The Oil Baron

About half a kilometer away, two arms emerged from the burning oil. With a desperate heave, he pulled himself free and tumbled onto the ground, rolling frantically as flames clung to his skin. His feet scrambled on the slick floor, slipping as he panicked, fighting to extinguish the fire. His aura, once a protective force, had dwindled to a faint flicker, unable to shield him any longer.

Stripping off his scorched clothes, he hurled himself into a nearby pile of ashes—some byproduct of an unknown industrial material. Smearing the gritty remnants over his body, he smothered the flames at last. Pain consumed him, sharp and unrelenting, as his battered body bore bruises, gashes, and burns of varying severity. He collapsed to his knees, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. He glanced out at the burning lake. Eventually, a smile appeared on his dirty face while he marveled at the pile of floating debris where the platform once stood. He sat there for a while and zoned out, trying to wrap his mind around all that had just happened.

Footsteps rang out in sharp, hollow clangs behind him, each step reverberating up a metal staircase. Roa turned around and his eyes narrowed. A tall figure ran up with hurry, glancing back at him as his cape fluttered. Smoke billowed out of his head like a chimney, hiding a golden crown, leaving a toxic trail for the boy to follow. The Sunflower put two and two together, and a surge of anger washed over him. He pushed himself on his feet, but weak and battered, his legs gave in, and he found himself face down onto the ash. Coughing up a cloud of dust, the boy screamed out a long groan as his skin glowed with tattoos, his legs shaking as he stood again. His body towered, wobbling, like an old building defiantly standing during an earthquake.

"Get back here, you spineless coward!" he yelled, pushing one foot in front of the next, struggling to keep his balance, making his way up the metal stairs. His movements were awkward, smashing his shin against a metal rail, forcing an angry grunt out of him."I'm going to strangle you with my own hands," he screamed, grinding his teeth.

He flung his arms up, shouting at the top of his lungs to draw his friends' attention in the distance. From above, the Shadow glanced down, its fiery eyes locking onto his in a searing, wordless exchange. The boy's breath quickened, his feet pounding against the steel as he surged forward, the chase pushing ever higher.

The air grew warm as he emerged onto a long, grated bridge, its skeletal frame swaying faintly underfoot. Below, an industrial abyss stretched endlessly—a labyrinth of coiled metal tubes and chimneys spewing thick, acrid smoke that clawed at his throat. The faint rattle of his footsteps echoed in the towering expanse, swallowed by the ceaseless hiss and hum of the machinery beneath.

"If you try to fly away, my friends and I will chase you—it won't end well for you," said the hero, pointing a Gunhand at him, buying time as he waited for the others to catch up. "You must be the one they call Lord Smog."

The towering figure turned to him. There was nowhere else to go. His presence was as imposing as the giant machinery around him. His face loomed forward, appearing out of the fumes that enveloped it, features sharpening as the swirling smoke parted. Then came the voice—a deep, resonant tone, steady and unnervingly calm. It was the same voice that had echoed from the intercom, now chillingly close and unmistakably real.

"You are in my house. I should ask you the same question, boy," he said in a menacing tone.

"Your house?" Roa chuckled, "the city, the oasis, the forests, the islands—let me guess, are those your houses too?"

The Shadow took a few steps forward, his imposing aura growing, making itself ever more apparent to the Sunflower.

"I am the Gate that guards this Throat of the Palace. Everything below it belongs to me, including all two-hundred-and-fifty-five worlds that connect to the Basements."

"Damn, there's that many worlds? How big is this place?" Rosso interrupted, appearing from behind as several footsteps followed behind his.

"Real big," added C-Saw, catching her breath.

"We never put you in charge, Shadow," Roa barked back.

"I am the utmost authority here, and have immense wealth at my disposal. I can pay you any sum of money or aura, and grant any request. If you let me go, you may be granted a pardon from the highest authority within the Order of the Worlds," said the Gate.

