AutumnXd
patreon
Chapter 50: Nanny
🕑 Added 2025-06-30 13:57:14 +0000 UTCDirector Blake slumped in his leather chair like a deflated balloon, watching the door swing shut behind Russell. President Jennings had claimed the spot by the window, probably so he could dramatically stare into the distance while delivering sage wisdom. Both men wore the exact same expression—the look parents get when their kid chooses the boring, sensible college major instead of following their dreams of becoming a rock star.
"Well, shit," Blake muttered, abandoning all presidential dignity. "Kid went for the safe option."
"Can you blame him?" Jennings shrugged, though he looked like someone had just told him Christmas was cancelled. "Guaranteed power beats potential death by horrific monster. It's basic math."
Blake's face twisted into something that might charitably be called a grin. "Still stings, though. I was hoping he'd dive headfirst back into that death trap. Kid's got more balls than a tennis shop—real shame to see him playing it safe."
They'd watched it happen before. Promising young talents who started strong, then gradually traded their spine for security. Not that Russell was being cowardly—the materials he'd chosen would make him significantly more dangerous. But there was something about power earned through near-death experiences that just hit different than power bought with a credit card.
What these two old buzzards didn't know was that Russell was already planning his next move with the enthusiasm of a kid planning a heist on the cookie jar. Second bronze-level card, coming right up. Most cardmakers his age were still figuring out how to make iron-level cards that didn't explode in their faces, but Russell had never been accused of being normal.
For your average cardmaker, secret realms were like haunted houses designed by sadistic architects with unlimited budgets and a serious grudge against human survival. But for Russell? Secret realms were like those all-you-can-eat buffets, except instead of mediocre food, they served up premium ass-kicking opportunities.
Dawn broke over the [Black Flag] realm entrance like the world's most expensive light show. Pidgeot cut through the morning air with the grace of a feathered missile, Russell riding the wind currents like they owed him money. The portal shimmered ahead—reality's way of saying "Welcome to Crazytown, population: you."
The Association had completely changed their strategy since learning about the pirate alliance. Instead of their usual "let's spread out and make ourselves easy targets" approach, they'd gone full fortress mode. Smart move, really. Much easier to guard one chokepoint than play whack-a-mole across an entire dimension.
Three figures waited by the portal, looking like the world's most mismatched boy band.
"Caleb! Leo!" Russell hopped off Pidgeot with a flourish that would've made circus performers jealous. Then he nodded to the third guy. "Mr. Wyatt."
Of course Caleb and Leo were here. When your buddy gets murdered by psychotic pirates, you don't just send a strongly worded letter. You show up with friends who can set things on fire.
These two had spent the last few days glued to Prodigy Cup coverage like it was the season finale of their favorite show. Watching Russell absolutely demolish opponents who should've been his equals, seeing him casually stroll into bronze level like it was a weekend hobby—it had been a real eye-opener. They'd figured someone shooting up the ranks that fast would forget about the little people faster than a politician forgets campaign promises.
Boy, were they wrong.
Leo looked like he was having an internal wrestling match between his cynical worldview and the evidence standing right in front of him. "Russell," he said, voice rough as sandpaper, "I was a complete ass about this whole thing. Figured you'd ditch us the second you made it big." He paused, looking genuinely pained. "Guess I'm used to people being disappointments."
Russell waved it off like Leo was apologizing for breathing too loud. The guy's reaction had been human—couldn't fault someone for expecting the worst when life usually delivered it with a smile.
Caleb, meanwhile, looked like he was trying not to cry in front of everyone. His throat bobbed a few times before he managed, "Thank you." The words came out like they'd been dragged over broken glass. Zane hadn't just been a teammate—he'd been the big brother Caleb never had, the mentor who'd taught him that being decent wasn't a weakness. Losing him had felt like someone had reached into his chest and yanked out something vital.
