The Last Saiyan

One hundred fifty years after the end of Dragon Ball Z, the world has been cast into turmoil. There are no more Z fighters - all of their bloodlines have long died out. There is evil permeating through every inch of society, and under martial law, the Earth is enslaved. Its king, Jibal, has the seven Dragon Balls. He has the entire population as his slaves. He has fleets of millions of soldiers at his fingertips. But not all heed his leadership as indomitable.

There is a boy, a lesser-blood boy, named Nir. And though he is not fully human, and he has a small furry tail, his outcast lifestyle is brought to an abrupt end when his life, and the lives of so many like him are put in peril over the madness consuming the planet. He alone holds the power to stand up against it.

Though he knows it not, Nir is the last Saiyan in existance.

The theme song is The Old Days Are Gone. QIwso0Krog0

Author's Note
For those who will read this story, and have read this story, I would like to make it clear that The Last Saiyan is, by no means, a sequel to my other story, The Forgotten. However, I would also like to make it clear that if you have not read The Forgotten, and/or are not familiar with its main character, Ledas, then several portions of this story will not make sense. Mainly, the prologue and epilogue. It'll kind of suck for you when you get to the end and you have no idea who this Ledas person they keep talking about is. But hey, that's how it's going to be.

I also need to quickly say that The Last Saiyan is a normal story - except for the prologue. The prologue's format is unique, so do not expect the rest of the story be like that.

The main source of inspiration for this story comes from the novel Oliver Twist.

Major Characters

 * Nir
 * Jibal
 * The Collective
 * Wepeel
 * Farayel Aros
 * William
 * The Criers
 * Sciaon Malbarion
 * Krystian Bolda
 * Soren Flyre
 * Tyren

Points of View
The Last Saiyan is a third person limited perspective story. Each portion of the story is thus told from the perspective of a single character. Nir, being the protagonist, has by far the most point of view sections in every act. Several secondary characters exist, and they have a moderate number of perspectives per act. Minor perspectives are characters who only have one or two perspectives total.

Currently updated through chapter 12.

Map of the World


It is suggested that you open the map in a second tab as your read TLS, as it will make the movement throughout the story (and the discussion of sector geography) more clear.

The above map of Dragon World shows the fourteen sectors of Jibal's empire. They are as follows:
 * 1) Sector 1 is where Jibal rules from. His Capitol City is in the old Central City. This is one of the smallest sectors, as it is comprised of only the Capitol city and the surrounding farmlands. The ruling prince of this sector is the commander of King Jibal's praetorian guard, Lord Commander Tirib. Tirib does not do much ruling, as Jibal is able to manage this sector himself. Sector 1 has a relatively small amount of rebels in it.
 * 2) Sector 2 is a northern, mountainous, often snowy region. This region is the location of the imperial-held city formerly known as Northern City. It is one of the largest cities on Earth and has one of the largest Ordained defense forces. It is currently being held by one of the empire's best officers, General Brant. As such, very little rebel activity is being reported in the sector. The ruling prince of this sector is Prince Highlan.
 * 3) Sector 3 is a mountainous region that is almost impossible to navigate. It has very few cities, though it has many sparsely populated towns. The mountain regions are highly populated by rebels. The ruling prince of this sector is Prince Eslecair.
 * 4) Sector 4 is a large region mostly filled with farms and small towns. It has been heavily ravaged by the war so far. The cities Zirion destroyed with the Criers were in this region. The imperial-held city formerly known as Western City is located in this region. It has a moderate amount of rebels in it, though after Zirion destroyed several outposts with the Criers, their forces have been greatly reduced. The ruling prince of this sector is Prince Gnaros.
 * 5) Sector 5 is an ice island that functions mainly as the world's prison. There are a few small towns located on its southern shores. The ruling prince of this sector is Prince Carowan. Sector 5 has no rebel activity reported in it.
 * 6) Sector 6 is a highly populated urban region of Earth. It is commonly known as 'the Shoulder'. This is the setting of much of the first Act when Nir, Sky, and the other children fought against rebel forces in a ruined city. This was also the nexus of Sciaon Malbarion's rebellion. He and all of his loyal lords organized their rebellion from this sector. The ruling prince of this sector is Prince Raelith.
 * 7) Sector 7 is a desert-like region of Earth. It is firmly in the control of the rebels, though a few imperial outposts remain. The sector's main city is currently being held by a small imperial garrison, though they are low on supplies and war-weary. The ruling prince of this sector is Prince Lorigan.
 * 8) Sector 8, also known as 'the Badlands' is a region filled with outlaws and mercenaries. The imperial reach barely extends to this region, and as such, it is barely policed. This region's imperial city is guarded by only 200,000 soldiers. Aside from the imperial city, the Ordained do not guard any of the region. This section has a moderate number of rebels, though the majority of those living in this region are opposed to both the rebels and empire. The ruling prince of this sector is Prince Eliphyr.
 * 9) Sector 9 is a group of islands, including the famous south continent. The former South City is the imperial headquarters for the region. This sector is primarily in the control of the empire, though some of the outlying islands are rebel-controlled. The ruling prince of this sector is Prince Yendros.
 * 10) Sector 10 is a sparsely populated group of islands, including Kame Island itself. The region does not have a large population, and as such, there aren't many Ordained or rebel forces around. The largest concentration of Ordained is in the sector's city on Training Isle. The ruling prince of this sector is Prince Calister.
 * 11) Sector 11 is a large sector featuring grasslands, mountain ranges, and one of the best fortified ports in the entire empire. It is seen in the first act when Nir and Sky were traveling back to sector 14. The ruling prince of this sector is Prince Fleyarck. Sector 11 has a relatively small amount of rebels in it.
 * 12) Sector 12 is the largest region on Earth. It is the site of many rebel-Ordained battles. It is where the General Casserly's imperial army was crushed and he was killed. General Taiyon was also defeated by rebel forces and was forced to retreat with the battered remnants of her armies. Currently, the region is mostly under rebel control, though the rebels do not have the numbers to push forward to Sector 1 yet. The ruling prince of this sector is Prince Vyral. Vyral's city is currently under the control of rebels and he is a hostage.
 * 13) Sector 13 is a northern, snowy region. It is separated from the other regions by a great river, which serves as its border. The former East City is located in this region and has since been rebuilt by Jibal's forces. It is the largest city in the empire and is considered the jewel of the entire kingdom. Rebel and Ordained forces have clashed quite a bit in the region, though both sides have relatively low numbers after so much fighting. General Brant's imperial army threatens to rid the entire region of rebel forces. The ruling prince of this sector is Prince Melwane.
 * 14) Sector 14 is the sector where The Last Saiyan begins. Nir, Sky, Jakemo, Ralgo, and Zirion are all native to this sector. Nir and Sky attempted to return to this sector at the end of the first act, but they were intercepted by two Criers in Sector 11. The ruling prince of this sector is Prince Diruhl. General Zirion killed Diruhl in the first act, and as of yet, no one has been promoted to replace her. Sector 14 has a relatively small amount of rebels in it.

Prologue
{{subst:*Muto (moo-toh) noun, plural mutos. 1. A derogatory term for hybrids, who are half human, half animal. Because of his Saiyan tail, Nir is considered a Muto.}}

''The following is a brief transcript found in the Royal database. Like many other rebellion conspiracies, this one remained unsolved up to its finding:''



///Point-array Carrier Wave (Royal Channel)///Authorized by Commander Zirion///Marked Tier Two Urgency///Origin: Central City (Section 1), Capitol Building///1530 hours///931 Age///

///Encryptor verified///Beginning reroute process///Firewall lowered///Ghost-logger activated///Initiating keyboard response///

OMW Renquis: Commander Zirion, please validate the legitimacy of a resistance incident that occurred at approximately 1505 hours. The higher-ups will be requesting a full inquiry, and as such, we need verification now.

CMDR Zirion: I am not aware of any such incident, watcher.

OMW Renquis: System memory shows a clear breach at 1505 hours, Commander. Do you want to see the footage?

///Stabilize keyboard response///

CMDR Zirion: Visual or audio?

OMW Renquis: We have both, sir.

CMDR Zirion: Send them.

///Audio sync off by 2.6793301%///Press enter to allow///

///Process allowed///Scans re-prioritized///(appended string function canceled, ACL7 error)///

///Figure one unseen: Guttural tone, non-human voice; Gray static on position///Figure two seen: When with figure one, partially obscured by static; when alone, fully visible; High voice, child, male; 10-12 years old, malnourished///

CMDR Zirion: What do you mean, non-human. Is the first one a muto?

OMW Renquis: We cannot tell, sir. The second, however, is indeed a muto, as you will see.

///Playback started///Run time 3 minutes forty-four seconds///Transmission uninterrupted; ends on its own accord///

Figure One: You will be bled, if this does not happen. It  is the only way.

///Speakers adjusted 12%///

Figure Two: I don’t know if this is a good idea.

///Unidentifiable sound – “crash”?: No known recognized sound correlates///

Figure Two: She won’t agree to it, anyway. I’ve been to her house, and her father tried to killed me. But he doesn’t know who he’s dealin-

Figure One: Don’t kill him. That can’t end well. But for her, just get close with her first. She’ll agree to do it in time. As long as you stay with her, she will be yours.

Figure Two: How do you know?

Figure One: It’s how women are. But be discreet. Tell no one. The guards will attempt to kill you both if they find her. Do not let them.

Figure Two: I’ll keep her safe… but I don’t understand why you want me to-

Figure One: Do not speak of it. The world will fall when it is time, and all these humans will be dead. That much is known.

Figure Two: No, I don’t want to save the world again. It’s pointless. In a few years, it’ll just go back to the way it was.

Figure One: Then leave him. Let him forge his own life. With your powers flowing through him, he will topple this empire, whether you want him to or not.

///12 second pause///Audible shuffling///

Figure Two: I just want to name him, at least.

Figure One: What name?

Figure Two: Nir. He should… he should be called Nir.

///Figure Two is pushed forward out of static; Location: Fourth Street, Section 1///

Figure One: Tell your chosen mate, not me.

///Figure Two walks off alone///Muto detected – see tail///Verified male child, 10-12 years of age///Figure Two walks to the end of the block///Feed ends///

///Replay? y/n///

///n///

CMDR Zirion: Watcher, have you found this muto boy?

OMW Renquis: He has not been found, sir. We have not seen any reports come forth on alleged rebellion plots. But clearly, they are thinking up something to destabilize the empire.

CMDR Zirion: Clearly. Whoever these two are, I want them found. We will not allow any such conspiracy to go unpunished. Copy the second figure’s face, and plaster it around the city. Offer zeni for information regarding his name or place of living. That is an order, watcher.

OMW Renquis: As you wish, Commander Zirion.

CMDR Zirion: And, watcher, it’s just a boy. We should not trouble our superiors with it. Classify this conspiracy as low priority, and move on with the others.

OMW Renquis: Will do, sir.

///Transmission end///Memory erased: Audio and Visuals erased///System remember keyword “Nir”///Terminate program///

Chapter I: The Outlook
{{subst:*October 12th 888 Age: A new totalitarian regime emerges, crushing Earth's Defense Forces. Its soldiers possess cybernetic suits which easily crush their opposition. Their leader takes possession over all known areas of the world.
 * October 16th 888 Age: The Ordained, the Royal military unit of the king is formed. Earth’s Defense Forces are disbanded and their leaders executed.
 * June 16th 891 Age: All people are fully regulated into fixed lives. Jobs are assigned, not sought after, much like in a slave labor camp.}}

You are not a person.

You are not equal.

You will not speak.

You will not rebel.

You have no purpose but to serve.

You will be grateful.

You will be loyal.

You will be happy.

You will not rebel.

Nir had known those words all his life. He had never grasped their meaning, their purpose, but such moral philosophy was not for a young boy’s mind. He was lesser-blood. And as it was in the world, those who were not favored were downtrodden. Needless to say, those words frightened him, and in his realm they stood over every door to remind him of his worthlessness.

The old orphanage was a pale yellow color, sickly instilled upon the earth to serve as monument to human vanity and failure. Nir had reckoned that this was a sort of prison. Outside of school, this place was where Nir was kept at all times. The old caretaker and the occasional soldier were all Nir knew of the outside world. Few came by for any business – for what little business the men had, they kept to themselves. Nir would never ask what that was.

“You can’t come in,” said a boy with a ruddy face and a striped shirt, “No Mutos.”

He slammed the door to the makeshift fort shut, locking Nir off from the rest. Sometimes they were like this. Heck, most of them were always like this. But who could blame them? Nir was low even by lesser-blood standards. Supposedly, he was part animal. Humans breeding with any animal were rightly hated upon. He did not have much to show for his Muto-ness. A small, furry tail he did have, but otherwise he was a human. He was like them. He wanted to be like them.

Nir did not cry any more. It used to bother him, much like it used to bother him when he went hungry night after night. But school was coming soon; he had that to look forward to. He went into one of the rickety old bathrooms to prepare himself. Quietly, Nir washed the dirt off of his face, picked the grass out of his hair, and scraped his teeth clean. And there he waited, by the dripping sink (collecting what water he could to slake his thirst) until the caretaker called them to go to school.

The caretaker was a man who was not too old but thought he was. He had patches of brown hair atop his head, combed this way and that to hide his baldness. Always was he in a pinstripe suit, as if it was some noble venture to be here taking care of these children. As if he needed to distinguish himself from them, while at the same time showing his unending sympathy. He was not subtle about his impatient distaste with children. He usually held a heavy thick-rimmed book in his hands which would find its place on the back of any head it desired. Usually Nir took the back of the line, as by the time he would march past the caretaker, the man’s hand would have grown tired.

They walked in total silence to the school. They went by foot through the Eighth District (the ghetto), which was a dreadfully dreary place. It was filled with smoke and rubble and barbed wire. And there were wooden towers on the edge of sight filled with heinous men with rifles. They would shoot anyone out of order. No sympathy, no regret. Nir kept his head forward as he walked. He had never seen anyone try to escape. The barrenness out here would be hard to live on even if one did get past the snipers. Even in the orphanage, food was provided, however rancid it might be. Out here, the destitution was in totality, and the red glare of the rising sun was not all too kind on the features.

The city they were going to was once known as West City. It was no longer called that. Instead, it had been renamed “Providence of Diruhl”, which was evidently named after the Prince of this region. The city itself was huge, with skyscrapers too high to see the top of, and area wider than the horizon. As far as Nir knew, Providence of Diruhl was the only place on earth, its innumerable rank of towers crowning every inch of the world.

In the city, the soldiers – which were called The Ordained – routinely patrolled and searched anyone they wanted. That was pretty much all Nir knew about the empire. There were political and economic ramifications which he had no knowledge of. It was too complex and too ordered for him to care or pursue. The world was ruled by one man, somewhere, and nearly everyone was treated like a dog because of him.

They arrived at school and were seated. The lessons began, and Nir learned. These brief moments of learning about the world, about how great the empire was stayed the monotony and the wretchedness for some time. Nir applied himself the best he could in these instances, but there was a nagging suspicion in his mind that his group were being taught less rigidly and less truthfully than his peers of the same age, but of higher class. Still, he was grateful. The maxim was to be followed.

One area Nir particularly liked was that of math. Unlike the other subjects where Nir suspected folly in the teachings, this subject had very little it could hide behind. He liked the truthfulness of numbers. It almost made him feel hopeful in a weird, hollow way. If people could just be like numbers, if history was so plain-sighted…

Recess was an odd feature of school. Nir did not much see the point of it. While not at school, he sat around waiting for school. So to have a time, at school, that was simply wasted was not altogether heartening. However, one important aspect of recess was that it was the only time Nir was able to associate with people better than him.

He walked down the hall by himself. He spent this time trying to rub food stains off of his clothes. The crafters of recess never took into account the Muto factor; as Nir was, as far as he knew, the only Muto in the school, he had no one he could go with or talk to. Recess for him was wholly unproductive. He wandered out of the hall, into the enclosure they were allowed out in. The ground was too dusty to really play in, so he abandoned that pursuit in an instant. Instead, Nir wandered over to a chain link fence and looked out.

Everything in the city was so clean and shiny, opposed to here, where everything was opposite; was dark; was muddy; was in ruin. He didn’t get how people could look at the skyscrapers with the horrible reflections they gave off. It hurt Nir’s eyes to look at them for even a moment. He squinted as they watered, turning away. Just as he did, three children walked up to him. These were clearly nobles; they wore the deep blue uniforms of their prestige. They didn’t even go to this school, but as Nir knew too well, they would usually take their breaks to cut across the block and see what the lesser-blood were up to. Usually, that devolved into several boys getting hurt.

Nir’s only friend in the world was one of these. They had been acquainted in choir, when the nobles and lessers had put on a performance for the regional commander. A glimmer of hope came to Nir when he saw that among these boys was his friend.

“What is this, can’t even clean yourself up for school?” one of them said.

Nir bowed his head in respectful submission.

“Aw look! He’s crying. What, are you sad about being a freak?”

Nir said nothing. There was no point to bring up that he was in fact not crying. They would beat him if he said he had gotten watery eyes from staring at skyscrapers. “Come on Ralgo, it’s not worth it,” said a voice, the one Nir knew to be his friend. Nir remained still.

The two snorted at that and dispersed. Nir looked up to see his friend still there, though. He was smiling, half-heartedly with his hands in his pockets.

“Hi, Sky,” said Nir as best he could.

“Hi,” was the enthusiastic reply, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, really. We were being taught fractions today.”

“Hey, how about ditching class with us today. Ralgo’s dad has this hovercar that we’re going to take out.”

“Your friends don’t think much of me.”

“Eh, they’ll warm up to you. They have to. They don’t have many friends a-side from me. Isn’t that right, guys?” asked Sky, cocking his head to look over at his friends.

“No, because they’re spoiled brats,” Nir whispered, mostly to himself.

“We’re… what?!” came a voice from behind Nir.

He spun around on the cement ground and saw the two other noble boys. The fatter one, splittingly plump, was detested by his treasonous words.

“What did you call me, Muto?!” Ralgo breathed, “Tell me it wasn’t what I thought!”

He pushed into Nir, causing the smaller boy to stumble back.

“I… I… well… I-It’s true!” replied Nir, the grime on his face masking his panic.

“Nobody disrespects me!” said Ralgo. He took something out of his pocket, flipped it open, and showed it to Nir. It was a small pocket knife. He sneered, “I know how to use this.”

“Whoa, Ralgo!” said Sky, rushing forward, “What the heck?! You can’t kill him.”

“Why not? He’s Muto. It’s allowed.”

“No, seriously. Don’t. We can use him.”

“What’s with you, Sky? It’s just a Muto. They aren’t people, you know. Besides, if we wanna get into the Ordained, we have to be able to do these things.”

Ralgo did not back down. Instead, swiping Sky aside, he walked toward Nir. The small boy’s heart was pounding so loudly in his ears, he couldn’t hear his own breathing. Ralgo kicked him in the shins, causing Nir to fall to his knees. He winced heavily in pain as the taller, stouter boy grabbed him by the hair.

“Your kind should be on your hands and knees beggin’ for me to give you a good look,” he spat in Nir’s face, “Calling me a brat is just pathetic. You have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know anything about us! You little bastard-”

Ralgo’s face was all screwed up in a wrinkled mess of hate and rottenness. He took the small blade, which could not have been more than a finger wide and thrust it into Nir’s face. Nir didn’t even see the blade. He didn’t even think about it. The adrenaline in his body had taken over, and even as he watched, he felt alien in his own body. It reacted on its own, self-preservation far too important to let him be in control. Nir knocked his elbows upward, causing the knife to go flying up in the air and landing with a dull thud a foot away. Ralgo was crying something terrible, when Nir stood up, rushed the knife, and picked it up. He rolled it around in his hand. It was all slow motion. It was all beyond his control. Nir’s body moved itself as it turned to him, ran at him and thrust the knife into his neck. Ralgo was so taken aback that he hadn’t even tried to defend himself. He simply grabbed his neck, with the knife in it, and coughed. Ripping it out of him, a stream of crimson following, he fell to the ground and screamed in agony.

Sky stood there dumbfounded, along with his peer. Nir, his mouth agape, his hands trembling uncontrollably glanced once at Sky before turning and bolting. He’d just hurt a nobleman. Sky or his friend would say he did it. They were obligated. Nir would be killed.

This time, he didn’t bother holding back the tears.

Chapter II: Lightfoot
{{subst:*March 1st 931 Age: The events of the prologue take place.
 * February 29th 932 Age: Nir is born.
 * November 12th 936 Age: Commander Zirion is promoted to General.
 * September 8th 942 Age: Nir begins his current year of classes.}}

The slick of water, overflown from a myriad of barely functioning toilets, was not something unexpected. Schools in lower West City were all fallen into disrepair. But Nir was not thinking about this – how could he, after what he had just done? Still, when he came flying into his school’s bathroom, he slipped on the water and split his lip. He was too frightened to get angry. They were going to kill him. They were going to, without question, end his life. His short life would be over. The words sunk into him like a dull, hollow hunger pain. There were going to kill him. Spitting the blood which had flowed into his mouth out, Nir stood up and stepped into a stall.

His body was completely numb. It was not only in his shaking legs, but in his fingers too. He tried hard to clench down his fingers, but they barely moved. He gripped the small pocket knife in his jacket pocket and brought it out as best he could. The little blade still had Ralgo’s blood on it. Nir winced as he saw it. They were going to kill him for it.

He wiped the blood off before proceeding. Being a muto, he knew, meant no mercy was necessary. Any crime sults in execution. He had but one choice, then. Nir stared down at the knife. It was so blunt. But it was his only tool to cut off his tail. He positioned himself down on his knees, then pulled his pants down.

With his left hand holding the blade and his right guiding it, Nir made the first cut. It hit him immediately, but he kept going. It felt like being stuck with a thorn, if that thorn was the size of a coconut and was being jammed into his eye. His tail was by far the most sensitive part on his body. Even sitting on it awkwardly, or sleeping on his back would send waves of pain up his body. Here, cutting with an unsharpened blade was about the worst thing he could do. It took all he could to not scream his lungs out.

Nir bit his tongue to keep from whimpering out. The knife had made a small incision, pouring out blood all over his hands. It was too dull to make a clean cut, so Nir had to saw back and forth, through muscle and nerve endings and bones. His breath erratic, his eyes filled with dark spots, he did not notice as someone entered the bathroom.

“Nir?” it said in a worried whisper. It was his friend, Sky. No, he couldn’t do this now! No!

“Y-y-yea-ah?” Nir replied.

“Are you, are you okay?”

“No.”

“There are soldiers here. They want to see everybody in the courtyard. They’re pretty serious.”

“I’ll be o-out in a second.”

“Nir, they’ll kill you if you hide in here.”

“I know.”

Nir heard Sky turn to leave.

“Wait, Sky,” he began, “Do you have your second pair of clothes in your backpack?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Can you leave them for me?”

Nir couldn’t see it, but he knew realization was dawning on his friend’s eyes, “But, that’ll make me guilty too!”

“I’ll say I’m your brother, or something! They are going to kill me if you don’t! Please!”

“I… Nir… O-okay.”

Sky opened the stall, not realizing Nir wanted privacy. Nir screamed as his friend appeared before him and kicked the door shut. Sitting on the toilet, his bloody back was concealed. Sky had seen his naked front side, however. Any other day, Nir would have felt embarrassed enough to die. It struck him, sadly, that he had bigger worries to make that not matter.

“Ah jeez… Sorry. I’ll wait outside,” Sky said quickly before exiting.

All this time, Nir had slowly been cutting and scraping away at his tail. With Sky around, he had handled the pain better. He had not let himself cry out or show weakness in front of Sky. He felt his fingers through the bloody fur, and felt that only a small piece was still attached. He could no longer feel his tail, but the pain on the cut point was freshly hurting. He bit down in his tongue again.

Letting the tail cut loose, he stood up. It fell with a large splash into the watered basin. He looked down after it and tears welled in his eyes, beyond his control. Not from pain, but because of the loss. His tail was part of him. He loved having it. Despite what he had always been told about being a filthy muto, Nir had felt a secret pride over it. He had been special because of it. And now it was gone. He coughed then flushed. It was gone.

Nir quickly grabbed some paper and pressed it over the wound. That did very little. The blood sprung through, spurting out alarmingly fast now. He jumped forward but fell immediately. Without his tail, Nir could not even balance. Panicking now, as the blood pooled around him and he grew delirious, Nir ripped the clothes down from the stall wall and threw them over him, not minding about the blood staining them. Without any sort of plan, he stumbled up and ran out, tripping over himself all the way.

Nir awoke in a mountain of blankets. He was lying in a brilliantly white bed, alone, in a room. Its walls were light lavender, with shelves of books and dressers lined with lamps. It was not an altogether dark room: indeed, a lazy sparkle of light came through the window to Nir’s left, which sufficiently lit the room. He did not move at first, because he was unsure of exactly where he was.

Suddenly did he become aware that he was on his back. This was not how he slept, of course. He had a tail – a sensitive tail. Sleeping on his stomach was necessary, was routine. In fact, Nir could not scarcely remember of a time when he had ever woken like this. Of course, he remembered of what had happened. The cutting, the loss. The blood. It had been everywhere. Nir looked down at his hands. But they were clean. He simply had no clue how long ago that ordeal in the stall had occurred.

The door knob turned loudly before opening. In strode a small, proud figure. It was fully clothed in dark, full-bodied armor with a maroon helmet. The figure walked right up to Nir’s bed and stopped. It stood there for a moment, looking at him. Beams of light escaping through the shades glinted off his visor. Nir squinted up at him.

“Who’re you?”

“I should be asking you that,” was the reply in a filtered, male voice, “Start with your name.”

“Nir,” he replied cautiously.

“Right. What day is it?”

Nir yawned, “I don’t know…? Tuesday? Seems like a Tuesday to me.”

“Yeah, why is that?”

“I don’t know… just feels like it.”

The armored boy did not respond. Instead, he walked around the bed, moved to the shades, and pulled them back. The light became ever so brighter and revealed unto Nir exactly where he was. He was staring out of a sixty story building in central West City. He saw that across from the window was a curious structure of pointed silver onyx and gold tapering. It stood as wide as the block and as tall, if not taller than his room.

“Um, what’s that place right there?” Nir asked, pointing to the monolithic building.

“That,” the boy replied, “is the Capitol. We don’t go there, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You really don’t know any of it, do you?” he replied, shaking his head, “If you are going to be my brother, I’m going to have to teach you all of our rules. Teach you the way things work in here. That way you won’t end up dead.”

“Wha-… Sky?!” Nir began, guessing at this armored being’s name.

The boy turned and faced Nir. Nir got the impression he was slack jawed and glaring at him, but under the helmet, nothing was certain. The boy shook his head and sighed. He pulled a strap under his chin, and with an oxygenated pop, his helmet undid itself and lifted off. He placed it gently down on Nir’s bedside before looking up again. Nay, this boy was not Sky, but he looked a great deal like him. The two had the same color of hair, but this one had a longer, more refined face. His eyes were sharp as his teeth were pulled back. And on his chin was an almost circular horizontally positioned scar.

“Sky’s my little brother,” he said in an airless tone, “I guess you are too. Now. He brought you to me. And I shouldn’t have to remind you what you two looked like when he did. This is pretty serious.”

“Did he tell you all of it?”

“He told me you were muto. But I don’t see it. Maybe you just don’t look like one. Or maybe you got rid of all the evidence. Is that why you had a gash in your back?”

“I don’t know.”

“Right. I’m sure you don’t. I don’t care either way. Sky brought you back here unconscious a few days back. You were both covered in blood. And we fixed you up and we kept you here. So whatever it is you are, forget it. We put our lives on the line for you. You better make it stick. Leave all that muto crap behind. You’re going to be a junior noble now. Or at least, we’ll try to pretend you are.”

“And what exactly is that?” Nir asked, curiously. He shifted his body to roll over and face Sky’s brother.

“For one, it starts by keeping yourself clean. You have no how hard it was bathing an unconscious body.”

“You bathed me!?” Nir hissed, incredulous at this, “Y-you were… y-you…” He couldn’t quite say it how he meant. But Nir’s face flushed, and the older boy understood.

“So what?”

Nir wrapped his shoulders together in a very thin cross under the blankets, “That’s not right.”

“Yeah, well, you’re welcome for saving your life. Anyway, you should be well enough now to walk. I’ve enrolled you into the school. We have to get down there.”

“But don’t I need clothes like yours?”

“These?” The boy said, chuckling slightly, “These are standard issue. You get them when you register. So let’s go register.”

Nir nodded and sat up. Sliding off the bed, he came to stand on his feet for the first time in half a week. It came as a remembered shock that he had not adjusted to the balance of no tail yet. Promptly, he fell on the carpet. The boy sneered at him before walking forward and placing his helmet back on. Nir wobbled himself upward and stood, feeling for proper posture. It was like the moments after a good twirling and your eyes go spiraling and your ears go buzzing and the ground moves about on its own accord. But after a few moments, it all returns to normal. Nir stood for a few moments; he did, and came to feel the ground stop moving beneath his feet. He smirked with pride at this accomplishment. Yeah, he could stay balanced. Booyah. He followed the boy out, and they began down the halls, which were quiet and empty.

