As Gio and Taro beamed up, Gio was chatting away.
"Well, that man certainly seems spry — ho ho!"
Taro nodded.
"Are you excited? He seems like he'll give you a real challenge."
"Hmm."
When they reached the Anthorian main ship, Gio waved Taro off. He made his way to his private quarters and removed his robe — revealing a physique that had no business existing on a man who looked like someone's grandfather. More concerning, however, was the hand-shaped dent left in his shoulder from where Jacob had grabbed him.
That alone got his heart roaring.
"It's going to be a stellar battle," he said to his reflection.
Then he left to make an announcement.
Taro's room was rather sparse — the only decoration a display case holding an award plaque of 32 individual stars that made his gut wrench every time he looked at it. Not a single one felt earned.
He sat on his bed — which was more accurately described as a second floor — and held the case in his hands. He popped it open and grabbed one at random.
Holding it was like unlocking a memory.
The 18th ever Ouro. He and Rahu were the first to volunteer against a species that had evolved to embody the various gods humanity once worshipped. They called themselves the Primori.
After Rahu wiped the floor with the first eight, Gio intervened and gave Taro a turn.
He finished even faster.
He sighed, put the star back, closed the case, and set it aside. His mind drifted back to the meeting with Jacob. The handshake. The grip.
Just another star on the wall.
He wasn't sure he believed that anymore.
Ethan watched a wrecking ball crash into Jacob — a sound he wasn't particularly interested in hearing again.
"This is ridiculous. They've been hitting him with progressively bigger things each time."
James, who had absolutely no business wearing the smile currently on his face, responded without looking away from the spectacle.
"And the object broke before he did."
"Sir — I understand we're a little more prepared this time, but is this really necessary?"
James just shrugged. "This was not my idea." He pointed to Iris, who was barking orders into an intercom.
"Bring out the tank."
That made me jump.
Tank? What tank?
Iris paused for a second.
"Bring out three, actually."
I looked around — at Iris directing military personnel to open fire on her own father, and at James watching Jacob shrug off the impact with a smile on his face that had absolutely no business being there.
Iris was about to order a freight train dropped on him when Doctor Palesa entered the room.
Even through all her beauty, the bags under her eyes made Ethan think that maybe relying on one person to resolve a civilizational crisis wasn't the soundest strategy.
"What do you have for me?" James spoke up — even he looked concerned.
"We've managed to find a way to cut through the metal and manipulate its shape with less crude methods."
"Well that's brilliant!" James lit up. To him, this week kept getting better and better.
Palesa said nothing. She simply signaled for them to follow. Ethan and James walked out behind her.
"Hit him with four anchors."
That was the last thing Ethan heard before the doors closed.
James was buzzing with excitement — already picturing some kind of laser cannon or high-tech combat suit — as they entered the UN's personal lab.
Everything was on fire.
James watched a two billion dollar cutting machine explode. Palesa simply sighed, holding an experimental combat dagger that lost its shape after a few seconds.
James was silent for an uncomfortable moment. "How much..." He looked at the ruins of the lab.
"To rebuild or replace?" Palesa said, almost annoyed he couldn't see the beauty in what had just happened.
"I — I..." Between the cost and what he considered lackluster results, he was speechless.
"If I may, Doctor — I think I have a simpler solution. A way to not have to rush, at least."
"And that is?"
"How difficult would it be to make a simpler design?"
"A knife is as simple as it gets. It was a mistake sending Goliath out with that sad excuse of a science experiment." She sounded more angry at the gauntlets than at the fact that he was dead.
"Well — my father prefers much simpler means." Ethan held up both hands.
"I'm afraid I can't in good conscience send him out with those same gauntlets." Palsea said
Ethan waved his hands defensively. "No, no — you misunderstand me. I don't want to send my father out at all. But his preferred weapon of choice has always been his hands. Is it possible to make... rings?"
Palesa's eyes went wide — not in shock exactly, but like something had just unlocked.
"Leave."
Ethan nodded, dragging a stunned James out behind him as the sound of machinery breaking resumed inside.
As Ethan pulled James back toward the observation room, he spotted Iris pinching the bridge of her nose.
"You alright, sis?"
"Look." She pointed.
Jacob was surrounded by armed guards. The US president stood behind them looking deeply, personally smug.
"He's going to murder them."
"Yup."
"You know — I should just let those freaks kill you. But it wouldn't be as satisfying after what you pulled in my country."
Jacob looked at the guards with an expression that said you sure you want to do this.
The answer in their eyes was no. But duty to your country and all that.
"And to think you had the audacity to show your face here. You're practically begging to be arrested."
"He does know UN is neutral ground, right?"
"We've both seen his presidency. You think that's gonna stop him?" Iris said, more annoyed about the training delay than anything else.
"I'm going to relish imprisoning you. And as for those stupid kids of yours—"
Jacob broke his jaw.
He moved so fast that by the time the president registered what happened and started screaming for the guards to shoot, they were already unconscious.
"He's not going to kill him, right?" Ethan said — more concerned about the legal implications than anything else.
Iris stayed silent.
"Right?"
Jacob raised his fist. Iris looked away. The fist came down —
A loud crack echoed across the room.
Standing there over the broken president, having caught the punch bare handed —
"Hey Sammy."
"Hey Dad."
Samuel Mercer. Age 32. Geez — how many of these family members are here.