Breachers

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Guild Negotiations

Rio

Guildmaster Rio Varlen leaned back in his chair, eyes locked on the muted screen hanging near the far end of the meeting room. The footage looped—drones hovering over the mangled remains of what used to be the capital city, smoke still leaking out of buildings that had been burned up or reduced to craters. Even now, rescue crews were still working overtime, dragging out survivors, cataloging remains, sweeping for leftover Glass and Orbs.

What bothered him most was the sharp dip in morale and performance across his entire guild. The numbers on the tablet in front of him didn't lie. Serious career-ending injuries. Several deaths. Four walkouts. People were just gone—contracts broken, bags packed. And those were just the Breachers. The support staff hadn't fared much better. Internal reports were coming in daily now. People joining the list of missing or dead. Tension in the guild was rising like steam—and sooner or later, it was going to pop.

'The only upside is that we're not the only ones struggling here,' Rio thought as he glanced around the room. Everyone was here. Department heads, the two in-house lawyers, finance and acquisition. Squad leaders at the far end, all Breachers. Men and women built like tanks with more scars than clean skin. Rio included.

"Let's hear it," he said finally, looking down the table.

The finance guy—grey suit, combed hair, tablet clutched like a shield—started first. "We're looking at a global loss of seventeen percent. Dozens of pending disability claims. Three legal actions pending."

Rio held up a hand, stopping him mid-spiel. "I don't need a full report. Just the highlights."

The man swallowed and nodded. "We're hemorrhaging credits."

Rio grunted. "Right. Next."

The acquisition department had a nearly similar story. Recruitment was down. None of the potential Breacher recruits they'd been courting before the incident were answering calls, which either meant someone else had offered better terms, that they were rethinking this line of work altogether, or that they were dead.

"I lost a third of my people," one of the squad leaders muttered. "They all know the second they step inside a Sphere there's a big risk of dying… yet not like this. Most of my squad were Forged, not Originals. They never fought through the Great Impact as a Breacher. These people haven't been through a crucible like this before. They're not built for this kind of attrition."

Another leader brought up equipment—lost vehicles, broken armor, weapons still missing. Another mentioned two of their rookies had already submitted requests for reassignment. And a third mentioned family members calling nonstop.

"I was under the assumption we hired warriors," Rio said flatly, voice cutting the room like a knife.

The Breachers straightened in their chairs, most of them not meeting his eyes while the rest were quiet.

"There's opportunity in this, too," Rio went on. "One of the other mid-tier guilds got fully wiped. Twenty-nine Breachers gone. That's a shitty thing to be happy about, but it means that dozens of current and future Sphere contracts are up for grabs. If we can get our hands on those, we'll expedite our guild's recovery and might have a shot at coming out of this stronger than before."

He looked down at the table and tapped his knuckles against the glass. The screen lit up in front of him, folders flipping open automatically— resumes, stat sheets, combat footage, and power profiles for those who were still alive.

"Get a sit-down with our injured, get a feel for who's worth salvaging," Rio said as he scanned through a few of the profiles, then looked back up at the squad leaders. "Do so with tact. We don't want another PR mess on our hands."

He turned his attention to the rest of the room. "Increase our recruitment efforts. Go at it hard. Even newly Forged. If it's got a Mark and a heartbeat, I want it in our uniform. Ambush them after their Breacher exams if you have to. Understood?"

Several nods followed.

"Good. Then get the hell out and get me some results."

The chairs scraped back. The room filled with murmurs as the department heads and squad leaders filed out, voices low as they broke off into side conversations. Rio didn't care what they were saying. Most of it was probably complaints. They could get it out of their system and then get back to work.

One man stayed behind. Adam Hayes. He lingered near the edge of the table and cleared his throat. "Sir?"

Rio's eyes flicked toward him. Adam looked rough. Like most Breachers, he wore exhaustion like a second skin—but the black eye stood out. Swollen. Ugly. It ruined the man's otherwise annoyingly attractive face.

"Yes?"

"I might have a candidate," Adam said, sliding a folder across the table.

Rio caught it, resting his palm on it. "Is this that hunch of yours you wanted to talk to me about?" he asked, raising a brow.

"Yeah. It's the older brother of Joline Smit. One of our injured."

"Smit's brother? That coma patient?"

"Yes, sir. He's been out of it for a few months and has been… active. I've had personnel do a deep dive on him, but the preliminary findings are… unusual." Adam's hands balled into fists at his sides. "He's also the one who gave me my black eye."

"Rank?"

"Alpha. Power rating of one, but—"

Rio cut him off with a tired sigh and nudged the folder aside with a flick of his fingers.