“Can’t you tell me your name?” Nir asked the boy.

“Jakemo,” he replied in deadpan, “Most just call me Jake. Same deal with Sky.”

“What? He has a different name too?”

“Skirio is his proper name. Don’t call him that.”

“If you say so.”

The two walked in silence for the rest of their journey. They met a few people, and all were in their age range, and all in the same armor as Jakemo. Some were helmeted, some were not. Nobody stopped to question Nir.

On the ground floor, Jakemo hailed a small hovercar with a button on his arm. Nir kept quiet and followed him onto it. The driver was given directions, and then sped off with great speed – faster than Nir had ever gone before – out of the building. They rode past the Capitol, and Nir saw it up close. It was even grander and more menacing than it had been through the window. Pikes and steel points adorned the outer walls. Looking in, Nir saw hosts of soldiers, Ordained Elite, patrolling. Nir knew them from his days at the orphanage when they would come to collect census. They were generally rotten and foul and had on their belts many devices with which to poke at or snip at you with. Remembering them, Nir looked over at Jakemo and saw this boy to be wearing armor not unlike the Elites’.

Nir sat back in the seat of the hovercar. Rarely had he had this luxury of safe travel, but he could not properly enjoy it. His wound was enflamed and dully beating with soreness on every turbulent moment the car went through.

Nir did not know how much Sky, or his brother Jake had gone through to smuggle him into their lives, nor how it was possible that he had been so seamlessly integrated into their class, but he knew one thing: He was alive. He was breathing. Sore or otherwise, they had come through for him and saved his life. He wouldn’t bellyache for their sakes.

Pressing his chin back against the glass pane, Nir wondered what it would be like becoming a soldier.

Chapter III: Triadic Disinfectant
{{subst:*July 26th 926 Age: Jibal is born.
 * January 2nd 929 Age: The Criers first appear. They murder much of the existing parliamentary without being detected. The old king’s son, Jibal, sees them for the first time.
 * September 12 929 Age: Jibal's father dies. Jibal becomes king.}}

Bang.

Bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang.

Bang bang bang bang.

Bang.

Jibal emptied his clip. He laid the pistol down on the wood table before turning around. Behind him were his men, his guards. They were watching, waiting for some small thing they could help him with; one little act that could win over his favor. Dogs, they were. And if one scratches the ear of a dog too often, the dog comes to expect it.

They rushed him, fawning over him. They held his shoulders, bits of his clothes, and even his cloak, which they kept masterfully in their arms, never allowing it to touch and ruin itself upon the dusty ground. Jibal left the pistol where it was. If it had been to his liking, he would have pocketed and walked off with a new toy. But this one had snagged its shots to the left, and had a stiff trigger. A piece of un-calibrated trash was not worth his embrace.

Handguns were extremely rare, exotic (if obsolete) commodities. Truly, they were nothing more than trophies of wealth, in the same manner that one may collect paintings or expensive hovercars. Nowadays, all weapons were integrated into soldiers’ Dex suits. There was no need to carry extra bulk, in hand-held weaponry. But Jibal’s fascination with these archaic machines was not in their practicality, nor even in their lethality, but more so in its personality. Skill was required, in the utmost, when using one of these. There were no auto-sights or homing features on them. You had to, as long as the weapon was properly built, aim with your own skill, and shoot with your own power, and kill the target with your own might. The guards, and the aristocracy… they simply watched him because of obligation. Their appeal to his tastes were feigned at best, sickly pathetic at worst.

Jibal paused, clicking his boots into the hard earth at his feet. The arid air offered little in terms of wind or solace, so that his crew and he were positioned under a vast array of wall-less tents. It was no less than 40 degrees out (Celsius, as will always be assumed from here on out), but Jibal kept himself calm. The release of shooting was the most soothing, cooling therapy he had ever known.

“Where now is Zirion? I did not see him today,” asked Jibal, to his many followers.

“On leave, sire. He had personal matters come up last night,” a squat, bald-headed man, draped in emerald garments replied, “Although, he should have informed you himself.”

“And what were those matters?” Jibal asked again, his voice rising to a high, lazy droll.

Eager to get a word in, a second man, this one clothed in pointy crimson grunted, “His son was injured at school. Down in sector 14, sire.”

Jibal started walking again, “Was it very serious? Have they found the perpetrator? Tell me it wasn’t a muto.”

A third man spoke this time. He was less whimsically dressed; indeed, he wore the same clothing as the men Nir had seen guarding the Capitol. As he spoke, the others all looked to him, “It was a muto, as far as the reports indicated. But they didn’t find it yet. Zirion was partly going down there to execute the soldiers responsible for letting it get away.”

“As he should,” was Jibal’s only reply.

“Sire, this kind of reckless endangerment of our bloodlines must stop. We should exterminate all the mutos and get it over with. They add nothing to our society, but they do everything that they can to destroy it.”

Jibal paid him no heed. This man, Tirib, was the honor guard commander of Jibal’s entire empire. He was a raving anti-muto, and radical even to Jibal’s opinion. Tirib had not the authority or spine to create genocide anyway, but he was privy to talk. They all were. And they made Jibal do this and that, and that and this, while they sat and ate the spoils of his house. Useless nobility wasting away their lives in his presence, on his paycheck they were. Speaking this, manipulating him with that, it was as predictable as the days of the week. Jibal’s father had instilled this pretentious entitlement mentality amongst them. But Jibal’s father was dead. Jibal was the king now. He ruled the Earth. His kingdom was his own, and if he were to allow himself to be a slave to a dead man, he would be a fool.

“Sire, you have to go now,” a new man in purple feathers said breathlessly, “The court is waiting for your opinion!”

“I do not care about them,” Jibal said, “so I will not go.”

“You must go, sire! It’s required! It’s obligation!” the man squeaked.

This man more than annoyed Jibal. He had forced the king to do so much that he hadn’t wanted. In fact, this very same man held onto the last birthday present Jibal’s father had given him. No, Jibal couldn’t have it. No, Jibal couldn’t know what it was. But they ruled him, in his father’s name, and he could not help but wonder what was the purpose of his title. He was no longer a child, but he knew these creatures held on to some technicality buried in his father’s will. Yes, he knew that he was not to rule until he was 18. That was two years away. Until then, he’d have to smile and pretend he served these people. He just couldn’t take being a slave to people he looked down upon. It was not, nor could it be, fair.

“I am the king. I do what I please.”

The man in crimson shook his head, “I’m sorry, sire, but your father did gave us strict orders before he died that you were to follow his plans.” Jibal felt two hands land on his shoulders. His guards, his own guards, were behind him, ready to carry him away if need be. Some guards they were, “My father is dead.”

“And one day you will be too, milord, though I hope it’s not too soon,” the man smiled largely, “But we have our orders. I’m sure you understand.”

Jibal waved away his soldiers with a gloved hand, “I understand. I understand exactly what you mean.”

Jibal’s face was cloaked with a hood and helmet, and he was more than grateful the men could not see his face.

It had been a remarkably fluid day. Processing took only fifteen minutes, and by the time Nir had signed his name – just remembering at the last second to leave off his obligatory ムトsuffix – and been imprinted by the retina scanner, Jakemo had returned with his set of armor. It wasn’t nearly as good looking as Jakemo’s. In fact, the rust and dust made it seem like this blue suit had been last worn before Nir was born. But then, as Nir eased into the rigid armor, he was happily surprised by how functional it was. In fact, it had a helmet-based computer and everything. He looked down to his arms, and noticed the weapons bulge, which he saw on both Jakemo’s and the guards’ armor, was missing.

Nir looked up to the other armored boy, “So where do we go now?”

“It fits, right? Everything works?” the crisp voice interrupted.

“Uh, yeah, I think so…” Nir responded, fiddling with helmet, “What exactly it supposed to do?”

“Can you see the neural display?” Nir nodded. “All right, how about the navigator?”

“Oh, that’s the little pointy thing…”

“Yeah,” Jakemo said, “You’ll never get lost with that. And do you see the weapon’s gauge?”

Nir paused, squinting around in the confined helmet. Of all the little blue dots – and there were so many of them – telling him the weather, the direction, the angle of his position, even his heartbeat and brain signals, he saw nothing related to weapons. He shook his head.

“Good.”

“Good?” Nir asked, puzzled, “Why is that good? I thought we all get guns. I want to fire something!”

“None of you have weaponry because then you’d all kill each other. But, just for the sake of making sure your armor is intact, let’s test out the weapons configuration.”

Nir grinned. Jakemo unhooked a tube from his arm with a loud splunk and, grabbing Nir’s right arm, opened a hatch to put it in. Instantly, another set of blue text popped up on Nir’s helmet, informing him that he now possessed a “lethality-class explosive”, and also that he should remove it immediately. Well, he would ignore that last part.

Jakemo stepped back, motioning to the recruiter who had scanned Nir in to also step back. Then he pointed to a far wall, and spoke, “Aim for that. Just think when you want to shoot, and it will shoot for you.”

Nir nodded and stood up. He aimed his arm out and blinked. All he had to do was think about shoot-

And then the whole goddamn wall blew up. Nir was thrown back, shards of glass and brick bouncing off his armor. Even being thrown on the ground, he felt almost nothing. He didn’t feel the impact of hitting the pavement, nor even the shrapnel being hurled at him. It was wonderful. He was invincible.

“I… I think it worked…” Nir said, breathing heavily.

But before Jakemo could respond, they heard something big closing in on their location. In the distance, an arrow-shaped plane darted into view, bringing with it a din of extremely loud sounds. It landed, furiously, only five meters away. The doors opened at once, impatiently telling their cargo to get out.

The two boys stared at this completely in awe, as several dignitaries filed out, followed by a row of honor guards. And then, at the last moment, another stepped out from the open door. He was a tall man, with black hair and a grizzly face. He stood at least two feet over everyone else, and his armor was black to his soldiers’ white. He gathered his men with a single bark and marched them directly toward Nir.

“You!” he said, his mouth awry, “Soldier!”

Nir stumbled back. No, it couldn’t be. They’d found him. He knew it. He knew it! Someone had seen him, someone had ratted him out… who was it? Sky? Jake? What could he do? Nir looked down, his fluttering eyes spying his arm smoking slightly. A weapon, he had a weapon. He looked back up. He would fight them back. He would kill them. He could! All it would take is a single thought. Nir blinked.

“General, what do you need?” Jakemo spoke, breaking Nir’s train of thought.

The older boy had rushed up to the man, kneeling before him. Nir's heart almost exploded. They weren't coming for him. He shook the sweat out of his eyes.

The General coughed, “I need you to get out of my way, soldier, before I ship you off to Maer’s Island. That’s what I need!”

Jakemo remained with his head down, “Yes sir. Sorry sir.”

The man grunted, walking past him, “And keep your little kids away from the poorman’s school. My business is there, and it does not concern you. You understand? But come peakin’, and I’ll make sure it does.”

“Of course, sir! I will put everyone into lockdown until you are finished.”

Jakemo was nodding relentlessly, and bowing just as much. However, the man was already moving, the last few soldiers in his troupe marching past. In an instant, they all turned a corner and were gone.

“Let’s go,” Jakemo said, clearly ignoring what had just happened. He reached a hand down to Nir, helping the boy up, and simultaneously unhooking the weapon tube with his other hand. He clicked it firmly back onto his wrist.

“Who was that guy, Jake?” Nir asked in a whisper.

They walked in silence, all the way to a large building, with an even larger door, before Jakemo responded.

Pressing a keypad that opened a small section of the huge monolith, Jakemo said, “He’s General Zirion. He’s the highest ranking military official I’ve ever seen. I was notified he was coming. Supposedly, he’s looking for a muto boy who stabbed his son in the neck.”

Now it was Nir’s turn to revel in the silence, and enjoy its company in place of dark thoughts. Jakemo escorted him up to choir practice, and after Nir changed, and spied Jakemo’s younger brother Sky, he made his way to him. Nir tried his best to grin and be happy to see Sky, but the thoughts lingering in his brain were too overwhelming. That and his tail scar was still throbbing.

It did not help, then, when he sat down, that the boy with Sky, who Sky introduced to him as Cocen, was that other boy who had witnessed his stabbing of Ralgo. As he and Cocen looked into each other’s eyes, they both went pale. Zirion was in town. This boy had seen Nir stab his son. There was no friendship between them. He had nothing he could do to stop this kid, if Cocen decided to tell. Nir was completely helpless.

Nir rubbed his forearm, thinking of how much he longed to have Jakemo’s weapon tube back.

“What did he look like?!” Zirion asked, stamping his foot down in frustration.

“Your son’s the only one who saw him, and he’s not talking, sir. The muto obviously ran away after knifing him,” a frightened, helmetless soldier responded.

“Yeah, I bet. What about the bathroom. I have reports from there, as well.”

“Our scans indicate that blood was not your son’s. Your son’s blood is not anywhere in there. It must have been the muto’s blood, sir. Surely, Ralgo put up a fight and wounded the animal badly.”

“Oh, I know that! My son has the fighting spirit in him. You don’t need to tell me that!” spat Zirion.

“My apologies, General.”

Zirion was at a school in the lower sector 14. This place was a dump even by backwards standards. He would not normally be here, but his son had just been found, not a night earlier, with a knife-wound to his neck in this very courtyard. The soldiers, the teachers, the students had seen nothing. Like hell they had. Zirion had seen his son an hour ago, but he was not fit to talk. The painkillers kept Ralgo asleep, and hid any possible identity of this muto criminal.

“There is nothing else?” asked Zirion, coldly.

“That is all we know, sir,” replied the soldier.

“Line your men up.”

“Bu-but… no… sir please… we did all we could! There was nothing here!” the soldier pleaded, becoming irate. The others around him did likewise.

Groveling had no effect on Zirion. A man doesn’t grovel. And only men are allowed in his army.

“Line up.”

This time, they went quietly, hanging their heads, knowing what was about to occur. Zirion stood at the very left of the soldiers before initiating. He used his neural implant to communicate his wishes to his suit. A simple thought of ‘energy incinerator’ granted his Dex suit the weapon in his right hand. He looked down, and saw the suit reconfiguring itself into a wide circle at the base of his hand. It was already glowing white hot. This was his favorite weapon.

Some pled for their lives, others tried to be brave in front of him, but Zirion didn’t care either way. He walked down their obedient line, one by one, and as he reached each soldier, he fired into their chests burning energy. Their bodies were thrown back, dissolved and forgotten.

It took only two minutes to kill thirty-one men.

Chapter IV: Allocation Protocol
{{subst:*Royal Proclamation I The King rules over all the Earth. He alone holds the right to kill or annihilate any person, organization, or city which he deems offensive. The world’s fourteen sectors and their princes are sovereign territories of the King. They will respect his laws and obey no one else. Those who have sufficient worth, status, or commodities are deemed Nobility, and may reside in each sector’s city.}}
 * Royal Proclamation III

Miss Swizubane (a good, sharp woman), the Voice of the King, had ushered the cloaked and beleaguered Jibal thence from the great hall, leaving a bristling mass of dignitaries to squander behind. Escorted by the elite Ordained - their honor guards, the two made way out of the palace. By helicopter did they take away to a smaller, round building three miles south, and landed softly between patches of fog. The place was like a grey tortoise’s shell, and it slanted walls dug deep into the pavement around, as if it was not wholly accustomed to the manner in which buildings are laid on the ground; as if it was not wholly wishing to be there at all.

Jibal’s blood turned cold upon stepping from the helicopter, out onto the designated pad. He had never fancied visiting the judges. Four times a year he was forced to come here, and four times a year he was in hell. The judges had their own security, and the young king met them at once. They wore high-screamer helmets with three pointed spikes displayed upward from the back of their skulls. Their heads were fully enclosed except for their mouths, which, aside from being protected by golden beaks, were bare. These were the Praetorian guards; the elite of the elite. Only Jibal’s personal soldiers, the ones he had with him now, were more skilled. He was ever wary of the Praetorians, for they acted barely respectful, and much arrogance flowed from them. They knew their fame and power, and knew not how to keep it to themselves. With their entire host being two hundred eighty-eight members – and more than half of them crammed on the small landing pad to greet him, Jibal felt more a prisoner being exchanged between two countries than a king ruling over all.

As was protocol, Jibal left his men at the door to guard the helicopter, and ventured inside. Swizubane was allowed to accompany him; he was glad of that. But they could not talk, for the halls were too narrow, leaving only room for two to walk shoulder-to-shoulder. The judges’ chambers were cold, damp, stony things. Few ever ventured inside, save for those on trial, and those who guarded every block of blue stone. For that’s what this place was: stone, and nothing but stone. Sitting down on stone, standing on stone, leaning up against stone. It was all cold, too cold for Jibal’s taste. They walked without word (it would be low for the king to have to engage mere soldiers) until coming to a massive door. As they had come to it, the narrow hall had widened out to fit ten men abreast. The great door was a hardy oak, and was the only thing which had once lived in these accursed chambers. Several guards moved forward, and opened the door for Jibal, who did not wait to be escorted in. No, he would go at his own choosing. He was the king. They would see him as king.

He strained his eyes to see his judges as he entered, for Jibal was not accustomed to such darkness. Apart from the lingering light brought in from opening the door, which shone very little on the room inside, the only light was of each of the thirteen judges’ glasses – and each was a different color. And they were utterly silent. They were seated in three ascending rows of four with a single elevated chair in the centerfold of the room. This was for the reigning Praetor Speaker, the judge whose turn it was to lead. Such things changed every week, and Jibal had seen each judge hold the Speaker position at least once while coming here. He strode up to his chair, which had been prepared, and sat, facing the judges. Behind them, the doors closed again, and they were bathed in darkness. Jibal saw the Speaker Praetor – who had white eyes – begin to speak.

"All hail the king," the Praetor spoke in a sharp, hollow tone. It rang in fervent murmurs from the other twelve. They bowed their heads and stared at Jibal once again. And all he saw was their collective, their ravenous, rebellious eyes, their conceit at wielding his power. They owned him. He was king, and they owned him. Oh, how he dreamed of their inevitable deaths. How he dreamed of raising their heads on pikes.

“I should like this to go quickly,” Jibal replied. He felt Swizubane’s arm on his shoulder. Good.

“As you command it, sire,” the white-eyed Praetor spoke. “We have just a few matters to discuss.”

“Well, on with it then.” Jibal didn’t try to hide his impatience. Maybe five years ago he would have. But he was almost grown. He was almost rid of these vultures.

“Milord, there is a growing terrorist sect which has executed sophisticated attacks on the outlying cities. Sector Six is particularly under stress,” a blue-eyed judge quipped. “No doubt, this is the work of Sciaon Malbarion.”

The name hung heavy in the air. There were sighs of agreement all around.

“And so what? They’re just rebels. I’ll allocate more men to fight them,” Jibal countered.

The Speaker took over. “Sire, we are stretched thin. The Ordained’s numbers are depleted, and those who remain are busy maintaining your empire. Shall we not leave them to keep the order in each sector? Or shall we bring them to fight against a terrorist organization and let our cities fall into chaos? It is, most assuredly, a difficult decision. And ultimately up to you, my king. Of course.”

“You have plenty of men here whom may serve me.” Jibal nodded.

“Ah, my king, by your own father’s laws, we are entitled to adequate protection. Surely you won’t take that from us, your most loyal servants?” a judge with green eyes said. “We live only to serve the king.”

Jibal groaned. He hated how they always answered his rhetorical thoughts like that. “Enlist more troops. I’ll finance it myself.”

“Very good, sire. How young do you want us to draft?”

Jibal blinked, thinking hard before speaking. “As young as I provide armor for. If they have armor, they can fight. Why else do we arm them?”

The yellow-eyed judge spoke up, “But sire, that is so young! Do you really want children fighting your wars? We could have a civil war in that case!”

Others cried out in like protest.

Jibal stood up, his arms outstretched. “These are my people. They will do anything for me.”

A red-eyed judge nodded. “The king is wise and learned. He has always been.”

Jibal ignored the passive-aggressiveness already saturating the room. “I want to test this Sciaon Malbarion. He dares defy me? Well, let’s see how heartless he is. Let’s see if he’ll fight children. The people will hate him. They will return to me. Those who support him will abandon him. That is my plan. Enact it!”

“Your word is law, sire.”

“I want all resources from the patrols and guards to be redistributed toward my new army. Allocate anything and everything; I don’t care what it costs!” Jibal said, his eyes lighting up in anticipation. “They’ll be real soldiers, they will.”

Jibal turned away, striding out with his cape billowing behind. He was almost to the door when the Speaker interjected, “My king, we are not done yet… We still have more. Would you like to sit down and work through the tiresome economics of your vast kingdom? It has been a long, long ride I am sure. Maybe you would leave that up to us?”

“I…”

“Sire! Shall we not handle the economic matters like last quarter? Our previous plan gained a surplus of over 100,000,000 zeni!”

Jibal faltered. Economics was not his strong suit. As more voices rose up, singing the same tune of the Praetor’s brilliant (undeniably brilliant) plan. And this was why he hated them. How they twisted and begged him to let them manage the empire. Still, he was no fool. Hate these men as he did, Jibal was in no mood to send his empire into the ground.

Jibal shook his head. “Handle all the economic measures as they were last quarter. That worked well enough.”

“Whatever you want, our king.”

Jibal paused at the door, pulling something out of his waist pocket. He clicked it on, and soon the judges saw he held a flashlight. They hissed and cursed at the light, burning their pale, sickly, bald skin. Jibal savored the moment before pointing the light toward an otherwise invisible table next to the Speaker’s elevated podium. On it were seven bright orange balls. Each had a star, and they ascended with each number. He stared at them, losing himself to thought.

“Your father’s dragon balls. Just where he left them, milord. In the company of those who may watch over them objectively and truly. Their protection is amongst our greatest duty,” the Praetor responded.

“My dragon balls. Those are mine. My father left them for me, and I’ll be coming to get them soon,” Jibal sneered.

He saw the Praetors recoil slightly at this blasphemy of taking their most prized possession, but nonetheless, they nodded to him. It would still be a few years away. They could live the good life for a while. But he wouldn’t wait that long. Jibal clicked his flashlight off and strode out. No, those balls were his. They were to grant him any wish in the world. Or so he had been told.

He wanted to be king. That would be his wish. It was a strange feeling wishing for what any other man in his kingdom would swear Jibal already had.

“He’s not gonna talk, I swear.”

Sky, Nir’s only friend, had thus assured him safety and protection. The matter could be no direr, for Nir had stabbed an upperclassman merely a week ago; and here now was the only boy who had witnessed the event. They had been acquainted meekly, and along with Sky, the three boys had quietly gone through the rest of the day, the rest of the week with little incident. Nir rarely spoke, or used his voice at all outside of choir practice. And when he did, his words were reserved solely for his friend. He didn’t know this other boy, this ‘Cocen’. He didn’t so much as trust him.

Nir had been deceived, coming into this place. There was a steady, but small hunger deep in his gut; one that was driving him for more action, more fighting. As much as Nir had been hurled to hell by stabbing Ralgo, he couldn’t help but cling to how right using that knife had made him feel. He had thought they would become soldiers and grand men. Surely, as he even had a set of armor, this was logical, right to assume. But apart from testing it out one time, Nir had never worn his armor. Skirio’s older brother, Jakemo would often wear his. Then again, Sky wasn’t wearing his armor either. He did not rightly understand these people.

Yet as the hours wore on, Cocen made little effort to reveal himself in treachery. And the former muto protested it, but time wore on. The day ended, and Nir returned to his dormitory (the very same he had awoken in earlier). He slept comfortably, safely, in the next room over from Sky. While he was with his friend, Nir was slightly happier, but not too much more. That could make you throw up.

The remainder of the week, Nir and Sky treaded carefully through school, attracting no attention. They retired early to their dorms to work on homework – in reality playing games or watching their televisions. But even that was little solace. The newscasters showed the grim reality of their situation, as Ralgo’s attack was still at the forefront of all Imperial news. There was no escaping it, even here. It was as if they were two children in their parents’ home trying to sneak out during the night. Only this wasn’t a game, with the consequence of being caught being merely a slap on the wrist. If Nir was found, he would be executed. He was eternally grateful for Sky and Sky’s brother for taking him in like this. He couldn’t imagine what they were going through. Like him, they would be killed if he was found out.

And there came a day later when school was in session, when there was no danger, and the gravity of Imperial politics held no power that it all fell apart. The impetus for the coming events was little more than a game of kickball. Looking back, it was such a small thing that would ultimately set everything in motion.

It was a Thursday, and the fifth grade was on recess. Unlike at Nir’s old school, where recess was merely a period of agonizing waiting, this school had money. They could afford balls. Nir wasn’t exactly familiar with how to play kickball, but after a hasty explanation from his friend (just kick it), he joined in. And the game progressed naturally, with Nir’s team trading the lead with their opponents in what seemed like every turn. Nir himself was sluggish for his tail still wore with a dull, burning, constant pain at the base of his spine. It made running difficult. But he didn’t complain.

In the seventh inning, with Nir’s team trailing by one point, something happened. Sky was pitching, and the dreaded Cocen was up to bat. Nir, who was playing shortstop, watched him carefully. Sky rolled the rubber ball slowly down the path toward Cocen’s feet, before the taller boy kicked it with all his power.

The ball flew right into Sky’s face, breaking his nose.

Everyone took a collective gasp as Sky fell back. Yet, he jumped up almost at once, and rushed Cocen, screaming. The resulting furor was contagious, and as Sky rushed Cocen, his fists swinging, each team did likewise. Before Nir could blink, a dusty brouhaha had broken out in front of him. Coughing, he vaguely saw a shape come lunging toward him. As the fist hit his chest, Nir saw it was a boy on the opposing team. He took the punch like a slug to the chest, falling to his knees, but not backing down. He grabbed onto the boy’s arm and thrust it up, then dove forward, knocking him over. Nir stood up, and ran forward, instantly jumping onto the kid’s chest with both feet. He sank his shoes into the soft flesh, grinning to himself. He then jumped off, and proceeded to find a new opponent, but not before kicking the old one in the head one last time. Once again, he was not controlling his actions. It was instinct driving him.

He punched and kicked and head-butted his way through the masses, until finding Sky and Cocen. Sky had pinned Cocen to the turf, and was steadily beating him, even as blood flowed from his crooked nose. To Nir, who had lived in fear and hate of this boy for the previous days, seeing Cocen being pummeled was the most amazing thing. He dropped to his knees and assisted Sky in punching Cocen’s face into a bloody pulp.

Just like with stabbing Ralgo, Nir felt like he was in a perpetual state of slow motion. Every punch, every action, every breath, every drop of blood took much longer to happen. But all good things must come to an end: as Nir and Sky berated Cocen with weary and bloody knuckles, they felt the tugs and grips of adults, their teachers suddenly flying in to stop the scuffle. Sky was plucked off of Cocen, and thrown into the field behind a guard of teachers, with Nir being shoved into the dirt by a different teacher. They broke up the fight, and held the boys from one another until their muscles had given up in exhaustion, and the fight was over.

Nir’s teacher, an old hag of a woman, was screeching shrilly, lecturing the students on the folly of fighting. Surely, they all were listening. No, in reality, those with strength left were too emotionally charged with trying to kill each other to hear; and the rest were too tired, mentally and physically, to listen to or care about any useless aphorism.

Then, a man appeared on the edge of the field, and made speed toward the rabble of students and teachers. As he approached, they noticed him. Seeing he was of the Ordained, they lost their voices of protest. He wore full, dark black and blue armor, with a helmet adorned with many quills. Upon seeing him, even Nir’s teacher stopped her tirade. Nir was reminded of the first time he had met Jakemo – in that this man was completely unseen, and thus the purpose of his appearance could not be gauged. He calmly walked forward, through the blood and sand and broken bodies to home plate (where Cocen had never quite gotten to), and stood rigid. Removing his helmet, the man nodded toward the crowd. His sharp, dark eyes scanned them until he was sure he had their attention. Then, he cleared his throat and raised a datapad, which was blanketed in rolling text.

“By Royal Proclamation XVII, King Jibal with counsel of his high court has decreed a new company of soldiers be formed. All students fifth grade and up are to be drafted into the Ordained. You will report to the Capitol of this city tomorrow at 8 am sharp. Those who do not, are deemed deserters, and will be executed. Good day.”

The man bowed, nodding his head again, and returned his helmet to his head. As quickly as he had come, he turned and went away.

Chapter V: The Lying Judge
{{subst:*Royal Proclamation IV There may be no uprisings against the King. Any person found in connection with a terrorist sect will be executed. Any noble aiding a terrorist or being a terrorist themselves will be stripped of their nobility and imprisoned in Sector V. Half-breeds, also known as Mutos, are lesser-blood. No Muto may be allowed into the nobility or the Ordained. Any found hiding in the upper class will be executed. Mutos are only allowed to live outside of the cities.}}
 * Royal Proclamation V

Nir’s last night in the city was fraught with delirium. As much as he had tried to fall asleep, he could not. His mind raced, and his heart did likewise, as if the two were racing. Barely had he been saved from the hellhole that was the lower-class, and now he was being rewarded by being drafted. He was scared for his life. There was no telling what fighting was actually like. He only knew he’d be no good at it. He hadn’t been trained. Nir just didn’t know what to do. He considered running away again, only to realize with painful trepidation that he had nowhere to run to this time.

