"I’m staking a claim on Ravah."
Despite the lack of tone in Atlas’s voice, the silence that followed felt even more deafening than any of the chaos that had come before.
"What did he say?" A mercenary stared at the helicopter in the sky, wide-eyed. "Did he just say... he wants all of Ravah?"
Others stood with their mouths hanging open. Declaring something like that over one region was already ridiculous, but the entirety of Ravah?
Was he insane?
No man in Ravah had ever united this place. The last time someone tried, he ended up toiling away in the tunnels, with his entire family suffering alongside him. Yes, that was the late Governor Makoto.
"Is he delusional?" another whispered in disbelief. "That bitch is only friends with lunatics like her."
"Whether he said that to provoke someone or not... he’s definitely provoking everyone."
But while disbelief briefly stalled the chaos from erupting even worse than before, Lola’s reaction was entirely different.
Resting her knee on the back of one of the mercenaries beneath her, the man winced under her weight. She looked up at the helicopter, cupping her cheeks with both hands, eyes twinkling, cheeks flushing.
"Oh, god~!" The air around her practically sparkled, on the brink of a squeal at the sight of that beautiful specimen above them all. What a fitting entrance for what she considered her divinity.
The mercenaries near her flinched as she squealed quietly, flowers and hearts practically sprinkling the air around her. Their faces twitched, unsure whether to give her a moment to fangirl, or rush toward their deaths.
"Kyah~ He’s so handsome~! Baby, I’m here~!"
Atlas, meanwhile, kept his cold gaze fixed on the balcony, where he could make out several figures. He didn’t need to guess who the governor or Jarvis was—their expressions told him everything.
"You should have waited for me in your manor," he continued, referring to the letter he had sent ahead announcing his arrival. Though he knew his decision wouldn’t have changed, even if he had met the governor face to face, a diplomatic approach would still have been his preference.
"In about five minutes," Atlas declared calmly, as though he weren’t dropping a literal—and figurative—bombshell, "I will be launching a missile into the heart of New Gehran."
"Those who wish to survive," he added, "should flee immediately."
"This place... will be reduced to ruin."
Another wave of silence washed over the square, pupils dilating in collective shock. Then, somehow, the massive screen—which had once displayed the governor’s timer before switching to Lola’s signature—lit up again.
This time, it wasn’t sixty seconds.
It showed a five-minute countdown.
And the moment the numbers began ticking down, chaos erupted once more—far worse than before.
"Kyah!"
"We have to leave! I need to get my family out of here!"
"Move! Move faster!"
"Ack—wait! I tripped—ahhh!"
Screams echoed endlessly through the city as people rushed to escape the square. Some fell, only to be trampled by those fleeing in blind panic. Fortunately, Lola’s earlier fight with the mercenaries had already driven many people away, preventing a full stampede.
"Shit—" one mercenary hissed, turning and abandoning his post as he fled.
This wasn’t what he’d signed up for. He had sworn to enforce the regime’s will, suppress unrest, and prevent rebellion—but not to die here. Certainly not to be blown apart by a missile.
But as mercenaries attempted to retreat, they found their paths blocked by residents.
"What are you doing?!" one mercenary barked as several men stepped in front of him. He raised his rifle, trying to intimidate them.
The problem was, they were no longer afraid.
They had suffered every day of their lives. Staring down the barrel of a rifle no longer shook them.
"I said move!" the mercenary warned.
But, they didn’t.
The men stood firm, gripping makeshift axes and blunt knives. One even held an old pistol.
Fuck...
The mercenary stepped back, only to bump into someone behind him. Spinning around, he froze when he saw three more people blocking his escape.
I’m... surrounded.
With no way out, he realized fleeing was no longer an option. When he raised his weapon, the rebels lunged at him without hesitation.
The same scene played out across the square. Mercenaries were overwhelmed by those who had already accepted death and chose to fight back—armed or not—for the first, and possibly last, time in their lives.
Atlas watched the balcony, unmoved by the chaos his declaration had unleashed. He studied the governor’s clenched jaw as his guards attempted to drag him back inside.
Before they disappeared completely, Jarvis cast Atlas a venomous glare.
"It won’t be that easy," Jarvis hissed. "You’ll be choking on that declaration soon enough."
Atlas didn’t hear the words, but he felt the intent behind them. It didn’t faze him, though. When Atlas said something, he meant it.
"Run as fast as you can," he murmured. "But we both know even hell won’t be able to hide you."
Not when they had terrorized so many people, who would rather go to hell for revenge than heaven.
Shifting his gaze downward, he searched for Lola. His eyes narrowed as another strobe light flickered on, highlighting her location. Risky—such a spotlight could expose her—but useful for him at the moment.
"Goddess Beauty," he called through the megaphone.
Lola paused mid-strangle, her leg hooked around a man’s neck.
"Hello~!" she chirped, waving cheerfully as she rolled and settled on the man’s back.
Atlas released a shallow breath. She looked energetic. Unharmed. It eased his nerves slightly.
"I’ll come find you later," he said. "Don’t get hurt."
"Okay, Your Excellency~!" she shouted back, unsure if he could hear her. She exaggeratedly formed an OK sign with her fingers and waved it high in the air.
Atlas allowed himself a faint smile as the helicopter began to ascend, gunfire starting to target it from below. Before they flew off, however, his voice rang out once more.
"Pika," he said calmly. "You forgot her song request. Her dance number started a while ago."
Underground, Pika shivered at the sound of Atlas’s voice. He glanced up through gaps in the metal ceiling.
"Right," he winced, fingers flying across his compact laptop as he queued the music.
A second later, an upbeat song blasted through the square—a jarring contrast to the screams, gunfire, flames, and chaos consuming the city.
"Pearly shells... on the ocean~"