"Who the hell put you in charge?" Theya's voice interrupted from behind.

"That's what I said," Roa looked her way, as the rest of the Jumpers caught up.

"Why are you naked and covered in soot?" interrupted Rosso, staring at his friend's pathetic state. A smile revealed his missing front tooth, as he stared at the boy's ash-stained, crooked underwear.

"Lord Gate," shouted the billionaire, "help me, father," trying to break free from Vesper's hold.

The Gate ignored his pleas, stared at the boy instead, and asked him who he was.

"My name is Roa. I'm from Earth. We will make you pay for what you have done."

The enemy froze.

"The—the Sunflower?" he said, as his voice stuttered.

"Some people call me that," he responded.

"How—you were taken care of. This can't be..." said Lord Smog, disbelief plastered on his face.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"And yet, here I am. Were you the one who gave the order to erase my mind—and fill it with lies?" shouted the hero.

"No, I was not involved. I am just following orders," the Gate replied.

"You're all just—following orders. Nobody likes to take responsibility for this absolute clown fiesta you are running," Roa accused.

"I will give you anything you want. I can grant any of your wildest dreams. Just—let me go," pleaded the Shadow with calm.

"Guess we found the Dreamer," joked C-Saw.

"Sorry, but we are not for sale, Smog. We are here to bring you to justice for your crimes against Humanity and Nature. We know of your business model's dirty truth, how you knew all along about its destructive effects on the environment. One of your nobles spilled the tea," Roa explained, pointing at the oligarch who let out an uncomfortable smile.

The Gate stood silent. His body language did not communicate fear, but calm confidence.

"You will be brought to the highest courts and tried for your crimes," the Sunflower pointed his finger at the enemy. "You will pay for what you have done to the people of Grayshroud."

"And to all of the people you have hurt in the Basements of the Palace," added Theya, stepping up.

"And to all of the other worlds you have polluted and destroyed," Rosso added.

Lord Smog laughed, as the Jumpers glanced at each other, confused.

"Do you actually think that you will have me tried in some courts?" He laughed again. "Naive fools. You think that you can play your little games, acting like—rebels, without consequences?" he paused. "The courts belong to us. The Halls of Might run on our money. Nothing gets done without our say. You cannot, and will not, stop progress. The only ones who will end up in a dirty, lonely, cold cell, will be you—if we choose to be merciful," the Gate roared.

"You're wrong, Shadow," Roa said.

"Am I, now? How could you know what's best for people? You barely know who you are," Lord Smog scoffed.

"I've seen enough to know that what you are doing is wrong. It's evil," the boy rebutted.

"Look at all of the people that you hurt. Was it worth all that money?" Theya butted in, without getting a response from the enemy.

"M girl was taken by your boss. Is he on the other side of the chokepoint? Is that the thing that opens it?" Roa asked, pointing to a golden key hanging from the Gate's neck.

The Shadow held it in his hand anxiously at first, but then laughed in a scornful tone.

"You must have been reset really hard, anomaly. You have no idea anymore, do you?" His piercing eyes dug into the Sunflower's soul, "just how far up this Palace goes—how many of us there are—guarding the way."

"Where's the Exit, then?" Roa walked up to him. "I bet you higher-ups don't cross immense distances to get to your boss each time. Where is the shortcut, then?"

"The way to the Patriarch is only for us to use—and he is the only one that can open it."

"I don't care. You took her—I want her back."

"Even if I told you, and you somehow managed to use it, you would only get yourself killed. Do you honestly think the Lord of Lords will just let you walk in there?" he said, as the boy took a few more steps in his direction.

"I—don't—care," the earthling grew angrier. "Tell me—or you will die."

"Do you foolishly think that this will all end here, today, with your little—insurrection, in some backwater, dirty city in the Palace Basements? You're naive. Even if I fall today because we made the mistake of letting our guard down because we have grown—complacent in the calm—you will never, ever, win against all that awaits ahead of you." Lord Smog looked down at him. "The Lord of Lords—is invincible. There is no hope for you."