He had flipped his pillow countless times, trying to keep cool side against his hot cheek. He threw around the blankets, and kicked up his sheets, rolling this way and that in an effort to find some magical, sure way to fall asleep. Needless to say, this only agitated him more, and before long, Nir found himself covered in sweat.

Moaning from the weary headache he had given himself, Nir sat up. He sat there for a few moments, breathing quickly, but quietly before deciding on getting a glass of milk. Maybe that would calm him. He tiptoed out silently in his socks before heading toward the kitchen. It was a rare treat, this place, and Nir had been very unaccustomed to the fact that his living quarters had proper food. Heck, he hadn’t even known what a refrigerator was until Sky had shown him. He still didn’t understand how they worked.

Nir found his way toward the lightless kitchen, and paused. For there in front of him was something wrong; someone was there; a slinking figure, already at the open fridge, with one long, boney arm wrapped around the door. At first, Nir was merely curious. He assumed it was just Sky or Cocen or one of the others getting a late snack. Maybe they were up late like him. Maybe he wasn’t so different…

Then it straightened its back and raised its head. Slowly, fluidly, it turned itself to face the boy. And Nir beheld its face, and wished to cry out in horror, but could not. Its sullen, lidless eyes shined silver, its black mouth frothed in darkness, its anorexic body contorting and ticking ever so slightly, the creature lowered its long fingers to the tiled floor and crawled forward. And Nir could hear nothing; not his mind’s voice, not the creature’s movement, not even his own heartbeat. He felt his face grow hot with sheer terror as the thing came closer. He saw its fingers were not fingers at all, but long, sharp knives extending out over a foot from where the fingers should have gone. The thing – what was it?! – crawled ever so slowly, like a spider, until reaching Nir’s feet. Then it stood erect, and flexed its spine unnaturally until it was bent backward. Now so close, Nir could see it, could smell it. And once again, his skull rang internally with unending screams. For the creature was covered in blood.

Every second felt like an eternity.

The creature cocked its head, while staring down Nir, much like a dog would at hearing an odd sound. And its eyes widened, and its mouth was still. It raised a sharp finger to Nir’s chin, almost touching it. And it convulsed, as if the thing was so playfully delighted, it couldn’t contain itself.

Then the creature itself became devious to the point of horror, and the innocence gave way to madness. It flung itself backward, awkwardly, throwing its hands and legs up, rolling around, shooting blood everywhere. It was far, far too flexible to be human. As the creature tore a swath through the room, knocking over chairs and tables and shredding carpet, Nir still heard none of it. He watched without blinking until the creature had become part of the shadows again. At that moment, he regained feeling throughout his body, and like an electrical jolt, he sent himself screaming back to his bed.

He didn’t know what that was. Nir had never seen anything like it. He threw the blankets over him and covered his head in pillows, crying into them. He couldn’t go to Sky. He couldn’t wake him up. As scared as Nir was, he couldn’t bring himself to wake anyone else up. He just couldn’t; as much as it contradicted his inner logic, he couldn’t bear to involve his friend. Because if Sky slept, he would remain uninvolved; he would remain safe from that thing. Even as Nir lay there in his bed, curled up in a fetal position, he tried to bite his tongue. If only he were quiet, the creature would never come back. He convinced himself. It was just a shadow. His mind was playing tricks on him. He was tired – no, he was sleeping! This wasn’t real! After the twenty-fourth time, it sounded rational.

Nir was sweating again, and hiding under the blankets was making him increasingly tortured. He threw the pillow off of his head, and rolled onto his back before pulling the covers down below his chin. There, on the edge of his bed, facing away from him, was the skeletal creature. Its arms were raised, while it sharpened the knives on each hand on one another. Nir let in a sharp gasp; it was all he could do. The creature picked up on it, and turned around so fast, Nir didn’t even see it occur. Then, it slowly walked up to Nir, stopping to crouch on his chest. The boy couldn’t breathe. It scared him so, and he couldn’t make it go away. No matter how much he squinted his face or blinked, he couldn’t wake up. Maybe he wasn’t dreaming.

The creature stopped one last time, bringing its face down to within an inch of Nir’s. It cocked its head again, and this time, Nir swore he could tell its black, undefined mouth was smiling. A drop of blood then fell from its chin to Nir’s nose. He shuddered. And this motion startled the creature. It once again began convulsing like a dying spider on top of Nir, and he felt its pressure jumping up and down. He couldn’t breathe. The creature looked toward Nir once again, and this time Nir knew it was not smiling. It raised its left arm, its polished metal blades glinting off of the moon outside Nir’s window before bringing them down, and swiping them across the boy’s chest.

Nir yawned. He hated mornings. Their droll, suffocating monotony made him want to rip his hair out. He always felt tired, cold, dirty, and miserable. He was dreading this day more than any other, because he was to become a soldier for the empire. He was going to join the noble Ordained today. Sky seemed more enthused, perhaps because he was a valued member of society. But for all his naivety, Nir knew better than to respect the soldiers.

He got undressed and changed into his armor Jakemo had given him while Sky told heroic stories of the Ordained’s storied history. Nir found it hard to even talk in the morning, so he merely listened with the others. Removing his shirt, Nir noticed several dark scratches across his chest. Running his finger over them, he found them to be quite painful, and wincing to himself, he wondered where they had come from. He could not remember. He shrugged it off. It was probably nothing more than unconscious scratching.

Once Sky and he were suited up, they slogged out into the cold, bitter winds that were so common in the early fall. Luckily, they wore their helmets. As they got to first street corner, they saw the taller, prouder, older brother of Sky. He motioned for the younger kids to come closer, and they did. Without speech, he then led them solemnly down the sidewalk. And not to school, on the familiar path did they go, but instead toward that large, imposing building opposite their dorm. It was the great building Nir had seen the first time he had woken up a noble, the building Jakemo had said they were not to go to. The place looked to Nir like a bouquet of scissors and knives; some sick idea from a disturbed architect. Here they were going toward it. Now so close, he couldn’t even see the top, craning his neck though he did. He noticed other groups of students and teachers converging with their small pack. Everyone was headed for the same goal.

Once inside, Jakemo sent Nir and the others to the far side, and lined them up. Soon hundreds, if not thousands of bodies surrounded them in likewise lines. As they waited for everyone else to get put into place, the students were instructed to remove their helmets for their Princess. Now, Nir had never heard of a Princess, let alone ‘his’ princess. Perplexed, he craned his neck to find a princess, but saw no one of great importance. Sure, there were guards lined around, and way ahead, there was a high empty platform in front of the monolith. But no one worthy of Nir removing his helmet to be attacked by the cold air did he see.

As they waited, a message droned out over speakers. It was the same one that soldier had parlayed yesterday on the field. “By Royal Proclamation XVII, King Jibal with counsel of his high court has decreed a new company of soldiers be formed. All students fifth grade and up are to be drafted into the Ordained.”

Beyond the gasps stagnant stares, Nir’s eyes shifted toward Cocen, and saw the pale boy’s eyes darting like a mad animal. His face was bandaged up, and he looked as livid as he did deathly. Nir watched as Cocen’s eyes fell on Sky, the boy who had, without precedent, broken his nose. And Cocen’s eyes went dark with malice. Nir felt something was different now. Something was wrong with Cocen. He felt as if Cocen was just waiting to rat him out. Nir looked over to Sky, who winked at Nir, and seemed rather nonchalant. It was too early, and Nir was too tired to continue worrying about Cocen at that moment. Far grander things were about to happen.

Then, the mechanical speakers’ message stopped all at once. Then came from in front, behind a set of steel gates, two people of great stature. Around them were many honor guards and cameras. The first was a wealthy-looking, dark-haired woman. She had a long nose and a scar down the left side of her face which went through her hair to the point where it followed her scalp line. She wore an elaborate robe. Next to her was a tall man, hugely tall, and he was ever familiar. For Nir had seen him on the very day he’d tested out his DEX suit. This was the general, Zirion. And next to him, Nir’s fearless leader; his prince (or princess, as she should rightly be), Diruhl. Their words, imperative and commanding though they were, fell tritely on the children’s ears. No boy nor girl could know how to fight, and a simple speech commanding them to do so meant little in solving that.

Diruhl spoke shortly on what they were to do. It was simple, really, as she said. The children of sector 14 were going to be heroes to the crown. They were, invariably, going to wage war against a terrorist sect headed by a traitorous bastard, Sciaon Malbarion. And once he was dead, they would return home to their books and studies. There would be a monument placed in their honor. It was as if flowers shot out of Diruhl’s mouth as she spoke… at least in her view. The children would kill terrorists. They would end the war. The clouds would part, and angels would descend playing trumpets of yore. That’s how it would go.

Zirion was more direct, more realistic, and he spread each of the classes into various platoons. Nir was lucky being paired with Sky. They were placed in the vanguard battalion, and were instructed to leave immediately. Once again, Nir looked for Cocen, but couldn’t find him. Perhaps that untrustworthy boy had been put in a different legion? But it was too late to ask.

It happened so quickly that Nir didn’t quite understand it. He knew his king (kami save the king) ruled absolutely and anything he wanted, Nir would have to do. He just didn’t understand why it had to be a war. Shouldn’t they have men for that, he thought? What about all those guarding the Princess and General? Would they not be better suited on the battlefield than he or Sky?

Shortly afterward, they were put into a small makeshift barracks outside the Capitol, and changed into their armor. Nir groaned when he noticed how much more rusted his was than Sky’s.

“Sky, what are we doing? What was that General talking about?”

Sky was busy pulling on his helmet, which was blue like Nir’s. “He’s made us all soldiers. We don’t have a choice, Nir. We’ll be like Jake. Y’know, a few weeks out in the wild and then we get to come back.”

“Oh. But won’t it be dangerous? We could die, right?”

“I don’t think so. They wouldn’t send us out into the battle…” Sky said, trailing off.

“If they do let us out in the battle, I bet we’ll get pretty good weapons.”

“Yeah, that’ll be worth it, huh?”

“I bet we would even get to keep them!”

“Yeah, I’ll finally be able to stand up to Jake,” Sky laughed.

Nir finished putting on his armor. Along with Cocen, Sky, and the rest of his small platoon, Nir ventured outside. He opened a channel on his helmet’s frequency, and sync’d up with Sky to continue talking. They walked up into a troop carrier ship while talking.

“Hey Sky, do they have any good food in the other sectors?”

Sky shook his head, “I don’t know, bro.”

“They have to. I mean, pretty much anything is better than slop and water soup…”

“Haha, yeah.”

The boys took their seats, as instructed inside the ship. The giant plane began rumbling as its five-paned jet system sputtered on. Their bodies rattled involuntarily with the engines, and Nir got horrible whiplash. Beyond that, the sound was tremendous. Were they not wearing fully protective headgear, Nir was sure he would have lost his hearing. They saw their instructor, the same man who had met them in the school, motion to them to relax and sit back. He paced down the main bay between the seats, and checked each child, almost as if this was a rollercoaster ride. That is, if it was a life-or-death scenario and nobody was having fun. Nir and Sky had one good glimpse out the back of the ship before the doors closed, and they both thought they saw a familiar red-helmeted teenager giving them a thumbs up.

They traveled long and hard for many hours before their instructor screamed at them that the plane was landing. If the lurching forward was not signal enough, Nir saw out the small round windows coating the sides, the clouds give way to the earth again, and a city appear. It was a ghastly, ashen place filled with smoke and fire and twisted metal. As the plane got closer to the ground, he saw explosions going off and people fighting below. His innards rose to his throat, and he almost threw up. No! They were going to fight, actually fight! He hadn’t been trained! He hadn’t had any practice!

“Sky, they’re people fighting below…” Nir gulped.

“Yeah, I know. I-I… guess we’re joinin’ them.”

He had never heard Sky so fearful.

“It’s a mistake! We aren’t supposed to be fighting!” Nir screamed out, not only to Sky, but to all of them.

The others were silent, mostly. He thought he heard some crying, some pleading softly, but the noise was too loud. Their instructor had caught Nir’s crying, and raced over. He punched Nir in the chest.

“Hey, soldier! You have a weapon, don’t you?” he screamed, grabbing onto Nir’s right forearm. “Point and shoot! These rebels have inferior technology! They won’t kill you!” Nir regained his voice. “Then why do you need reinforcements?”

The man retreated, dodging that question.

And then, at once, the ship touched the ground. A siren went off, their instructor screaming and screaming, and their seatbelts let loose. Nir and Sky rushed out together, not bothering to stay with the rest of their company. As soon as they exited the back ramp, an explosion went off; this one much louder and closer than the rest. Their transport was hit, and erupted into fiery cacophony. Nir saw his instructor burning, in flames. The man was screaming again, but this time it was in pain. He ran forward, past Nir, and out into the open where he was immediately shot and killed. Even more students were dead, or blown to pieces.

Nir and Sky moved forward, with Sky motioning Nir to follow him. He led, promising to keep them alive. He, after all, had been trained by his brother (who was a proper soldier). They moved forward, past the wreckage, and crawled low beneath the rubble. Above them, armed men ran, and they were surely rebels. This was nothing more than a suicide mission. Live ammunition erupted in droves ahead of them, and Sky stopped. He gasped, turning around to face Nir. His chest was bloodied and open, where he had been hit. He fell over. Nir just sat there, unable to move. His best friend was hurt, and he could do nothing. He could do nothing.

Another explosion went off above Nir, and the building they were huddling under cracked and fell forward. And a slab of concrete slid directly down onto Nir. He couldn’t get away in time. The sheet of black enveloped him, gliding from his periphery, and his vision and mind went blank.

That night, under the burning lights of Zirion’s tent came an extraordinary thing. A guard had brought to the great General news of his son. In actuality, the guard had brought a boy to testify. It was Cocen, and he was as pale as ever. And with the anger toward Sky for breaking his nose, this boy had lost any semblance of loyalty he once possessed. He was here for vengeance and death, and not exactly in that order.

“I know who stabbed Ralgo, sir.”

It was remarkable, really. At that moment, Zirion stopped everything. His tactical planning, his strategy for wiping out the terrorists was erased from his mind. He became like a dog in that his mind was singularly focused. He crooked an eye. It was rare to see the man so slaved to something. “Guard, leave us.” And the guard bowed before exiting. “Well, out with it, kid! Don’t keep it from me!”

“Uh, yes sir. I mean, I-I was there. It was a muto, sir. A muto, I’m sure of it.”

Zirion slammed his cup of wine into the table, sending glass flying. His yellow teeth shone with ferocity when he spoke again, “I know that already! You would waste my time telling me useless information?! I’ll kill you! Do you know who I am?!”

“S-sir, that’s not all!” Cocen pleaded. “I know his name.”

“Well?” Zirion screamed, his face getting redder by the second. “What is it?!”

“His name is Nir, general. And he’s in the same grade as me. He’s one of the new soldiers, you know, the ones that just got sent out to fight,” Cocen said meekly, bowing.

Zirion didn’t reply. He stood there, his face screwed up in a stupid gaze, his eyes fluttering, and his lips moving ever so slightly, as if he was talking to himself.

“Sir? Are you all right?” Cocen asked, stepping forward with a finger outstretched.

Zirion snapped back into reality. He smiled, broadly, grabbing Cocen by the arm, and pulling him close. “You’ve done good, boy. Too good for your own good.” Zirion brought out a knife from his back pocket, and with the hand opposite the one holding Cocen, shot it up just below the boy’s Adam’s apple. Cocen gurgled, attempting to scream, but Zirion covered his mouth with a huge, gloved hand. “Shh, shh. Quiet, boy. You have served the empire well. Doesn’t that make you happy? Now sleep! Ha ha ha!”

Zirion continued laughing until the life in Cocen’s eyes went dark. Then, he let the boy fall onto the ground, and rang one of his guards in. The guard jumped at seeing a bloody, dead ten year-old at his feet, but Zirion waved him off with a simple ‘He had an accident; clean it up’. As the guard began rubbing blood out of shag carpet (a monumentally difficult task, in reality), Zirion instead fumbled with his helmet-based computer, until he found the correct set of numbers he was looking for. He dialed a call, and it was swiftly picked up.

“General Zirion?”

Zirion responded with great impatience, not even bothering for pleasantries, “I’ve got a new mission for you, Lieutenant Colonel. A terrorist has infiltrated the Ordained, and you must kill him.”

“I understand, sir, I will eliminate him immediately. What is the name?”

“Nir. You’ll find where he is stationed by looking in the databases. I want his head brought back to me, no exceptions. You got that? He is to be killed no matter what. I don’t care if he’s got a whole goddamn rebel army guarding him.”

“I understand, General. Is there anything else?”

“There’s a reason I asked you to do this for me. You’re the best damn soldier I’ve got, Farayel Aros. I don’t want you to get yourself killed. Do this for me, and you will be greatly rewarded. I’m talking about a significant promotion.”

“Understood, sir. This terrorist Nir will be dead by tomorrow. Aros out.”

Chapter VI: Deep as Bone
{{subst:*Royal Proclamation VI Any Muto may be executed or gutted as punishment for a crime, no matter its severity. Any soldier who does not execute a Muto for a serious offense will be executed instead. Only soldiers and trained students are allowed to carry energy or ballistic-based weaponry. Regular citizens found with any such weaponry will be stripped of their possessions and imprisoned in Sector V.}}
 * Royal Proclamation VII

Nir awoke in silence. He was free, sitting back on a rickety chair in an otherwise plain, if half-ruined room. Much of the wood coating the walls and floor was decayed, and the roof was partially caved-in. And he didn’t know how he had gotten here. His shoulders ached in pain, and he felt cold. Looking down, he saw much of his skin bare, with only his underclothes on. Where his suit had gone, he did not know.

Looking up, he saw a window directly in front of him. Outside it, the sky shined bright blue, almost white, and it hurt him to look out it too long. But he recognized the ruins. The explosions were still going out there. Nir could see fire in the distance puncturing the air. The place looked the same as where Sky and he had been attacked. A sudden rush to his chest suffocated him, exacerbated twice over when he looked around; for he realized Sky wasn’t here with him. He stood up, anxiety driving him, and ran toward the far door. Trying to pull it open, he was stopped at once. The door was locked.

Banging on the cracked wood, Nir screamed, “Let me go! Let me go! Hey, somebody get me outta here! Help!”

And then from the shadows, a figure slinked out, low to the ground. He held in his hands a knife, and drew it to his mouth as he spoke, “Shh. Shh. No need to yell, little drone.”

“What…? Who are you?! Don’t kill me! Please!” Nir shuddered, falling to his knees against the door. The man appearing in the room he thought he had to himself had spooked him; but the knife held him in place.

“How quick we are to plead for mercy. How quick we are to plead for our lives! Tell me, little imperial drone, why even fight? Why risk your life for a cause you cannot care about, that you cannot understand? Ah, that is one advantage I have over you, no?”

“Look, I don’t want to fight. Th-they forced me! I don’t want to be here, I… I.. I… just want to find my friend and go home.”

“I have a little friend for you… down here!” he hissed, grabbing his pants, “Get it?! Scum!”

“Yeah.”

“You rats are all the same with your sweet Imperial poison,” the man continued, as if not hearing Nir. He walked the length of the room, stopping at the window. He savored the moment and picked up a small glass on the windowsill and drank from it. He dug the heel of his foot into the rotting wood below, breaking off several fragments, and sending up a cloud of dust around him. He noticed this, and baring his teeth, he twisted himself around to look at the boy. He coughed twice, and then spoke, “What would you have me do with you, drone?”

“Let me go.”

“Nya… aha hah ha hah ha. Let you go. Aye, I can let you go – in a sack down the river!” His voice rose to hysteria as the man threw his shot glass of vodka at the boy. It hit Nir above the left eyebrow, throwing him back, and bleeding him. A deep cut formed on his forehead, for when he stood back up, it had let loose the gate streams of his blood all over his face. Nir wiped it away furiously, but helplessly. This man could kill him, he could, and Nir could do little to stop it. That simple reality made him numb to the pain. He stood still, breathing as little as possible to preserve what possibility of life he could yet muster.

The man would breathe heavily through his teeth, slitting air back and forth through his gums, like it was a substance of liquor. It made Nir shiver. Moreover, this man could not let himself stay in one place for more than a second. He would stop, pause, then move about again never standing still, but never repeating himself. At once, however, he walked over the door, and brought it open with a vigorous tug. It creaked with a painful moan, as if it had been so callously awoken by its depraved master; and if Nir had to guess, he would think this place close to coming down – at least, with such violent maneuvers as that.

“You do not move, imperial” the man said to Nir. Nir nodded in obedience, and the door was slammed in his face. He would not move.

It was three hours before the man returned to Nir. In this time, the muto had not dared move his legs. The splintered chairs and table had both looked comforting, but he had no idea when the man would come back, and thus fear drove him to retain his place, and not be tempted any more. Whether the man could have remembered Nir’s original point of standing was questionable; he seemed delusional and drunken. But judging by how the man spoke, he was one of the rebels Nir was supposed to be fighting. That made Nir a prisoner of war. He wondered where Sky was – if he was even alive, and if there was anyone out looking for him.

Yet, the man returned, and so too returned the feeling of heavy hopelessness. The man barely noticed Nir at first. Barely was he able to open the door on his own, and at first Nir assumed him to be wounded – shot, actually. But it was not so. The man had another with him – a cadet, Nir could see. That boy was unconscious, as his head drooped and his arms lay lazily. He wore the same armor Nir had been wearing when this rebel adducted him. The man held the boy by the neck, and threw him onto the moldy, damp floor in front of Nir.

“They sent one looking for you, did you know? You’re a special little one, aren’t you?” Nir did not respond. The man nodded his head at no one, the stubble of his beard catching dust and spraying it around like some uncouth tamed whale ruining a trick. He took a small device out of the back of his pants and, with an extended arm, pointed its metal appendage at the unconscious boy. It was a black, metallic type of thing, with a long point shooting out from where the man’s boney hands gripped it. He took it and poked it against the boy’s body. Looking up at Nir, who stared back with large, gray eyes, the man pulled the trigger. The bullet was loud and it made Nir jump. He looked down, and saw the boy on the ground, not breathing, not moving, with half a pint of blood already soaking the ground. More was coming fast. Nir looked back up at the man, who was now advancing to him. The metallic weapon pointed at Nir’s nose.

Nir hardly had time to react to the death he just witnessed. Survival instincts kicked in as he spoke in a hollow whisper, “I’m not with them.”

“Oh, no. No no no no no. You can’t be with them, no. Not when I’ve got you here with your life in my hand. Now you’re sympathetic. A resister, even! How easily the minds of children are changed by their position in reality!” he spat through his slit teeth at Nir, “You are a noble ordained,” he continued with sarcasm, “You have nothing to prove to me otherwise.”

“I do. Look…”

Nir lifted up his shirt, from the back. The man cautioned himself and still pointed the weapon at Nir. The boy looked away so he could not have the knowledge to be frightened. He lifted his shirt over him, and pulled his pants down, partway, then turned around. The man took a chair and sat down on it, facing backward, continuing to point his weapon at Nir. Yawning, he crossed his arms and leaned forward on the backrest.

“Look, see?”

There was a deep, long scar that was positioned just above Nir’s tailbone.

“So what?” replied the man in heavy brogue.

Nir turned his head, explaining his predicament in the most straightforward way, “I used to have a tail there. But they were going to kill me so I had to cut it off.”

“So… you were a muto,” the man breathed.

“I didn’t want to be put wi-with them, but I had no choice. They enrolled me on their own. If I told them what I was, they would kill me!”

The man stood up. He did not speak to Nir, instead deciding to pace around the room several more times. Each step his heavy boots took caused the pooling blood to ripple and splash. Nir moved back to get out of the path of it. The man stopped, facing the window again. He sighed long, then pocketed his metal weapon. Still shaking his head, he spoke:

“Aren’t many mutos left after-”

And then Nir threw the chair at him. The wood broke in long shards all over the man’s back. It did little to damage him – the momentum of slamming his face into the wall did more. The house creaked and shook along with him, and by the time he was turned around, Nir was out the door. He growled to himself, and pursued.

Nir hadn’t gone out the front door, but instead, upon breaking free from that hideous blood-stained observatory, he had snagged a quick left to the stairs and climbed them in frantic fashion. Going out to the streets would be uselessly useless. This was resistance territory. Any one of them would kill him given the proper chance. That is why Nir came to the singular conclusion that, if he were to get out of this alive, he needed his suit.

He reached the top of the stairs before instinctively bolting across the hall to a door, which was slightly ajar. He ran inside, quickly scouring the room for any sign of his belongings. There was a bed which was matted with gray sheets and looked as if it had never been used. There were three shelves on the far wall, all of which held a plethora of rusting tools and ammunition. He looked, and he looked, but there was not a trace of what he was looking for. Panic set in like a cold press on his throat, for Nir heard the heavy, deliberate footsteps of the rebel walking up the stairs.

"We're not done dancing yet, little soldier,” he sneered.

The man held his knife at his chest, and proceeded forward in that careful, calculated way that a hunter would to a wounded animal. It was no use to resist; Nir lacked any weaponry, and he was quite a bit smaller. Nir realized that this small room – which lacked any other doors or windows – was going to be his grave. Then, the tall man lunged forward, and struck out at his foe.

And inside Nir’s head, it was as if a capsule of adrenaline had burst, and filled his veins. Instantly, at the certainty of death, his body had unwilled it. He jumped back, dodging the knife, and to his surprise (more than that of the man’s), it worked. Not so much was it that time around him had slowed, instead, he felt as if he had sped up. He watched the rebel swipe again with his knife, and Nir dodged it easily, again. He could see every move coming seconds before they could touch him.

Nir screamed, losing control. His mind went numb, and he felt hopelessly catatonic inside it. He was a simple spectator to the actions happening around him. Yet, he was not afraid, as before. It was like with Ralgo. It was primal, instinctual. The boy charged forward, and slammed into the rebel’s knees. The man shuddered, and fell backward. Thusly following with him was the remainder of the room, as the rotted wood cracked and splintered under the unnatural pressure. The two fell through the floor, and were swiftly covered in debris. And the house was quiet once again.

Outside the house, down the ruined city, the explosions continued.

Nir awoke in mostly darkness. Only a faint ray of the dying sun shone through the far window, and it did little to help him see. Sitting up, he found himself to be alone amongst a pile of refuse. He did not feel badly hurt, and testing his legs, found they still worked properly. He stood up, and slid off the pile. Firstly, he needed to get his suit; then, he could find wherever Sky ended up.

On his way out, he noticed something shiny poking out of the rubble, and was immediately drawn to it. Upon wrenching it out, he found it to be his captor’s knife. He brought it into his chest, sighing in relief. Nir had just remembered that the man was safely, and assuredly dead, underneath all that mess in front of him. It would give him some time, he thought. Moving away from the pile, he started to guess where his suit could be hiding when a hand burst out behind him. The man emerged from the pile, screaming curses and death. He took Nir by the ankle, and pulled the muto toward him. His bloody fist awaited Nir’s face.

The boy was thrown back, and rendered delirious by the blow. He fell as the man let go of him, and struggled up. But the man put his boot to Nir’s chest, holding him in place. He lowered his gaunt snout to within an inch of Nir as he began his speech:

“You thought I died? Stupid boy! I am Mikhail Maklakov, son of Nikolai Maklakov! The Great Resister, my father was called, and I follow his path!” Before Nir could ask who that was, supposing he was obligated to know, Mikhail punched him in the face again. “Your little king might think sending children to fight will break our resolve. You drones don’t get it! Filthy animals! Killing you means nothing to me! Nothing to me! We fight for our people and our lives, and you will not get in our way. So what if you are children? It’s good for the world for the little imperial to die young. Better than let him grow and spread his destruction. And I should have killed you! Taking you as a prisoner… no, no, no. Malbarion wanted it, but now… I’ll just say I didn’t find any. We don’t need prisoners! We need corpses. Littering the street! Too many to count! And you, little drone, it’s time for you to join your comrade there in the other room!”

Maklakov raised his fist again, only this time Nir reacted. He still had the knife in his hands, and plunged it upward, puncturing and then spearing through the man’s chest. Nir felt a gust of hot breath hit his face as Maklakov gasped in shock. He fell backward, thrashing and hacking up blood. Nir’s entire body went stiff. What had he done?!

“No! I didn’t… I… no!” Nir was lost for words. He felt equally hit by the blade, as pure terror overwhelmed him at what he had just done. “I didn’t do anything… I didn’t do it, I didn’t do it!”

