Chapter Text
Octavio's decision to join Jurard and Goldbullet was not taken lightly.
This was a significant adjustment for someone who had always taken pride in his independence, in being the one to pull the strings from the shadows.
He had always flourished in solitude, monitoring, manipulating, and controlling from a distance.
Nonetheless, there was something irresistibly compelling about Jurard's ambition, the raw power that flowed through him.
Octavio couldn't resist the pull of the challenge that ARMIS represented—an opportunity to not only control but alter the universe, to take on something far greater than anything he had ever attempted on his own.
When Octavio finally accepted the invitation, he did so quietly, deliberately, and calculatedly, rather than with the grandeur one might anticipate from a great performance.
He was not the type to hurry into decisions.
His intellect, which was always clear and focused, had already begun to see the group as an extension of his own vision.
Jurard, with his strength and savagery, would be the operation's focal point, a natural force commanding global attention.
Goldbullet's rifle precision provided a critical counterweight to Jurard's sheer power, ensuring that their plans had both the sharp edge of accuracy and the blunt force of brute strength.
Octavio, however, would bring the finesse.
The choreography of the entire affair.
The performance was elegant.
Jurard's force was a hammer, Goldbullet's precision a scalpel, and Octavio was the conductor.
The one who would choreograph everything and guide everyone to their ultimate aim.
He enjoyed the thought.
In his mind, ARMIS was more than just a group of bounty hunters or mercenaries.
It was a great show, with everyone of them playing a specific role, and Octavio wanted to make sure they did it perfectly.
They would confront the world, not merely with force, but with the elegance and control that only he could provide.
The world would be their stage, and they would manipulate everything on it to their pleasure.
Octavio couldn't help but smile as he stood in front of the skeletal base they now called home, with remnants of the Corruption Beast looming around them like ancient sentinels.
The stage was set.
The game was in motion.
And he, along with Jurard and Goldbullet, would be in the thick of it all.
"Let's see how well the world dances to our tune," Octavio muttered under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper in the silence of the temporary headquarters.
His fingers flexed with anticipation, picturing the strings he would soon pull.
In his head, the world was already changing.
ARMIS was not merely a group; it represented the future.
A world in which power was not inherited but grasped, and control was not a luxury but a must.
And Octavio would ensure that their vision prevailed.
This would be the most refined performance of his life.
The world, which had before been chaotic and shattered, would soon move in time to his tune.
And everything would fall into place—as it should.
So Octavio began preparing for the next steps.
He wasn't merely supporting a cause; he was shaping it to his vision.
ARMIS, along with Jurard's unstoppable force and Goldbullet's lethal precision, would demonstrate that their kind of justice—based on control, power, and ambition—was the only genuine path ahead.
It was not about righteousness.
It was about building something new and unstoppable.
Octavio could already see it: the world's strings would soon be in his grasp, and he would lead them to a new era—one of chaos and order, a world altered by the same hands that strove to control it.
And, as always, Octavio would be the one to pull the strings.