The Preemptive Relocation
Malesh looked at the Vice President of Kavilson Steel. "I heavily hope Filoska can evolve her powers instantly, just like Salesh did, so she can transport all of us along with her."
Filoska rolled her eyes, highly annoyed by the administrative request. "If Salesh can become a human switchboard, I can easily handle group logistics. Grab my arms."
Kniya, Malesh, and Salesh cautiously stepped forward, placing their hands on Filoska's shoulders.
Filoska closed her eyes. With a sharp, reality-bending CRACK, the grassy hill completely vanished.
In less than a millisecond, the four billionaires violently reappeared a few kilometers outside of a massive, sprawling royal capital. The towering stone walls of the King's palace loomed in the distance, guarded by hundreds of heavily armed knights. Filoska had successfully evolved her powers instantly, executing a flawless, mass-scale spatial jump without breaking a sweat.
"Wow," Malesh whispered, highly impressed as he let go of her shoulder. "We finally reached this palace. Excellent logistical efficiency. But what exactly are we going to do now? We don't have an army."
The Fabricated Blackmail Strategy
Kniya smirked, crossing his arms as his chaotic imagination began to run wild.
"We don't need an army, Malesh. We are going to hit him with a devastating PR crisis," Kniya announced, his eyes glowing with unregulated capitalist malice. "I have the power to create absolutely anything from my imagination. I am going to create a fabricated, hyper-realistic analog portrait. A forged image."
"A forged image of what?" Salesh asked, already terrified of the answer.
"I will create a completely fabricated, highly scandalous picture of the King having a grossly inappropriate relationship with one of his castle maids," Kniya grinned. "We will aggressively blackmail the King with this forged visual evidence. The deal is simple: he signs a legally binding treaty accepting our total corporate autonomy over that village, and we leave him alone. If he refuses, we expose the image to the public and completely destroy the monarchy's brand reputation."
Filoska crossed her arms, genuinely impressed by the viciousness of the plan. "That is highly illegal. I love it. What do you need to manufacture the forgery?"
"I need highly accurate visual references," Kniya explained, tapping his head. "I need to physically see the King's face and the uniform of a castle maid so my imagination can render the image perfectly. Filoska, I need you to teleport me into the King's room for exactly one second, then teleport me toward a maid's quarters, and then bounce me right back here. It should require about three or four rapid teleportation cycles before I can successfully generate the final product."
The Rapid Reconnaissance
"Hold your breath," Filoska warned, grabbing Kniya's shoulder.
CRACK!
Inside the royal palace, the King was peacefully sitting at his grand mahogany desk, sipping a goblet of expensive wine.
Suddenly, a blinding flash of light erupted in his private study. The King choked on his wine, staring in absolute, paralyzed shock as a strange man in a tailored modern suit materialized directly in front of his wall, aggressively staring at his face.
Before the King could even scream for his guards—CRACK!—Kniya was completely gone.
"What in the heavens?!" the King gasped, dropping his goblet.
CRACK! Kniya reappeared in the castle laundry room, intensely staring at a terrified maid for exactly one second. CRACK! He flashed into the royal hallway to analyze the architecture. CRACK!
In less than ten seconds, Kniya materialized back on the grassy hill outside the city walls, perfectly safe.
"Data collected," Kniya grinned, aggressively popping his mint gum.
Kniya closed his eyes, funneling his imagination-to-creation powers into overdrive. With a soft, magical poof, a glossy, hyper-realistic, perfectly rendered fabricated photograph materialized in his hand. The scandalous image of the King was flawlessly engineered, completely indistinguishable from reality.
"Perfect," Malesh sneered, looking over Kniya's shoulder at the incredibly damaging evidence. "But what if he destroys it?"
"Malesh, we are industrialists," Kniya laughed coldly. "We don't do single-item manufacturing."
Kniya closed his eyes again. The air around them began to physically vibrate as Kniya activated mass-production mode. Thousands upon thousands of identical, high-definition copies of the blackmail photo began to aggressively rain down from the sky, stacking up into massive, neat piles in the dirt.
"If he destroys one," Kniya stated, looking at the mountain of forged evidence, "we have thousands in backup inventory. The King is officially checkmated."