The raw pain in Caleb's voice hit Russell right in the feels. He'd tried to convince himself this was just about doing the right thing, keeping the cosmic balance sheet even. But seeing Caleb's grief, remembering the sound Zane's arm had made when that energy blade—
Yeah. This was personal. Had always been personal.
"Are we done with the group hug?"
Enter Wyatt, stage left, with all the warmth of a glacier having a bad day. The silver-level cardmaker stood apart from their little emotional moment, radiating the kind of irritation usually reserved for people stuck in traffic behind someone who drives the speed limit.
"Some of us have actual work to do," he continued, checking his watch like time was money and he was going bankrupt. "Can we move this along?"
Poor Wyatt had been neck-deep in another realm when the Spirit Begging Society decided to throw their tantrum. All he knew was that his important mission had been yanked out from under him so he could babysit some Association golden boy on his grand adventure. Probably another rich kid wanting to play hero without the inconvenience of actual danger.
If only he knew he was looking at someone who collected dangerous situations like some people collected stamps.
Russell felt the hostility rolling off Wyatt in waves but didn't take the bait. He'd dealt with worse attitudes from people who actually mattered. "Right. Let's get this show on the road."
Stepping through the portal felt like being dissolved in cosmic soda and then reassembled by someone who'd lost the instruction manual. Reality took a brief coffee break while the universe sorted itself out, then snapped back into focus with the subtlety of a slap to the face.
The Black Flag realm welcomed them back like an old friend who happened to smell like fish and broken dreams. Same coastline, same desolate beauty, same "abandon hope all ye who enter here" vibe. Russell took a deep breath, letting the realm's unique flavor of chaos wash over him. Each secret realm had its own personality—this one tasted like storm clouds mixed with the kind of trouble that followed you home.
They were still getting their dimensional sea legs when something caught their attention.
A ship. Moving fast. Really fast. Like "oh crap, the cops are here" fast.
It was hauling ass away from the portal entrance with the desperate energy of someone who'd just realized they'd left their wallet at a crime scene. The wake it was leaving looked less like normal boat foam and more like liquid panic.
Russell and Wyatt locked eyes for a split second. In that moment, mutual annoyance transformed into something beautiful: shared bloodlust.
"Go go go!" Wyatt barked, suddenly a lot more interested in this mission.
Russell didn't need an engraved invitation. Pidgeot materialized beneath him in a explosion of golden light, already beating her wings like her tail feathers were on fire. They shot skyward with the kind of acceleration that made gravity file a complaint.
The wind tried to rearrange Russell's face as they climbed, but he was grinning like a maniac. This was what he'd been missing during all those stuffy meetings and vault visits—the pure, undiluted rush of the chase.
Below and behind him, Caleb's Wind Serpent uncoiled through the air like liquid lightning. Wyatt had vaulted onto its back with surprising grace for someone who'd been complaining thirty seconds ago. Say what you wanted about the guy's attitude, but he was a professional.
They streaked after Russell's lead, three flying figures cutting through the sky like the world's most determined air show.
And then there was Leo.
Standing on the beach.
Alone.
Watching his teammates disappear into the distance like his hopes and dreams.
"Are you KIDDING me right now?" Leo's voice cracked as he shouted after them, waving his arms like he was trying to flag down a taxi in the apocalypse. "I'M PART OF THIS TEAM TOO!"
His words were immediately eaten by the wind and distance, leaving him to contemplate the philosophical question of whether it was better to be left behind or to die horribly with friends.
Meanwhile, Russell was having the time of his life. He leaned forward against Pidgeot's neck, feeling every muscle in the great bird's body working like a perfectly tuned engine. The ship below had definitely spotted them—its crew was pushing their vessel like they were being chased by the kraken's angry older brother.
"Come on, girl," Russell whispered to Pidgeot. "Show them what real speed looks like."
Pidgeot responded with a cry that could've shattered glass and doubled down on the wing beats. They weren't just flying anymore—they were falling upward, turning the sky into their personal highway.
Comments
Raphael Espinoza Angulo
Leo, you reap what you sow
