CHAPTER 10: LET'S GO TO WAR
1047 Words
Klaus turned his gaze to the crowd.
He scanned every face—young, old, bloodied, bandaged. No one dared speak.
He took a step forward. His voice dropped, calm and clear.
“You people didn’t come here because you wanted change.”
He let the words sink in.
“You ran.”
Another pause.
“You ran from the system, from pain, from yourselves. You ran like cowards.”
Gasps followed. Some looked down. Others clenched their fists.
He pointed at the cracked stone floor where dried blood painted the ground.
“You see blood and freeze. You see death and shake. So what?”
His voice grew colder.
“So what if people were murdered? So what if your homes burned?”
His words hit like daggers.
Then—
BAM!
Bucky’s fist slammed into Klaus’ jaw.
This time, it knocked Klaus off his feet. He hit a pillar hard and dropped, rolling across the stone. A rack of tools clattered down beside him.
“Shut up!” Bucky shouted.
He stood with his chest rising and falling. His eyes were red.
“What good is a dream if I have to step on innocent people to reach it!?”
Klaus groaned on the floor. He didn’t move for a moment.
Everyone held their breath.
Then—slowly—Klaus pushed himself up.
He wiped the blood from his mouth. His neck cracked as he stood straight.
No anger. No yelling.
Just silence.
He walked back toward Bucky. His steps echoed in the chamber.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t flinch.
BAM!
His fist connected with Bucky’s jaw. A heavy blow. The sound echoed like thunder. Bucky’s head snapped to the side, and he stumbled back into a table. It cracked under his weight.
Cain, standing on the edge of the circle, squinted.
“…his heartbeat,” he muttered, “it changed.”
Bucky gritted his teeth and rose to his feet again.
He didn’t attack.
He just stared.
Klaus tilted his head.
His lips curled into a slow, unsettling smirk. His eyes gleamed—just barely. Not joy. Not hate.
Something else.
Something wild.
“I don’t have an answer to your question,” Klaus said. His voice was soft. Steady.
“I don’t know what’s right or wrong.”
He glanced at his hands.
A dark mist began to swirl around them—slow and heavy, like smoke rising from wet ash.
“I just know…”
The stone beneath his feet cracked slightly.
“…I want to destroy something.”
Gasps followed. The dark aura spread wider. His presence grew heavier. It pressed on the lungs.
“I didn’t even realize I activated my powers. It just happened.”
He sounded calm—too calm.
“So this is wrath?”
The air around him shimmered.
He chuckled.
His fingers curled into a fist. The aura responded.
“It’s intoxicating.”
Without looking at anyone, he turned and walked toward the dark tunnel leading to the surface.
“I’m going to destroy the Royal Knights. With or without you.”
He kept walking.
“That’s better than hiding here like sacrificial lambs… or sheltered chickens.”
His voice faded as he moved further.
No one followed.
Everyone stood frozen.
Even the fire seemed still.
Then—
“Klaus,” Bucky called out.
His voice was low but firm.
Klaus stopped. He didn’t turn.
“…Thank you,” Bucky said. “And… sorry.”
Klaus looked over his shoulder.
“Why are you apologizing?”
Bucky took a breath. “For showing such a pitiful side of myself.”
Klaus looked forward again.
“I don’t care about that,” he said. “I just spoke my mind.”
Bucky’s shoulders relaxed.
He turned to the others.
He took his time.
One slow step at a time, he walked to the center of the room.
He stood under the main torch, where the shadows bent around his figure. Everyone’s eyes locked on him.
“I’m joining Klaus,” he said. His voice was quiet, but every word carried weight. “I’m going to fight.”
He looked down at his own hands.
Then up again.
“But I won’t ask anyone to follow me.”
He turned to face them all.
“This war… might kill us. It won’t be easy. We’ll face soldiers. Magic. Fire. Steel. Maybe even worse.”
He stopped speaking and let the fear crawl in.
“But if I die,” he continued, “I’d rather die standing than live on my knees.”
Silence followed.
Bucky looked at them. All of them.
The injured, the scared, the silent.
“I won’t blame you if you stay. I’ll still fight for you.”
Then he went quiet.
One heartbeat passed.
Then two.
Then—
“I’m in,” a voice said from the back.
A young man stepped forward. His jaw was bruised. His arms were wrapped in dirty cloth. But his steps didn’t waver.
He joined Bucky without hesitation.
Then—
“Me too,” another said.
Then another.
And another.
One by one, they moved forward.
A teenager holding a rusted pipe.
A mother with burn scars across her face.
An old man with a missing eye and a bent sword.
They stood together, not because they had weapons—but because they had nothing left to lose.
From the far corner, an elderly woman raised a sharpened walking stick.
She smiled gently.
“I carried this stick through two wars,” she said. “Looks like it’s time for a third.”
Alice didn’t speak.
She picked up her bow. Checked the string. Ran her hand over each arrow.
Then she walked to Bucky’s side.
Cain joined last.
He said only four words.
“I am your sword.”
He placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.
“I’ll follow you.”
Bucky’s eyes burned—but no tears fell.
He looked at Klaus.
Klaus stood at the tunnel entrance. He didn’t say anything. But a slow grin crept across his face.
Bucky raised his fist.
“Then let’s go.”
The crowd echoed with rising voices.
Hope returned—not loud. Not bright.
But steady.
Strong.
They were no longer victims.
They were a storm.
They were war.
- Writer
