Borderlands: Conquest

POV: Xion E. Million

I stand alone in the training hall, the sound of the molten rivers outside barely a whisper against the steady hum of the artificial atmosphere inside. The weight of Igneous is always on my shoulders—the pressure of this infernal planet, the responsibility of its governance, the burden of my past failures. But at least here, at this moment, my focus is singular: the blade in my hand.

The sword gleams, sharp, deadly, yet somehow out of place in a world where technology and firearms rule. I tighten my grip and move through the familiar motions, each swing purposeful, each step deliberate. The sword is an extension of me, a piece of my soul forged in steel. It demands precision, honor, respect—all the things I once held dear.

I am Xion E. Million, Governor-General of Igneous, and a man who has failed not just in my duty to Alexander, but to my brothers-in-arms. 

I close my eyes as I swing the blade in a perfect arc, remembering their faces—their smiles, their trust, their loyalty. All lost because I was weak. Because I allowed her to get too close. She had been everything I thought I wanted—beautiful, intelligent, capable. I was bewitched, ensnared in her lies, believing her to be loyal when she was nothing but a viper in disguise.

A traitor.

Her betrayal came swiftly, ruthlessly. My team—my comrades—was dead before I could even realise what had happened. By the time I acted, it was too late. And now, I live with their ghosts, their blood on my hands. Every breath I take here on Igneous is an act of penance, every sword strokes a way to atone. But can you truly atone for such failure? I wonder.

The door to the training hall creaks open, and I know without looking that it's one of my men. They never quite understand why I spend so much time here, practising an art they consider obsolete. To them, the sword is nothing more than a relic of the past, a tool for an era long gone. They live in a world of guns, plasma rifles, and drones—where distance and firepower reign supreme.

But to me, the sword represents something more. It is the embodiment of chivalry, of honor. The values I cling to even as the world around me crumbles into chaos and deception.

"Governor-General," a voice calls hesitantly from the doorway. It's Private Delon, one of the younger recruits. He's watched me train before, always with that same puzzled look in his eyes.

I pause mid-strike, lowering the blade as I turn to face him. "What is it, Private?"

He stands at attention, his gaze flicking nervously from my sword to my face. "I... I was just wondering, sir... Why do you use a sword? I mean, with all due respect, sir, we have rifles, drones, even orbital strikes. What good is a blade in a fight?"

I study him for a moment, weighing my response. His question is innocent, born of curiosity rather than malice. I sheath the sword at my side, stepping toward him with slow, measured strides.

"The sword, Private," I begin, "is more than just a weapon. It requires skill, discipline, and mastery of oneself. In battle, it forces you to face your enemy up close, to see them for who they are. There is no distance, no wall of firepower separating you. It demands respect—for your opponent and for the fight itself."

He furrows his brow, clearly struggling to grasp my meaning. "But... guns are faster. More efficient. You can kill from a distance."

"And what is lost in that distance?" I ask softly. "When you fire a gun, you separate yourself from the act. You depersonalize the fight. With a sword, there is no such luxury. It is raw, intimate. It's not just about killing—it's about confronting the truth of the battle. And the truth of yourself."

He nods slowly, though I can tell he doesn't fully understand. Perhaps he never will. Most of them don't. 

But I do.

I turn away from him, looking out through the narrow window of the training hall. Beyond the facility's walls, Igneous churns and roils, a planet of fire and industry. Factories stretch across the surface like veins, pumping out weapons and machines of war. It is a fitting place for me, I suppose. A world born of heat and pressure, forever on the brink of eruption.

Much like me.

The men follow my orders, but they don't trust me. Not fully. They've heard the stories. They know of my failure, of the woman who seduced me with lies and left my team dead in the dirt. It is not a tale they speak openly, but I see it in their eyes. The doubt. The quiet judgment.

They think I should be dead.

Perhaps they're right.

"Will there be anything else, Private?" I ask without turning.

"N-no, sir," Delon stammers. He hesitates for a moment longer, then adds, "But... if I may, sir. You fight with honor. I've never seen anything like it."

I smile grimly, though he cannot see it. "Honor is all I have left, Private. Dismissed."

He leaves me in silence, the door closing behind him with a quiet hiss. I return to my practice, the blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. Each strike is a reminder of my purpose, my penance. I will serve Alexander until my last breath, loyal as any knight to his king.

