Extra's Ascent-Chapter 182: Liability Not Priority

The remainder of the ride toward Downstate's central square was nothing short of disheartening. The stark contrast between Upstate, Midstate, and finally Downstate wasn't just visible, it was palpable. From the infrastructure to the very air they breathed, each region seemed to speak its own story, and Downstate's tale was one of neglect and decay.

It was as though civilisation had simply stopped at a border and forgotten the land beyond. The transition was jarring. Once the bus crossed into Downstate territory, it felt like they had entered a forgotten world.

Downstate, true to its name, embodied a kind of misery that clung to the skin. Filth and smoke hovered in the air like a curtain of despair. Half-collapsed buildings stood as grim reminders of a better past, their charred skeletons barely upright. Rubble littered every path, and ash-stained potholes dotted the roads like landmines. The terrain itself seemed unwelcoming, uneven and battered, echoing the aesthetics of a post-apocalyptic ruin.

"We're going to have to continue on foot from here!" Gerald announced, his voice carrying over the engine's final sputter.

The vehicle had reached its limit. No amount of effort could urge it forward across the warped, cratered land. The terrain was too devastated, too inhospitable for any form of transportation other than boots.

"You know," Xander started, his brows furrowed in disapproval, "with all the luxury and riches Upstate swims in, it makes you wonder why none af that wealth being funnelled here?"

He wasn't wrong. The disparity was grotesque. It was clear that the people living in Downstate hadn't chosen to be here out of preference. They had been cornered by circumstance, pushed into a crumbling world with no escape hatch.

The amount of financial overflow coursing through Upstate could easily transform this devastated land into something livable. Even if just a fraction, no, a quarter of their opulent budget was redirected, it could revolutionise Downstate's entire infrastructure.

"The political elite would never allow it," Gerald replied, his voice hardened by bitter truth. "They're obsessed with profit. They only invest where there's guaranteed return, regions that'll double their gold reserves and keep their dynasties fed for generations to come."

He wasn't just venting. In a single breath, he encapsulated the machinery of governance in their world. Those in power weren't interested in uplifting the masses, they ruled to protect and expand their own dominion, their greed boundless, their legacies soaked in avarice.

"Bastards," Xander hissed. "This is exactly why I've always said the world would be better off if Mystics took over governance instead of those wrinkled parasites lounging in parliament halls, plotting new ways to stuff their bloated stomachs."

Eric found himself slightly surprised. He never imagined Xander as the sort to be stirred by politics or social injustice. Yet his anger felt genuine, and Eric could relate. The government wasn't just negligent, it was destructive. They focused every effort on preserving the affluent while leaving places like Downstate to rot in obscurity.

But just as Xander's conviction settled, Joseph's voice broke through.

"Letting the Mystics run things wouldn't fix a damn thing. If anything, it could end up worse," Joseph said, his tone dry but measured.

It was the first time he spoke up in the entire exchange. Up until now, he had remained quietly contemplative.

"The Mystic Order may not be as visibly corrupt as the National Order," Joseph added, "but that doesn't make them suitable for leadership."

Xander turned his head sharply. "Oh yeah? Care to explain why you believe that crap?"

"You work under the executive branch of the Mystic Order, don't you?" Joseph asked, his expression sharp. "You help keep their system in check. If it were so peaceful and ideal, why would someone like you be necessary in the first place?"

Xander blinked. Eric furrowed his brow. The logic wasn't immediately obvious.

Joseph sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Let me break it down for you, musclehead."

He continued, "Yes, the National Order is a festering cesspool of self-interest. They're gluttons for wealth and power. But the Mystic Order? Their poison is more subtle. They don't chase gold or politics. They chase power, personal power. The higher you go in their hierarchy, the more dangerous that hunger becomes."

In Mystic society, power wasn't granted; it was taken. The LORD's at the summit of the Mystic rankings were figures of myth and terror. Not even an entire clan of trained Mystics would dare challenge one of them. These were beings whose authority was derived solely from overwhelming strength.

And in that society, that's what everyone aspired to be: a force unto themselves, untouchable and absolute.

"And how exactly does that make them unfit to govern?" Xander challenged, his voice still brimming with defiance.

"My point, and do try to follow," Joseph said, "is that if the Mystics ever replaced the National Order, we'd be looking at the rise of a dictatorship. Not a democracy. Think about it, military command structure, authority rooted in strength, a culture that worships domination."

Xander scoffed. "So what? Better iron discipline than corrupt liberty."

"You really don't see the flaw in that logic, do you?" Joseph asked, exasperation creeping into his tone.

Eric listened in silence, analysing both sides. Joseph wasn't necessarily wrong. Under Mystic rule, the people wouldn't just follow, they'd obey. And if a single Mystic LORD decided the populace was expendable for the sake of a 'greater purpose,' who could stop them?

"To them, public opinion is a footnote," Joseph went on. "All that matters is the mission. The outcome. Civil rights? Freedom of speech? Those aren't priorities. Those are liabilities."

In contrast, the National Order, for all its corruption, still responded however reluctantly to societal pressure. Wealth could buy influence. Protests could shift policies. The people, at the very least, had some voice.

"But what use is that voice," Xander shot back, "if it just screams into a void?"

"That's the dilemma," Joseph muttered. "Pick your poison, deaf tyranny or blind greed."

"I'll take the former," Xander said, resolute. "Better a rigid system with structure than a rotting one built on deceit."

Joseph just stared, lips parted, mentally drained by the exchange. "You really are hopeless."

Before the conversation could spiral further-

"Quiet!" Gerald barked, halting in place.

His voice came out low but commanding, his eyes narrowing with caution.

"You hear that?" he asked, his body now angled defensively.

Eric listened. A faint rhythm echoed in the distance, unfamiliar yet unmistakable.

"I do... It sounds like..." Eric began, ears straining.

There was no need to finish the sentence.

They exchanged glances, each of them reading the silent signal, and then, they bolted.

Straight toward the source of the sound.