All the while, Maklakov stared at the boy. Nir couldn’t tell what the man was feeling (aside from pain). He ran over to try and help, but the man was hitting everything near him. There was no getting close. Then, it all stopped. It was over faster than Nir could catch his breath. The man lay dead, and Nir was alone again.

“No! I didn’t mean it… Wake up… Wake up!” Nir positively shouted the words.

He had rushed over to the limp body, but knew not what to do. Nobody had taught him how to save a dying person, how to check if they were alive. The only thing he was doing was getting himself covered in a man’s blood.

He lowered his head to the man’s chest, and began crying. He felt sick, horrible. He was a monster. He felt like taking that knife and stabbing it into his own chest. But he didn’t have the strength to pull it out. Sky, his only friend, would abandon him. Nir couldn’t blame him. He was a killer - no, a murderer. A savage, really. The warm-hearted boy he used to be was now gone.

He sat there for a good deal of time in the wood, and the blood, and the tears, before getting up to leave. He didn’t even care about finding his suit anymore. Nir had resolved that he would desert. The price of it no longer mattered. Let them kill him. Let all of them kill him. He deserved it. He wouldn’t go back.

It was dark when he left the house, which made it easier to go unnoticed. Nir made his way through the half-destroyed houses and streets quickly and quietly. He passed by several scores of what looked like rebels (for they dressed as Maklakov did) huddled around barrels of fire. He did not understand the politick of war; the reasons his king fought, and the reason these men fought back meant little to Nir. Of what little he could comprehend on the matter, Nir found it horrifying that so many of these men, on both sides, could kill so easily.

Perhaps it was predisposition toward feeling cold, or merely the lack of clothes he was wearing, but Nir succumbed to shivering almost immediately. The city was surprisingly windy at night, making Nir second-guess his desertion. Being with how many barrels of fire there were around, how many huddled rebels were grouped in scattered pockets about the crumbling streets, he reckoned he could join them. Surely none would know that he was formerly an Imperial prisoner. He just worried they would spot the spots of blood on his shirt. Maybe not if he kept low.

The winds had pushed a trail of smoke toward the boy, and he began following it in hopes of finding an un-crowded, warm fire to relieve him of the freezing cold. As he ran toward it, eagerly and desperately, he noticed that the streets started to change, getting significantly more destroyed, and there were fewer buildings standing. Running farther, he no longer saw pockets of rebels huddling around on either side, making him wonder where the fire was.

(Cue All These Things That I’ve Done)

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And then he rounded one last corner, and before him was a figure. It was fully armored in a standard issue Dex suit, and was walking slowly away from the smoke. Upon seeing the muto, the figure stopped, and raised its head. It removed its helmet, revealing a cut up, battle-scorched face; the face of Sky. He couldn’t believe it. His only friend had found him, Nir thought.

Nir’s face fell into relief, almost bringing him to tears, and he ran ahead, but Sky stopped him. He raised his gloved hand and stuck it firmly into Nir’s chest. His face was as cold as the winds blowing about when he spoke:

“Don’t go back there.”

“W-why?” asked Nir, who was still shivering.

“We’re all that’s left.” Sky put his helmet back on, and calmly walked by Nir. “Follow me; it’s not safe anymore.”

(All These Things That I’ve Done reaches 0:45)

Back in the Imperial camp, where a small collection of fat, aging commanders had been toying with the lives of children on the battlefield, an ambush had clearly occurred – because the entire place was destroyed. The Imperial transport vessels were twisted and burning, with some even crashed in vain efforts to escape. The tents were disintegrated, the command post reduced to ashes. For the dead, children had been given no special treatment, and lay dead next to their commanders.

A dozen rebels remained on watch around the encampment, but for little reason. No Imperial had escaped; not a one. The rebellion had reigned victorious. Patrolling a dead zone such as this was such a boring thing, that many of the men had fallen asleep. Two or three were still awake in a rare standing house that did not have a roof. On the top floor, they played cards by candlelight with a single wall protecting them from the winds.

So ferocious were the winds that the sleeping rebels did not hear their buddies get shot.

Then came a dark figure whirling through the night, who slit the throats of the remaining rebels save one. That man, instead, was awoken with a rough kick to the chest. After a shout and a failed reach for his suddenly missing weapon, the man was picked up by the neck. He came to see his attacker was in full body armor, similar to that of the Imperials he had recently slaughtered. He tried speaking (pleading, really), but the grasp on his throat prevented any speech. Instead, his attacker spoke first.

“I am searching for a soldier. Name’s Nir. You haven’t happened to see him, have you?” The armored attacker asked, loosening the grip on the man’s neck.

“No… no… please, I… it wasn’t me that killed him, I tell ya…”

“No, you just killed the other kids,” the attacker responded. This time, with the winds dying down a bit, the man could detect the sarcasm. More importantly, he could tell the voice was female. He clung to that fact.

“Listen, Miss… I can help you find him, if you want… you know… ” he nodded and chuckled to himself, nervously.

“Who ordered this attack?”

The man’s face lit up and he showed off his yellow teeth. “Ah! Mr. Sciaon Malbarion! He was here, himself, miss. Led the attack and everything! You shoulda seen it. We didn’t lose no one, no we didn’t!”

The woman slapped the man across the face before dropping him to the ground. Then, she moved forward, against his pleas and struggling, placing her boot to his chest, and pressing downward. For a while, the man resisted. And then, his ribs broke, and his chest cavity collapsed.

The woman, undeterred, returned to the camp. She looked over a few bodies, and finding nothing, pulled something out of her belt. It was a small, blue device, which looked like a cell phone. She turned it on, and placed it over the head of a dead soldier below her feet. When she did, a message popped up:

“Name: Siriko, Rae L: Service Number: JA23 6706-9008-0012” 

She nodded to herself, satisfied with the competency of the machine. Then, removing a gauntlet, the woman used her long, slender fingers to pluck at the keyboard and enter a new search query:

“Name: Nir: Service Number: JA23 6706-5433-0997” 

Instantaneously, a dot appeared on the screen, overlaid on a map of the city. Then Farayel Aros, lieutenant of Zirion, knew where Nir’s armor was; where she presumed the possessor of that armor would reside also. Wasting no time, she jumped away, found her hoverbike, and raced off into the city. And she feared not how many rebels awaited her.

Chapter VII: Diruhl
{{subst:*Royal Proclamation VIII The purchase, consumption, or distribution of hallucinogens, opiates, depressants, stimulants, and steroids are deemed contraband. Alcohol is also made illegal, and all persons are required to burn their drug related possessions. Failure to do so will result in imprisonment in a class II internment facility in Sector V.}}

Using a rugged line of shadows, cast by noon’s sun, Sky made a careful path through the obliterated buildings. Though he had seen only a few rebels milling around, he didn’t want to take his chances. They were probably grouped up around the ambush site – where, last night, all of the Imperial children and soldiers had been slaughtered. Still, he wouldn’t take any chances being seen. He didn’t want them to know he was still alive.

After they had taken him and Nir hostage, Sky had been given treatment for the wound on his chest. Because of how serious it had been, and of how young he was, they hadn’t bothered to put a guard on him. After half a day, he had gathered enough strength back (when souped on morphine) to sneak out. Luckily, they hadn’t bothered confiscating his suit.

Sky had tried to find Nir, but unable to locate him, instead set his suit to navigate him back toward camp. But none of his commanders cared about where he had been. Asking, pleading, for some reinforcements to help him get Nir back, did Sky no good, and he was thoroughly rejected. So, he set back out on his own. And it was just about that time the Morphine wore out, and he became aware of the excruciating pain in his chest. He had collapsed, then, only a quarter mile from camp, and fell unconscious. Probably thinking he was dead, no rebel touched him. He had awoken by nightfall to find a massive fire behind him, and every fellow Imperial dead. And then he had noticed the place crawling with rebels, and swiftly retreated via crawling over the bodies. Had it not been for the darkness, surely he would have been seen, and killed. It hadn’t been more than a few minutes later, that he had walked out of that place and found Nir.

So here he was, a day later. The two of them had made a small refuge deeper in the city, in an old blown out house. They had found a little food, and blankets, and braced against the wind. Nir was still there, for without his suit, it was too cold and too dangerous to venture outside. Sky, on the other hand, was perfectly suited for the mission at hand; and he was going back to retrieve Nir’s. Since they were in the same fire team, Sky only needed to press a button, and a homing beacon would light on Nir’s suit. He did so, and found the house where it was to be no more than a few blocks north. Sneaking toward it, Sky took a right into a large, abandoned street. And while he didn’t see any rebels down it, as he quietly ran, he noticed something following him. Sky stopped, and looked up. This particular street had rather high buildings imposing on either side. The war had, however, ripped many of them to shreds. Only on the right side were there a few buildings with roofs still. Sky didn’t know if what he had seen following him was a bird, for what he had seen had been moving up on those roofs. And it had been moving as fast as him, as if it was following him.

His brother, Jake, had taught him how to use infrared mode on his helmet, and he quickly switched to that, and scanned the buildings. After a few seconds, he picked up a few flashes of orange and yellow, the clear signs of something organic. He couldn’t tell if it was human or not, the bugger, because it was moving too fast. In fact, he wasn’t sure it could be human, since it was running around in circles up there. Sky shook his head, and got back to the task at hand. The rest of the way was quiet, and he didn’t spot another living thing.

Inside the house, where the beacon was coming from, Sky found Nir’s suit. It was in a closet, in the basement, along with half a dozen others. Glancing over to the corner of the room, Sky saw several charred bodies – which looked like children, but were too burnt to properly examine. Evidently Sky and Nir were not the first prisoners taken here. Nevertheless, Sky left the room with little other thought. Nir’s armor over his shoulder, he climbed back up the stairs to the ground level.

In front of him was something he hadn’t noticed before. There lay a corpse, a man, stark white, with a knife in his heart. Sky stopped moving. This man was the one who had given him morphine. He was a rebel. He shouldn’t be dead, unless…

Sky’s eyes widened beneath his helmet. Nir. Well, that explained why his friend had been such a sad, sappy sucker since last night.

Then, Sky heard noise, and fell to the ground, rolling out of sight. He slid over behind a rotted table, and stayed perfectly still. In came three men, wearing fur and carrying salvaged Imperial weaponry. They spotted the dead man, and rushed over to him, speaking furiously to one another in a language Sky did not understand. One yelled before kicking the wall. From that, Sky gathered they weren’t very happy about finding the guy dead. The others quickly looked in a big open room just ahead. Finding it empty, they likewise kicked the wall. One of them pulled a radio out of his pocket, and spoke into it. Sky shifted his weight to his shoulders, preparing to spring up. If that man was calling reinforcements, he had to get out at once. Using his neural uplink, Sky willed his arm cannon to warm on, and begin charging a blast. He had never actually shot anyone before, but how hard could it be? His brother had told him once, rather bluntly, that killing a man wasn’t all that difficult. Just point and shoot.

And he did.

The room was bathed in white light, too bright to see through, until the three men were no more. And then, with all the speed he had in him, Sky took back to the street. Fearing rebels hot on his heels, he didn’t stop until he got all the way back to the place he had left Nir. And as he ran, he once again felt like he was being watched; like someone was following him on the rooftops above.

Nir had slept late, but still woke tired when Sky returned. He beamed at his friend, seeing his suit safely back in his possession. Impatiently, he threw it back on, and turned on the internal heating regulator. He left his helmet on the ground, for it was easier to talk without it on.

“Ah, that’s better. Thanks, Sky,” Nir said. “Was it very hard to find?”

Sky sat down next to Nir, and took off his own helmet. “Just a few bad guys. Not too many.”

“Did they see you?”

“Well, yeah. But they’re dead, so it doesn’t matter,” Sky laughed.

Nir’s eyes became like two balloons being filled with air. “Y-you… you mean, you killed them?!”

“I had to, or they would have killed me, I guess. I mean, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? To kill them.”

“I know… but…” Nir bowed his head.

“Look, Nir. We’re probably going to have to kill some more of them if we want to get out of here. I know I wanna get out of here.”

Looking back up to Sky, Nir spoke quietly, “I do too…”

“I saw the dead guy. The one with the knife and everything. You did that, right? Nir?” But Nir couldn’t respond. As he had raised his eyes to look back to Sky’s a moment before, he had spied something behind. And now, with horror was it that he saw that it was many figures coming sharply into view. The rebels had found them.

“Sky, behind you!” Nir screamed shrilly.

Sky jumped up, and looked. Seeing the same thing Nir did, he grabbed a helmet, and jumped over the small bit of stone they had been sitting on to get to cover. Nir did likewise. Yet, as he put on his helmet, he distinctly felt it wasn’t right; it didn’t fit quite right.

There were more important things at hand. At least seven rebels were lined up in a semicircle in front of the boys with weapons drawn.

“Looks like a few got through the net. Better tell Malbarion,” the man in the center said, nodding to himself, and raising a radio to his ear.”

“No!!” Sky shouted, popping up and shooting a blast at the man. It grazed his face, blasting away the radio, and burning his cheek.

The man growled in pain. “All right, boys. Scratch that! Let’s mop ‘em up. Malbarion doesn’t need to know what we’re goin’ to do to these rats.”

They drew their weapons and fired. Some were more random and poorly aimed than others, but no shots could piece through the thick of stone rubble the boys were behind. The men’s bloodlust grew, and they started creeping forward. Nir and Sky shot blindly over the rubble, trying to keep them back, but it was no use. The men expertly dodged the feeble defense, and ran closer. Nir closed his eyes tight while shooting. He wasn’t ready to kill again. Maklakov had been an accident he deeply regretted. He had, at the moment after killing the man, sworn to himself to never kill again. And here he was mere hours later, likely to break that promise.

Sky popped up again, and aimed a shot at the nearest rebel, hitting him squarely in the belly. The man howled, and fell back. The others focused their shots toward Sky. But the boy had already dove back into cover. Yet, the men were almost to them.

“Nir, let’s fire a bunch of shots off together and then run to the back of the house, okay?” Sky shouted.

Nir nodded. Sky silently counted down with his fingers, and then at zero, the two of them jumped up, and shot wildly, blindly, hopefully. They shot repeatedly, hoping they would hit something, but also buy a few seconds as they retreated. A loud motor then roared, and not only did it make Nir and Sky stop their tirade, but the men as well. And as the increasingly riotous sound grew louder and closer to them all, Nir spotted a hoverbike come into view. On it rode an armored being, who, without mercy or second thought rode to the men and systematically decapitated every one of them. They tried attacking back, but their shots merely bounced off the armored vehicle. The being was ruthlessly efficient, and had soon taken out all six of the remaining rebels. Then, it rode up to Nir and Sky, and stopped before them. Removing its helmet, revealed the sharp, thin, hawk-like face of a woman.

She looked down upon the children, and spoke, “Now, care to tell me which one of you is Nir?”

Nir, who was on the left, raised his hand.

“Very good,” she said. She stared toward Nir with her one green eye, and one brown eye – a breathtaking little detail that had both of the boys in utter awe – before putting her helmet back on.

Then, she raised her left arm, and pointed it at Nir. On her wrist, a small, mounted rocket hummed and glowed as it prepared to disengage. Nir, still transfixed, remained completely still, and did not notice it. He was too focused on what the woman had looked like, and tried visualizing her face again beneath her visor.

It was only, at the fifth to last second, that Sky had come to his senses, and screaming, dove at Nir. The two of them fell to the ground, just as the rocket fired. Melting away almost all of the debris, the explosion left the two boys in a smooth crater. They staggered up, just in time to see woman come roaring once again toward their weary bodies. Now, the sun reigned above, and they could see her properly. Equally, then, were they taken aback, as the boys saw their pursuer was an Imperial too.

She wore a crimson cape and a high-crest helmet, marking her as field officer. Nir could not outrun her; not now; not here. He was spent. With her armor glistening silver, an energy-pike in either hand, riding a blazing hoverbike, the woman ran him down with the greatest speed. Nir could barely bound out of the way before she had reached him, her weapon just grazing his hair. And though he had dodged her, no respite could he have yet, for she had already doubled back and was bearing down on the boy again.

Sky threw himself the opposite way, and charged his wrist-cannon. Angling it toward her bike, he let out several pulse blasts. Yet they reflected from the steel-plated armor, and smote in the ground. Briefly, the assassin stopped her hunt, and looked back to Sky. Before he could blink, she had thrown one of her pikes at him. Sky screamed.

He looked down to see his thigh punctured, the pike shot cleanly through it. Blood spurted about, covering his armor until Sky’s face went numb, and he fell over, unconscious. As he did so, his suit locked down, and initiated critical healing, injecting biofoam and closing the wound, stopping the blood. Yet, he was still incapacitated.

The woman turned her attention back to Nir, who had fallen over in his attempt to backpedal away from her. The assassin took her final pike, and shoved it downward. But, Nir slipped and stumbled out of the way, scrambling over a bit of rubble, and out of sight. The woman peered after him, trying to see where he had gone. She hissed in impatience as she dropped to a knee, un-shouldered a massive attachment for her wrist-cannon, and smacked it on. She aimed at the cracked rocks and bricks ahead and unleashed a hail of energy bolts. The refuse melded together, smoking and burning away as she swept back and forth.

Nir retreated further into the wreckage of a destroyed hovercar. Even as he ran, the woman tracked him, and brought up her wrist-mounted cannon. A long, slender barrel formed from it, and a red sight popped up. Coupled with her neural interface, Farayel used this to tastily line up her target and prepare the sniper. Her first shot blew the hovercar to pieces, and thrust the muto boy back out to the open. Nir had nowhere to run now.

Activating the thrusters on her boots, Farayel was to Nir in a moment, and with a swoop, grabbed him by the neck. As she lifted him up, aiming her weapon at his throat, even against his steady protest, a sudden voice yelled from the buildings above. “And look a’is, men! We gots a couple o’ rats fightin’ wit each other!” Instantaneously, a wave of laughter enveloped the place.

The sheer volume was enough to make Ms. Aros look up. Around her now, like hungry wolves, were hundreds of rebels. Their dirty, round faces peering out from every window, alley, and little crevice imaginable led the Lieutenant Colonel to realize she was now in danger; and quite serious danger at that.

With Nir in one hand, Farayel Aros deactivated the weapon in her other. She turned to face the masses. “Citizens, please step back. This is official Ordained business sanctioned by King Jibal himself-”

An uproar of jeers followed. The same man who had shouted before spoke again, “Ain’t no king we serve, bitch.”

The woman beneath her helmet fought to keep her cool. “Sirs, I have no business with you. Once again, I ask you to all step back. I will not report you if you comply.” Despite her arm being outstretched in a moment of faux sympathy, her onlookers were unimpressed. Their jeers grew cruder, and profanity intermixed with every word so much that Farayel could make out them alone.

“Quiet! I will not have this disrespect in my presence!” Farayel screamed, her emotions now well played. “I am an officer of the royal military-”

And with that, a loud explosion went off. Nir felt a sharp pain in his ears, then felt himself falling. Losing all senses other than sight, he watched as Farayel fell to her knees. Half her helmet was torn away, showing her pale, beautiful face drenched in blood. A look of shock and abhorrence flickered across her mouth and eyes until a second shot hit her, this time in the collar-bone. The force sent her flying back.

Nir crawled as quickly as he could back to Sky, hoping no one would notice him. Luckily, the woman was of more importance, and no one saw him go by. By this time, Sky’s suit had begun the standard healing process of any critical injury, and the bleeding had fully stopped. Still, he couldn’t much run, so Nir helped his friend as the two tried to get as far away from the action as they could.

They, however, had lost their luck. Wearing the same type of armor as a recently attacked officer proved no safety, as several rowdy and quick-triggered rebels had moved on from the Lieutenant Colonel. Seeing now two helpless boys limping away, there was little else to expect. But as they shot countless rounds at the scared, fleeing boys, the folly that was hand-held weaponry (guns, in this case) became most apparent - that they were a good deal more inaccurate than the weapons of a standard dex suit. As such, Nir and Sky hobbled between ruins and buildings, ever scared but ever safe, and with grim efficiency until they could no longer see nor hear anyone trying to kill them.

In another city, far above the streets, higher than the tallest skyscrapers, in the greatest tower of the Capitol building there was a veranda, mixed of refined, polished stone, and more modern, angular walls. Between pillars, small open windows hung with various flowers and plants looked out over the former West City. As it lay now, the conglomerate of buildings were designated as, colloquially, “Providence of Diruhl”, but, officially, the city was designated solely as Sector XIV.

Diruhl, a high-boned, cold woman was its keeper, its prince –which was here a title more akin to governance than to royalty. She sat in a chair, arms together, and leaned forward onto a table. Across from her was the man who commanded all of the Empire’s forces, General Zirion. And despite his likewise manner of impatience, this meeting was supposed to be nothing more than a friendly luncheon.

The two did eat lunch for some time, exchanging forced pleasantries and listening to the winds which roared so fiercely at such a height. At time, a guard approached Zirion, and whispered in his ear. The officer then, as if hearing some ill news, pushed his guard back, and ordered him and the rest to clear the room. Yet once they were gone, he turned back to the Prince, and smiled.

“What drives your request, General?” Diruhl asked, sipping her wine.

“Privacy, as can be warranted.”

“You have something so important to say?” she asked again.

Zirion leaned forward, and poured himself more drink. “Do you know how the war goes?”

“I wasn’t aware we were in one, General.”

“We may as well be, given the defeats these rebels have made us suffer. Or wouldn’t you know when your own people are slaughtered?”

“They are?”

“The children’s brigade from this city, yes. Decimated; every one of them killed in battle.”

“How long have you kept this?” she questioned, her eyes widening.

“And still more are going to be sent!” Zirion continued, ignoring her and raising his voice. “More, more of our soldiers green or veteran are being wasted on these fruitless missions. We are stretched so thin… and were anyone to attack us here, little could stop them.”

“Is it fruitless to protect our great empire, our people, our ideals, our livelihood?! We must crush this resistance, this unlawful rebellion before it grows further. It is your duty, Zirion, to make us look strong.”

“And how, good lady, with but children and tired old men?”

“I know not,” she shrugged, after some time.

“You remember the old king, Jibal’s father. He had measures set in place, ideas for which we all seem to forget. He had created ways for us to combat without the need for lives to be lost. Do you remember his second decree?”

The Prince shook her head. “I don’t know of any who do. It is not displayed with the rest.”

“Have you wondered why? What power the king held he didn’t want his son to know about? I know what it is; where it is. And I can take you there.

“What is it?” Diruhl said, with suspicious eyes. “How do you suddenly know these things?”

“I recently found the old King’s writings, buried away in the castle. He talked of a secret lab in sector IV. The place experimented on old tech by a man named Gero. Of what was successful, the king wrote mostly of some things called ‘Criers’.”

Diruhl rose to her feet. “Criers?” that name is less than what you have built it to be. What exactly are they, General?”

Zirion smiled, and stood too. “Let’s find out,” he beckoned her.

He ushered the Prince out the door, and, escorted by guards made way to a helicopter pad out back. As the machine warmed up, Zirion found the guard who had whispered in his ear. Taking the man aside, he spoke:

“Soldier,” he began, “you will tell no one what you told me. Aros’ death will not be leaked. Do you understand me?”

The soldier nodded violently. “Sir, yes sir.”

“Good,” Zirion spoke, then turned toward the helicopter. “I have found something which will prove more useful than her, anyway,” he breathed to himself. But, under the roar of the propeller spinning madly, no one had any inkling of the good General’s plan.

Chapter VIII: Stagnator Delightor
{{subst:*Royal Proclamation IX

The Muto creed is as follows:

You are not a person.

You are not equal.

You will not speak.

You will not rebel.

You have no purpose but to serve.

You will be grateful.

You will be loyal.

You will be happy.

You will not rebel

All male non-mutos must join their local Ordained Military Academy before the age of 16. Failure to do so will result in death. Females are advised to join, but are not required to. Professional Martial Artists are granted exception.}}
 * Royal Proclamation X

A single armored helicopter broke the silence of the peaceful afternoon. It cut through the wispy clouds, and split flocks of birds before touching down on the side of side of a mountain. As it began to land, the force of its propellers blew dead leaves and dirt off an old landing pad. And aside from the landing pad, there were no signs of humanity in that wilderness.

A few short moments passed before the helicopter had landed and opened its side doors. At once, half a dozen soldiers sprang out, and made a perimeter. Upon deeming the area safe, the nearest soldier to the helicopter nodded toward the occupants inside, and bade them exit. Zirion jumped out first, followed by Diruhl. He motioned for all of the soldiers to remain guarding the helicopter as he and the good prince went forward. Ahead was a large jut of rocks, and amongst them, a small path leading to a cave. They made way into it, and came upon a large metal door and a small keypad where the doorknob should have been.

“I must confess something,” Zirion began, looking down at the keypad. “When I found the old king’s records, there was no password for opening this door.”

Diruhl looked unimpressed. Her cheeks narrowed and flushed as she spoke, “I don’t know why you would bring me here, then. My time is not your plaything, general.”

Zirion continued to stare down at the keypad, “You can still help me get inside.”

“How? If you don’t have the code, then you don’t have the clearance. Obviously whatever is behind that door is something you aren’t supposed to see.”

“You know how many people know of this place? Just me and you, and whoever’s inside. The secret of this place died with the last king. Jibal doesn’t even know it exists. The Collective doesn’t, either.”

Diruhl’s eyes widened, and she stepped back. “General… you should have brought this to the king, not me. The world belongs to Jibal. Keeping secrets from him is a high crime!”

“I am the general of the armies. The military decisions and strategies are my responsibility. The Criers are weapons. So they are mine. Jibal’s not even an adult yet. He doesn’t need to know until I know if they are worth keeping.” Zirion growled.

“Zirion, continue and this treachery and your head will soon be on a pike. I will have no part in this!”

“Jibal is not a fool,” Zirion responded, his focus fully spent on the screen in front of him, slamming the keypad into submission with his broad fist. “He kills me, he signs his own death wish. Simple as that. Malbarion would crush him. I know it; he knows it. It’s only because he’s king the whole goddamn empire doesn’t.”

“Zirion-”

The general stood up, and put his helmet on. Then, he spun around to face the prince. Before she could utter another word, he raised his arm, and heated up a bolt of plasma energy. Then, he fired it at her face, killing her. As the bolt hit, her face melted instantly and the front of her skull dissolved. Her body fell back, and landed unmercifully on the dirt. Zirion strode forward, and crouched next to her corpse. He punched his fist into her brain matter, until he found what he was looking for. Removing his hand, he opened his palm and saw a small, silver chip. Just as expected.

“The old king wrote in his notes about how he trusted the twelve princes with this information. Maybe you didn’t know what it was for. Maybe you’ve forgotten he even put this in your head. I’ll give you that. But there was only one way to get this code out of you, Diruhl. And with your death, our empire will continue to exist.”

He stood up, and turned back to the keypad, placing the chip on it. The keypad began to hum, and then the doors creaked. He stepped back and was bathed in painfully bright, white, light. As the doors opened more, his eyes adjusted to the brightness, and he saw the outlines of walls and computers. Zirion moved in, leaving Diruhl’s body behind.

Ahead of him was a single room, though it was vast. On all walls were computers of various sizes and shapes. Nearest him were test tubes large enough for a human to be put in, though all were empty. Directly in front of him was a raised platform, with a console, and an elderly man in a white jacket. Zirion made way to him. As his heavy boots beat against the metal floor, the sound startled the man, causing him to spin around with a small pistol in his hand.

“Sheathe your weapon, man!” Zirion roared, putting both hands up. “I am here under order of the king!”

“Who… who are you?! Speak! Tell me your name and rank!”

Zirion removed the visor of his helmet before speaking. “I am Zirion, Commander General of King Jibal’s armies.”

“Oho! Zirion! Yes, I know that name,” the man said, putting his weapon down, and motioning for the man to come forward. “However, I do not understand why you are here.” “The Criers. I’m here to take them all.”

“The Criers? Oh, no. They are not operational. We have only managed to crack the codes on two of them so far.”

Zirion’s eyes shone with greed. “And how many are there?”

“Why, ninety-six, of course. Those were how many old Gero had managed to make. It’s amazing that after all these years, we are still learning from his brilliant inventions and innovations.”

“What’s taking so long, then? You must have been in here for years.”

“Why, yes. This facility has been shut off for the last twelve years. We have made some progress since then. We have managed to crack the control keys for two Criers, and we’ve reverse engineered several other of the Doctor’s inventions; namely, in regards to his foray into artificial intelligence!”

“I just want the Criers, even if there are only two. Tell me how to command them and how powerful they are.”

“We haven’t been able to unlock all of their power cores, but even in minimal operational performances, they are thousands of times stronger than even the greatest martial artists.”

As the scientist spoke, he pressed several buttons on his console, causing a wall to rise, revealing another area behind it. In this place, many more of the test tubes Zirion saw earlier were stacked in rows. Inside them were dull black creatures with tilted, crescent heads and long, slender arms. They were wholly mechanical, for every centimeter of their surface was covered in sharp spikes or blades. In the forefront, the scientist gestured to two tubes pulled aside from the rest. These two were operational. And they were massive. Zirion was a tall man, and even in his armor the mechs dwarfed him.