"Adam, I said our guild is desperate—but not 'just out of a coma, barely-Alpha-rank' desperate." He jabbed a finger at the folder. "Our cafeteria lady's probably got more experience than this runt. Get out, get some rest. Salvage what's left of your team. We'll talk later."

Adam opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but Rio shot him a look that killed the argument before it started.

"Understood," Adam said as he turned around and made his way toward the glass door of the conference room.

"Sir?" Rio's secretary called out as she hastily stepped in, nearly bumping into Adam on his way out. "We've got a bit of a problem downstairs."

"Problem?" Rio asked, annoyance slowly bubbling up to the surface.

She nodded while typing something on her data pad before she pulled up the live camera feed from the reception desk. "Security flagged this about a minute ago. Some Breacher causing a scene."

Footage from the lobby appeared on-screen, angled slightly from the side. A young man pushing through a set of double doors, brushing off two guards trying to stop him, but he brushed them off like they were children. The man didn't slow down once, not even when more guards rushed toward him. He just made his way over toward the stairwell like he already knew exactly where he was headed.

"Right-sided black Marks," the secretary said. "It looks to chaotic to be Forged. An Original?"

The camera zoomed as he passed beneath it. The Marks stood out stark against his skin.

"Shit," Adam muttered, stepping closer. "That's the guy I was talking about earlier. Marcus Smit. Joline's older brother."

Rio didn't say anything. Just stared at the screen.

"Smit? Then he's not the first," the secretary added. "There was another Smit brother. Came around earlier today. Been nonstop. Security dealt with him already." She paused. "I'm guessing this is the less diplomatic one of the two brothers?"

Adam's gaze hardened. "I'll deal with it."

He turned and walked out, not in a rush, but with that clipped stride Rio had seen before—like a man trying to stay calm while already deciding which balled fist to start with. Adam passed the glass wall of the conference room and reached for the stairwell door. Before he could touch the handle, it was yanked open as Marcus stepped through.

The man didn't look winded. He didn't look like someone who'd just sprinted eight floors in record time. Shoulders squared, eyes locked forward, like he'd been expecting someone to block his path.

'He's fast,' Rio thought as he watched the two men stopping just short of bumping into each other. Marcus didn't flinch. Adam took a half step back, jaw tight. He said something—too quiet for the room mics to pick up—then pointed behind Marcus, likely toward the stairs. Then came the hand. Flat against Marcus's chest. Firm. Dominant. Like he was trying to bully a stray dog back where it belonged.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Rio watched Marcus's face shift— calm thinning into a sharper edge—something colder, more dangerous. The longer Adam talked, the colder Marcus looked. Jaw locked. Eyes narrowing by degrees.

Adam's hand pushed out again, firmer this time, a little heat behind his voice now as he barked something Rio couldn't quite hear, but he knew what it was about—Marcus's sister.

That's when Marcus moved.

A burst of wind ruptured outward behind him, like the air had just been kicked into overdrive. Marcus shot forward, not stepping, not lunging, but gone—replaced by motion and momentum. One second he stood just inside the hallway, the next he was in Adam's face, fist already connecting with the man's nose.

Adam's arm came up too slowly. The punch hit through the block and kept going, knocking him clean off his feet and straight through the glass wall in a crashing blur of shards and limbs. He smacked onto the conference table, slid across it, and slammed to a stop at the far end in a mess of cracked glass and wood splinters.

'As if this day couldn't get worse,' Rio thought, watching Marcus step in after him, boots crunching over the broken glass like he didn't notice or didn't care.

"You know that table you just ruined was expensive, right?" Rio said, raising a brow as he leaned back farther in his chair. "I take it you're Marcus?"

Adam muttered a curse as he jumped off the table. He touched his nose, checked the blood on his fingers, and glared at Marcus with a dark expression before stepping forward.

Marcus didn't even look at him—just raised one arm and pointed his fist at the man as a blast of wind exploded from his knuckles, knocking Adam back a few paces, boots skidding across the floor.

"You're the one in charge?" Marcus asked, eyes still on Rio, jaw tight.

"I am," Rio said with a nod.

"My sister isn't going to work for your guild anymore. She's done being a Breacher."

"Is that so?" Rio asked, tone casual, but the air between them was thick now. Marcus had walked in with pressure, and Rio wasn't in the mood to back down either.

Adam stirred beside Marcus, only for another gust to hit him. Then a second. Then a third that staggered him farther back. A fourth hit a second later—stronger than the rest. It launched Adam back and slammed him to the floor. Hard.

"Stay down," Marcus spat, not even glancing at Adam. His voice tightened as he turned back to Rio. "Look. I'm not looking to cause a scene."