But there is something else, gnawing at the edges of my mind.

I dream of her often—the woman who betrayed me. In my dreams, she smiles that same seductive smile, her eyes filled with false promises. And then I wake, drenched in sweat, her laughter still echoing in my ears.

I have not forgiven myself for falling for her lies. I don't know if I ever will. But I have made a vow—to serve Alexander with unwavering loyalty, to atone for the lives I lost. It is the only path I see now, the only redemption I can hope for.

And yet... there is a feeling in my gut, a quiet whisper that tells me my time here on Igneous is drawing to an end. I don't know how or why, but I feel it—like the distant rumble of an approaching storm. The heat of the planet presses down on me, suffocating, as if the flames themselves are waiting to consume me.

Perhaps that is my fate. To burn in the fires of Igneous, just as I burned in the fires of my own failure.

I swing the sword one last time, the blade cutting clean through the air before I bring it to rest at my side. My body is tired, my muscles aching, but my mind is clear. 

The sword, though, feels heavier than usual. As if it, too, knows what is coming.

Stepping out of the training hall, I walk down the corridor toward the command center. The men will be waiting for my orders, just as they always do. I will issue them, just as I always have. And the planet will continue to burn, its molten core churning beneath our feet.

But I wonder—when the time comes, when the flames rise, will I have the strength to face them? Or will I fall, consumed by the very fire I've tried so desperately to control?

I have made my vow. I will die for Alexander if need be. But it is not death that frightens me.

It is the possibility that, when the time comes, I will fail again.

I push the thought from my mind as I step into the command center, my expression hardening into the mask of command. The men salute as I enter, their eyes still uncertain, still wary of the man with the sword. 

I do not blame them. I am wary of myself, too.

The flame of Igneous is hot, relentless. It will either forge me anew... or consume me whole.

Only time will tell which...

-

Pov: Selena (Silver fang Leader) 

**Chapter: Beneath the Fangs**

From where I stand, overlooking the neon-lit sprawl of Promethea's Upper Spires, I watch him—Isaac Solo. He's laughing with Cass, as usual. Another one of his strange jokes, something about a chimichanga. I don't know what it is, but Cass chuckles like he gets it. Then again, Cass laughs at anything, especially if it takes the edge off this life.

Isaac Solo.

There's something about him. At first, I thought it was just his easy charm, the way he glides through the chaos of the Spires like he belongs here, like he's always belonged. The Silver Fangs are built on trust. Loyalty. We thrive on the unspoken rule that no one gets in unless they prove their worth. And Isaac? He's more than proven that. 

But I know better than to let that facade lull me into complacency. The man is dangerous. Even now, as he stands there joking around with Cass, I can't help but wonder what lies behind those smirks. He's risen too fast, too smoothly. Most of the others would have buckled under the pressure we put them through. Not Isaac. He thrives in it, and that makes me uneasy.

I pull my jacket tighter around me as a cold gust sweeps through the balcony. Cass glances over his shoulder, catching my eye. He raises an eyebrow as if to ask, "Are you coming down?" I shake my head. 

Not yet.

Cass is my second. He's sharp, loyal, and good at what he does. But he's also too quick to trust, and that's why he likes Isaac. The man makes it easy to like him. He's got that devil-may-care attitude, always cracking jokes, always the center of attention. He knows how to get into people's heads, how to make them feel comfortable, off-guard. 

It's working, too. Most of the Silver Fangs have already accepted him as one of their own. They laugh at his strange references, pat him on the back after a heist, throw drinks back with him at the bar. It's like he's always been here.

But not me. No, I've been burned too many times to fall for that.

I step back into the shadows, blending into the dark recesses of the balcony as the rest of the gang filters out of the meeting room. I don't miss how Isaac's eyes subtly scan the crowd, a quick glance in every direction as if he's always measuring, calculating. He spots me in the corner, but instead of saying anything, he just smirks. That damned smirk.

I hate it. 

And yet... I can't deny he's good. Too good.

He came to us a few months ago, all swagger and wit, claiming he had nowhere else to go. Said he wanted to be part of something bigger, said we were the best. I didn't believe him then, and I don't believe him now. But Cass convinced me to give him a shot. "If nothing else, he'll be good muscle," Cass had said. And damn, was he right.