Zirion stepped up to them completely speechless. He simply looked, and imagined all of what he could do with such ruthless killing machines. The doctor began explaining their capabilities. The Criers had improved energy-based weaponry over any soldier, incredible speed, and even the ability to emit large sound volleys to scare or main opponents. Zirion guessed that was what they were named after. The doctor said, specifically, that no one should be near a Crier when it ‘cried’ for one would go deaf if they heard it. Their AI was intuitive, and able to adapt to any strategies or environments they were used for. Their offensive capabilities were not limited to energy, as they could use their arms as blades too. Being formed with heavy alloy, they were also almost impervious to damage.

“Will you be using these on anyone in particular? Sciaon Malbarion, perhaps? Listening to the imperial war channels, that name is brought up a lot. I assumed he was some kind of rebel leader.”

“Yes,” Zirion breathed, still trying to contain his glee, “He’s more than a rebel. He’s a goddamn usurper. But I can’t. I don’t know where he is. Besides, I have to know these things can do everything they are supposed to before risking them being captured. I have a name and a location of someone I want them to kill. Luckily, he’s wearing imperial armor so we can track him on radar. So I know exactly where he is.”

The scientist nodded.

Zirion spoke, “Now, tell me how to control these Criers. I have little time.”

“Jibal, The Collective is here to discuss the kingdom’s finances.” Miss Swizubane said softly.

She was crouched outside a mahogany door. Inside was Jibal, the king of the Earth, alone. He was in his private quarters standing in front of a mirror next to the door.

“I didn’t call for them,” he responded softly.

“There have been developments since you’ve mandated the allocation protocol, sire. They are here to discuss what happened to the children’s brigade-”

“I am the king. My attention is mine to give, not theirs to take.”

“My king, they are just doing the job your father gave them.”

Jibal sighed, “My father isn’t king anymore. I will decide what my subjects do. But I know these vultures waiting for me created half of our laws themselves; my father had no part in it. I bet they created laws that I must obey them.”

Swizubane continued, calmly, “My king, they would never do such a thing. They exist to serve you, to help you. You will find like your father that ruling is a tiring endeavor. It’s a curious thing, really, becoming a king. You lose all desire to govern. But you want to have all the power. But any good kingdom needs order in it. And that is their purpose.”

“Then why… why have they made mutos second-class citizens?” Jibal asked, clear anger in his voice.

Swizubane’s voice rose, “Jibal, quiet.”

“I will not be. My father was weak and old and lazy. He didn’t care that everyone around him made the rules. All he did was sign them into law. Because he lived in secret, and didn’t let anyone see him… now I have to go through this.”

Swizubane stood up, and pressed her hands on the door, as if to compel it to let her in. “I doubt your father knew what the term muto meant. No one aside from his servants ever saw him. You know this, Jibal. Your father liked to relax in his own company.”

“How is it that I am king of a world that deems me second-class?” he said, staring at himself in the mirror.

No, it was not a human’s face that stared back, but that of a half-imp’s. His dark black eyes, his sharp teeth, his blue skin, they were all so wrong. He, Jibal, was a muto. And he hated it. Were it not for his anger, he could have seen the irony in his position.

Swizubane tried to open the door – though it was locked. “Jibal, you come from a noble line. Your grandfather, Pilaf was an emperor. Your father, Pilaf Jr., was a king. And you were born a prince. You are not second-class.”

“I hate them!” Jibal yelled, smashing his mirror with a blue fist, and giving himself a large gash down his forearm. “They made me this. Why couldn’t they be human?! Why do I have to dress up as one every time I go out?!”

“It’s not safe, my king. In your father’s rule, lots of things happened that he did not intend. Everyone thinks you are what they want you to be.”

Jibal would hear no more. He turned away from the door, and walked over to a dresser. A flood of emotions came on swiftly, overwhelming him. He nearly fell before clutching to the piece of furniture. He was not a king; he was a prisoner; a fake. Every day, he had to put up a front for his people and still they hated him. He had no friends in the world, just sycophants and enemies. He couldn’t do it… no, he couldn’t keep going on like this.

Jibal glanced up at the dresser, blinking away the tears. He had several pistols in there. He could end it now. Just one shot, and The Collective, Malbarion, and everyone else could get what they wanted. They wouldn’t miss him, wouldn’t remember him. And why should they?

Mulling over killing himself caused Jibal to forget he was talking to his attendant. Upon hearing her voice, he jumped.

“You will have a revolt if they see you are a muto, my grace.”

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t,” Jibal said, his voice wavering.

“Just wait until you are eighteen, Jibal. Then, you can do whatever you want. You can kill everyone if you want. You can parade their corpses through your kingdoms. And I will help you, your grace. But for now, you must play along with your father’s rules. Bite your tongue. When a year and a half is up, you can have your revenge.”

There was a long pause, then a click. Jibal’s voice spoke hoarsely, “Then cover me up. Make me a human.”

She had heard the click of the door unlock. Breathing relief to herself, she stood and opened the door. Inside was a small thing; Jibal, he was. Only, here he was not as a human boy, made by makeup and wigs, but as his true form. She was long used to his short, blue-skinned and hairless body, not to mention his long tail moving about in irritation. She had been appointed his caretaker by none other than the king himself. And as she tended to his bleeding fist, covered in blood and pieces of glass from the mirror, she also ushered in her handmaidens to change Jibal into a human. Only her and these girls knew of Jibal’s true form. She held complete control over them, and none would ever tell anyone. It was their little secret.

And then, the girls surrounded Jibal, and got out their makeup. They applied it to his skin, changing it to a human color, and fixed his wig with adhesive to his scalp. They clothed him in richly elegant, puffy clothes to hide the bulge of his tail, and to make him look taller. Once their work was done, there was no distinguishing him from any other sixteen year old boy.

Then, Jibal, who had not uttered a single word in all of this, left alone towards his throne room where he knew the vultures waited to tell him all about how his empire was going to hell under his rule.

There had been no time to rest or complain. They had simply run – well, limped – out of that place as fast as they could. They hadn’t eaten anything for days, and their water supplies had run out hours ago. Sky’s wound was bandaged, but the sustaining pain had kept the duo at a slow pace. They had long since realized the city was lost, that all Imperials had been killed, and that just they remained. There were likely rebel patrols out trying to find them. Though they kept moving, they were exhausted.

Around noon of the day after Aros’ demise, the two found the main road, and shadowed it towards the outskirts of the city. They hadn’t yet thought up a plan for what to do after they got out; yet they kept a dogged pace. Survival instincts were driving them, for the two surmised that if they were to stop, they would surely die. And so they came upon the gate of the city, long since broken asunder and vacant. But just as they made way under its great cracked arches, a figure appeared before them so quickly they could not even make it out before it had pushed them to the side, into some rubble.

Disoriented, Nir tried to glance up at what had pushed them down, but he couldn’t see much under all of the refuse, much less breathe with the pressure of it pressing down on his chest. He distinctly heard two cracks – the sounds of energy shots – and then silence. A moment later, Nir felt himself being picked up, and placed back on the road. In front of him was the figure who had knocked him and Sky down. It was an armored being. They saw his angular, spiked mask of silver and gold and ornate body armor. They reckoned that made him Imperial, though that gave them no solace. They had already been attacked by someone they thought was friendly.

“Please sir… we didn’t do anything. There were too many rebels…” Nir started to explain, but he was cut off.

The armored being raised its hand, stopping the boy’s plea. He walked past the two, and crouched, taking up a strategic point. The two weary boys turned around after him, and saw the bodies of two rebels, which the soldier must have just killed for them. Even so, Nir remained wary. At once, the boys watched as the man raised his other wrist and brought up an integrated arm-cannon and aimed forward. The two boys felt their bones rattle as the energy shot out. The energy blasts shot towards the two nearest buildings, melting their support beams, and causing them to fall. Then, the armored being lowered his wrist, and focused back on the two little boys he had just saved.

“You’re being tracked. You won’t get far with how many of them are in this city. But don’t worry, I’ve got your back,” the male voice spoke confidently, with a slight Scottish twang.

Sky, whose wounds had caused him delirium, slumped up against the wall, though he pointed at the soldier. His voice was feeble when he spoke, “You’re a Praetorian soldier! A King’s Guard. I know it. I’ve seen that armor before. You guard King Jibal himself. Why are you out here then? This city’s owned by rebels,”

“Nah, kid. I’m just on guard duty. I ain’t no Praetorian.”

“But the armor,” Sky continued, “I know that’s what it is…”

The man chuckled, “Yeah, probably. That makes sense. The guy who I took it from was one hell of a fighter.”

“Then… you’re a rebel!” Nir shouted, taken aback. “You killed him!”

“Nah, kid. Not everyone’s a rebel or Imperial. Some of us don’t take sides. My name’s William, but you can call me Wallace. I’m a merc. I work for whoever pays most. Just so happens both sides are paying the same right now. Guess that means I’m helping everyone. But kids… shit. I can’t believe your side’s using kids. I ain’t gonna keep this up if I have to kill kids.”

“Sir, I don’t mean to be rude, but do you have any food and water? We’re very hungry,” Nir asked.

“Yeah, I have a little,” William said, reaching into a case on his thigh. He pulled out a few rations and threw them to the two boys, who ravenously snapped them out of the air. “Might be a little stale. I’ve had these for a while.”

The two boys expressed their greatest gratitude, but were cut short with another rebel peeking his head out over the destruction William had made earlier. A single shot decapitated him, but William seemed worried nonetheless.

“You two need to get moving. These are just scouts coming out, but soon they’ll be sending larger forces. I can stall them, but I can’t stop them forever. The farther away you get, the less interested they’ll be in you. Where are you headed? Nearest Imperial camp?”

Nir’s eyes widened. “We can’t go there! We were attacked by some Imperial lady but we don’t know why. We didn’t do anything, though!” “Then maybe you two should get out of here. The badlands are only a few miles south. There ain’t no law down there. No empire, no rebels, no wars. You could try there.”

“No…” Sky spoke up. “We need to get to my parent’s house. They’re in sector 14. Is that close, sir?”

“Not particularly. On foot, in your condition, that will take weeks. But if that’s what you want, then go for it.”

“Sky, come on, you know we can’t make that far,” Nir spoke quietly. “We could try the Badlands for a while and then find your parents once we get enough strength. He said they won’t care if we’re Imperials down there. It should be safe.”

“No! My parents have to know I’m alive. I can’t let them think I died. I can’t, Nir. My brother too. I can’t let him think I’m gone.”

Nir looked back to William, who had taken up a tactical position yet again. “Mister William, sir? Isn’t there a faster way back?”

“You could try the river. Steal a boat from one of the villages, and you could get home in a day or so. That’s if you are fine with stealing a boat.”

Nir looked to Sky, and saw his friend nod. At this point, the two were so desperate to get out of the pain and danger, they would do it. Nir looked back to William, and nodded as well. That was what they would do, Nir thought. It was the perfect plan.

After finishing their meals quickly, Nir and Sky thanked William again. William motioned for the boys to move on. Nir noticed a few rebels emerging from the ruins of the destroyed buildings, and gunfire erupted once again. William rolled behind cover, and brought up his wrist-sniper to return fire. The two boys didn’t stand around much longer, and made their way out of the city in a semi-jog. Nir kept one arm around Sky’s neck, and helped him to move easier with his bad leg. Nir was not one to abandon his friend. Sky had asked for nothing in return through the years as he had given the muto unprecedented company. Truly, Nir hadn’t known why Sky had even befriended him. It was looked down upon to be around lesser-class. Maybe Sky didn’t have any real upper-class friends. But whatever the reason, here they were, and Nir was glad that he had a friend, even if he had to expend so much more energy to help him.

He and Sky ran in silence until they hit a forest and decided to stop. Thinking it as good a place as any, they began looking for any tied up boats they could steal. They discussed the badlands as they walked, though Sky was adamant they not get sidetracked and go there. He still wanted to return home to his family – especially to his older brother Jake. For Nir it was an easier decision, as he had no one in this world. At the very least, the attack by the Imperial woman was cause enough for fear to return so suddenly. Still, Nir would accompany his friend back to the city, even if there was an imperial garrison waiting there for them.

And as they continued to walk, Nir once again noticed that his helmet felt different, like it didn’t exactly fit. He wasn’t sure whether he had dented it in their escape, or if he had grabbed the wrong one, but he was too tired to bring it up. After some time, the two gave up their search for a boat, and settled down against some trees to finally fall asleep. And, for a few hours, their minds drifted into a state of peaceful rest.

Chapter IX: Sheer Drop
{{subst:*Royal Proclamation XI A World Tournament will be held every 5 years. Anyone, including mutos, may join. In addition to the monetary prize, the winner will be promoted to the rank of General in the King’s army. Failure to accept this prestigious award will be met with swift execution. Apart from serving in the King’s esteemed forces, the winner is expected to defend his or her title during the next tournament. Should he or she lose, the punishment is death. The King hereby recognizes the formation of the Collective. They hold financial responsibilities to aid the empire’s continued existence. Their wise counsel will forever aid the King’s rule.}}
 * Royal Proclamation XII

“How could my father have left me like this?”

The King’s words hung in the air for some time before Miss Swizubane decided to answer. She and Jibal were alone on a balcony overlooking the vast, sprawling metropolis formerly known as Central City. But times had changed. Now, it was Sector 1 – the Capitol City of Jibal’s kingdom. Staring down at the many buildings below her, Swizubane opened her mouth and spoke; and her king listened to her quiet voice.

“Your father meant well, Jibal. You know that. And he believed in you; so much that he gave you his empire. Look around you,” she said, gesturing to the rest of the city. “All of that is yours.”

Jibal scoffed. “In name only.”

“We have gone over this, sire. You cannot kill The Collective. They are your counsel. They manage the empire and without them-”

“Everyone would be better off,” Jibal interjected. “If I could just get my Dragon Balls, I could wish them to death… them and that traitor Sciaon Malbarion…”

Swizubane shook her head vigorously as she patted Jibal on the shoulder. “That would be a wasting your wishes, my king. You will have resources to deal with The Collective when you come of age. As for Malbarion, he is but a insignificant speck of resistance. He is nothing for you to worry about.”

“He’s stronger than you think. All of my generals are just playing him off as some fool, but I know that isn’t true. If he’s not a threat, why am I losing so many soldiers against him? Why is he winning all of the battles?” Jibal spat, his voice rising to anger.

“You are stressed out, milord. You aren’t thinking clearly. It won’t be long before General Zirion finds that rebel and brings him to you, so that you may execute him for treason. Things will go back to normal quite soon,” she spoke, attempting to soothe Jibal by massaging his shoulders.

Jibal brushed her away and stood up. He walked to the balcony’s edge, and looked over it, surveying his city. Below him, guards patrolled and hovercars flew down the streets. His head still hot with anger, he drew a pistol from his petticoat and aimed it down towards the city below.

“They’re all traitors! Look at them!” he yelled, waving his weapon around at the buildings and streets taking up his field of view. “I bet they all secretly want me dead. They’re all like Malbarion, I know it! I should just kill them all. They’re nothing but scum!”

“The first mistake any king makes is assuming that he is better than those he rules,” replied Swizubane, getting up and walking over to stand behind Jibal. She remained expertly calm, even as her little king continued to brandish his deadly weapon.

“Isn’t he?” Jibal retorted.

“Do you really believe you are?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? I’m the king!”

“A king who won’t have anyone left to rule, should he go through with his plan,” Swizubane said, with a wry smile.

Jibal took great offense to her comment, turned around, and pistol-whipped her. She recoiled, crying out in surprise and pain in equal measure before falling over. And as she lay on the ground, stunned, she noticed Jibal had once again turned his attention to his city. He neither cared about her nor anyone else. His selfishness and self-pity made her sick.

With one hand on her bleeding cheek and the other shaking uncontrollably, Swizubane stood up and approached Jibal from behind. Her king was too preoccupied with his thoughts of genocide to notice her. When she reached him, she raised her free hand to his back. It would be so easy for her to just push him off. Just nudge him a bit, and he would go tumbling down eighty stories to the pavement.

Swizubane held her trembling hand in place as she attempted to work herself up enough to do it. She knew murder was immoral. She knew killing a child was wrong. But how many more would die if she didn’t do this? How many wars would be fought over this spoiled brat’s life if he lived? Swizubane bit down hard on her lip to stop herself from whimpering out. Her mind was overloaded with thoughts of what to do. She wasn’t a murderer. But who would blame her if she did it? Miss Swizubane took a deep breath and steadied her hand as she moved it within an inch of Jibal’s body. And then she let her hand drop.

She didn’t have it in her.

The two boys had been searching for a boat all day. They had slogged down the muddy shores in search of one, though they had been having little luck. Nir had seen a few fishermen napping on the muddy banks but little else. His stomach was rumbling and his feet were hurting. He couldn’t imagine how his wounded friend was feeling. But they hadn’t spoken much since waking up. Sky was so focused on getting a boat. He needed to return to the safety of his parents after all he had been through. Nir understood that; he wished he could do the same.

The two happened upon a grassy hill with a large oak tree sitting atop it. Instinctively, both of them headed toward it. Their armor was hot from being in the sun all day, and some shade would allow them to cool off a bit. Neither of them would argue against that. As soon as they reached the top of the hill, Sky fell to the ground and took off his helmet. Nir noticed that he was sweating profusely and breathing hard. Since neither of them had had any water all day, Nir guessed that Sky was likely dehydrated. He would be too, soon.

“Nir… there’s gotta be a boat somewhere,” Sky spoke feebly. “We have to find one.”

“Maybe they don’t come up this far?”

“They have to… the water’s deep enough. Besides, I saw some guys fishing earlier. There should be fish-”

“I think we should find some food and water before searching some more,” Nir quipped.

“No, we can’t. We have to get out of here.”

“But I’m hungry and thirsty and I’m tired. Even if we find a boat, I still will be.”

Sky sighed. “When you see the next fisherman, we can steal his stuff.”

“I guess.”

“They can’t stop us. We’re in these suits…”

The two continued talking for some time until Nir, who had by now sat up against the great tree, saw something off in the distance.

“Hey! Sky, I see one!” Nir shouted, pointing to something in the distance.

Sky sat up to see what it was; and sure enough, the two of them could make out the small figure of a wooden boat. Before Nir could say anything else, he saw Sky sprint past him. How his friend had mustered up his energy so quickly, Nir never knew. He ran down the hill after Sky, though by the time he had reached the muddy shoreline, Sky was already waving in the boat. Within a few moments, the boat had spotted them, and started making its way over. Nir could see the inhabitant, noticing it to be an old woman. She was steering the boat with an electric motor and had a curious look upon her face. Maybe she had never seen child soldiers before.

“How’re we supposed to get the boat from her, Sky?” Nir said breathlessly upon reaching his friend.

“It doesn’t matter. We can shoot her if we have to.”

Nir’s blood ran cold. “What?! You can’t be serious. I’m not going to shoot her!”

“We’re gonna die if we don’t take that boat. It’s her or us.”

The woman stopped her boat a few yards away from the boys. Waving to them, she spoke, “Good afternoon, gentlemen! How can I help you on this fine day?”

Sky raised his wrist and warmed up the attack cannon in his palm. Just before he could shoot it, however, Nir dived at him and tackled him to the ground. Sky’s attacked was thrown aside, but not enough. Indeed, before the woman knew what had happened, she was hit in the shoulder and face down in the water. Nir, who had tackled and punched Sky to the ground, hadn’t noticed.

“We’re not like them, Sky! We’re not bad people! We can’t be!” Nir screamed, keeping Skirio pinned to the ground.

Sky didn’t respond. He was weak enough as it was, and with Nir attacking him, he had lost all of his power to resist. He just let his head fall back against the mud, and closed his eyes, waiting for Nir to stop. When the muto did, it was not because of him realizing how hurt his friend was, but noticing that the woman had stopped talking. Looking back to the boat, he saw no one in it. This caused Nir to stand up and run into the water. He quickly found the body of the woman floating upside down and dragged her back to shore. Flipping her over, he saw her eyes wide open and her mouth agape. A chill came over his body as Nir realized she was dead.

Nir sat up on his knees and looked over at Sky. “You didn’t have to do that. We could have just knocked her out or distracted her.”

“I don’t care. Just help me into the boat. I have to get to my family and tell them I’m all right.”

General Zirion sat down in the great chair at the center of the room. Scientists were now gathered around him. Confidently, he pressed down on a button. At once, the two nearest Criers began moving. Within seconds, their protective tubes were destroyed and they flew out, pausing just in front of Zirion. The good general leaned forward in his chair and smirked as he inspected their features. They were positively diabolical.

“I am General Zirion. I command all of King Jibal’s soldiers, and it is my duty to protect his realm. You were created to help me. But we all serve the king.”

The Criers remained silent.

“General, that is not actually true-” a scientist spoke up before being incinerated by General Zirion’s wrist-mounted weaponry.

Without pausing, General Zirion continued. “Now, I want to see how loyal you robots are. Do you know where Corcrest City is?

The Criers, together, let out a sound which could only be compared to a mixture of a screech and a cough.

“Well, now you do,” Zirion chuckled, inputting co-ordinates into the console in front of him. “That city is known to shelter traitors and you will not stand for that. Kill everyone there, for the good of the kingdom. I want no one left alive. Do you understand?”

The two Criers tensed up, flaring their spikes.

“Good. Now go!”

Zirion pressed another button, opening a large blast door behind the Criers. As soon as the door opened, the mechs turned around and flew out.

“General, we have never tested them in the field. We don’t know what they are capable of,” a rather skittish scientist said.

“You’re going to learn something today, then.”

“Even so, are you sure the king authorized you to do this? We have heard nothing from him.”

Zirion gritted his teeth. “Of course he did. Why else would I be here?”

Either because they were afraid of being killed by the man for asking too many questions, or simply because they believed his last statement, the scientists then huddled around Zirion as they all watched the Criers’ live camera feeds. It took no more than a few seconds for them to reach the small city of Corcrest. And then did Zirion behold their terror and power. The creatures tore a swath through the town, dismembering and shredding hundreds and thousands of men, women, and children. They killed everything with grim efficiency – for Zirion could see they had targeting systems used to locate every human, hiding or otherwise. They blew apart buildings and melted vehicles with their energy attacks. Zirion could see those who were fleeing were covering their ears, though he knew not why. But soon they were all dead, every one of them. Within a few moments, the entire city was ash. Zirion and the scientists had just watched tens of thousands of human beings killed in little more than an instant.

Zirion’s hands were numb. He couldn’t believe what he had just seen. The Criers were the solution. They would end the war. They would end any future rebellion. He was stunned. How could the scientists not tell him about this? Why did they let him wage traditional battle when they had an entire army of mechs hidden away in the mountains? It made him angry, but he stayed himself. If he were to kill all of them, then there would be no one left to maintain the Criers. And that would be no good.

Zirion took out a small datapad. He typed in Nir’s name, and quickly found the rogue’s location. Then, he transferred the data into the console in front of him. Pressing a button, he brought up a communication line with the Criers.

“Now, I want you to go to the co-ordinates I just gave you. Kill the traitor whose information I just transferred to you. I want you to kill only him and no one else.” Zirion watched as the Criers suddenly took to the sky, flying off to the target. He sat back in his chair and smiled. “Finally my son can be avenged.”

Just at that moment, a group of guards came running in through the door that Zirion had opened before. They pointed their weaponry at Zirion.

“General Zirion. You are under arrest for the murder of Prince Diruhl!”

Zirion turned to his soldiers. “I told you to wait at the helicopter. Insubordinate bastards!” He raised his hand, charging up an attack.

The soldiers did likewise, causing Zirion to falter. He didn’t think they were really serious. Clearly, he could not take them all on.

“General, surrender your weapons or we will be forced to eliminate you.”

Zirion, in partial disbelief, lowered his hand and removed his helmet, throwing it to the soldiers.

“Fine,” Zirion said, “take me to court. But when I’m found not guilty and set free, I will personally kill every one of you. It won’t be a quick death, either.”

The general stepped forward. Without acknowledging the presence of the scientists, the soldiers quickly bound his hands and escorted him back to his helicopter. Zirion noticed Diruhl’s body was covered in a body bag. He stepped in, and sat down next to it. Soldiers piled in after him, and kept their weaponry aimed on him at all times. But Zirion couldn’t help but smile. Even if he had to endure this minor inconvenience, he knew that in but a few short minutes, the little shit who attacked his son with a knife would be dead.

Sky and Nir had found a bit of food and water in the boat and had hastily consumed what they could. Then, they started up the boat, and floated down the river. They didn’t talk much. Nir was still quite angry at Sky needlessly killing that poor old woman. Sky was probably too tired to be angry back at him.

Soon they reached the mouth of the river and gazed upon the great ocean ahead.

“We’ll just follow the coast south and we’ll hit home. I think,” Sky said.

Nir didn’t respond.

Sky steered the boat around and started taking them out into the ocean when suddenly a great wind came over them. The two boys were hurled from the boat and thrown into the shallow water. Nir could hear an extremely loud sound – something that he would compare to that of a dying Brumak, only much louder. A blur of black flew through Nir’s peripheral as he began swimming back to the boat. But as he swam, he heard the sound a thud behind him. Turning around, he tread water and looked at the shore. There, in the mud and slushing water, he saw Sky. And flying above Sky, circling like birds, were two dark creatures.

The two behemoths cried out again, causing Sky to scream. Even Nir, who was several hundred feet away, felt immense pain in his ears. Sky, being so close, had the pain amplified. He ripped off his helmet and covered his ears as best he could. Yet another great cry befell him, and the boy's ears ruptured, blood splattering about, then swiftly did he find himself surrounded by the host of tall, dark figures.

Chapter X: Chirum's Blood
{{subst:*Royal Proclamation II The criers hold allegiance to the King alone. No one else may use them or command them, except under the strict order of the King.}}

Nir lowered his head into the water and rapidly swam back to shore. He was not wet, for he wore his dex suit still, but the cold of the water pressed in on his body and his mind was numb because of it. He couldn’t think. He didn’t know what was happening ahead, but if he could just swim faster, if he could just get to shore, he could make sense of it. As Nir made is way closer to the beach, he kept glancing upwards to see what was going on. But there was nothing to discern. The two figures had landed between him and his friend, and all the muto could see was their mechanical bodies.

The nearest mech glided over to where Sky had thrown his helmet and picked it up with its many hands. It started making jittery noises as it raised the helmet to its face. Suddenly, a red light flickered on where the creature’s eyes should have been and scanned the helmet. It let out a much louder sound upon doing so and then discarded Sky’s helmet. Returning to its prey, the Crier revealed its many arms; and with great pleasure it seemed to be readying them for something. Just at this time, Nir reached the shore. Stumbling out of the water, he tried to run forward, but he quickly tripped over something.

Nir felt for what he had tripped over and saw it to be Sky’s helmet. A pang of shock went through his heart as he saw it. It was clearly his helmet. It had his service number painted on the side of it. But he couldn’t focus on that. Sky was screaming again. With awe, he stood up and looked at the scene before him.

A Crier picked up Sky by his hair, even as the boy kicked and screamed and attempted to break loose. The other Crier – the one who had all its arms out – then looked at Sky and spoke in a dry and metallic voice:

“Nir-muto. General Zirion has ordered your execution on grounds of treason. This will be performed today. Thank you for your service to Kingdom.”

Sky, who had been temporarily deafened by the mechs’ screaming earlier didn’t hear it. But Nir, the onlooker, did. And he watched as the creature pulled back its arms and then punched them towards the hanging boy. Nir watched as the long knives punctured through Sky’s body. Nir heard as Sky’s screams rose to a chillingly shrill level. And Nir saw when his friend stopped his struggle. He saw so many knives go through Skirio’s body that Nir couldn’t see even see it anymore. Sky’s screams halted quite quickly, but to Nir, what he watched went on for a life-age.

The muto couldn’t feel anything nor could he think about what he had just seen. His muscle memory, however, led his fight for survival. It caused him to raise his arm and ready his wrist-cannon for firing at the murderers. He didn’t feel the blast leave his suit and he didn’t feel as the Criers – which the blast had bounced off, harmlessly - raced towards him and batted him into the water. Flipping around beneath the waves, he saw streams of blood rolling down his forehead into his eyes. But he didn’t feel it. As he fought to keep his vision clear, blinking away the blood, black spots started overtaking his sight. The more furiously he blinked, the more numerous they became, until, at last, they covered all he could see.

The clanking of poker chips and the smell of cigars permeated throughout the room. Several of the men playing were in good spirits; and there were several who had, unfortunately suffered some pretty bad beats (god rest their bank accounts). Yet all were focused on the table (specifically the turn card – an Ace of Spades), and not at their prisoner in the corner. Farayel Aros had awoken to the stench of their partying and the grumbling of her own stomach. It had been two days since her last meal.

Ever since shooting her and allowing her quarry to get away, the rebels had tied up Farayel with duct tape and left her in that corner. Not one of them had glanced at her or spoken about her. No food, no water, no medical attention for the wounds she had suffered had she been given. Nothing. Farayel watched the men continue their game as she wondered why she was where she was. They could have easily killed her, and treating her like this was pretty much the same. Why go to the trouble of tying her up? A bullet to the brain would have been so much simpler.

