Chapter 504: Xavier vs AIL

The command sanctum didn’t look like a battlefield. No alarms screamed here. No bulkheads were torn open. The floor was clean, polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the faint glow of tactical displays lining the curved walls. The chaos Xavier had carved through the carrier felt distant, sealed off behind layers of authority and design.

At the center of the room stood the Chairman.

He wasn’t panicking or hiding. His hands were clasped behind his back, posture straight, chin lifted, eyes fixed on Xavier as if this meeting had been scheduled rather than forced at gunpoint. The emblem of AIL shimmered faintly on the wall behind him, projected in muted gold.

“So,” the Chairman said, voice calm, almost conversational, “this is what imbalance looks like up close.”

Xavier didn’t answer. He stood a few meters away, blood drying along one side of his jaw, Serpent’s Fang hanging loose in his hand.

The Chairman took a step forward, unbothered by the weapon.

“You think this ends something?” he continued. “That removing a node collapses the network? That killing a man breaks a system?” He smiled faintly, like a teacher indulging a stubborn student. “AIL exists because it has to exist. Civilization doesn’t survive on ideals. It survives on managed loss.”

Xavier’s eyes stayed on him, unfocused in a way that suggested he was listening without caring.

“Needs outweigh people,” the Chairman went on. “Sacrifice is not cruelty when it prevents greater collapse. Balance isn’t mercy, Xavier. Balance is enforcement. Someone has to decide who bleeds so the rest don’t drown.”

He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling, toward the carrier, toward everything beyond it.

“We make those decisions so others don’t have to. We carry that weight so children can sleep without knowing what was traded for their safety. You tearing through this ship doesn’t make you righteous. It makes you another destabilizing variable that will be corrected.”

He stopped a few steps away now, close enough that Xavier could see the faint seams in his skin.

“You could have been useful,” the Chairman said. “You still could be. Power like yours needs structure. Direction. Otherwise it becomes a contagion. History doesn’t remember anomalies kindly.”

Xavier shifted his grip on Serpent’s Fang. The metal flexed, responding to him.

When the Chairman opened his mouth again, Xavier moved.

The chain-blade snapped forward in a single motion and tore through the Chairman’s torso, severing him from shoulder to hip. The impact lifted him off his feet and slammed him back against the projection wall, shattering the emblem behind him into fractured light.

The Chairman slid down slowly, legs folding beneath him as dark fluid spilled across the pristine floor.

Xavier stepped closer, looking down at him.

The Chairman coughed once, then laughed. It came out wet, broken, but genuine.

“I’m glad,” he said, voice weakening, eyes unfocused now. “Truly. I’m glad I don’t have to see what comes next.”

Xavier said nothing.

“You think you stopped something,” the Chairman continued, breath hitching. “But all you did was pull the first thread with your bare hands. You have no idea what you’ve started. Or who’s going to answer when the silence spreads.”

His gaze drifted past Xavier, toward nothing.

“Enjoy the freedom,” he whispered. “It doesn’t last.”

His head tilted slightly to one side as the light left his eyes.

The room went quiet.

Xavier stood there for a moment, waiting for something to happen. Another voice. Another system alert. Another interruption. When nothing came, he crouched and reached for the body.

His fingers pressed into the Chairman’s chest.

The skin split too cleanly.

Beneath it wasn’t muscle or bone, but layered composites, dark alloy lattices and synthetic fibers arranged with surgical precision. The fluid pooling on the floor wasn’t blood. It was coolant, already losing its sheen as it leaked from ruptured conduits.

Xavier’s hand moved higher, fingers pulling back the edge of the Chairman’s face.

The eye socket beneath was glass and metal.

He straightened slowly.

“So you weren’t even real?” Xavier muttered, voice flat.

The body twitched once as internal failsafes finished shutting down. A faint hum died out, leaving only the low vibration of the carrier around him.

Xavier stepped back, staring at the remains.

Whatever the Chairman had been, he hadn’t been the one carrying the weight he talked about. He had just been built to speak it convincingly enough to die for it.

Xavier turned away from the corpse and looked at the shattered emblem on the wall.

“Figures,” he said quietly.

Klatos entered the room after he was done bandaging himself.

One moment the sanctum was empty except for Xavier and the corpse on the floor, and the next there was the scrape of boots, the muted click of talons against polished metal. Klatos slowed as soon as he crossed the threshold, posture tightening, eyes sweeping the room with practiced caution.

