The Greatest Fight [progression cultivation isekai]

Sob Stories

It was now Theya's turn to take over the interrogation.

"I'll tell you a story. You see, I'm originally from this place, long before it became known as Grayshroud, or as you Shadows creatively call it: Sector 77. I remember when it was still filled with trees, and Tar Lake was still blue. Then, you guys came along, and everything changed. All of the sudden, things got harder—strangely enough. Mom and dad got sick, and me and my sister—we had to learn to grow up on our own. We got a job in one of the plants in the city, breathing in that toxic shit for years."

C-Saw stared from the couch. Her playful nature had now changed to a more somber one, having listened to hours of interrogation.

"Want to know how this story ends?" asked the woman with the eyepatch, as the oligarch rested his head and looked up at the ceiling. "I got lucky. All those years doing that dangerous job—and I only managed to lose an eye. Eventually, I left this disgusting place and opened my bathhouse, far from here—my little, clean, healthy slice of paradise—but, my sister," her voice trembled for a moment, as she paused and shook her head, "she wasn't as lucky. She got sick—probably with the same crap that took mom and dad. Now I am the only one left."

"Do you want me to cry at your sob story?" said the billionaire, looking up at her. "So what? Some nobodies got hurt in the process—should have worn a mask. We have literally built the modern world with our hands," he said, puffing his chest.

"You have never used your hands in your life," she yanked his fingers open, revealing a perfectly smooth palm, "and this is no sob story. This is life. The life you have helped create for many. Just because you are so far removed from it, does not mean that it doesn't exist," she said as she stood back up, twisting his fingers and forcing a groan out of him. "And it's 'Madame Nobody' to you, asshole."

"Open up," someone screamed on the other side of the door again, "we hear you in there. We know you got someone from the ball."

They began to kick the door with force, causing the lock to rattle.

"Damn it—help me with this," shouted Rosso, pushing a large armoire forward. The wood screeched against the floorboards, ending with a heavy thump as it sealed the entrance.

Theya sat on one of the chairs in the middle of the room, lighting up a cigarette. Her feet rested on the table, now collapsed onto the ground, like some two-legged animal frozen dead on its side. The tea was now a cold puddle, sinking through the floor boards, dripping down to the room below.

Rosso sat down next to the billionaire with his back against the radiator. He could feel the warmth comforting his cold skin.

"I'm from a world called Lalh-Ah Land. A big, hot, inhospitable, endless desert, as far as the eye can see. Just—dunes. Dunes and ignorance, everywhere. Do you know it?" he asked without getting a response. "I'm sure you do. You said that your kind runs a multitude of worlds. My home too was once green and beautiful, or so the historians left there told me. I've never seen it with my own eyes, that's for sure. The place has been dead for generations, long before I ever came into the picture."

"Boohoo—one more sad story?" scoffed the hostage.

"Want to know why I am here?" Rosso asked, turning towards him, "I'm here because, if I can, I want to make sure that millions of others don't end up having to lose their homes, like I lost mine. I'll be honest with you, man—I'm getting tired of beating the hell out of you. I think, at this point, I want to hear answers every time I ask a question, or pretty soon the old man, the woman in the bathrobe, or—hell, even I—one of us is just going to kill you by the end of the night."

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The oligarch turned to him and stared deep in his eyes, noticing a fiery gaze as he slowly nodded.

"Were the Shadows responsible for the destruction of my world? Yes, or no?" asked Rosso with a firm tone.

"Yes," he responded, hesitantly. "Generations ago, our forefathers reached that place. I remember learning about it when I attended the top schools of Central-Center. Your world was one of the first we began to—improve."

The heretic nodded, closing his eyes.

"And now—there's nothing left." He shook his head as he pursed his lips. "Did you know of the effects on the environment your actions were going to have?"

"We did not at first, until our scientists began complaining, coming back with the same results. They said that we were altering the balance of nature with grave consequences—for humanity, habitats, whatever..."

"Then why didn't you stop?" snapped Rosso.

"We didn't stop because—" the man's voice began to quiver, "because we became addicted to—"

"You became addicted—to what?" the heretic said, heat coursing through him like the twin suns of his endless desert.

"To power—to the money we made—it was enough to live like gods, for generations. We had built a thing so complex that entire swaths of people, companies, nations and worlds became dependent on our product—our black gold. So, we got new scientists, instead; the type that got paid more to release the kind of findings that didn't make us look so bad."

"So, you sold the future of generations yet to come—for the sake of your own, insatiable—greed," Rosso stood, towering above the man.

"We didn't mean to cause so much pain. Society asked us for this. We alone are not to blame. You are too. You wanted endless growth, wealth and progress—we just provided it. It's the way the world works—it's just business. If it wouldn't have been us, it would've been somebody else. You would have done the same in our shoes," the billionaire's eyes filled with tears.

Rosso got in his face and chuckled.

"You crying? You didn't cry when you exploited entire worlds for your fancy parties, or when you kidnapped innocent women for your entertainment—but now, you want me to believe that you grew a conscience all of the sudden?" he glanced at him, tilting his head. "Is this—your sob story?"

"I just..."

"What you call society is nothing but an intricate, profane caste. A big, cursed pyramid scheme, with you, somewhere conveniently near the top. There's no such thing as endless growth if the resources are finite. What you described is the nature of cancer. Grow and grow—and grow—until even the host is killed. Well, the fancy ball is over. The time you get to ignore the rest of the world is gone. You will never go back to the top of your pyramid—I promise you that much."

"Please—have mercy. Love your enemy," he pleaded with a quivering voice, his tied hands shaking behind his back.

Rosso remembered those exact words from his past, when he was still a child. One of the Desert Fathers had told him that once, while his village was conquered, and the beliefs of his ancestors were trampled upon for the sake of the One True Religion.

"Idolatry. These barbarians have sinned against the One Above—yet, we must love our enemy," the words of the holy man echoed in his mind, as images of ancient rites, destroyed, flashed before him.

"Love—what could you possibly know about love?" he said, a laugh escaping him. "I have seen your kind of perverse love, suffered because of it," he said in a stern tone as he crossed his arms. "Your kind's—love—has obliterated my past, and your kind's—progress—has erased my future. I rather apply this mantra instead: 'May the sacred fires of justice, and truth, consume the wrongs and the lies, in the here and the now."

He delivered a single kick rendering the captive unconscious. The Shadow's head slumped forward, lifeless for now. The interrogation was over.

"And no—we would not do the same thing. We hold on to our humanity. It's not for sale—for any price," Rosso scoffed, turning around, as his red cloak opened wide.

The heretic from Lalh-Ah Land collapsed on the couch and passed out until morning. He slept all night, along with the others. When light came through the window, forcing his eyes to open, he found himself lost in thought, as his mind wandered to many memories of his father. He inhaled a deep breath and focused on his face, as best he could remember it. So long had passed, after all—years and years. He was only a boy back when his dad had disappeared from his life.

"Doctor K," he thought, repeatedly.

When he opened his eyes, a colorful flame danced from his thumb, sending him scrambling, tumbling down onto the floor in excitement.

"I—I did it. I finally did it. My Compass works!" Rosso screamed, waking everyone else.