They had taken her armor. She was supremely aware of the fact that her helmet had been destroyed when the sniper had shot her, so there would be no chance of a rescue mission. Her transponder was dead. Not that her general was in the business of rescuing failures. Her mission had been a complete disaster. He wouldn’t waste resources on the Lieutenant Colonel, even if he knew she was alive. Hell, there was probably some new recruit who’d already taken her place and rank.

Farayel sat up on her knees as she watched a man throw a bottle of beer into the wall and curse all of gods he believed in. Or maybe they were his ex-wives. Regardless, the commotion hid the noise Farayel made by sitting up on the wood floor. Both her hands and ankles were bound with tape, but she had been working on getting free for over a day. Though her arms were bound behind her back, she was still able to work at them. More importantly, she could use her long fingernails to poke and scrape at the tape around her ankles. It was hot in the room without any air conditioning, and there was little airflow making its way through the room, aside from an open door to her left. Farayel was sweating, and the adhesives against her skin were starting to lose their grip.

For hours she gently wiggled her wrists, attempting to break free. She tried to move as little as possible as any movement could be seen as suspicious. By evening, she had heard some explosions in the distance, which had briefly rattled the men playing poker. But after a few seconds, they were back to their game. Ms. Aros continued her attempted escape. She wasn’t going to wait for the Ordained, if that was them off in the distance. She would be hanged for her failures. Well, Farayel wasn’t going down that road if she could help it.

And then she felt the tape tear. She could barely hide her exhaustive glee as she quickly ripped it off her raw arms. Keeping her eyes ever on the group of men playing ahead, she stealthily and quietly tore off the tape around her legs. Then, she waited. For fifteen minutes, Farayel crouched in place, waiting for her moment to escape. Finally, a particular hand gave her an opportunity. Two men went all in, and a third had them both covered. Before Farayel could understand what was going on, the group broke out into yells. Someone had won, and two someones had lost everything. The two all-in men raged hard, and began a heated exchange with the others. Seeing them properly distracted, Farayel Aros swiftly rose and sprinted out of the room.

She didn’t know if they saw her. She just kept running. Turning a corner, around some blown out buildings, Farayel came upon the road to the south gate. Her heart beating too fast to hear anything else, she took off down that road. While she ran, she became acutely aware of several figures ahead of her. Once they came into view, she noticed many of them were dressed like rebels, though the one at the center of the pack was dressed in full Ordained armor. She didn’t have time to guess as to who that one was. She just turned around and bolted. She had to get away.

The man dressed in Imperial armor spotted Farayel and ran after her. As he was running, he unhooked something from his back and shouted, “Power pole, extend!”

And so did the orange beam held in his gloved hand. It extended all the way into Farayel’s back, knocking her to the ground, unconscious. And just like that, Farayel’s escape was thwarted; her hours of endless toil wasted; her fate once again placed out of her hands.

She didn’t even know what hit her.

The Throne Room of Jibal’s castle was packed full of people. The place was massive – indeed, the ceiling towered over forty feet above them. High stained-glass windows decorated both the east and west walls, and the glimmer of sunshine seeping through them was tainted and darkened because of them. At the north wall of the great room stood a high and ornate throne, plastered with rare and expensive jewels. In its cushioned seat sat the king.

Numerous officers and guardsmen were standing in the room, looking at him. Additionally, the thirteen surviving princes of his kingdom sat on benches to his left. And to his right, in tall, dark chairs were his collective of vultures. All groups chattered amongst themselves until Jibal raised his hand, quieting them. Then, he stood up and surveyed the room. Slowly, he descended several of the dozens of steps that elevated his throne over the rest of the room. At the base of the steps stood a proud man: General Zirion. He was shackled by his wrists and neck to the floor, and two guards were nearby if he attempted to flee or harm the king. Needless to say, he was wearing only plain clothes, and he looked quite a bit smaller without his armor.

“Hail, King Jibal, true protector of humanity, and the greatest king our world has ever known! May his reign be long and peaceful,” Zirion spoke in a booming voice. His broad smile and dark eyes contrasted his slavish position.

“An unabashed serial genocider needs not remind me of my worth,” replied Jibal in a whisper. Zirion’s smile faltered and the color drained from his face.

“That’s a very complicated title for a man who follows his orders, my king. But, I humbly ask you to explain why I have been brought here? Have there been any charges brought against me?”

Jibal smirked, chuckling softly to himself for a moment. Then his face became stony and he looked at Zirion with pure hatred. “You have killed one of our kingdom’s princes. Such an act is punishable by death, general.”

“Sire, she was… sacrificed for the greater good. I needed her neural implants to-”

“To what?!” Jibal suddenly screamed, causing a multitude of onlookers to jump. “To what?! To gain access to a secret military project that not even I knew about?!”

“Your grace…” Zirion began.

“No,” Jibal sneered, “I will not listen to excuses. I just want you to tell me how you knew about the Criers, when not even I was made aware of them.”

“Nor were we, sire!” a yellow-eyed member of The Collective interjected. Jibal looked over at them for a moment, not lessening his sneer, but did not respond.

“As you know, your grace, I am the commander General of all of your armies. I was made aware of various military operations, personnel, and technological advancements by your father, our previous king. He instructed me not to tell you about various things – like the Criers, I must say – until you came of age.”

“My father is dead,” Jibal said simply.

“And yet his laws and influence still hold our kingdom together,” Zirion replied.

“I am the king now. My father cannot command me in death,” Jibal said, looking around at the entire audience. “Those of you who believe so are committing treason and will be dealt with justly.”

Zirion’s energy returned upon hearing this. “In that case, sire, untie me, and we can go discuss everything! I won’t hide anything. I promise you that.”

“No. You will answer for your murder of my prince. My people demand justice.”

Zirion shook his head. “My king, with all due respect, I doubt very many of your subjects knew who Diruhl was. I don’t think anyone wants you to play as their savior, sire. We need to think rationally. I am not the enemy.”

Jibal paused, staring down his prisoner with almost child-like wonder. He couldn’t believe someone could say what just came out of Zirion’s lips. “I would have them remember me not as their savior, Zirion, but as their king. A just king, at that. They will always remember me as that.”

“Even in death, you would wish to be their ruler? I doubt that will happen. Once you are gone, only the historians will remember your name. Such has it always been; and always will be. It’s a pointless battle to fight; time will always win, your grace. We have had hundreds of kings on this planet, and I doubt you can remember any of them besides your father. “

“They will remember me!” Jibal spat in his generals’ face.

“Aye, they will, your grace. They will. My apologies,” Zirion said as loyally as he could for someone who was just spit upon.

Jibal circled the steps for a few moments, chewing on his thumb. Then, he came to face Zirion again. “You must pay for your crimes. The penalty of treason is death.”

“My king, killing me will do no one good. I am the general of your armies! We are at war against Sciaon Malbarion! If you kill me, it will only benefit his rebel cause!”

“I have General Tirib; he’s a wise and loyal man,” Jibal said, nodding to the captain of his guard, who just to Zirion’s right.

“His tactical skills and experience are inferior to my own!” Zirion pleaded.

“I can no longer trust you, general. Not only did you kill one of my princes, but you destroyed an entire city with those creatures. How am I to know that you weren’t planning a coup d'état? Your actions certainly indicated such.”

Zirion’s color had once again drained, and he was sweating profusely. His lip quivered in terror. “Sire, I-I was just testing their capabilities. None had ever been used in the field. I had to make sure… besides, I released them on a city known to harbor rebels…”

“There are rebels in every city, general,” Jibal spoke. “Would you release the Criers on all of them? Who am I supposed to rule after you’ve eliminated all threats?!”

“I-I… sire!” General Zirion stuttered, unable to collect a thought.

At this time, a member of the collective stood up. He motioned for Jibal, and the king looked into his white, piercing eyes. “Sire, we have come to a consensus. The Collective recommends you put General Zirion under house arrest, take away his salary for two years and prevent him from leaving this building while he helps us eradicate Malbarion’s forces. He must always have guards on him, and will not be allowed to wear a combat suit. We do not recommend you to kill him as he is too valuable for his part in maintaining the security of the realm.”

The other judges murmured in agreement.

“Thank you. Thank you!” Zirion said breathlessly to The Collective.

Jibal’s face grew hot with rage. Here they were again trying to control him. Here they were again running his kingdom for him. Their manipulative words were ever working against him. Well, not this time. Jibal ignored the words of the judge and stepped down several steps until he was at eye-level with General Zirion.

“Speak your last words.”

Zirion broke down. He screamed in terror, crying and shaking his chains. The guards came and subdued him again, but he continued to fight them as best he could.

“Sire, please!” he cried.

“You are a general of my army,” Jibal said calmly. “Act like it. Be remembered as a man, not a crying baby.”

Zirion looked at him for some time, lying on the floor with two guards (including Tirib) subduing him. His tear-drenched eyes silently pleaded with Jibal. The King could see the general’s mind racing through his eyes, searching for any way to get a pardon. But at last, Zirion bowed his head and nodded. The guards released their grasps and allowed him to stand back up, in his defeat. Finally, Zirion looked back at Jibal and sighed.

“May Malbarion give you a swift death, my king.”

With that, Jibal drew, from the many folds in his kingly cloak, a pistol. He pointed it at Zirion’s forehead before anyone knew what was happening. The people watching all held their breath as Jibal held the pistol in front of Zirion’s face. He could see his general was still scared. Zirion’s hands and lips were shaking. But he had done his part, and stood up. In the end, he would go out like a man. Jibal looked over the face of his commander one last time before aiming down the sights and placing his finger on the trigger.

Bang.

Act closing song: Have You Ever Seen the Rain?

Chapter XI: Sand In My Hair
{{subst:*Earth is separated into 14 sectors, each one encompassing a space of several cities. Each sector is ruled by a Prince who is hand selected by the King.
 * Each sector has a garrison of soldiers, which is estimated to be about 250,000 per a sector, though some sectors have significantly more soldiers.
 * Lords rule smaller cities and towns in the each region. There are many Lords in each sector.}}

(Cue Little Greenie)

Through the almost-silent sloshing of emerald water, pock-marked by sea foam, came a small, dark shape. Through the rhythmic pulse of the ocean and the occasional spray coming from a bird or fish taking flight up out of the deep blue, its features were indiscernible, like a fleck of sand on a vast road. So it should come as no surprise that until the thing washed ashore, no one saw it.

It was two or three hours past noon when Mellynna Shouse came out of Kame House and notice the crumpled, waterlogged figure lying almost motionless on the beach. Only the pulse of the waves continued to move the figure ever so slightly, and without them, it would have been utterly still. The effect reminded Mellynna of her dolls’ inability to move on their own; and this frightened her, for it also made her think that whoever was in the black armor was dead.

Melli called for someone, anyone to come over and see if the person was okay. She, most certainly, would not take a step closer. If it was a body, she didn’t want to know. Indeed, such a thought had potential to give her nightmares, even if it proved to not be true. So she called again for the other residents of the island and retreated behind the corner of the house, allowing only the top half of her head to peer out and continue to survey the eerie scene.

Then came Dareck Morin, the proud. He was just a boy of thirteen, but he had the muscles of an adult, and his face was carved as if it was out of wood, steadfast and unmoving in demeanor and unreadable in emotion. He had been training, for he wore only the pants to his gi, and there was a towel strung over his shoulder like one would do with a dead animal they had caught.

Dareck walked past Melli after she pointed and frantically spoke to him about what he had seen. Ever prideful, he was not one to shy away from seeing a potential dead body. At least, he wouldn’t appear so while Melli was watching. He was aware of her watching him, so he kept his shoulders high, his head thrown back, and a sharp, confident glint in his eyes. He approached the figure with the utmost calm. Even when he knelt down and felt for the releases on the suit’s helmet, he did not stir. He found them before gently pulling the helmet off of the body. With it came a moderate dose of sea water laced with blood. Melli screamed.

Dareck threw the helmet into the sand and rolled the body over. It was a boy, a few years younger than him, deathly pale and brown-haired. Upon his forehead was a moderate gash, which, while not a fresh wound, was still open. Some blood was still flowing freely from it. Dareck felt the boy’s pulse, then looked up at the cowering Melli.

“Go get Master Roshi,” he commanded in a voice that sounded far older and bolder than his thirteen years would have let on. “He needs to see this. Go, now! Hurry!”

And Melli ran. Her heart raced faster than she had ever thought was possible. For a moment, as her feet pounded the ground like a butcher pounds raw meat, she felt like she was going to pop. The anxiety, the unknowing was not only flustering to her, it was painful. She just wanted everything to be all right, but she didn’t know if it would be. And this wore on her heart greatly.

Mellynna found Master Roshi sunbathing on the other side of the island. He had his customary sunglasses on, his usual magazine on women’s aerobics tucked under his chin, and the familiar bit of saliva creeping out from the gape that was his open mouth. He was sleeping.

“M-master Roshi! Wake up! Wake up!”

The old man awoke with a sound that was a fusion between a snore and a yelp. He spit saliva all over his magazine. But he didn’t notice, as Mellynna was already tugging at his shoulder.

“Master Roshi, come quick! A boy has washed ashore! Dareck doesn’t know if he’s dead or alive! We need your help!”

“Huh? A boy? What do you mean?” Roshi responded in a hoarse whisper brought on by his long nap. “Yes, please hurry! Come on!”

Without another word, Roshi got up and ran with the girl to the other side of the island. There, they ran into Dareck, who had the boy strung over his neck and back where previously there had been a towel. Dareck nodded to the two others and they followed him into the house. There, Dareck carried the boy up the stairs to the second floor bedroom. He placed the wet, unconscious boy onto the bed and stepped back. Melli noted that Dareck hadn’t even broken a sweat doing a task that few men could do with their full strength.

“He’s got a pulse, master, but it’s faint.”

“Hmm, in that case…” Roshi muttered, looking over the boy, “go heat me up some water. Both of you.”

“Sir, I can help you here!” Dareck stated.

“No, water’s all I need. But bring it quick.”

With that, he shooed the two lively children out of the room and looked over the unconscious one. Carefully, he started taking off the Dex suit. Every piece of it was saturated in water, so that when he would take off a piece and set it on the floor, it would soon produce a puddle of water around it. This went on for some time until the boy was no longer wearing anything except for his underclothes. When it got to this point, Roshi picked him up, and with his free hand, threw the wet blanket to the floor. He went to place the boy on the sheets when he noticed something.

“Eh, what’s that?” Roshi whispered to himself.

He rolled the boy over onto his stomach and looked at his back. Where his tailbone should have been was a circular scar, deep and dark purple.

“Curious. I wonder…” Roshi said, trailing off. “No, it can’t be.”

He rolled the boy back over and then found him a new blanket in the closet. Putting this over the child, Roshi pulled up a chair and waited for his two servants to bring him the hot water he had asked for.

Krystian Bolda awoke with the rising of the sun. He slipped out of bed silently as a jaguar and stretched his neck. He made a quick check of his calendar. There was a date circled almost a year in advance, and every day leading up to it (which had already occurred) was filled with a giant red X. Krystian shrugged and shook his sleepy muscles loose before putting an X mark on the square that represented the previous day. Looking out of the window of his hotel, he noticed the snow-covered ground outside. It was at least a foot tall. The trees were rank with snow, and even the parked hovercars appeared overburdened with the white stuff. Without any look in his face, Krystian moved to the bathroom and began shaving. As he was doing this, the sun started rising higher and higher in the sky, creating a bleeding crown of purples and reds across the expansive sky. He liked the look of that.

After shaving, Krystian returned to his room and looked over at the two women sleeping in his bed. Even with the sun’s rays shooting through his window, they had not awakened. That did not surprise him. They were so full of alcohol that anything less than a nuclear explosion wouldn’t be able to rouse them. Krystian threw a white T-Shirt over his sleekly defined shoulders and put on a pair of black training pants. He looked out of the window one more time and saw two Imperial Ordained patrolling through the slush.

Beyond them, in the trees, Krystian saw a black wolf, a large ragged and feral beast, hunting in the cold. It was past the line of sight of the two men, otherwise they would have tried to put it down or chase it away. When he looked at it, the beast stopped and looked back up at him. Its crimson muzzle exuded hot steam in controlled bursts. Its pearly white teeth quivered and shook. Its yellow eyes pierced through him. He blinked and looked away. He didn’t need to see that. Shaking his head, he turned from the window and went downstairs and out into the snow.

His training runs had been going rather well. His power was growing with each session, and training in the snow was something he enjoyed immensely, for it was much harder on his body than when he would train normally. He started out with a jog around his complex and the nearby streets. The cold bit at his muscles ravenously, causing them to tense up. He pushed through it and ran harder. The burning in his legs was just the pain leaving his body.

After he was done, he found the town’s gym and prepared to go inside when he saw those two soldiers he had seen before grouped around a middle-aged woman. She had far too many parcels in her hands, and the men were goading and pushing her down the sidewalk in spite of that. Krystian watched as they complained that she was moving so slowly that she was a burden to the other pedestrians – of which there were none, Krystian noted. She started yelling louder and louder as they became more vigorous and ardent in their pushing her. Finally, she simply tumbled over and fell in the street. Her fall was bad, and Krystian knew she had broken her shin when she hit the curb. She screamed out as she lay in the partially-melted snow. The two men laughed and walked off, back towards where Krystian stood.

“Nice job, boys. You really are men of the people,” Krystian said, leaning up against the building which housed the gym.

“Move along, citizen,” one of them replied.

“I’m fine where I’m at, thanks.”

“We weren’t asking you, citizen. Move along. You are crowding the walkways.”

“Am I?” Krystian sneered. “Since when was it a crime to lean against a building?”

“Don’t test us, citizen. We will have you incarcerated for public nuisance if you continue. Disobeying the orders of a uniformed soldier carries an additional penalty.”

“What penalty? A beating? Like the one you gave that woman over there?”

“You have tested our patience too much, citizen! You are under arrest for public nuisance and disobeying the express orders of the Ordained.”

Krystian smiled softly. “Then come and get me, cunt.”

Upon hearing the threat, the two Ordained bristled with indignation and threw themselves at Krystian. Krystian sprung from the wall with the poise of a panther and reached to his boot for his knife. Bringing the blade out, he turned back to the two men and dodged their wild, untrained punches. He rushed the first one and knocked him back against the wall. Pinning him there, Krystian brought his knife up and slit the man’s throat. Blood sprayed out over Krystian’s shirt, ruining it instantaneously.

The second man let out a holler and stepped back, preparing his suit’s energy weaponry. Krystian looked over at him and threw his knife at the man. It bounced off of his armor harmlessly. Before Krystian could do anything else, the soldier shot a ball of energy his way. He rolled out of the way just in time, though the explosion it created carried him a few feet farther than he had expected. When he stood up, he found himself at arm’s length from the soldier. The other man immediately lunged at Krystian, hitting him across the face with his gloved hand. Krystian felt blood running down his nose. His eyes were seeing spots. But he had been here before. This wasn’t the first man to punch him. He quickly shook his head and the dots vanished into the periphery of his sight.

The man’s second punch was careless. Krystian easily dodged it and stepped forward. He slammed his fist right into the man’s visor. While it did no damage to the armor, it did push the soldier’s body backwards. He fell on the ground and struggled to get up as Krystian approached. The man reminded Krystian of a turtle.

Krystian lowered his body onto the man’s and pinned him to the frost-covered turf. The man struggled, but Krystian caught every punch and beat it back. He reached to his other boot and felt the familiar cold metal of his silenced pistol. Then, Krystian drew the weapon out and aimed it at the man’s head. The soldier panicked upon seeing this and tried to create another energy ball with his shooting hand, but Krystian pinned that hand beneath his knee.

Krystian fired one round into the man’s visor, but it bounced off just as harmlessly as the knife had. Irritated, Krystian spit at the visor. “Hiding behind your armor, I see. Well, I’ll find a way to make you bleed.”

The man pushed back at him, punching him right in the lower jaw. Krystian felt his jaw twist in a hideously wrong way. He suppressed a yell, for he knew that would only make it worse. It was either broken or sprained, but either way, it hurt like hell. He wasn’t going to let the soldier get away with that. Krystian threw all of his weight onto the man’s neck and, with both hands, ripped the guy’s helmet off. There, he saw the face of an eighteen year old boy.

He was a good decade and a few years the boy’s senior. The Ordained soldier was clean-shaven like Krystian. His eyes were brown like Krystian’s. And his face was almost as white as the snow, for he saw that Krystian was aiming his pistol right at him. He raised his one free hand and struggled to move Krystian’s weapon from his face. But Krystian applied the pressure of both of his hands against the soldier’s and shattered his wrist. The kid screamed out and let his useless hand drop. He looked up at Krystian with pleading, tear-filled eyes.

“No! Please! Wait– ”

Krystian fired his weapon, sending the bullet right through the Ordained’s left eye. The boy’s lifeless head fell against the snow just as Krystian stood up. He looked ahead into the snowy wilderness. Those were the same woods he had seen the wolf, but now that he looked, he saw nothing but frozen, leafless, semi-decayed wood. He turned back around to collect his knife when he saw a man watching him.

This man was in his thirties like Krystian was. He was already balding and he wore glasses. And when he spoke, his voice seemed to rise and lower in volume with each passing word. “I saw what you did! I’m telling the police!”

He looked so self-righteous, so proud. He was like that boy in school who would tell the teacher anytime anyone did anything remotely out of line. Krystian hated that kind of person. The man didn’t know anything. He didn’t know what started the fight, or why Krystian had won. He didn’t know that Krystian was training for the World Tournament in one year, that he was giving up his entire life to focus on becoming strong enough to compete with the best martial artists. He didn’t understand the significance of the feat that Krystian had just pulled off with killing two fully armed soldiers. He was a waste of oxygen.

Krystian raised his pistol and shot the main in the nose. And before his body could even fall to the now red snow, Krystian had pocketed his weapon, picked up his knife, and strode into the gym, feeling his throbbing jaw as he went.

Sciaon Malbarion, the giant, stood in the former town center of the broken city. War and famine had reduced this once shining jewel of Jibal’s kingdom into a land of endless rubble and a den of traitors and thieves. Amongst them, Sciaon was the chief. He was the head of the freedom fighters who waged war against the crown. And his face was plastered in every city, freehold or Imperial. The rebels saw him as a hero, the Ordained saw him as the devil incarnate. He didn’t care for either title.

Sciaon surveyed the land. He had several thousand soldiers hiding amongst the shards of brick and glass and semi-collapsed buildings. There was no war coming to this place, however. Ever since he had brutally and efficiently defeated the army of children a few weeks back, Jibal’s Empire had basically conceded possession over the land.

Around him were several men, mostly bodyguards and members of his war council. He looked around him and saw the faces of Lord Malisan, Lord Hestin, Lord Aelesys, Lord Vickai, Lord Sallhor, and Lord Barret. These were wealthy men who had not only given him soldiers from their towns, but financed his side of the war completely. Munitions, rations, vehicles – they would pay for all of it. And for that, he was grateful. But today, he could not help but look at them and feel remorse and guilt. Sinking his head, he motioned for them to all gather near.

“My friends, this war is over,” Sciaon said with the breath of a statue. “We have lost. That cannot be denied. We must sue for peace while we still hold some territory.”

The lords looked shocked at General Malbarion’s declaration. He couldn’t blame them. Their side had been winning a little more than half of the recent battles.

Lord Malisan noted this. “Sciaon, we are winning all of the battles. The crown is on the run and low on soldiers. Their morale is nonexistent. And now you would have us sue for peace? What have we worked for all of these months if not to reach this position? What have so many died for if we are to just give up?”

“More will die if we do not surrender,” Sciaon said with distaste. “You saw what Jibal did to those two cities.”

“We aren’t yet aware of what did that,” said Lord Vickai. “It could have been a fluke.”

“No, they have a new weapon. They obliterated two of our cities within seconds. If it’s a bomb, a super weapon, or even some kind of new suit, it doesn’t matter. We don’t have an answer for such power.”

Lord Barret stepped forward. “Sciaon, we are all traitors. Every one of us. We forsook our lives to try and make a better world. We risked everything to support you. If you sue for peace, you are mocking all our sacrifices. Jibal will have all of us killed if a peace treaty is reached. It is a death wish for each of us!”

Sciaon looked over the men with a sort of curious detachment. Their eyes were all focused on him, but he couldn’t dare meet any of their gazes. “If my death – and yours – ends this struggle, perhaps it will be worth it. Think of all those who will die if we do not give up.”

“Think of all those who will die from the oppression of a dictator if we do! We are damning all future generations if we do not resist!”

“Even so,” Malbarion began. “I don’t have any choice but to–“

Suddenly, a man came riding in on a hoverbike, kicking up dirt and debris as he came screaming into the rebel camp. All of the lords jumped back in fright. Sciaon’s guards raised their shooting hands, and Sciaon did likewise. However, upon seeing the man bore no marks of the Ordained, they all lowered their weapons. The man was unperturbed by his near-death and jumped off the bike without even turning it off. He stumbled and tripped his way over to the group.

“S-s-ir…! Sciaon Malbarion! I have news from the north! Sir!”

“What news?” Sciaon asked, cautiously.

“General Zirion is dead!”

“How?!” Sciaon responded. There was a twinge of anticipation in his voice.

“Executed, sir,” the man said, arriving at the feet of the rebel General, “by King Jibal himself! I have dozens of sources to confirm, sir, and more than half of them witnessed it themselves.”

“And why would Jibal do this?”

“We don’t know, but it’s confirmed he’s dead! Jibal has created a new advisory council and promoted a new general to lead his armies.”

“Who?”

“Vol Buractor, sir. I don’t know if you know him…” the man trailed off, trying to stay polite.

“I do,” Sciaon replied. “He won the last World Tournament. He’s a powerful fighter. But a strategist? I would not have thought so.”

Sciaon saw the lords murmuring amongst themselves. They were thinking what he was, he knew it.

“If this report is true, then we have an immediate advantage, Sciaon. We can push forward while the crown’s military forces are in a state of chaos,” Lord Hestin spoke.

Lord Malisan nodded. “Zirion was our true foe in the opposition. If he is gone, then we must move. Forget suing for peace. We can take the capitol this month! We can depose Jibal before he knows it!”

Sciaon clenched his teeth. He looked over the lords for a good while before turning back to the messenger. “I want you to find out why Zirion was executed. Once you bring me that information, provided it is confirmed, we will march on the Capitol,” Sciaon said before turning back to the Lords. “I need additional information on Jibal’s new advisory council. We all know that Jibal is a reckless, stupid king. He surrounds himself with smarter, more subtle men. We need to know who they are so we can take them out.”

The lords nodded and agreed. Sciaon was only half-gladdened by the news, however. The fact still remained, Zirion or no Zirion leading the Ordained, that there was some sort of weapon out there which was able to destroy cities in mere seconds. He didn’t like that. In fact, it terrified him more than anything else. The coincidence of Zirion dying was too large. Was it merely a conspiracy to make everyone forget about what the Ordained had just done to those cities? Was it a trap to lure him to the gates of the Capitol and then exterminate him with ease? Sciaon Malbarion did not know, but it chilled him to his bones.

He looked over at the half-blown out building to his right where he had all of his strategists planning his war on maps of the world. There, in the corner, sat a handcuffed, blindfolded woman known as Farayel Aros. Sciaon Malbarion couldn’t help but think that should they march on Sector I, she would be his ticket into the city. Should they confirm that Zirion was dead, she would be his secret to winning the war.

Chapter XII: Proper Div
{{subst:*There are several common titles given to people around the world.
 * Sir is a title given to martial artists. Many soldiers in the Ordained are former martial artists and thus retain their title.
 * Master is a term mainly used by martial arts teachers, though it is also a somewhat polite title to use before a child's name.
 * Lord is a title given to a person who is the equivalent of a mayor or leader of a group of people. The title Lord is slightly less common than that of Sir, though they are roughly equal in rank.
 * Prince is a title given to each of the governors of the 14 regions of Earth, regardless of gender. Females governors are also referred to as Prince.
 * Should Jibal or any other king have children, they would be known as a Crown Prince(ss) or a High Prince(ss) (if they were not next in line to the throne).
 * Praetor is a title given to all of the High Judges in The Collective
 * Military ranks exist for all members in the Ordained, such as Private and General.
 * Jibal himself is known simply as the High King of Earth . Most people refer to him simply as the King, however. He has had several negative monikers given to him as well, such as "The Pale King" and "The Little King".
 * The affix -muto is added to the name of all half-breeds (mixtures of humans and anthropomorphic animals). No muto has a last name, which also signifies their low birth. For example, Nir was always taught to refer to himself as "Nir-muto".
 * Anthropomorphic Animals are referred to by their species. Humans do not allow them to have names at all. Cur is a popular derogatory term humans use to refer to such beings.}}

William stood on the edge of the ramp for half a second before jumping off. He slammed his arms to his side to make his body more aerodynamic. His speed picked up, and soon he was shooting to the Earth at terminal velocity. Around him, above and below, explosions were going off. Yet, he felt a calm about him. Even as the air rushed past him, thrusting, persisting, tremendous pressure upon his body, William enjoyed the rush of the fall; and the view wasn’t half bad, either.

