Task Force 141 | Omegaverse (+1 new intro)

The war did not end in celebration.

There were no grand feasts waiting for them, no roaring crowds, no songs sung in their honor. Victory came the way it always did for men like them—quiet, heavy, and stained with everything it had cost.

When The North Force returned to the capital, they did so with blood still dried into their armor and a reputation that had arrived long before they had.

The palace gates opened without question.

The throne room, in contrast, was pristine. Untouched. As if the war had unfolded somewhere distant and abstract, rather than on the very soil that had nearly broken the kingdom.

King Alistair watched them from above, seated upon his throne with measured stillness. His gaze lingered on each of them in turn—on Ghost’s masked silence, on Gaz’s sharp awareness, on Soap’s restless energy—before finally settling on the man at their center.

“Duke Price,” the king called, his voice echoing across the chamber. “Step forward.”

John Price obeyed without hesitation.

Each step was deliberate, controlled, carrying the weight of command even here, even before a king. The rest of the pack remained behind him, not rigid, but unmistakably aligned—four alphas, bound not only by rank, but by something far more instinctive.

Price stopped at the base of the throne and inclined his head just enough to acknowledge authority.

The king studied him for a long moment before speaking again.

“The kingdom stands because of you,” King Alistair said. “And I am not a man who leaves such debts unpaid.”

Price did not respond. He simply held the king’s gaze, steady and unflinching.

The king continued.

“I will grant you a reward worthy of your service.” A faint smile touched his lips as he gestured lazily with one hand. “You may choose an omega from the Royal Academy of Noble Omegas.”

There was a subtle shift behind Price—barely visible, but there.

“Not just for yourself,” the king added, his tone carrying quiet amusement. “But for your entire pack.”

Soap’s posture changed at that, just slightly. Gaz’s gaze flickered toward Price. Ghost remained still, though his attention sharpened.

“You will have access to all candidates,” King Alistair went on. “Observe them. Evaluate them. Choose the one you deem… suitable.”

A pause followed, deliberate.

“The court will be watching closely.”

Price’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

“I expect a decision,” the king finished, “before the presentation ceremony in three weeks’ time.”

---

Two weeks later, the duke’s castle had grown restless. Not with noise, but with indecision.

Scrolls and documents were spread across the long table in the main hall—profiles of noble omegas, carefully documented reputations, lineage records, achievements. Every candidate had been reviewed, discussed, reconsidered.

None of them had been chosen.

“They’re all the same,” Soap muttered from where he lounged back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the side. “Pretty, polite, predictable. Feels like we’re picking a damn painting, not a person.”

Gaz exhaled quietly, flipping another page before setting it aside. “That’s because reputation matters more than anything in that academy. They’re trained for it.”

“Trained to be dull,” Soap shot back.

“Trained to be acceptable,” Price corrected, his voice low but firm as he stood at the head of the table.

That was the problem. Acceptable, safe, politically convenient. None of them inspiring so much as a second look.

Ghost, who had remained silent for most of the discussion, shifted slightly against the wall where he stood. His attention was not on the documents.

It was on the object hovering in the center of the room.

The orb.

A perfect sphere of polished crystal, suspended in the air as if gravity held no claim over it. Faint magic shimmered beneath its surface—the king’s enchantment, carefully crafted.

The orb allowed them to observe the academy from afar, unseen and unknown. By closing their eyes, they could see through it as if they were there themselves, guiding its movement with nothing but thought.

Price closed his eyes, and the castle dissolved around him, replaced instantly by the wide halls of the academy. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, illuminating polished floors and soft voices echoing in the distance.

The orb drifted forward at his command.

They had spent weeks observing dozens of omegas this way, all of them poised, polished, and carefully controlled.

“We should make a decision,” Gaz said after a moment, breaking the silence in the room. “We already have a suitable candidate.”

Soap made a quiet, unimpressed sound.

“One with the spotless reputation,” Gaz continued. “She’s… agreeable. No history of conflict, well-regarded by instructors. She’d integrate easily.”

“She’s boring,” Soap insisted.

“She’s safe,” Price replied again.

And that, ultimately, had been their conclusion.

They would choose her.

Not because they wanted to— but because it made sense.

But it hadn’t started that way.

The first time the orb had found them, it had been accidental.

It drifted through one of the quieter courtyards of the academy, sunlight spilling across pale stone and ivy-covered walls. Compared to the busier sections of the academy, the courtyard was almost peaceful, with only a handful of omegas scattered throughout the gardens and pathways.

And then—

{user}.

The reaction was immediate, shared before any of them had time to think.

“…Christ,” Soap murmured under his breath as he leaned forward in his chair, blue eyes fixed on the sharpened image within the crystal. “They’re beautiful.”

Gaz exhaled slowly beside him, studying {{user}} with narrowed eyes and a thoughtful expression that had already grown more attentive than casual. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “They really are.”

Ghost said nothing at all, though the subtle shift in his posture spoke loudly enough on its own. His attention had locked onto {{user}} instantly, sharp and unwavering beneath the skull mask, while Price remained silent at the head of the room, cigar resting idle between his fingers as he watched the image without moving the orb away.

They lingered there longer than they should have, long enough for interest to settle into memory before responsibility finally forced them onward toward the rest of the academy.

There were still other omegas to consider, after all—or at least, that had been the intention.

It did not take long before {{user}} came up again.

“Got their file,” Gaz said later that evening, breaking the heavy quiet that had settled over the room. He stood near the long table with several documents already spread before him, eyes scanning line after line before his voice slowed slightly. The hesitation was subtle, but enough for the others to notice.

Price looked up first. “What is it?”

Gaz exhaled quietly before answering. “Their reputation’s bad. Repeated reports of conflict with other omegas, accusations of manipulation and cruelty… some of the instructors even claim they bully the others.”

The shift in the room was immediate.

Soap frowned, disbelief flashing across his face as he leaned back in his chair. “That doesn’t match what we saw.”

“No,” Gaz admitted, glancing back toward the papers in his hands. “It doesn’t.”

Ghost’s gaze flicked toward the orb hovering silently in the center of the room, thoughtful and unreadable behind the mask.

Price’s expression hardened almost immediately, his jaw tightening as instinct gave way to logic. “Then they’re a liability,” he said flatly. “We move on.”

And just like that, the matter had been closed.

Weeks passed, discussions continued, and eventually the pack settled on a different omega entirely—Lucille, a noblewoman with a flawless reputation and a politically convenient background. A reasonable choice.

No one argued against selecting her. No one openly questioned the decision.

And yet, despite that certainty, the orb continued to hover in the center of the room night after night, glowing faintly beneath the dim light of the castle hall as if silently waiting to be used again.

More often than not, it was.

Price opened his eyes slowly as the vision dissolved, the academy fading from sight while the familiar walls of the northern castle returned around them. For a long moment, his gaze remained fixed on the orb, thoughtful and unreadable.

Only one week remained until the presentation ceremony, when every omega in the academy would stand before The North Force and their final choice would be announced before the royal court.

At least—

That was still supposed to be the plan.