves.
But the real war wasn't just waiting out there in The Hold.
It was already sitting beside him, wearing a grin.
.....
Inside the truck, IAM leaned forward, eyes narrowing in curiosity as he tried to observe how the vehicle was being operated. Was it the same as cars back on Earth? Any differences? Any traces of magic-infused tech?
WAIT.
If there were cars… that meant they were powered by something. Fuel. Like oil.
And if it was oil… that meant it came from crude oil.
And if it came from crude oil… that meant—
Oil reserves.
And oil reserves meant…
🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅
Shaking his head rapidly, IAM forced himself out of the spiral of stupid jokes surrounding a certain very oil-focused nation. Focus, dammit.
He turned his attention back to Regina, watching her with renewed seriousness. The interior of the vehicle looked surprisingly standard. Earth-like. No magical steering wheels glowing with runes. No floating consoles. Just a solid, functional dashboard.
With a gloved finger, Regina pressed a large red button. The engine rumbled to life, the truck shaking slightly beneath them as it powered on.
IAM frowned, visibly disappointed. So… just a regular car, huh?
He slumped back against his seat with a soft sigh. What was he expecting? A mana-powered crystal core that roared with dragonfire? Still, something in him had hoped for more—more magic, more wonder.
But then again… he didn't even fully understand how the power systems of this world worked yet. The paths, the rules, the energy sources—it was still one giant puzzle. And if there was one thing IAM did enjoy…
It was solving puzzles.
A small smile tugged at his lips, his earlier disappointment giving way to a rising excitement. There was still so much to learn. So much to uncover.
As the truck rumbled forward, kicking up grey sand beneath its heavy wheels, IAM stared ahead—toward The Hold.
And toward whatever strange truths awaited him there.