Isaac isn't just muscle. He's precision. He's brute force when we need it and finesse when it counts. He's led heists that should've been impossible, taken down targets no one else could touch. And the others have noticed. They admire him. Hell, some of them even look up to him. They say he's earned his place, that he's one of us now.

But I see the cracks in the facade. I see the way his eyes linger on things they shouldn't—our operations, our codes, our plans. He's always one step ahead, always in the right place at the right time. Too perfect. Too calculated.

And then there's his crew.

At first, I didn't think much of it. A few of his "old friends" joined the Silver Fangs shortly after he did. Good fighters, capable. But lately, I've noticed something. They move like soldiers. Disciplined. Efficient. Not like the usual street trash we pick up. They follow Isaac without question, and that's not something you see around here. In the Spires, loyalty is rare. Obedience? Even rarer. Yet Isaac has them wrapped around his finger.

I'm no fool. I know an operation when I see one.

My gut tells me Isaac Soto isn't who he says he is, but I need proof. Something tangible. So far, all I have is suspicion, and in the Spires, that's not enough. You don't make accusations without hard evidence, or you'll end up dead, quickly and quietly.

Still, I can feel it—the way the air shifts when Isaac enters the room. The unease he leaves behind. Even now, as I watch him head toward the lower levels with Cass, I wonder what game he's playing. He's hiding something. I'm sure of it.

Cass nudges him in the ribs, and Isaac laughs again. That damn laugh. He turns back to look at me one more time, and for a split second, there's something in his eyes. Not humor. Not the casual arrogance he wears like a second skin.

No. There's something else. A flicker of something darker. 

I narrow my eyes, watching as they disappear down the stairwell. Cass trusts him completely. Cass, who's been by my side through everything, who would die for me without hesitation, is starting to look at Isaac the way he used to look at me.

And that terrifies me.

I can't let this go on much longer. If Isaac's infiltrating us—if he's working for someone else, playing us all for fools—then I'll be the one to stop him. I won't let him take away what I've built, what I've bled for. 

But I need to be smart about it. Isaac isn't just dangerous in a fight. He's smart, maybe even smarter than I give him credit for. If I move too soon, he'll see it coming. If I wait too long, he'll solidify his hold on the Silver Fangs. Either way, I lose.

Damn it.

I rub a hand over my face, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. This isn't how it's supposed to be. I built the Silver Fangs with my bare hands, clawed my way up from nothing to lead the most feared crew in the Upper Spires. And now, this outsider—a man with too many secrets and too many questions—threatens everything.

But not for long.

I head back inside, the noise of the Spires muffled by the thick walls. The gang is scattered around the common area, drinking, laughing, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath their noses. Isaac's men are there too, blending in as if they belong. 

But they don't. 

Not yet.

Selena had always been one to trust her instincts, and this time, her gut told her one thing: Isaac Solo was playing a game, and it was only a matter of time before she figured out the rules.

And when she did, he wouldn't be laughing anymore.

-

Pov: Isaac Solo (Sato)

**Chapter: Under the Silver Skin**

I lean against the cold metal railing, watching the chaotic beauty of the Upper Spires below. Neon lights flicker, casting everything in that grimy glow that makes Promethea feel alive. The Silver Fangs have their claws in this city, and from here, it all looks like a finely tuned operation. Selena's crew moves like clockwork—well, mostly. Still plenty of cracks to exploit.

I take a deep breath, the scent of oil, metal, and burning trash mixing with the brisk night air. My head buzzes with the noise of the city, but I know she's watching. Selena's always watching.

She's suspicious, and I can't blame her. Hell, I'd be suspicious too if I were her. I've risen through the ranks too fast, made myself too useful too soon. But that's the point. Let them think they've got me figured out. Let them believe they're keeping tabs on Isaac Solo—the guy who's a little too good at what he does.

Selena's smart, though. That's what makes her dangerous. She's not like the other gang leaders I've dealt with—no brute force, no over-the-top theatrics. Everything with her is calculated, quiet, like she's waiting for the right moment to pounce.

Cute, really. If she ever becomes a real threat, I'll deal with her. Simple. But for now, I let her play her game.

"Solo!" Cass's voice breaks through the city noise, dragging me back to the present. He's grinning, walking over with that casual swagger that makes him one of the most laid-back criminals I've ever met. He trusts me completely, which is a shame. He seems like a good guy.

