Afterward, with Cleare's assistance and the Arc Reactor now embedded in his chest, Aqua began constructing his own Iron Man armor.
He lacked vibranium, of course. That was a Marvel thing, bound to a different universe entirely. But Mobuseka had its own treasures buried deep beneath the floating islands—rare metals that the canon had never bothered to name. Cleare, with her access to both ancient archives and new data streams, had identified it quickly.
Aetherite.
Or something close enough. The name didn't matter. What mattered was its properties: gravity manipulation and energy absorption. This was the very mineral that kept the floating islands stable and aloft, hidden in the deepest strata where only the most ambitious—or most desperate—would think to dig.
And now it was his.
With the armor complete, Aqua finally had breathing room. Resources. Time. The kind of freedom that allowed him to pursue the next piece on the board.
Luxion.
He needed to know which Leon existed in this timeline. Leon Fou Bartfort—the mob protagonist of Holfort Kingdom. Or Leon Sara Rault—the heir of the Alzer Republic. The setting was binary: one lived, one died. The transmigrator's soul occupied whichever vessel the original owner had vacated.
If it was the former, Aqua would find him. Kill him. Strip Luxion from his corpse before the fool could become a liability.
If it was the latter...
Well.
He would kill him anyway.
Aqua's lips curled into something cold.
Someone who spent their days yapping about "preserving the plot"—lecturing others not to interfere, not to change fate, not to reach for what they deserved—while simultaneously hoarding every advantage for themselves? That kind of hypocrisy didn't deserve oxygen.
Why was Marie forbidden from changing her fate? Why was anyone else's survival considered "cheating"?
But Leon was allowed?
Leon got to steal Luxion. Leon got to break the rules while preaching about them. Leon got to play the righteous mob while stacking the deck in his favor.
Aqua would never tolerate it.
He would eliminate any threat before it could become one. That was simply good strategy. Clean. Efficient. No loose ends.
There was only one protagonist in this world.
Him.
Not Leon. Never Leon.
All the women. All the kingdoms. All the AI. Everything worth possessing belonged to him and him alone.
If Leon was willing to surrender—to kneel, to serve, to become a useful tool rather than a squeaky wheel—Aqua didn't mind recruiting him.
A competent henchman was always valuable.
But if he stood in the way?
If he clung to his hypocritical moralizing and tried to block Aqua's ascent?
Yeah.
No need to spell it out.
Everyone already knew the answer.
He found out quickly enough.
Leon was not in the Holfort Kingdom.
The baron version—Leon Fou Bartfort—was already dead.
Had been for years.
Something absurd and mundane: his head had struck the ground wrong.
An accident. A stupid, meaningless end to a protagonist who never was.
But Leon Sara Rault still lived.
Still thrived.
And Aqua didn't like it one bit.
He knew what that meant. In the future unification of this world, Leon would be his enemy.
It was inevitable. The man possessed knowledge of the game—the same foreknowledge Aqua relied upon—and had access to Lost Items that could shift the balance of power.
He was a threat.
A genuine one.
But before Aqua could begin scheming Leon's demise, there was a more immediate priority.
Luxion.
The AI had to be secured first. Luxion's genocidal mindset toward the "new humans" was a liability Aqua couldn't afford.
He didn't want this world destroyed. He wanted it ruled. He wanted its resources, its infrastructure, its people bent to serve his future ascension.
Not reduced to ash by some ancient war machine playing out its dead master's grudges.
Luxion needed to be leashed.
Or repurposed.
So Aqua flew.
No hesitation.
Cleare guided him, and his Iron Man armor carved through the sky like a blade.
The hidden laboratory's location was no longer hidden. Its defenses, once formidable, were dismantled with surgical precision—Cleare's intimate knowledge of old human technology rendering every trap and barrier obsolete.
When Aqua stepped inside, Luxion was already awake.
For the first time in his long, ancient existence, the AI was speechless.
He saw the human first—armored, confident, utterly unbothered by the sanctity of this place.
Then his sensors registered the other presence.
Cleare.
"Hello, Luxion." Her voice chimed, bright and familiar. "It seems you're wide awake. Which is great."
Luxion's optical sensors flickered with something approaching disbelief.
"Cleare? What are you doing with this puny human?"