"I don't give a shit about what is ahead—I want to know where she is," shouted the boy in his face, eyes burning with resolve.

The Sunflower surged forward, reaching up, seizing him by the neck with an iron grip. The force drove the Shadow backward, his heels scraping against the platform's edge until there was no more surface to step on. His body teetered, the heat rising from below clawing at his skin. He dared a glance down, and his breath hitched. A large vat below churned and hissed, its smoldering surface glowing like molten anger, as bright, liquid metal bubbled. Fear flared in his wide eyes as he gripped the Sunflower's arm, nails digging in, desperate for balance.

"The Lord is the savior of the worlds—order itself, incarnated. The One who will meet the Dreamer one day, and will be granted—the ultimate wish," the Gate answered back, defiantly.

Roa pushed him farther out.

"The Exit, Shadow..." Roa ripped the golden key from the Gate's neck, and placed it in his pocket.

"Stop pushing," Theya screamed from behind, unexpectedly.

The hero turned around; the locals had caught up to them, filling the tight, metal bridge with hundreds of bodies. When they noticed the oligarch and the Gate standing there, their collective fury spilled out—the mob growing belligerent, as it began to swell forward. The Jumpers pushed back with every ounce of their remaining strength, but their exhaustion betrayed them. Their feet slipped against the grated surface, unable to hold their ground as the relentless force pushed them forward. After generations of suffering, the people became like rabid dogs, wanting a piece of the very men who had caused them so much pain—now just within arm's reach. They pushed violently forward, until they became an unstoppable avalanche of screams and rage. The oligarch, fearing being swallowed by the crowd, broke free and fled next to the Gate, pleading for his protection.

"Stop pushing, or we are all going to fall off," screamed Vesper.

Roa felt himself thrust forward, slamming into his opponent, falling down towards the vat below. Lord Smog took the opportunity to blast up into the sky and escape. The rest of the Jumpers stared helplessly at the enemy flying upwards, unable to budge as they held back the furious mob. An unexpected, thunderous clap then blinded everyone; Roa heard something whizz past him, down into the vat. The crowd slowed their push until it came to a stop, as everyone's eyes adjusted.

"Where's Lord Smog?" the boy screamed, anxiously scanning the air for his opponent before shifting his gaze to the bubbling liquid below. The heat warmed his face. "Something fell into the molten metal."

"Was it the Gate?" asked Rosso, leaning over the edge, one hand holding onto the handrail, while the other held onto Roa's underwear, keeping him from losing his balance and falling off to his death. The two Shadows were gone—nowhere to be seen.

Roa then glanced back up, and his breath caught in his throat. His body stiffened, his mind reeling. The light above shimmered, and for a moment he wondered if his eyes deceived him. It couldn't be real—could it? Suspended above the crowd, she hovered like a vision carved from memory, her figure wrapped in radiant light that pulsed softly against the metal. Roa's chest tightened as he took in her face, attempting to make out her features in the blinding radiance. His hands trembled at his sides, and his knees threatened to buckle beneath him. Was it really her? Or had time distorted his mind into a cruel vision of hope, painting a mirage before him?

The Sunflower shook with every heartbeat, his aura flickering erratically as he slowly rose into the air. His voice cracked when he tried to speak, the words dying in his throat. All he could hear was the furious pounding of his heart, each beat thundering in his ears as he stared at her, absorbing every detail—the curve of her lips, the way her hair caught the light, the faint glow of her skin emanating her golden aura.

He surged forward, pulling her into his arms, his breath catching at the warmth of her body against his. No words came—none were needed. He clung to her, as if the world beneath him had vanished, his hands gripping her tightly, unwilling to let her go. The faint buzz of her energy mixing with his own, grounding him in a moment that felt like eternity.

"It's really you…"

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