I flash him a grin. "What's up, Cass?"

"Selena's looking for you. Probably wants to talk strategy or some serious crap. You know how she gets." He winks, like we're sharing some secret.

I chuckle. "Yeah, strategy. Gotta love it."

Cass doesn't notice the shift in my tone, but I can't help it. Everything I say around here is a performance, a carefully rehearsed act. The Silver Fangs think they're running the show, but they don't know half of what's really going on.

As Cass leaves, I glance toward one of the shadowed corners, where I know Selena's lurking. I catch a glimpse of her, just for a second, and she meets my gaze. There it is—that sharp, piercing look she gives when she thinks she's onto something.

I almost laugh. She's not onto anything. Not yet.

I slip back inside the old warehouse the Fangs call headquarters and head to one of the private rooms. My hand finds the hidden switch beneath the desk, and with a quick flick, a small compartment opens, revealing my secret communication device. Cloaked, encrypted, and perfectly off the grid. Selena can keep her eyes on me all she wants, but she's not seeing this.

A faint blue glow fills the room as the screen lights up, and I input the code.

"Connect."

The line buzzes once before his face appears—Alexander. The man I'm truly loyal to. The only one who actually matters in all this chaos.

"Isaac," he greets me, his voice calm but edged with authority. "Report."

"Everything's moving along as planned," I say, my voice lowering into that steady, no-nonsense tone I reserve for moments like this. "I've climbed the ranks. Cass trusts me completely. Selena… she's suspicious, but I've got it under control. She's sharp, though. If she becomes a problem, I'll remove her. No second thoughts."

Alexander's face remains impassive, but I can tell he's weighing my words. The guy's a master of subtlety—he knows what's going on even when I don't say it outright. That's why I follow him. Why I'm here.

"Don't act too quickly," he finally says. "Selena's more valuable alive for now. Keep her in check, but don't burn that bridge until you have to. I need you to stay embedded longer. The Silver Fangs have potential as assets."

Of course. I expected nothing less. Alexander's always thinking five steps ahead. It's one of the reasons I respect him, even if I play by my own rules sometimes.

"Understood," I say, leaning back against the wall. "But there's something else. My men—they've infiltrated deeper than expected. We've got a few new recruits inside the Fangs. Quietly, of course. They don't even know they're working for us yet. When the time comes, we'll have control from within."

I watch Alexander's face closely, gauging his reaction. He doesn't smile, but there's a flicker in his eyes. Approval. That's enough for me.

"Good work, Isaac. Continue as planned. The Imperium will need every advantage when the time comes. And don't underestimate Selena. She's more dangerous than she appears."

Dangerous. Yeah, I know she is. But that doesn't mean I can't handle her. I've dealt with worse.

"I'll keep that in mind," I say, my voice calm and steady.

The screen flickers off, the faint hum of the transmission cutting out as I close the compartment and cover up any traces of the conversation. Alexander always knows how to play the long game, and I'm just a piece on the board. But I like it that way. As long as I'm playing for the winning side, that's all that matters.

I step back out into the main hall, slipping back into my role as Isaac Solo, the Silver Fangs' golden boy.

There's a party going on, drinks flowing, music blaring. My eyes sweep the room. The Silver Fangs are laughing, shouting, celebrating another successful heist. Cass is at the bar, already a couple of drinks deep, while the rest of the crew are scattered around, getting lost in their own vices.

And there, in the corner, is Selena.

She's not drinking. She's watching. Always watching.

I make my way over to her, casual as ever, that familiar smirk plastered on my face. "Selena," I say, leaning against the wall next to her. "You look like you're plotting something."

She gives me a sideways glance, her eyes sharp as ever. "Always am, Solo. Always am."

I chuckle, acting like I don't care. Like none of this matters. "Good. That's what makes you a great leader."

She doesn't respond, just keeps looking at me like she's waiting for me to slip up, to show my hand. But I've been playing this game too long. I know how to keep the mask on.

Selena may be suspicious. She may even be dangerous. But at the end of the day, my loyalty is to Alexander and the Imperium. If it comes down to it, I'll do what needs to be done. No hesitation.

She's just another part of the plan. Another piece on the board.

And when the time comes, I'll take her out if I have to.

But for now, I let her keep watching. Let her think she's got me figured out.

Because the truth is, I'm already ten steps ahead.