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This was no ordinary cocoon; this was a massive one.
Its entire surface shimmered with golden radiance. To even call it a cocoon felt misleading; it looked more like some intricate, otherworldly device, towering above Arthur himself.
"So, the so‑called Adam, whom I've yet to meet, is sleeping inside this thing?"
Arthur circled the golden structure slowly, his eyes narrowing. "All this… just for two batteries? That overly dramatic Lady Ayesha really went and created something like this. Hmph. Truly, the Sovereign are a fascinating race."
He reached forward, fingertips just about to graze its surface, when a voice ripped through the air, sharp enough to cut bone:
"If you dare lay even a finger on him, I'll make you regret it so deeply it'll shred your very soul!"
Arthur turned, lips curling into a faint smile. "Well, well… seems Lady Ayesha has been through some rather ungentlemanly treatment."
Before him stood Lady Ayesha of the Sovereign.
Her regal aura was fractured, her once flawless golden locks were now disheveled, her expression smeared with the remnants of hysteria. Blood streaked across her otherwise pristine composure. She looked every inch a goddess fallen from grace.
Arthur's mask confirmed what he already suspected: none of his teammates had been harmed. Their vitals were steady, strong, untouched.
So whose blood was it?
Arthur chuckled softly. "Looks like you've been up to something… unpleasant."
"This has nothing to do with you!" Ayesha shrieked. Her voice cracked as fury poured out in waves. "You filthy, despicable, verminous little thieves! How dare you trespass here! You mock us, you tarnish perfection! The Sovereign will never forgive this humiliation! This… this is not perfection!"
"And what exactly does Lady Ayesha call perfection, I wonder?" Arthur sighed, his voice lazy, almost bored. "In terms of looks, well… forgive me, but you're hardly flawless yourself. Your skin tone is far too… glaring, especially under bright lights."
He tilted his head, studying the warm golden glow illuminating the chamber. "Ah… so that's why the lighting here is always so soft and golden. If these lights were ever white instead… you'd all probably blind each other." He smirked. "So no, I wouldn't call that perfect either."
"What would you know of perfection?"
Lady Ayesha's voice was low now, quivering, dangerous. Slowly, she moved closer to the cocoon.
Arthur, with calculated politeness, stepped aside, keeping a careful distance. Partly because he had no clue what power that weapon in her hand might unleash. And partly because he wasn't ready to escalate things to violence.
Some people believed in striking first, questions later.
Arthur believed words could sometimes win wars before they ever began.
"So then," he asked smoothly, watching her every move, "tell me. What is perfection?"
Lady Ayesha's eyes shone with feverish devotion as her trembling hand reached toward the cocoon. Her fingers caressed its surface with reverence, as though she were touching divinity itself.
"He…" Her voice cracked, equal parts madness and awe.
"…is perfection."
Arthur shook his head slowly, almost pityingly.
"No… he's not perfect at all. From an aesthetic perspective, a cocoon usually brings to mind two images. The first is a butterfly, I'm not sure if this planet has them. Butterflies are beautiful, yes… but hardly perfect. Before the wings, before the colors, they're nothing but ugly, crawling caterpillars."
He let a faint smirk curl across his lips. "And the second image… is less charming. Pale, worm-like creatures writhing inside, squirming, twisting in the dark. I don't think I need to describe that vision in detail for you, do I?"
"Shut up!" Ayesha's beauty cracked under the weight of her fury, her face twisting with unrestrained rage. "How dare you insult him! He is my most perfect creation! How dare you compare such perfection to those pathetic vermin you speak of?! You could never understand this level of brilliance, none of you could!"
Her voice broke as venom filled her words. "They didn't understand either, the Council! Those worthless frauds accused me of imperfection, stripped me of my position, cast me aside like refuse! And what happened when you attacked? They threw me away as their scapegoat to save themselves!"
"Ah…" Arthur clicked his tongue with mock sympathy. "So, you killed them. And people say I'm cold. Lady Ayesha, it seems someone's not exactly… emotionally stable these days."
Her body trembled violently, her golden hair whipping as she shook her head. "They were mistaken! Misled! I showed them! I thought, once they saw him, they would understand! That it was all worth it!" Tears of rage burned in her eyes. "But no… they dared to call him worthless. Worthless! He is perfection! They can't comprehend it! How could such imperfect trash even deserve to breathe the same air as me?"
Her eyes glazed over, glittering with madness as she whispered, "Their filth is so deep, even the air feels polluted. To breathe with them is to risk infection… to risk becoming as incomplete as they are…"
"You're sick," Arthur said flatly, gazing at her as though at a tragedy long past saving. "And not just a little sick, either."
"I am NOT sick!" she screamed, her voice breaking, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. "Do you hear me? I cannot be sick! Someone as perfect as I am, someone chosen, someone divine, how could I even know sickness?! Even the worthless people of this planet are free of disease! So how could I, Lady Ayesha of the Sovereign, fall to illness?! Impossible!"
Arthur let out a quiet, tired sigh. "Well, in general… mental illness is the last thing someone ever admits to."
His tone softened, not unkindly, but disdainful, like a teacher correcting an overly arrogant pupil. "All of this… tearing yourself apart over two batteries. Was it honestly worth it?"
"Batteries?" Her fury faltered. Confusion flitted across her face as she blinked. "What… batteries?"
"Exactly." Arthur exhaled, as though disappointed she had forgotten her own downfall.
And then, he vanished. No trace, no warning.
Ayesha staggered back a step, startled, before realizing the weapon in her hand had been crushed to dust, its remains slipping between her trembling fingers. Arthur's hand was now locked tight around her wrist, iron and inevitable, pulling her bodily toward the cocoon.
"Look," Arthur murmured, his voice calm, yet chilling. "The least perfect thing about him… is that right now, he's completely powerless."
Without another word, he pressed his palm firmly against the golden cocoon. In the very next heartbeat, Arthur's body vanished into its glow.
(End of Chapter)