Then he saw the body.

He stopped a few steps inside, head tilting slightly. “So that’s him,” he said, voice rough. “AIL’s top mouth. Never seen him from this close.”

Xavier didn’t turn around. “Was.”

Klatos approached, gaze narrowing as he took in the damage. He crouched, one clawed hand hovering near the torn chest without touching it. His brow creased.

“That’s… wrong,” Klatos muttered. “No blood.”

He leaned closer, pupils contracting as his eyes adjusted to the exposed interior. The faint glow of internal components reflected off his irises.

“By the Verge,” he said quietly. “That’s not a man.”

“Android,” Xavier replied. “Or something close enough but it doesn’t matter.”

Klatos straightened slowly, feathers along his neck lifting in a restrained, unsettled ripple. “AIL doesn’t put puppets this high unless they expect the strings to be cut.” He glanced at the shattered emblem, then back at Xavier. “This wasn’t leadership. This was insulation.”

Xavier finally turned. His face was tight, jaw set, eyes already elsewhere.

“Doesn’t change anything,” he said. “We need to get to Reva and Lyra. Now.”

Klatos nodded once, the surprise already burned away and replaced by motion. “Agreed. This carrier’s locking itself down sector by sector. External routes are getting ugly.” He paused, thinking, then looked toward the far wall. “There should be an emergency pod bay. Command-level contingency. AIL likes redundancy when things go wrong.”

“Show me,” Xavier said.

The corridors past the sanctum were quieter than before, but not calm. Bulkheads were sealed half-open, lights dimmed to emergency strips that cast long, broken shadows across the floor. Somewhere deep in the ship, metal groaned as systems compensated for damage Xavier had already done.

Klatos led without hesitation, turning corners, bypassing sealed doors, rerouting through service access that clearly wasn’t meant for people of his size. He moved like someone who had memorized AIL doctrine from the wrong side of the table.

They reached the pod bay after several minutes of detours and forced access. The door was thicker than most, reinforced, with warning glyphs etched along its frame. Klatos overrode it manually, claws sparking against the panel.

Inside, the bay was small.

Too small.

One pod sat in the center, angled slightly upward, its hull scarred but intact. Emergency markings glowed along its surface. No duplicates. No backups.

Klatos stared at it for a second longer than necessary.

“One,” Xavier muttered.

Klatos exhaled through his beak, a sharp, frustrated sound. “Of course it is. Only the main guy should be able to escape.”

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the low hum of the pod’s standby systems.

“You take it,” Klatos said.

Xavier turned his head slowly. “No.”

Klatos didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t argue emotionally. He just stepped closer, placing a hand on the pod’s hull.

“You’re the priority,” he said. “Reva and Lyra aren’t holding out for me. They’re holding out for you.”

“I’m not leaving you here,” Xavier shot back. “Not after—”

“Listen,” Klatos cut in, tone firm now. “AIL carriers don’t just fall apart. They bleed control first. There are still systems I can disrupt. Signals I can scramble. If I stay, I can buy you time. This is a very advanced ship. It won’t crash.”

Xavier clenched his jaw.

“I’ll find another way down,” Klatos continued. “Cargo ejection. External hull breach. Maybe even land or crash the ship in the sea. Something. But if you stay here arguing, none of that matters.”

Xavier stared at the pod, then at Klatos. His fingers flexed once at his side, restless.

“You better catch up,” he said.

Klatos gave a tight nod. “I will. I promise.”

Xavier stepped forward and placed a hand on the pod’s hatch. The surface warmed under his palm, recognizing his presence. The hatch hissed open, revealing the cramped interior lined with restraints and impact gel.

He paused, looking back one last time.

“Don’t die,” Xavier said.

Klatos huffed. “I don’t plan to.”

Xavier climbed inside. The hatch sealed around him with a heavy thud, locking him into place. The pod’s systems came alive, restraints snapping into position across his chest and legs.

Outside, Klatos keyed the launch manually.

The pod shuddered, then fired.

The force slammed Xavier back into the seat as the pod tore free from the carrier, blasting into open space on a trajectory aimed straight toward the location..

The carrier vanished from view behind him.

Xavier closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, then opened them again, staring at the descent indicators climbing faster than they should have.

“Hold on,” he muttered. “I will be there soon.”

Below him, somewhere through atmosphere and fire, Reva and Lyra were still alive.

He intended to keep it that way.

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