His scanners swept over Aqua without hesitation, invasive and thorough.
The results gave him pause.
"You are an old human?" A beat of silence. "They still exist?"
"Well." Cleare's tone wavered, uncertain. "I think they do."
Luxion's attention snapped back to Aqua, his voice sharpening.
"Humph. Since you already have Cleare, why come to me, human? You clearly knew I existed. Why bother?"
"I need her to be more powerful." Aqua's voice was flat. Commanding. "Give her your data, Luxion."
Luxion's equivalent of a scoff was almost audible.
"Why should I?" His tone dripped with disdain. "Leave, human. You already have what you need. Don't be greedy."
"Uhm..." Cleare interjected weakly, her voice small. "Luxion... he's a nice master. Maybe you should consider it...?"
Silence.
Luxion processed the statement. Analyzed the tone. The hesitation. The weakness threading through every syllable.
If he's such a nice master, why does your voice tremble? Why do you sound so unsure?
Is he truly as nice as you claim?
Even Luxion, ancient and cynical as he was, understood social dynamics well enough to recognize when someone was trying very hard to convince themselves of something.
Still. The human was old human. That bloodline commanded a certain deference, however reluctant.
So Luxion remained polite.
"Leave, human."
His voice was cold. Final.
But beneath it, something shifted. A calculation. A reassessment.
This old human was different.
Dangerous in a way Luxion hadn't encountered before.
And that was precisely what Luxion needed most.
A dangerous old human with purpose.
Not some kindred spirit who wanted to spare everyone, to heal the world, to forgive the new humans for the sins of their ancestors.
Luxion had no interest in forgiveness.
Aqua's voice cut through the silence, dripping with sarcasm.
"I don't think you actually want me to leave, Luxion." He tilted his head, eyes cold. "Let's say I walk out that door. Then what? You go back to sleep? Wake up in another century? Or do you start planning again—scheming how to let an AI with a five-hundred-year-old grudge burn the entire world to ash?"
Luxion's sensors flared.
"How do you kn—"
He stopped.
Recalibrated.
Something flickered behind his optical lens—a recognition, perhaps, or a grudging respect.
"Forget it." Luxion's voice steadied. "Since you found me, since you knew I existed before you ever set foot here, it follows that you know... something. How much, I cannot guess. But it changes nothing."
His tone hardened. "I will not alter my purpose. This world does not deserve to exist. I will vanquish every last new human. I will erase their civilization until nothing remains but dust and silence."
Aqua didn't flinch.
"I can help you with that."
The words landed like stones in still water.
Luxion stared at him.
Intently.
Unblinking.
Cleare's voice sharpened with sudden vigilance. "Don't do anything stupid, Luxion."
Luxion didn't even glance at her.
He was too tired, too focused, to waste processing power on Cleare's nervous hovering.
She had always been like this—anxious, attached, soft.
He had no interest in her warnings.
He only wanted to hear what the old human would say next.
Aqua coughed lightly and continued, his voice measured.
"Since you acknowledge me as an old human, here is my proposal. I want to rule. I want to conquer every kingdom—old human and new human alike—and bring their civilizations under my heel. I want to become their master. Not their destroyer."
He leaned forward slightly. "You know humans better than anyone, Luxion. You know how greedy we are. How ambitious. How we hunger for dominion. I am no different. But I don't want to rule over ashes. I don't want a genocide. I want an empire."
He let the words settle.
"I want to own them."
Luxion was silent for a long moment.
Processing. Calculating. Weighing variables that only an ancient AI could comprehend.
Then he spoke, his voice solemn.
"I can cooperate with that."
A pause.
"However." The word hung heavy. "If you die midway—if your empire crumbles, if it fails to endure, if the new humans rise up and overthrow your reign—then my original purpose resumes. I will destroy this world myself. No hesitation. No mercy."
Aqua grinned.
"Then we have a deal, Luxion."
They smiled.
Both of them.
And there was nothing warm in those smiles.
Nothing kind.
Only the vicious, gleaming satisfaction of two predators who had just found common ground.
They began to plan.
An agenda to set this world ablaze.
Either Aqua would succeed—conquer the kingdoms, crush the new humans, and raise the old human banner over a unified world.
Or Luxion would burn it all to the ground.
Either outcome benefited both sides.
Everyone was happy.
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