Talent Awakening: Draconic Overlord Of The Apocalypse

A deafening boom split the sky above Sector III's surface level, fire blooming like a metal flower as an entire block of reinforced concrete and steel was vaporized.

Shattered windows rained down across the skyline, the shockwave throwing parked cruisers and debris through the air like weightless toys.

Out of the roiling smoke stepped a figure—silhouetted by the inferno, calm in all the chaos.

Boots clacked softly against the fractured steel as he stepped into the night, exhaling slowly. His long golden hair—recently trimmed but still falling past his shoulders—was held back by a sharp golden hairpin shaped like a crescent fang, shimmering faintly under the city's moonlight.

He wore a fitted black shirt etched with fine golden embroidery; his pants matched in color, pressed clean with razor-sharp lines and stitched with gold along the seams, glinting as he moved.

Over it all, his massive trench coat—black and gold, regal in weight and cut—swept dramatically behind him with every step. A massive fur collar wrapped around his shoulders... fitting for a monarch... a predator, and upon the back, stitched in radiant golden thread, a roaring golden lion bared its fangs.

It was Aiku.

Inhaling the night air with a dramatic sigh, arms stretched slightly out as if embracing an old lover.

In his right hand, he absently flipped a deck of gilded playing cards, the edges catching the firelight.

"Ahh," he whispered, eyes half-lidded in pleasure, "Night City air. Sweet like victory... bitter like regret... but my god, the skyline's had work done. It's good to be back."

Beside him, Claus stepped up from the ruined stairwell, brushing ash from his new tattered coat and adjusting his glasses with annoyance.

Dressed in a high-collared coat of matte black and navy blue, a pair of black gloves encased his hands, and at his waist, a sleek black sheath housed a katana. The aura he gave off was sharp and cold—like a slumbering beast roused from its peaceful slumber, preparing to kill.

"We could've avoided this if you'd followed my advice and used the secret exit like a normal fugitive."

Aiku scoffed, smirking as he straightened his lapel. "Detective, detective, detective... a king doesn't slither out through maintenance tunnels like a sewer rat. He walks out the front gates—with fireworks, music, and a bit of arson."

"Did you really have to trigger the anti-air defense on your way out?"

Aiku gave a wolfish grin without breaking stride. "Of course. What's an exit without fireworks?"

Claus gave him a long, exhausted stare. "You blew up the vault doors. You hijacked the emergency elevator shaft with a plasma mine. And you set Sector III's emergency power grid on fire just to make fireworks?"

Aiku winked. "And what a beautiful firework it made."

Choppers roared overhead, their spotlights locking onto him like divine judgment. Armored transports rumbled into position, surrounding the plaza below. Union officers spilled out in tight formations, pulse rifles raised, voices barking over loudspeakers.

"INMATES! THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING!"

"YOU ARE SURROUNDED. STAND DOWN AND PLACE YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD!"

Aiku turned slowly, eyes gleaming like freshly minted coins under the spotlight glare. He extended his arms wide, the trench coat rippling behind him like the wings of a mythic beast.

"So many devoted faces… all eyes on me," he said, almost dreamily. "It's touching, really. You'd think I was some kind of celebrity."

"And all of it could have been avoided if we'd taken the maintenance shaft since you weren't keen on the sewers."

"And miss this?" Aiku gestured with arms wide, bathed in the glow of spotlights now snapping onto him one by one. "Come on, Claus. Look at this reception. They've come to welcome their king."

Claus muttered, "More like a nuclear warhead in human form."

Aiku chuckled. "Semantics."

Another voice shouted through a loudspeaker. "YOU ARE IN VIOLATION OF TWELVE UNION PROTOCOLS. STAND DOWN IMMEDIATELY OR WE WILL OPEN FIRE!"

Aiku leaned back slightly, letting a card slip from his deck and dance between his fingers. "You hear that, Claus? Twelve violations. I'm slipping. I was aiming for at least twenty before breakfast."

Claus pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Last chance!" the commander yelled. "On the ground, now!"

Aiku didn't move. Instead, he grinned—and slowly brought the playing card to his lips, kissed its gold edge, then flicked it into the air.

"Alright pawns, it's time to entertain your king."

The card spun lazily through the air, catching every beam of light as it fell—twirling like a coin flipped by fate itself.

It hit the ground edge-first.

And exploded.

A sudden ripple of blinding light and concussive force detonated outward in a perfectly spherical shockwave.

Officers screamed and dove for cover as vehicles were flung backward like toys in a sandbox.

Choppers bucked violently in the air, struggling to stabilize through the electromagnetic backlash. Sirens wailed. Spotlights sputtered.

Smoke billowed.

From within that swirling chaos, Aiku stepped forward once more—calm, untouched by the fury he'd just unleashed with that wolfish grin.

Cards danced between his fingers again, golden arcs of energy trailing after each one as if they burned through the very air around them.

"Detective," Aiku said, his voice unnervingly casual amid the panic. "Have I told you about the time I made a minister confess to five years of embezzlement with just one card trick?"

Claus, already moving, unsheathed his katana with a whisper of steel, his moon-all-seeing eye flaring. "Yes, I think you've said that one already. And the same story ends with you setting the Union treasury building on fire."

Aiku laughed, cards snapping into place as he fanned them out in a gleaming spiral. "Details, details. The old man cheated during a little game we had, so it pissed me off. If there is one thing this king hates, it's cheaters. And what I absolutely love is cruising when, despite the upper hand they thought they had, they lose it all."

From the smoke, the Union officers regrouped fast—discipline kicking in. Pulse rifles hummed to full charge. Riot barriers flickered to life. A mechanized unit stomped into view, shoulder cannons swiveling into place.

"OPEN FIRE!"

Pulse rounds screamed through the air, streaking toward the two fugitives with deadly precision.

Claus blurred forward. His blade moved in arcs too sharp for the eye to follow, slicing through pulse bolts with sparks of searing blue. Each strike was calculated, surgical—a blade wielded not by a man, but a tactician.

Aiku, meanwhile, strolled forward as if he were walking a red carpet. Cards flicked from his hand, exploding mid-air and creating bursts of kinetic force that diverted shots and blasted back advancing officers. He twirled and ducked through the chaos, smirking like a stage performer enjoying his final act.

One card struck the barrel of a mounted turret—blowing it skyward in a spray of molten alloy.

Another embedded itself in a soldier's shield, erupting into a sphere of freezing mist that locked the man and three others in blocks of shimmering ice.

"Showmanship," Aiku declared, leaping onto the hood of a ruined transport, "is the heart of any rebellion."

"You're not rebelling," Claus growled, parrying another bolt into a nearby lamppost. "You're informing Union of your presence."

Aiku grinned wide. "Potato, potahto."

Just then, one of the gunships above them locked in and fired a tracking missile—spiraling down with heat-seeking precision.

Claus reacted first, grabbing Aiku by the coat and yanking him off the transport just as the missile collided. The explosion shredded the vehicle, sending metal shards everywhere. The pair hit the ground, Claus rolling to his feet with a wince.

Aiku sprawled across the concrete, then looked up, laughing. "Claus, darling, you do care!"

"Shut up and move," Claus snapped, blade raised again.

Behind them, the ruins of Sector III's Union detainment facility flickered with the burning aftermath of just a few minutes of Aiku's return.

Above, Union HQ scrambled reinforcements, the skyline lit with incoming dropships.

And yet—through all of it—Aiku stood with that same smug grin. Cards still in hand. Coat still flowing. The golden lion on his back gleaming through the smoke and flame.

After all… a king had returned.

And kings didn't go quietly.