"Clearly," Rio said, dry, before giving a small nod to his secretary. She bolted, clutching the datapad to her chest and stepped gingerly over the glass, heels slipping once before she caught herself and sped out into the hall.

Marcus didn't bite at the retort. He just kept going. "Joline's in the hospital," he said. "Her shoulder's messed up. Physically, she's useless to you guys for a while—if she even recovers fully. Mentally, she's even worse, because that fucker"—he raised his middle finger toward Adam without sparing him a look—"abandoned her and Luuk to get torn up by monsters while he ran off. Then stopped me from going in after her." Marcus's hands tightened into fists, as if remembering something. "Look, she doesn't want to be a Breacher anymore."

Rio didn't say anything. Just watched him for a long moment. Then his eyes slid to Adam, quiet, as if waiting to see if the man was going to clean up the mess he had made.

Adam pushed to his feet. Mana was already seeping from his skin, rising in thin red trails that curled through the air around him. His lip curled, nose still bleeding. "Everyone's injured, scared, and done with being a Breacher after all of this shit. Your sister isn't special," he said, tone low but hard. "She knew what she signed up for."

Marcus didn't move.

"I had the rest of the team to take care of," Adam went on. "It was a tough call. I had to sacrifice a few to save the rest. I'd do it again."

"Stop talking," Marcus snapped.

Adam just shook his head. "Make me." More red mist bled into the air around him. He spat a streak of blood to the side, then grinned like he liked the taste. "It's not my fault she was weak."

Marcus raised his fist again, another burst of wind slamming into Adam's chest. The man didn't budge. Just grinned through it, boots skidding back a few inches on the glass-strewn floor.

"That all you got, windbag?" Adam asked, stepping forward. He held out his hand, more of that red mist pouring off him in sharp bursts before his fingers curled into a fist.

"Don't kill him," Rio said, voice calm, almost bored—like he was barely invested in whether the suggestion would land or not while he grabbed the folder on his desk and started reading.

Adam gave the smallest nod, but something in his face shifted. His brow furrowed. Fist shaking slightly, like he was trying to grip something heavy. Sweat started dotting his forehead, and his grin faltered with just the slightest twitch of uncertainty.

Marcus didn't move. His eyes rolled halfway back, barely visible beneath fluttering lids. But he still stood, arms still tight at his sides.

"What's wrong?" Rio asked.

Adam's lip curled. "He's… weird," he said, more red mist burning off him like steam under pressure. "He's different compared to last time… and… chaotic. Like there isn't just one consciousness I need to subdue. He feels… layered."

He struggled another few seconds, then let out a sharp breath and stepped back, stopping his Ability. "Screw it."

He lunged and closed the distance in a split second as he gripped Marcus's throat and shoved him back against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. "Let's do this the old-fashioned way."

Marcus's eyes snapped back into focus as he realized what was going on. There was no panic—just cold, flat understanding. A wave of energy pulsed off him—dark blue, with a red flicker tucked deep inside—colliding with Adam's red aura in the narrow space between their bodies. Then Marcus spat right in Adam's face.

The moment Adam reflexively blinked, Marcus slammed both palms against the sides of Adam's head, hitting his ears with full force.

Adam let go, cursing, hands flying up in pain for a second before he took an angry swing—Marcus shot forward with a wind-assisted rush, smashing the crown of his head into Adam's swinging fist. The second they made contact, a crack of bone echoed in the room.

Adam hissed, stumbling back, clutching his injured right hand.

Marcus didn't wait as he stepped in, driving a knee into his opponent's groin. Adam folded slightly, and Marcus drove an elbow up into his chin. His mana flared hotter now, burning out of his arms, shoulders, and back. Adam just jabbed Marcus in the face with his left before throwing a fast straight with his right. Marcus caught it with his elbow, letting Adam's already injured right hand crash into solid bone.

"Fuck!" Adam hissed as he whipped his hand back, only to buckle as Marcus swept his inner thigh with a low kick.

Adam swore as he jabbed again, hitting Marcus in the face who just tanked the hit—but at the same time stepped into it, driving his own fist into Adam's throat, dropping the man to his knees, both hands grabbing at his neck, wheezing.

Marcus pulled back and swung a hook at Adam's head while the man shot upwards to charge him again—then a blur shot between them.

Rio was suddenly standing in front of him, hand pressed flat to Marcus's chest, a thick dark red mist flowing out of him, overwhelming the mist Marcus and Adam were putting out in a single second. "Enough," he said, calm but sharp.

Then came the push. Marcus flew back, hitting the wall hard enough to crack the drywall further and leave a human-size dent. Adam didn't fare better—Rio shoved him the other way, sliding across the floor and away from Marcus.