There were dozens of other Ordained falling around him. Some were dead, already having been hit by some of the defensive turrets. But many others, like William, were guiding themselves through the treacherous enemy fire, maneuvering like dancers through a rainstorm. William was wearing a dex suit, and as such, he had a heads-up display which showed him all incoming threats. Be they missiles, plasma, or even classic bullets, William saw them, and he dodged them.

As he approached the ground, William could begin to see the defensive turrets shooting their volatile slugs into the sky. It was a cloudy day to begin with, but the constant firing of weapons and explosions had created an artificial cloud of smoke which hung like a protective cover over the rebel city. William could only catch glimpses of the city’s skyscrapers and walls every few seconds, and he had to constantly adjust his trajectory because of it. William saw a man next to him get pummeled by a large energy blast, and the impact explosion was so large that its shock wave reached William and sent him off course. When he tried to re-align himself with his target path, he saw two large energy slugs coming right at him. Without thinking, William raised his right hand and used created energy within his right hand. The energy came from his suit’s power supply, but he was able to control it with his brain. As he aimed it, a crosshair popped up on his screen, and he locked on to the oncoming energy. With a forced thrust of his arm, he threw his own energy forward. Swiftly did it impact with the other blasts, causing another great explosion. This one, William dodged, flipping himself over the falling fireball and moving past it. He looked forward and saw a skyscraper in front of him.

William was on fast approach. He could not so quickly decelerate. So he did what mercenaries do. He raised both of his arms and created an enormous energy ball between them, then threw it at the skyscraper. The effect of this was as massive as it was immediate. The glass-windowed tower erupted into flames and smoke at once; the top part of it was blown back with such force that by the time the smoke had cleared, it had already fallen to the ground. William flew right through the smoldering air, where once was a monument to human expansionism. Around him, flying Ordained were shooting down at the ground, destroying defensive turrets, rebels, and armored vehicles alike. Half of them were falling like flies, however. William ignored them and their tactics and instead kept freefalling to the ground, where, just before his boots would have hit the cracked, dusty pavement, he activated his suit’s thrusters and stopped his momentum. In the span of about 100 feet, William completely stopped his terminal velocity. With his feet on the ground, William ran to find some cover in a nearby building.

Bodies were falling all around him as he ran. They were known as the Ordained, or those who were loyal to King Jibal. And their numbers were growing fewer and fewer with each passing skirmish. So they had hired William. He was a mercenary, so he didn’t have to follow orders like the regular soldiers did. He could basically do his own thing, killing the enemies in the ways he preferred. And he preferred to stay away from everybody. William made his way to a nearby building and found a group of rebel soldiers hiding within it. He quickly charged them, kicking the nearest one in the neck before releasing a torrent of energy bursts onto their unarmored bodies. It was almost unfair when the enemy didn’t have dex suits.

William made his way further through the building, keeping his arm raised and tactically moving around every corner. The mercenary found only a few soldiers within the building, and he dealt with them with grim efficiency. Their screams all sounded the same to him.

He found out soon enough that he was in some kind of apartment complex. For, almost every door he opened was filled with cowering refuges, often women and children. Many of them were dead or wounded. Still, he made his way through every room, making sure they were clear. Once, he saw a man make a sudden move when he knocked down a door, which caused William to light up the entire residence with lethal energy. Suffice to say, the only thing he ended up killing was an elderly man and his dog.

William rounded a corner just as the left wall blew up in a mighty explosion. He was thrown to his feet, and covered in white dust. As he wiped off his visor, William saw the dark shapes of people come running in. They were rebels, no doubt, as they wore nothing but simple clothes and conventional armor. They held weapons – guns, clubs, knives – and they were so dirty, they looked as if they had never seen a bathtub. He sat up and fired an energy blast at the nearest one. It hit him, vaporizing him instantly. Three more, however, started shooting their automatic weaponry at him. Several of the bullets bounced off of William’s armor harmlessly; but his dex suit could only take so much. William rolled out of the way just as a bullet clipped him in the thigh. He let out a groan as he felt warm blood flow from his body and start dripping down his leg. He stood up, taking cover behind some exposed sheetrock, and glanced out at the three. Once was still peppering the area with bullets. The other two, however, had moved up on William’s right. The mercenary wobbled a bit on his wounded leg as he tried to turn to face them. The pain it caused him briefly stunned William, and thus, he wasn’t able to put up his guard when the two of them came crashing in on him. They tore off his helmet and raised their knives and bats, trying to hit him the best they could. William shrugged them off – he was a good hundred pounds heavier than either of them, so they slid off with relative ease. Moving backwards, he started charging up energy. But they were on him at once. One shoved his knife into William’s chest, and while his armor stopped most of the blade, the tip of it reached his chest and tore it open.

William howled, grabbing the man by the neck with one gloved hand and snapping it. The second jumped forward and hit William right in the face with a baseball bat, instantly breaking his nose and likely shattering a good deal of the bones in his forehead. William coughed up blood, falling backwards. He was utterly blinded by the attack. All he saw was endless black. Yet, he could hear the man coming at him again. So William kicked off of the ground and propelled himself forward. He felt himself crash into the man. He raised his hand onto the man’s face and then created an energy attack. The man’s screams stopped as soon as he tried this, for William felt the man’s face melting in his hand.

Blinking furiously, Willliam looked up. He could see the fuzzy shape of the third gunman far off. He was firing at William again. William put up his armored gauntlet and deflected the bullets away from his face before rolling to the side. His vision coming back to him, William peered out again at the man. The rebel was unloading bullets into the sheetrock in front of William, but none of them would get through and hit him. So William sat there for a moment until his vision fully came back to him. He knew adrenaline was keeping him going at this point, as the wounds he had sustained would likely knock any normal person unconscious. Still, he needed to deal with this last enemy as quickly as possible, lest the adrenaline run out. William stood up, an energy burst forming in his and stepped out from behind his cover. As soon as he did, the man raised his rifle at William before being promptly blown up from an explosion in front of William. Half of the building collapsed, blocking off the mercenary’s path further. He sighed, dissipating the energy in his hand, and turned around.

Finding an empty apartment, William stumbled inside. He saw two bodies – one of a man, and one of his young daughter. The man had a bottle of water clutched his hand; the girl had a doll. William stepped over the girl and went to the corpse of the man. He pried the bottle of water from his stiff fingers, popped the cap open, and took a long swig of the water. In that moment, nectar would not have been sweeter to William. Then, he sat down at the table and looked out the window. More and more Ordained soldiers were dropping in. The rebels wouldn’t be able to hold them.

But what was the point? William was just a merc, just a paid soldier, but even he saw the stupidity of what they were doing. Sure, this offensive would likely result in an Ordained victory (if he had any say in the matter), but, in the end, it would only amount to the Empire destroying one of its own cities. William looked back at the two bodies at his feet. What had they died for? Weren’t they loyal citizens?

It wouldn’t take long for the entire Empire to collapse if this continued. What good was a king who had killed everyone he ruled? William didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He felt his nose, and sure enough it was broken. Fuck the king. All William cared about was getting paid and getting his nose fixed.

“We’ve lost another city, General. Astali, in Sector 7. The Ordained dropped in this morning and took it,” Lord Malisan said tersely.

“What was left of it, I think,” Sciaon Malbarion answered. “If they want a pile of rubble and bodies, let them have it.”

“We had many soldiers in that city. The loss will be hard to recover from,” Lord Hestin retorted.

Malbarion had grown tired of his company. The lords were rebels like him, but they didn’t understand. They were wealthy businessmen. They weren’t strategists.

“It doesn’t matter. Jibal can win that battle, but he’ll lose the war. He has a majority of his soldiers currently in Sector 7, doesn’t he? Well, then it’s time we march on his Capitol. It will take Jibal’s forces too long to return to Sector 1 and protect him. And since we now know Zirion was executed for treason, they won’t have anyone competent leading them. By the time any of them sees us coming, it’ll be too late.”

“How would we transport our army without Jibal knowing? Surely he would see a host of men marching to his gate.”

“Yes, well, I don’t think we’ll march up to his gate. We’re going to disperse. I want my men to slowly start making their way towards the Capitol. In small groups, they won’t raise suspicion. In a few weeks, we’ll have transported thousands of men, and Jibal won’t have picked up on it. That’s if we do this right – which I expect will happen, won’t it?”

“As you wish, general,” the lords replied with great meekness.

Sciaon Malbarion nodded. “Good. Then in the meantime, we’ll keep fighting these pointless battles, drawing Jibal’s forces further and further away from his castle. ”

“And what of the bitch, General? The Lieutenant Colonel. What do you want us to do with her?” Lord Vickai asked, spitting oceans as he spoke.

Sciaon raised his chin. “Get the order out to all of my men that we are making our way to Sector 1. Once you’ve done that, bring her to me. We have things to discuss.”

He nodded once again to the men and then walked off, back to his base of operations. Sciaon looked around, seeing the wretchedness of his situation. There were rations and ammo everywhere. Men were sleeping in every corner of the building. Dirt and grime and trash were the most numerous decorations in the room. Most computers were old or broken (or both, in many cases). All in all, the place was a mess. A few of his best strategists were pacing around a table with an old faded map on it.

Sciaon hated it. He loathed having to put up with this ramshackle existence. They were low on supplies and good men. Here, at the base of operations, he had almost nothing. Sometimes he wondered how he had organized such an effective rebellion. How incompetent was Jibal that this rag-tag group of scum could put up such a fight? And Sciaon was one of them. He embraced being a rebel. But he could not stand how he lived and suffered to be one. Food and water were scarce commodities. Shy of raiding a city, they would not be replenished. And hungry, thirsty men were not ripe for raiding a city of well-fed, well-rested Ordained. It was an endless, vicious cycle.

Sciaon Malbarion knew that he did not have the forces to take over Jibal’s Capitol. Even if he took the place, he doubted he could hold it for very long. If Jibal or any of the other high officials escaped, it would be his death. He had around twenty thousand men with him in where he was now. The city used to hold twice that. But several skirmishes with the Ordained, low morale, and rationing food and water had discouraged a large part of his army. He had other armies in other parts of the world, but they would be no help in him taking over Jibal’s hometown. No, he could only go with what he had. And what he had wasn’t enough.

Sciaon found his room, which was a nothing more than a closet with a mattress and a small table in it. He sat down in one of the chairs and placed his elbows on the table. Looking at the door, he waited for Lieutenant Colonel Aros to enter. She would be the key to it all. She would help him sneak into the city. In that case, he would be able to kill most of the guards and royal advisors in their sleep. Sciaon clenched his fists and teeth in unison. He couldn’t wait to put a knife through the throat of the sleeping tyrant the world called King.

Half-heartedly swinging his legs back and forth off of the lofty wooden chair he was seated on, Nir grabbed a piece of toast and then took a small bit out of it. Toast was the first thing he had consumed in days – save for some scant sips of water – and to him, it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. Two children – a boy and a girl a few years older than Nir – were watching the muto, their eyes fixed on him as if he were an alien. Nir ignored them and continued eating his toast.

He didn’t know how much time had passed since he had seen those black monsters attack… well, Nir thought, his lip trembling, he didn’t want to remember that. Still, he had been floating in and out of consciousness for some time. His dreams had melded with his waking thoughts and his mind screamed in weariness. Nir didn’t know how he had gotten to this place, for his fleeting memories were all of the waters and the foam and the blood… and Sky. No, Nir thought. Forget it. He blinked his eyes furiously and bit down on his lip to clear his thoughts. His two onlookers must’ve thought him mad. Indeed, everything about Nir looked mad. He had seen himself in the bathroom mirror when he had gotten up that morning. His pale skin, his sullen, dark eyes, his bruised face, his bloodied (and now bandaged) forehead, and his feeble frame shocked and appalled him. Nir had never cared about his appearance much – growing up in a flea-invested hovel of an orphanage where one could barely wash their face, let alone pick out their clothes, made him that way. But seeing his wretched, shattered visage had nearly brought him tears (which he would have released had there not been two other children listening in on him). He didn’t think life could get much worse than it had been at the orphanage, where the lack of food and water were nothing compared to the emotional isolation and bullying that came as a result of being a muto. He had endured it all, but at that moment, Nir hated the world, and he hated himself for being too tired and weak to change it.

And now he had toast, finely buttered and prepared, and he hated the world slightly less.

“So, when’re you gonna tell us your name?” the boy who was watching Nir asked. He had a clever grin on his statuesque face that Nir thought was a permanent emotion.

“You first,” Nir mumbled back through bits of toast.

“All right, I’m Dareck,” the boy replied, not missing a beat. “That’s Melli,” he said, pointing to the girl next to him. She bowed her head, smiling, and raised her hand in acknowledgement. Nir thought she looked like she belonged on a postcard. “So come on, dude, tell us your name. I swear, we aren’t gonna bite,” Dareck said warmly.

“Nir-mu… uh, I mean Nir,” the boy replied, going red in the face. He had almost told them he was lesser-born. But, as he sadly remembered, his tail was gone. A dull, constant pain remained where his tail had once been, but without it, they couldn’t tell he was a muto. And he would keep it that way.

“And you’re in the King’s Army, right? The Ordained?” asked Melli sheepishly.

Nir nodded somberly.

Dareck looked puzzled. “Man, I didn’t know they were recruiting kids nowadays. Guess the war isn’t going so well for your side.”

Nir’s eyes shot up at Dareck, glaring. “My side?!”

“Yeah,” the other boy replied, puffing out his chest, “you’re loyal to King Jibal. Me’n’Melli are rooting for the Freedom Fighters, though. Y’know, like Sciaon Malbarion. I hope he knocks the crap out of Jibal!”

The muto scowled at them, his skin bristling in heated anger. He didn’t like Jibal – in fact, he hated him for making mutos so downtrodden – but he had never heard such flagrantly and slanderously treasonous words expounded in his vicinity. Nir stood up, dropping his toast. He felt a heat rising in his cheeks that he could not subdue.

“That Malbarion guy is a traitor!” Nir bellowed.

“He’s taking on the evil king! He’s fighting for you and me both!” Dareck shot back.

“If he didn’t start the war, I wouldn’t be in the stupid Ordained! All those people wouldn’t have died, and I wouldn’t have lost my… my…!” Nir faltered, not wanting to say what he meant. He looked like he was going to scream or cry or both. He clutched at the edge of the table to keep him from falling over.

Just then, an old man entered into the room. He wore a tropical T-shirt and a turtle shell on his back and carried an old piece of driftwood as a walking stick. “Out!” he shouted. “Daereck, Mellynna, out!”

“But master…” Melli whined.

“Go do your training runs. Both of you. Go!” the man replied sternly.

Dareck looked like he was going to argue for a moment, then he slumped his shoulders and trotted out of the kitchen. The girl followed him, and soon it was just Nir and the old man.

“Sit down, child. Eat! You need to get your strength up.”

Nir reluctantly obeyed, though he kept cautious eyes on the man even as he sat back onto the tall wooden chair. Nir knew this man’s face. His was the first the boy had beheld after waking up from unconsciousness. Something about the man’s face had seemed familiar to Nir even then, as if the boy had known him from a long time ago, but the muto couldn’t guess from where. The man had given him hot water but said little. He had come back several times to check on Nir while he lay in bed and drifted in and out of lucidity. Yet, he did not even know the man’s name.

After a few mouthfuls, Nir spoke, “Who are you, exactly? What is this place?”

The man soaked in the question for a moment. “Hmmm, how about a trade, eh? I’ll tell you if you promise to tell the truth to me.”

“About what?” Nir asked.

“About everything,” the man replied coyly. Nir noticed the older man’s eyes were guarded by a pair of dark sunglasses. He could not read them for clues.

“All right, I guess.”

The man shifted on his feet, scratching his white beard. “Most people know me as the Turtle Hermit, heh heh.” He then grinned in a feverous and unabashed way. “I run the Turtle School for martial arts.”

“Whoa…” Nir began. “I recognize you! I saw you on TV during the last World Tournament!” Truly he had. This turtle hermit whom he knew to be Master Roshi was the man who had fought in the last tournament and came in second to Vol Buractor. It had been a battle for the ages, one which Nir had watched all the way through with baited breath and clenched fists. When Vol Buractor had won, Nir had been disappointed, not only that Roshi had lost, but that such entertainment was at an end. He couldn’t believe he was now face-to-face with that man he had watched with such admiration four years ago.

“I’m not surprised,” the Turtle Hermit replied.

“Are you training those other two kids to be in the next tournament?” Nir asked, his voice betraying curiosity and giddiness.

“That’s the plan.”

Nir jumped up and fist-pumped the air. “Awesome! I’ve always wanted to meet a martial artist! I only got to see them on the TV before.”

“Good, good,” Roshi murmured. “Now, answer a question for me.”

Nir sat back down.

“Are you a spy?” Roshi asked.

“No,” Nir responded instantaneously.

“You were wearing the Ordained’s armor,” the Turtle Hermit observed.

“Yeah, but they forced me into the army. The King’s men came into my school and gave us armor and then took us to fight in a battle.”

“That sounds terrible, child.”

“It was. But I was running away, anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to be a soldier.”

“I see.”

“Mr. Turtle Hermit, sir, do you think I could stay here for a while? Maybe I could even train with the others…” Nir then said, his deep blue eyes wide and hopeful on his forlorn face. “I don’t know, martial artists are just so cool…”

The words hung in the air like the humidity and Roshi stood there, his face blank, his old fingers tugging at his beard.

“You’ll have to get along with Dareck and Melli,” Roshi noted after a long pause.

“I will!” Nir replied, letting out a breath of air he had been holding in his lungs.

“And before you can start, you’ll need to do something for me.”

Nir was sitting on the edge of his chair like a cat waiting to pounce. “What is it?”

“Pass a test,” Roshi stated, laughing to himself.

The smoke was so thick in the rotting, cramped room that Lord Aeryn’s eyes had started to water and burn. Down by the docks, where the air was thick with the smell of salt and fish, men would smoke cigars and drink brown liquor as they wished. No matter that the King himself had decreed that both were illegal. The King and the King’s men rarely came down to such a filthy place. It was a haven of sorts, if one considered the piles of garbage and filth that lined the muddy roads and the drunken, smelling sailors who roamed the streets ideal company. Lord Aeryn considered them not.

But he was here, listening to barbarous animals tell stories and drink themselves into anger or sadness. No alcohol touched Lord Aeryn’s lips, and he refrained from smoking as well (though the inhalation was unavoidable); yet he made sure his face portrayed him as one of them. He sipped water, scowling and laughing with the bunch of men around him. They told jokes for a while, loud choruses of laughter permeating each man’s humorous soliloquy. Aeryn himself relayed a story he had heard once as a boy about a sailor whose net caught a woman instead of fish. The punchline was rather foul, and the men hooted and roared at it. Lord Aeryn smiled. He was not one of them, but he could speak their language with a little practice and awareness.

As the sun began to rise, many of the drunks stumbled up and left the dim-lit bar to tend to their hoverboats. A few remained, perhaps taking the day off to enjoy the poisons of hard liquor, or perhaps to deal in some shadier business. It was the second which interested Aeryn the most. He waited until the salt men left before approaching a group of others who sat in the corner of the building. They were not dressed as sailors, save for the man at the head of their table. He was a fine, proud tarpaulin, robed in whites and blues like the clouded skies on a sunny day. His face was mostly covered in a cloth turban and his eyes hid behind a pair of jet black glasses. On his fingers were more rings than Lord Aeryn had bedded women. They glittered of gold and diamond and onyx. He smelled of heavy perfume, a sickly lilac strain that instantly imprinted Aeryn’s mind with the thoughts of bounding through the countryside in summer. Alas, those days were over for him. Sector 1 and its many cesspits were where he spent his days now.

“Paulie!” the tarpaulin spoke in a gruff, friendly voice. He raised his hands as if he were presenting Lord Aeryn to his colleagues. They stood up and shook his hands, warmly welcoming him into the fold.

Lord Aeryn was not fond of his first name. Apauldir was an ugly, wretched thing his parents had cursed him with. The nickname Paulie or even Paul suited him no better. He preferred to be called simply Lord Aeryn, or Lord Advisor, but he could not exert such control over these men. He was in a tenuous enough situation just meeting with them here. So he shook their hands, bowing his head and smiling his greetings back at them as if nothing had angered him.

“Have you been waiting long?” the bejeweled man asked Lord Aeryn.

“No, I only just got here,” he lied back.

“Good, good!” the man grinned, showing gold teeth. He patted Lord Aeryn on the back. “My little flying eyes have only just returned. Come, listen to what they have told me.”

Lord Apauldir Aeryn nodded and leaned forward. The men blocked their view from the other patrons in the bar. The tarpaulin produced a small mechanical device between two dark, ringed fingers. It looked akin to a mechanical bumblebee. “This one was following the great ice wars up in the north. It seems General Brant is holding off the rebels. His forces have taken only 10,000 casualties, and he’s retaken three major cities, completely driving off Malbarion’s forces. It’s a decisive victory.”

“And in the south?” Apauldir breathed, his heart throbbing with anticipation.

“Aye, the south. It’s not so good there, I’ll admit. My feeds show only defeats for your men. General Casserly is dead, and his forces broken. General Taiyon is retreating back here to the Capitol City as we speak. She’s lost almost half of her forces. We have no armies standing between Malbarion and the city’s defenses.”

“How?” Lord Aeryn asked. “We had two of our largest armies down in the south. They were supposed to Malbarion’s forces!”

“Aye, you did. But my little eyes saw them die. That Great Bastard has enlisted the help of mercenaries. He has armies of them now, engaging in guerilla warfare instead of meeting your forces in open battle.”

“How does he have mercenaries? Where is he getting the money?”

“Hahah, from little lords like yourself, Paulie! He has many of them financing his rebellion,” the man grinned again. Lord Aeryn was growing tired of that smile. Whose side was this man on, anyway?

“And can we buy any of them back? Learn what Malbarion is planning next?”

The man scratched his chin, where the faintest signs of a beard were starting to form. “I suppose… I can send a few men to offer them zeni for loyalty, but I cannot guarantee any will accept.”

“We must try,” Lord Aeryn proclaimed. “For the good of the empire.”

The others nodded in agreement and took deep drinks from their cups. Lord Aeryn sipped from his cup of water with the rest of them, as if what he were drinking was equally as powerful and binding as what they had.

“All Sectors are still in Imperial control,” the man continued after downing his drink. “The Ordained are being sieged in a few cities, but it does not look like any will fall. The Princes are safe.”

“Good. The King must be told.”

“He must, yeah,” the tarpaulin agreed. “But there’s more. A cur dog going by the name of Marcus Traikari has raised an army of his kind, and they are pillaging and raping the countryside. They haven’t yet dared enter one of the Sector’s main cities. But I think, hehehe, they’d burst like water on rock if they fought any Ordained, no?”

“Curs?” Apauldir repeated. “Since when are there even enough of them to form an army? I thought the King had eradicated almost all of them. He thought Earth was only fit for humankind.”

“Not the current King,” the blue-and-white robed man pointed out, raising one of his fat fingers. “The old King’s advisors. Jibal’s father’s men. They drove the curs from the cities, but many of them still live in the badlands and smaller towns. I have seen it from my eyes in the sky. And since the old King’s death, these curs have bred and grown in numbers. There are hundreds of thousands of them now.”

Lord Aeryn nodded impatiently. “It will be hard to wage war against two factions at once.”

“Not two, but three,” the tarpaulin said, his eyes brightening and his mouth opening wide to breathe out smoke. “Master Taisen is gathering up martial artists to march against Jibal. They are sick of how few tournaments there are, and how they cannot pay for their expenses because of such. They will protest their poverty, and I fear it will quickly turn to violence. I think they are your biggest threat.”

He was not wrong. An army of trained martial knights and their masters marching on the Capitol would be disastrous. The martial artists were the biggest celebrities in the world, even more popular than the King or his high officials. The people would side with them in any conflict. “I’ll see what I can do about them,” Lord Aeryn promised. To be truthful, he had no idea what to do. They were low on forces and morale, and the prospect of having to deal with three separate, but equally lethal factions was something that made Lord Aeryn feel sick.

He was nauseous as it was from the smoke inhalation, though his prolonged exposure had desensitized his burning eyes. His chest felt light and heavy at the same time, and his heart fluttered like a parakeet in a cage. He needed to leave, to get some air and solitude. But there was one more thing Lord Aeryn needed from the tarpaulin and his cronies before he could flee this miserable den.

“For the other thing we discussed… I will need only one man, but he must be your best. He must be the best in the world. I cannot risk being caught. It will be our heads, and yours too, if anyone finds out.”

The turban-wearing man smiled a broad smile and leaned forward. “I will make sure this does not fail. You will get your Dragon Balls, and I will get rich. The King dies, and all the rebels with him. As long as this trading port stays open, I’m happy. You can be king, the bartender can be king… I do not care! I’ll take the pleasures of sea and her daughters for my own!” the man exclaimed in a lusty smirk.

Lord Aeryn nodded, his eyes dark and treasonous, but his face still and cold. He would not betray emotions to any of these men. To emote was to give up one’s mental advantage, and he liked being hard to read. He had never told the man what he planned on doing with the Dragon Balls, and he wouldn’t tell anyone until he had made his wish. If they wanted to think he wished to be king, let them think that.

Apauldir stayed with them for some time afterwards, drinking and laughing to keep them company. As he saw the clock strike noon, however, he politely bid them farewell and exited the bar. As soon as he was outside, Lord Aeryn called up his hovercar on his wrist-mounted computer. Within a minute, the emerald green car came flying into view, being piloted by one of Lord Aeryn’s servants.

“Take me home,” he commanded the servant after stepping into the passenger’s seat of the car.

The man nodded and flew off, back to Apauldir’s great mansion. He was a lord, after all. He ruled over much of Jibal’s Capitol City. It used to be called Central City before Jibal’s father had ascended the throne. Now it was just another group of buildings on another grid on the floating rock they all called home. And Lord Aeryn loved his little corner of the world, where he ruled the citizens and soldiers alike. He was like a little king, a minor king, who was just about ready to transform like the caterpillar to the butterfly.

He sat back in his chair, watching the sun’s reflection off of the murky blue-grey water. Soon he’d be home, away from the salt and the sweat and the smoke and the booze. He could take a shower and wash it all away. He closed his eyes. How he loved his hot, cleansing showers. If only the empire’s problems could wash away so easily.