The Brief Ecological Deficit (Narrator's POV)
Now, before we aggressively move forward with this corporate acquisition, I am just going to very quickly state that as Kniya mass-produced thousands of forged photographs, the nearby environment completely lost its life-force. The grass instantly got pale, the vibrant leaves withered into dry husks, and the local ecosystem suffered a massive, completely unregulated metaphysical deficit. I am keeping this ecological explanation incredibly short and strictly to the core plot because I genuinely do not want my narrator salary aggressively cut down by the Author again. Moving on.
The Nighttime Infiltration
Let's deliberately slow the pacing down for a second and carefully assess the geographical landscape of this hostile takeover.
It was now the dead of night. Unlike modern, efficiently zoned urban centers, this highly unoptimized medieval society did not have peasant houses built right up against the royal walls. There was a massive, deliberate distance between the King's lavish, towering palace and the poverty-stricken main city. The back of the royal estate was bordered by a thick, dark, ancient forest where elite holy guards aggressively patrolled the perimeter to protect their sovereign ruler.
Or, at least, they were patrolling.
Within a matter of minutes, Kniya, Malesh, and Filoska had efficiently liquidated the entire night shift using their heavy, armor-piercing R-57 rifles. They moved through the trees with ruthless precision, treating the highly trained royal guards like redundant middle management during a company-wide layoff. The dense forest was now completely silent, save for the crunch of expensive leather shoes against the dirt. The royal perimeter was entirely unsecure.
Standing in the pitch-black shadows of the royal gardens, Filoska aggressively rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck to relieve her executive stress. She grabbed Kniya, Malesh, and Salesh firmly by the arms.
"Going up," Filoska whispered, her eyes glowing with raw spatial energy.
CRACK!
The Royal Intrusion and the Anatomical Joke
Inside the lavish, cavernous master bedroom of the palace, the King was sitting on his velvet-lined, heavily draped four-poster bed. He was peacefully staring into a roaring stone fireplace, sipping a goblet of incredibly expensive vintage wine, completely unaware that his entire economy was about to be forcibly restructured by a board of directors.
Suddenly, the very fabric of reality violently snapped open with a deafening rupture. The four corporate billionaires instantly materialized right in the dead center of his private chambers, bringing the cold night air and the scent of gunpowder with them.
The King violently flinched, choking hard on his wine. His golden goblet slipped from his trembling hands, shattering against the stone floor and spilling red wine everywhere like blood.
"Guards!" the King yelled, scrambling backward against his heavily embroidered headboard in absolute, undignified panic, his royal crown slipping off his balding head. "How dare you enter my private chambers?! Who are you people?! How did you bypass the fortress walls?!"
Malesh sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in sheer, unadulterated annoyance. He casually reached his hand outside the heavy oak bedroom door, grabbed the collar of one of the heavily armored royal guards they had previously eliminated in the hallway, and violently chucked the lifeless, clanking body directly onto the King's incredibly expensive, hand-woven silk carpet.
"Don't talk too loud, you fucking shit, monarchy head," Malesh warned, his voice dropping into a low, terrifyingly calm corporate drone. "We already legally terminated all of your security personnel. So just don't fucking shout for your guards if you don't want to get shot too."
The King stared at the lifeless body of his elite vanguard, his face rapidly draining of all color. His divine royal arrogance instantly evaporated into pure, paralyzing terror. He pulled his silk blankets up to his chest like a frightened child.
Kniya aggressively popped a massive bubble of mint gum, leaning casually against the King's priceless mahogany wardrobe as if he owned the entire estate. He looked the trembling monarch up and down with absolute, unfiltered mockery.
"Well, I never logically expected that the sovereign ruler of this land would be such a massive, pathetic coward," Kniya sneered, thoroughly amused by the pathetic display. "But honestly, looking at you shivering in your nightgown, it makes perfect sense. You are exactly like your Dick Prince son. Total incompetence clearly runs deep in the royal bloodline."
"It is Valdick!" the King cried out defensively, his voice cracking under the sheer pressure of the home invasion.
"Whatever, let's not split hairs over an anatomical prefix," Kniya waved his hand dismissively, cutting the King off. "The point is, we are the highly organized intruders that successfully attacked your vanguard in the town earlier today. And the terms of our business are very simple. We want total, unregulated autonomy over that town. We want it transferred from you to us immediately."