"Adam, stop baiting this hothead," Rio said, not even looking at him. Adam hissed as he got back to his feet, eyes burning. Rio then turned his attention towards Marcus. "As for you. Like it or not, your sister signed a contract with us. Not to mention she's swimming in debt. So unless you're here to neatly pay it all off and buy out her contract…"

Rio paused, watching Marcus's face shift. Some of the fire faded—but not all of it. "That's what I thought," he said flatly. "Look, I get it. It's a shitty thing to hear, considering her injuries and state of mind. But she's a Breacher. An Original at that. And after everything that's gone down, the world is running out of people who can do what she does. Even with a hole in her shoulder."

He let that settle for a moment. "This isn't just about rules or debt. It's about survival," he said before glancing at the state of the room. "Now, might I suggest you grow the fuck up and use your words instead of your fists?"

Marcus stared at both of them, breathing heavily, body still coiled. But the tension in his shoulders dropped. Slowly.

"You said Joline's out for a while and we need to back off?" Rio asked. "Fine. What's your offer?"

Rio rolled his eyes and shook his head when Marcus stayed silent. "Jesus fucking Christ, kid. At least prepare for these types of things before you come barging in." He slid his hands into his pockets and stepped closer. "How about this. We'll terminate her contract. In return, you'll take her place and do some work for us."

"I'm not joining your guild and wearing your colors," Marcus said, jaw tight again. "Fuck that."

"I said work, not join," Rio replied, tone flat. "Try actually listening when a grownup is speaking." He took another step forward. "You help us clear eight Spheres as a freelancer, and we'll call it even. Being the generous man I am, I'll even wipe her debt clean. You won't belong to us, but I'll expect you to behave and play nice during those eight Spheres. That means picking up a phone, being on time and not punching people from my guild. Alright?"

Marcus didn't answer at first, only forcing out the word a minute late. "Fine."

"Good," Rio said, raising his hand. "The only caveat is that if you can't hold up your end of the deal during those eight Spheres, you'll take on your sister's old contract and debt. Agreed?"

Marcus looked at the offered hand for a second before shaking it.

"Good," Rio said. "Now, there's a scared secretary at the end of this hallway. She'll write something up for you to sign if you give her a few minutes to stop freaking out."

He stepped back and gave a quick wave toward the door. "Now piss off."

Marcus didn't say anything. He just gave a tight nod, then stepped over the scattered glass and disappeared down the hallway.

Rio stared at the shattered glass wall, his expression softening. He didn't look at Adam, even as the man spat blood onto the floor, still muttering under his breath. "That fucker was lucky—"

"Stop whining," Rio said, already walking back to the table. "Didn't you tell me you were a reliable leader—and a solid fighter—when I hired you?" He went back to the folder, fingers skimming across the pages. Hospital reports. Marcus's medical scans. A full profile. Power Rating: 1. Then the incident report from the Breacher exams. Rio skimmed until he found the examiner's name and paused. His gaze shifted to Adam's half-healed black eye.

"Did his punches feel different today?" Rio asked.

Adam frowned. "What?"

Rio didn't repeat himself. Just kept staring.

Adam blinked a few times, rubbed at his jaw. "Yeah… yeah. They had weight. Felt like getting hit by a truck. He must've held back last time."

Rio turned back to the file, finger tapping next to Power Rating: 1. "Just an Alpha, huh?"

"No way in hell that bastard's an Alpha," Adam muttered. "You think someone forged his Rating?"

Rio didn't answer. He just picked up a different sheet—a recent police report. Detailing them finding Marcus at the location of a dead monster. One of those that had an Orb inside instead of Glass. The notes were brief, but enough.

'There's a clear linear improvement here,' he realized as his fingers tightened around the folder. 'Wait… is he actually growing in power?'

He dropped the folder back onto the table with a dull thud.

"Clean yourself up. Then call the hospital. Make sure his sister gets everything. Gold package. VIP. Whatever it takes. I don't care if you have to clean her bedpan yourself. The guild covers it," Rio said, a jolt of excitement coursing through him. "After that, go find the person who did his Rating. Double-check it all. And I mean everything."

"Right, I'll ask the lads—"

"No, you do it yourself." Rio turned and made his way towards the window, looking at the city outside. "You made this mess. Time you start fixing it. Now piss off."

Adam muttered something under his breath but didn't push it. His footsteps faded down the hall.

Rio stayed still, only his reflection twitching faintly in the glass. Then his lips peeled back into a grin—sharp, greedy, almost hungry. Not amused. Not satisfied. Excited. Like a wolf catching the scent of blood in fresh snow. His eyes stayed on his own reflection, but his mind had already moved on—running ahead, teeth bared.

"Time to see what this Alpha can do."