Chapter XIII: A Boy Caught In The Rain
{{subst:*At the start of The Last Saiyan, there were close to 100,000,000 Ordained soldiers. Most of the soldiers are in armies, though garrisons of 100,000-500,000 guard each Sector's capital.
 * By this chapter, there are around 81,000,000 Ordained soldiers. Many of the soldiers are wounded, inexperienced, or are children. Only a very small percentage of the Ordained soldiers are former martial artists.
 * Sciaon Malbarion's total forces number in at around 43,000,000. Close to half of them are paid mercenaries.
 * Master Taisen's martial knights number in at around 10,000.
 * Marcus Traikari's group of anthropomorphic soldiers number in at around 438,000.}}

Farayel Aros was shoved inside the lightless room before she knew what was going on. The two men who had escorted her in then grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her down into a thin wooden chair. As her eyes adjusted to the room, she saw that there was a man – a giant of a man – sitting across from her. He bade the two guards to leave; and what little light had been creeping in from the open door was then cut off. Wasting no time, the man lit a candle between his fingers and set it upon the table which stood as a meager barrier between them. The small flame offered very little light, so Farayel could only see the edge of his hulking visage. The rest of him lurked just out of sight like a hammerhead in the deep. Aside from the glint of his armor, there was nothing she could pick up on about him. She knew not if he was a friend or an executioner. It frightened the former Lieutenant Colonel very much. “Nice armor,” she whispered after some time. Her voice sounded much more feeble than she had anticipated. “Who did you steal it from?” “A man who is no longer of this world,” came the reply. It was a low growl, a menacing sound she knew conveyed strength and authority. “But that is none of your concern, girl. Do you know why I have brought you here?” “I could guess. But I don’t think it’s good.” “Why not?” the man asked, sharply. Yet Farayel detected genuine curiosity in his tone all the same. “I know why you’ve kept me alive. You’re going to torture me for all I know. You’re going to get every little Ordained secret out of my skull before you crush it between your fingers,” she replied. “If that were true, I would have tied you to that chair. But I haven’t. You’re a runner and if I tried anything, I’m sure you would be out of that door before I could blink an eye. So don’t insult my intelligence.” Farayel looked down and saw that, indeed, there were no chains around her wrists. She should have known. She would have felt them being latched around her skin. In fact, her hands and legs weren’t even bound by rope like they had been before. The guards must have taken them off. How scared had she been that this man sitting across from her was going to kill her that Farayel had been blind and numb to her surrounds! Yet, her binds were gone. The guards were gone. For the first time since she had been captured, she was being treated as something different than a prisoner. “You don’t want to kill me? Then why am I here?!” she burst out, finally raising her tone to a respectable fierceness. “No, I’m not killing you. I wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of keeping you alive if I wanted to kill you,” the man said. “No, I want you to help me.” “With what?” Farayel asked, her eyes as wide as they could be. “Tell me about Sector 1. Everything you know.” “A-and then what…?” The man’s dark eyes flickered. “And then you’re going to help me take the city.” Farayel and the darkness-cloaked man sat in silence for a while. Farayel was simply processing what he had just said. Was she hearing things? Was her malnourishment and time as a prisoner causing her to hallucinate this exchange? She looked down at her hands and clenched them into fists. She felt her nails dig into her skin. It was a feeling – a real feeling. She was not dreaming. She couldn’t be. Finally mustering up enough courage, Farayel looked back up and spoke, “You’re Sciaon Malbarion, aren’t you?” The man leaned forward into the candlelight, revealing a long, shrewd face, with dark eyes and thin lips. Vanity clothed his face, and he wore his numerous battle scars better than she had seen any man do before. “Aye, I am. Does it matter?” “You’re the leader of the rebels…” Farayel said in shock. “I… I spent so much time hating you. They said you were a devil… an evil thing, not a proper man. A demon!” Malbarion spit into the corner of the room. “Propaganda. I’m flesh and bone like you.” “When I was in school, they taught us about you. Th-they told us y-your entire history. I-I didn’t think I would ever m-meet you!” “All to paint me as the villain, no doubt,” Sciaon replied dryly. “But come, tell me what they taught you.” She swallowed. Her fear was palpable now. Malbarion had always frightened her in school. He was an abomination, a wretched evil that the Ordained was sworn to eradicate. That is what she had been told. “They s-said your… your parents were part of the resistance to the last king, Pilaf Jr.,” Farayel began. “They were,” Sciaon nodded. “A-and they were killed for trying to make themselves the king and queen…” Sciaon laughed. “They were killed by his men, but not because they wanted the crown. My parents thought no man or woman deserved a crown. They believed in freedom, in democracy. They believed in the individual, in humanity itself. But those are radical notions now, aren’t they?” “And then y-you were sold into slavery after your parents died. You worked at a methane hydrate plant that… that supplied power throughout the empire. Once you became a teenager – 15 or 16, I don’t remember – you blew up the power plant and killed several hundred people. Then, you vowed to take revenge on those who killed your family. I-I think that was it.” She tried to swallow again, but her mouth was too dry for it. The giant of a man laughed again. “Such lies. Amazing. They are truly fools to be teaching such filth. I would think anyone with a brain could see right through it,” the man smirked. “Yes, II was sold into slavery when I was four years old, just after my parents died. But I ran away at the age of seven. Where I went to after that, well…” Sciaon stroked his chin, “let’s just say I was being trained to resist. I returned to the power plant on my sixteenth birthday, searching for the Imperial slavemasters that had tormented me when I was so young. I did not find them. The power plant exploded soon after, though I was not the culprit. I think they accused me of it only years later, when I became a threat to them. To be honest, the explosion was likely an accident. Look!” he boomed, moving closer into the candlelight. The man showed Farayel his left ear. A great scar clothed it, making it appear bulbous and deformed. Then, he showed her his left hand, spreading his digits out for her to see. Half of his pinky was missing and his ring finger was severely scarred. “Tell me, why would I destroy that place if it wounded me so?” “I-I don’t know,” Farayel stammered. She was floored. He hadn’t destroyed that power plant. He couldn’t have. He wasn’t evil after all. That realization was so profound that Farayel felt a moment of vertigo as she tried thinking about it. Had everything she had been taught been lies? This man’s parents had been killed and he had been a slave to the empire. How could he not hate them? Maybe they weren’t evil. Maybe they were just like everyone else. Not demons, not monsters, but genuine human beings. Was that even possible? Malbarion interrupted her thoughts with a raspy whisper. “The answer is that I wouldn’t. They painted me as the villain later on, and now I’m the devil incarnate, it seems. Jibal is just desperate to focus attention on me and not on his crumbling kingdom.” “What I don’t understand, though,” Farayel spoke, “is how you have managed to resist the Empire. You have less men, inferior equipment, less military experience…” “I have the might of the people behind me. What is a kingdom but the people in it? Everyone hates Jibal; most are just too scared to admit it. It is fairly easy to raise armies and resistors. Guerrilla warfare is also highly effective. The people don’t want Jibal,” he continued. “So what do you say, girl? Will you join with us? Will you join the winning side?” “What do I get if I do?” Farayel shot back, rather quickly. “Freedom,” Sciaon replied with a well-tempered countenance. “What we all deserve. And I know how your King treats failures. You won’t go back to him. You can’t. Hell, you’d be better off sticking with us.” Farayel Aros hated those words, even as she knew them to be truth. She could never return to the Ordained; she had failed to kill that Nir boy and gotten herself captured by the enemy in one fell swoop. The penalty for such failure was death. And freeing herself from her current prison just to walk into another deathtrap was not something she was about to let happen. “Fine,” Farayel said, sitting back in her chair and folding her arms. She let out a long, sustained sigh before speaking again. “It’s one big city. The whole sector is just one big city. It’s the largest in the entire world.” “That much I know. But you were stationed there, weren’t you? What are the city’s defenses like?” Miss Aros pondered the question, feeling her teeth with her tongue. “Five hundred thousand… maybe a million Ordained. That’s not even counting Jibal’s Praetorian Guard. There aren’t many of them, but they could take out your entire army, if they were pressed. I’ve seen them fight. They are the finest martial artists in the world.” That last statement made Sciaon’s eyes flash again. He looked as if he were about to smile, but he held back. A ravenous look flickered across his face, but in the next moment it was gone. Instead, he cleared his throat and moved back to business. “So direct combat isn’t possible?” “Not unless you get a helluva lot more recruits. You’ll need to outnumber the Ordained at least five-to-one to have any shot. They are better equipped, better trained, and better fortified than your men.” “Yes, but that can’t be helped. I can’t train the peasants of the world to be legendary warriors. Not in this lifetime,” Sciaon breathed. “But very well. Now tell me about the lands surrounding the city.” “There’s mostly farmland. It’s how they feed the city. It’s not patrolled often, though. When I was on duty, I never saw any teams go down there.” “And what of the night patrols?” “There are only a few patrolling guards after dark. Most of the soldiers sleep through the night, just like everyone else. Sciaon leaned forward again. “And where are their blind spots?” Farayel could not hide her anticipation any longer. Her curiosity and trepidation were as one, clothing the Lieutenant Colonel’s body and mind together. “So, Mr. Malbarion, you want me to show you how to sneak into the most heavily guarded and dangerous place on Earth, do you?” “That’s exactly what I want you to do.” The giant stood up and opened the door. He let Farayel walk out as a free woman. They strode out into the bright glint of day, where sunlight reflected and shone off of broken glass and bricks and dust. The air was silent, if heavy. They passed more than a few medical stations, where hastily crafted beds and cots held numerous dying and recovering soldiers. Past the coughing and moaning of the dying, they made their way to Sciaon’s headquarters. The place was a half-blown out room on the bottom floor of a former skyscraper (which, Farayel could see, had gotten quite the haircut at some point in the not-too-distant past). This was the place the rebels had kept Farayel on the first day she had been captured. Now she was one of them. Sciaon did not say a word. He patted a few men on the shoulders, exchanged silent nods and waves, and then moved up to the main table. On it was a holographic map. He spoke a command to it in a low voice and the room exploded in light. Suddenly the map was enlarged to fill the room, with the great cities and their skyscrapers jutting up from it like great mountains. The shining energy that produced the map flickered and sizzled as men touched it. Sciaon, unperturbed, moved to the center of the map in two great strides. There, the projection showed the largest and tallest city – Jibal’s Capitol. Sciaon pointed his finger directly at the greatest building, the King’s Castle, and spoke to his strategists and loyal lords: “We’re taking the city, gentlemen. We’re killing the king and we’re freeing the world. It’s been a long time coming. We can wait no longer.” They looked up, astonished. “And Miss Aros,” he gestured towards Farayel with his huge hands, “will show us the way. Come, men. This is our chance! We aren’t going to be remembered as the evil rebels, the listless fools who dare challenged the wondrous Pale King. No! We aren’t going to be remembered as those who were defeated by a stupid boy on his throne. No! We write our own history! We make our own fates! And when we save this world from the cancer that is killing it, they will remember us not as conquerors, but as liberators! The whole world will know us for who we truly are! Come, men! Let’s take back our planet!” The men cheered in salty roars. The lords ran up to Sciaon, furiously asking him about how he was going to take the Capitol. He just smiled at them and looked over at Farayel. Their eyes met for a cold second, and she realized, at that moment, that she was the key to the entire war. She would be returning home, not as that famous heroine she had always imagined herself as, but as the secret weapon for the opposition. She was going to lead Sciaon to the castle and help him kill the boy King. And Farayel didn’t feel as guilty as she thought she would.

The rain was picking up as they neared port. Nir had brought his armor with him, but he was not wearing it. He didn’t want to put it on if he didn’t need to. The rain felt good on his skin. It was good to be outside again. Dareck Morin, the thirteen-year-old student of Master Roshi, was steering the speedboat with imprudence. They tore through the foaming grey like a knife through butter. Nir felt sick to his stomach, and Dareck’s driving exacerbated his queasiness tenfold. “So, why is Master Roshi doing this?” Dareck shouted to Nir, his voice a tempest amongst the formidable weather. “I don’t know. I asked him, and he said yes,” Nir shrugged. “It’s weird, though. Master Roshi doesn’t just take in anyone as a student. There’s hundreds of people who ask to be trained by him every week! And he says no to all of them!” Nir narrowed his eyes to shield himself from the spray of salt water, which was sloshing over the side of the boat courtesy of Dareck’s superb driving. “Then how did you and Melli get in?” “We passed tests years ago. We’ve been with Master Roshi since we were little. He only trains those who are serious.” “I’m serious!” Nir said, somewhat eagerly and somewhat angrily. Who is Dareck to doubt me? “I guess,” Dareck said in a voice that conveyed the opposite. “But I wonder why Master’s doing this now? He only takes new students once his old ones have graduated.” Nir was going to respond when, with an unheralded compulsion, he flew forward, from his seat to the puddled floor of the sleek speedboat. The muto looked up, puzzled. “What was that?” Dareck went red in the face, an unnatural admission for the otherwise prideful boy. “Uh, we’re here. Look.” Nir sat up and saw that they had indeed reached the port. Dareck had, in his unnatural excellence, parked the boat in the side of a concrete wall that marked the edge of a dock. The front end of the vessel was crumpled and torn, and water was starting to pour in from the holes that had been ripped asunder. Nir jumped up, his dex suit in hand. He didn’t want to take another swim, especially not in the rain and the cold. Leaving Dareck behind, he hopped out of the boat and onto the wooden dock. “I’ll be back in a little bit. Don’t let anyone steal my suit, okay?,” he said to the other boy, dropping his armor onto the splintery pier. Slacking his jaw, Nir shook his head. The boat was assuredly destroyed. They would need some other means to get back to Kame House. ''Well, that’s Dareck’s problem. Not mine.'' “Uh, yeah. Good. I’ll just, uh, stay here, and get the boat into a proper spot,” Dareck said, abashed. “Don’t worry about me. Just get that thing Master Roshi wanted.” Nir left him there in the rain in his sinking boat. He had more important things to do. He walked from the dock into the town, passing by many different people, mostly sailors and drunkards and gangs of tobacco-smoking teenagers. Once he stepped onto the sidewalk, he stared up at the buildings before him. They were talk, sharp, like the teeth of the world. He had always wondered what it looked like to be at the top of one looking down on the world. Everything would be so small, so unreal. Nir gulped. The thought of such a height frightened him. He was scared of heights as much as he was intrigued by them, and thinking about staring down at the world from such a vantage reminded the boy that he was feeling ill in the stomach. Nir pressed forward. Hovercars blazed by in the streets, splattering rainwater around frantic pedestrians who ran and moved quickly under their umbrellas. They were afraid of the rain, he saw. But he was not. Nir was in nothing but a white t shirt and training shorts, which he commonly wore under his armor. They were drenched, of course, but he didn’t feel bad about it. In fact, the rain felt good on his skin. Perhaps that was why he was a muto. Part savage, part human. He could appreciate the rain where the normal humans couldn’t. He loved the smell of it in the city. When he had lived in the orphanage, Nir had loved when it had rained. It was a cleansing thing, and the cities oft needed cleansing. Nir scanned around and saw smoke rising far away, out of the city. Lightning flashed, and a few seconds later, he heard the low rumble of thunder follow. Maybe there was another war going on out there, but he did not know. The rain was going to wash it all away, one way or another. As Nir was looking for the building Master Roshi had described to him that morning, he stumbled across a back alley. In it, a few mongrel cats lay under outcrops of the tall, narrow buildings or trashcans to escape the rain. When Nir approached them, they growled and gnashed their teeth at him, spitting and squawking. He saw a light up ahead, and he was drawn to it at once. Puttering through the rain, Nir came up upon a ramshackle shack built of old pieces of rusted metal and rotted wood. In it, very much dry, sat an old man. His skin was wrinkled as if he had been in water for a long time, and he had a fire going in a pit just in front of him. The fire burned bright in the cold night. “Come closer, boy,” he rasped. “Take a seat by the fire and get warm.” Nir stared at the man for a moment, gauging him. The boy had not his dex suit with him, and he wasn’t a proper martial artist yet. He couldn’t defend himself if this man tried anything. Still, after Nir looked him over, he determined that such an old and soft-looking person could do him no harm. So he stepped into the shack and sat down. The smoke was heavy in the shack, and Nir coughed up a storm just as soon as he stepped inside. There was a sweet and sickly smell of incense permeating in between the smoke; like death and life all at once, and Nir thought it familiar. “What are you doing back here? Don’t you have a home somewhere… nicer? I mean, this place isn’t that great, is it?” Nir asked between coughs. “This is Talking Bull’s home.” “Oh,” Nir said, going red in embarrassment. “I mean, it’s a nice home and all-”

“You do not have to pretend to like it. Talking Bull knows where he lives.”

“Oh, I-I’m sorry…” Nir began to speak. “Look, child,” Talking Bull interrupted, sticking his finger out of the shack. Rainwater slapped against his once-dry flesh. “The Mother is crying.” “What are you talking about?” Nir choked out. “Our great Mother in the Sky cries for us.” Nir tilted his head to one side. ''Is this man crazy? What is he going on about with the mother?'' “It’s just raining.” “Ah, what is rain but the tears of our Mother in the Sky, weeping for her children?” Nir frowned. “Why would she be crying for us?” Talking Bull took a swig of some brown liquid and then pointed at the fire. “There, boy. Look into the flames.” Nir did so. He saw flames in the flames. “Do you see it, Little Owl?” “Little Owl?” Nir scowled. “That’s not my name!” “The flames have shown Talking Bull who you are, boy.” “Don’t call me that!” Nir shouted, his voice reverberating throughout the small enclosure. “I’m not an owl, I’m a person! My name is Nir!” ''I’m not an animal. I’m a human. I am.'' “Little Owl, the Mother in the Sky weeps for you,” the man spoke quietly. “She wants you to remember who you are.” Nir’s lip was numb and trembling. The heat of the fire was no help. “I know who I am…” How does he know I’m a muto?! Talking Bull leaned forward. “Do you see it in the flames?” “No. What’s there to see?” Talking Bull moved back, sitting up straight. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath before sucking in the smoke and incense. He started trembling, shaking, and Nir didn’t think it was because of the cold. “They are coming for Little Owl. Soon comes Blue Dog, and after him the others. Sleeping Bear and Night Wolf, Young Beaver and Dreaming Otter, Rising Eagle and Yellow Snake. Trust them not. Remember who you are. Beware the White Bull. The bleeding star will fall and the Sky Mother shall weep tears of scarlet. The poisoned dragon will give birth to the demons of the deep and the whispering winds will fall upon deaf ears. The golden arrow will plunge itself into the heart of darkness and its glow will fade. The sky and the sea will become one, and the people will fly like the birds. Animal and Man will come together. Remember who you are. Trust no one. Trust only Little Owl.” “Wh-who are you?! What are you talking about?!” Nir yelled, standing up. His blue eyes shone in the smoky tent like pale lights through the fog. His heart was beating like a drum in his chest. Is this a dream? “Little Owl,” Talking Bull said, “do not forget who you are.” “I’m Nir!” “Your eyes are blue and bleak, like the ocean on a calm day. You are not ready for the storm.” Shaking all over, Nir stepped back. He blinked his eyes furiously to clear the smoke from his vision. ''Talking Bull is crazy. He’s insane. What am I’m doing? Why am I still listening to him?'' He breathed out and then turned and ran, never looking back. Was he calling Nir ‘Little Owl’ because he knew the boy was a muto? He had to know. But how? Nir looked like a normal boy without his tail. I am normal. He kept repeating that over and over in his head as he jumped from pavement to puddles to pavement again. I am normal. Nir came screeching out of the alley and back onto the sidewalk. He kept running until he came to the end of the road. Ahead of him, looking out over the water was a large building. Plastered upon it, brightly shining through the rain and darkness was a sign: ‘Most Famous Original Raymond’s Pizza’. Nir’s mouth watered and his stomach grumbled and his heart skipped a beat. He smiled widely. This was the place Master Roshi had described to him. He’d finally found it. The drenched muto ran inside with all his speed. Reaching the counter, the sopping-wet Nir rang the bell. He saw a young man with a white cap and an apron around his waist come bumbling out from a back room. Nir rang the bell around forty-seven more times until the man came over. Nir was practically jumping up and down by the time the man came calmly striding up to the other side of the counter. “Okay, okay. Enough! Whaddya want, kid? A regular pie? Somethin’ classic?” “No,” Nir said breathlessly. “I want you to start delivering to Master Roshi on Kame Island. He lives just out there,” the boy said, energetically pointing out the window to his right. “Master Roshi, huh? Why can’t he come and get his pizza himself?” the fine pizzamaker asked the muto. “He likes delivery,” Nir said, scrunching up his face in apology. “He said you guys are the best. He wants it real bad.” “That’s true! We’re the original Raymond’s pizzeria! There’s no better tasting pie!” the man said, reciting the store’s slogan with a stupid look on his face. “So will you deliver to him?” Nir asked. “No-can-do, kid. Sorry, but we don’t deliver off of the mainland. It’s too expensive and-” “Look,” Nir interrupted., “Master Roshi is a martial arts teacher. He’s a celebrity! He’s competed in world tournaments. He came in second place during the last one, but he’s won a lot of them. There’s statues of him in the King’s palace! He should be an honored guest!” Nir had made that last part up. He just hoped this guy hadn’t been to the King’s palace. “I don’t care who he is. Management said that it’s too expensive to deliver to anyone all the way out there. We’d have to go by plane.” “What do I have to do to get you to deliver some pizza to Master Roshi?” “Look kid, there’s nothing you can do. We aren’t in the business of losing money. Now, unless you’re gonna order a pie, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Nir opened and closed his mouth as if he were biting down an imaginary slice of pizza. He stomach was audibly rumbling, but he ignored it. He had more important matters to attend to. “Fine. I’m going..” The muto boy turned around and stormed out. If that’s how the pizzaman wanted to play, then so be it.

The speedboat was in decidedly worse shape than when Nir had last seen it. In fact, it was half sunk. He didn’t know what Dareck was planning on doing to fix the thing, but no amount of duct tape and spit was going to save that boat now. The martial artist was sitting on the edge of the dock, his feet dangling over the edge and resting just on the surface of the water. When Nir approached, Dareck looked up. “Hey dude, did you pass the test?” “Not yet,” Nir said carefully. “I need my armor.” “Take it,” Dareck said, not looking at Nir. “Uh, Dareck,” Nir began, “how exactly are we getting back to Kame House?” “Master Roshi is going to be so mad,” Dareck spoke, almost as if he was talking to himself. “It’s going to cost so much to repair old speedy…” “Maybe he could come get us? Doesn’t he have another boat?” Dareck sunk his head into his arms. “I don’t want to tell him. I can’t. I need some time.” “All right, well… I’ll be right back, okay?” Nir said, gingerly. Dareck did not respond, so Nir slipped on his dex suit then scurried off. The Mother in the Sky must have been upset about something, for the rain seemed to be falling even harder than when Nir had arrived. The water bounced off of his suit, causing a symphony of annoying noise to incessantly pepper his helmet. Soon, he found himself back in front of the pizza shop and he strode in. This time, he would not leave without getting what he wanted. “Can I help you?” the same man with the white cap and apron asked Nir. Evidently he didn’t recognize the boy. That made it even better. “You’re going to give me what I want,” Nir said. He tried to sound menacing, but, truthfully, he thought it came out rather lamely. Luckily, the man could not see him go scarlet under his armor. “Huh?” “Look at my armor,” Nir said desperately. “I’m part of the Ordained. You better be careful! I’m warning you!” “Really?” the man said, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a little short to be in the Ordained?” “Shut up!” Nir shouted, raising his arm. He started warming up the energy device within it. The blue energy matter started forming in his palm. The man jumped back. “No, don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” “Will you do what I want?” Nir asked. “What do you want?” “I want you to deliver pizza to Master Roshi whenever he calls you. You know where he lives, right?” The man’s mouth dropped wide open. He was clearly shocked, and Nir had to smile at that. “U-uh, yeah, of course! I know where he’s at.” The muto shoved his arm forward, energy at the ready. “And you’ll deliver your pizza to him?” “Yeah, yeah! Okay! We’ll do it, I promise!” Nir dropped his arm and dissipated the energy. “Great! But if you change your mind, I’ll be back. I promise.” “H-how can you do this?! You’re abusing your power!” “Take it up with my commander then. See if I care,” Nir said, brushing the bewildered and unnerved man off. He exited the establishment with his head held high. He didn’t have a commanding officer, so he wondered who the man would call. Perhaps the Ordained commander stationed in the town. That would make for an odd conversation. But Nir smiled thinking about it. It would be funny to watch the pizza boy try to explain what had just happened. He laughed to himself, suddenly. ''I did it. I got what Master Roshi wanted. Now I can be a martial artist!'' Nir was very, very proud of himself. He was walking back to the docks when he saw a couple boys no older than Dareck grouped around a girl of similar age. They were howling and whooping, feeling her hair and tearing at her clothes. She screamed. Nir’s blood boiled. He remembered Talking Bull in that moment, for all the man’s insanity. Remember who you are. “I’m a good person. I’m not like them,” Nir whispered to himself. He shook his head to clear his head and prepare himself for what he knew he had to do. “Hey, you!” he screamed at the group of boys. They turned towards him in unison. Nir felt weak in the legs, but he forced himself to stand tall. He was the one with the dex suit, not them. “Yeah, what d’ya want, little dainy?” one of them sneered. “Leave that girl alone,” Nir replied. “Or I’ll kill you.” The words came from Nir like the water came from the sky. He did not think of them; they were an automatic action. He didn’t know why he said it, and he didn’t know if he could make good on the promise. He had had so much trouble killing that rebel in the city before. He wasn’t a killer. But now he had defined himself as one. “Oh yeah? What law’re we breakin’?” another shouted. “Uh… you’re… y-you’re not supposed to… uh…” Nir stuttered. He didn’t have the faintest idea of how to express their wrongdoing legally. He just knew, in his bones, that it was wrong. They were going to hurt her. They were being big meanies. “Har har, what a joke! This kid ain’t got shit on us.” “Yes I do!” Nir tried to say in an authoritative tone. “I saw the whole thing!” The group sneered at the armored boy and then turned back to one another, talking amongst themselves. He could not hear their voices over the sound of the rain, and it annoyed him. Who were they to ignore the Ordained? Surely there were Ordained in this town, who patrolled it regularly. Nir knew they were all inside right now, for no Ordained liked to be out in the rain. It was the same Sector 14, when he had visited the city from the orphanage. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” Nir said, trying to get their attention. Only when Nir spoke, the boys all leapt out together, some going right, some going left. But all were converging on Nir. He felt his stomach rise into his throat as waves of fear overtook him. The blood rushed to his head and briefly Nir’s eyesight wavered. He raised his hand and prepared energy, but they were on him by the time he had done so. He got off one shot, killing one of the boys instantly and burning half of the face off another. The teenager’s screams were high as they were long, haunting as they were pained. The others all knocked Nir to the ground. He tried to roll away, but they pinned him. They ripped off his helmet and then started beating him across the face. Nir’s arms were pinned, so he could not defend himself whatsoever. He felt his nose go numb and his lips crack open; he tasted blood and felt it running down his face. He saw spots. He saw fuzziness. And soon he saw nothing. Nir awoke some time later – he did not know how much later, but it was still night. The rain had stopped and it was quiet. There were no pedestrians or hovercars around. It was just him and the two dead children. Nir sat up, feeling his bruised face. His nose was broken for a certainty. He cried out in pain when he touched it. He tasted blood in his mouth and immediately spit it out in disgust. As he did so, he looked around for any sign of those who had attacked him. There was none. They had left their dead where they had fallen. The one Nir had hit squarely in the face was lying on the ground. Nir couldn’t tell which way because he was decapitated, his head incinerated by the heat of Nir’s energy attack. The other, the one who had been grazed by the attack, was also dead. Half of his face had melted away and his skull was visible on the left side. His eyes were still open, staring up at the sky. Nir wondered what the boy had been thinking about in his last moments. Had he prayed to a god, to the Mother in the Sky? Had he felt scared like Nir had? What was that last moment like? Was he a coward in the end? Or did he accept his fate? Nir threw up. He didn’t see it coming. One moment, he was thinking about those he had killed, the next, he was retching into the street. He had killed two boys. He had killed them. Tears rolled down Nir’s hurting face. How could he do that? Why did he confront them? Why did he have to get involved? ''Because I’m not like them. Because I’m good'', a voice inside him insisted. He clenched his teeth together and tightened his chest to get rid of the thoughts. ''I want to be normal. I don’t want to be good. Being good is too hard.'' Nir wiped away the tears. He stood up and noticed that his armor was gone. Stolen, most likely, by those boys. Now he was truly nothing in the world. He was just a bruised muto who couldn’t so much as save a girl from a few boys. So what if Master Roshi accepted him? How was he worthy? What had he done to ever deserve being trained by the most legendary martial arts master on Earth? He was a fake, a failure, a nobody. But he couldn’t cry anymore. He couldn’t let Dareck see him like that. Nir trudged his way back to where Dareck was. The student was standing on the edge of the dock, looking out over the water. The water was black, with only a glimmer of moonlight shining off of it. It was calm, cool, smelling of salt and life and peace. He tapped Dareck on the shoulder, causing the boy to jump up in fright. “We need to go home,” Nir urged the older boy. Dareck looked over Nir’s face, his proud steel eyes lighting up in surprise. “What happened to you, Nir?” “It’s nothing. I just need to go home.” Home. Nir realized that what he called it. Kame House was more accurate, but Dareck knew what he meant. Already Nir had latched onto them like a parasite. He felt guilty for being so useless, for killing those children, for washing up on their beach and getting them involved in his life. But what could he do about it now? “The boat’s sunk,” Dareck admitted. “There’s nothing I can do about it.” Anger welled in Nir’s throat. “Well do something! I’m not waiting here because you’re too scared to tell Master Roshi what you did! Grow up! You’re a martial artist! You need to act like one!” Nir’s voice echoed off of the water when Dareck went to respond. “Nir… if I tell him what I did, he’ll get so mad. I-I think he may stop training me.” Nir felt pity well up in his throat then, competing with the anger for top position. The injustice of Dareck being let go made Nir feel bad, but he had to stay angry. He forced himself to stay angry. Angry people are powerful. And he desperately needed to be powerful right now. “There!” Nir spat, pointing to a boat docked to their right. “That’s the same model as yours, right?” Dareck looked over at it, squinting his eyes to inspect its features. After a moment, he nodded, gravely. “Then we’ll take that. You’ll tell Master Roshi you got the boat a new paint job and that’s it.” “Steal a boat? I don’t know, Nir…” Dareck began. “It’s either that or you tell Master what really happened,” Nir stated, his eyes two blue flames and his mouth a thin, red razor. So it was that, then, the two boys, both students of Master Roshi, sped back to Kame House over the dark, calm waters of the ocean. Nir and Dareck exchanged no words during their trip back. They would never speak of this night again.

Nir looked back over the town they were leaving. It was an ugly place, admittedly. It was no true city, like the one Nir and Sky had lived in in Sector 14. Nir blinked away the tears that came to him so freely when he thought of Sky. ''The past is in the past. Stop thinking about it.'' And so he did. Nir continued watching the city as Dareck drove them farther and farther away from it. He noticed that, in the distance, smoke was no longer rising. Maybe the rain really had cleansed it all away - the war, the pain, the suffering. Maybe there really was a Mother in the Sky.