All of Nox Caelum’s commanders are insane in some way: Gravitas is a crazed battle-junky; Libevich is utterly terrifying; but Nokron? There’s something off about him; It’s almost like he’s a specter. His very existence feels immaterial, and if I take my eyes off of him for even a moment, he’ll disappear back into the shadows. I don’t really work with his section of the army much, but I don’t understand how a man with such a faint presence could possibly command over thousands of soldiers. Just what is Xeros thinking?”
Luxanne, Commander of Nox Caelum
———
Nokron
“Tell me, why are you here?” an obscured figure asks from the darkness, voice muffled and distorted by the mechanical mask covering their face.
“…Arrogance,” a soldier replies, his body covered in lashes while bound and blindfolded in place.
“What is arrogance?”
“Disrespect.”
“And who have you disrespected?”
“You, commander.”
“Correct.”
A quick pierce, a faint cry, then silence. The figure emerges from the shadows and pulls out a jagged spike impaled upon the soldier's head, gently wiping off the blood and letting out an exasperated sigh. Light dimly illuminates the murky cell and reveals a scrawny man clad in a jet-black armored exoskeleton while glowing, scarlet orbs emanate from the mask’s sockets. A respirator is attached in the middle, flowing towards a sputtering tank attached on the man’s back, and an emblem of the corvid is engraved upon his helm.
“You disrespected me,” he mutters as he drags the lifeless corpse out of the cell, his hand gripped onto their foot. “You smothered my name in front of The Grand General. And now, here I rot in this festering fortress.”
A trail of blood covers the stone and gravel on the floor as he lumbers through the dark dungeon, the corpse’s face ripped beyond recognition from being dragged across the rugged surface. Eventually, the specter arrives at his destination. A seemingly-endless hole opens up before him, the darkened void consuming all within sight, and he brings the now-unrecognizable man up to his face.
“But the blame does not fall entirely upon you. I was complacent. Naive. I believed that my previous ‘demonstrations’ would be enough to reign you miserable lot in. But fear eventually dissipates, this I now know, and I will not repeat the mistakes of the past.”
With an indifferent toss, the soldier disappears forever as they’re swallowed by the dusk. Nokron would have tormented the soldier for eternity if he could, but time is running out. The rest of his legion must become disciplined before The Grand General returns, or else death will be a more preferable fate than what shall befall him. The clock is ticking. More examples must be made.
He closes his eyes and takes in a large breath-full of the gaseous substance from his tankard. It fills his mind with unimaginable bliss, with surging power, but it is running out. He’ll need a refill soon. However, conjuring the essence will require time as well. Time he does not have. Time wasted thinking about this matter.
Time time time time time. There’s not enough time. The seconds are passing; the sun is descending; time is moving forward. Time cannot go back. Time is an impossibility. Why must time exist? Everyone runs out of time. It doesn’t make sense. It’s disgusting, time. It’s revolting, time. If only it would stop. If only it would cease. If only-
Nokron exhales and attempts to calm the madness within. Calm. There is plenty of time. There is plenty of time. Repeat it, again and again. Repeat it Nokron. Repeat it.
…
When he opens his eyes, the squalid dungeon is no more. Instead, a sprawling view of the luscious landscape outside appears before his gaze. He is now atop the fortress. An unintended result, but perhaps a needed one. The sight does wonders for his psyche.
His sudden appearance startles the on-duty guard who quickly shifts into a salute. Lookout-duty is quite safe and uneventful in this part of the empire; the soldiers have gotten fat because of it. They’ve gotten soft. Time has made them weak.
“Ah, um, welcome commander,” the guard stammers.
“…Time,” Nokron murmurs.
“I-I apologize. I didn’t quite catch what you just said.”
“Tell me, do you think there’s still time left?”
“Left for what?”
“Incorrect.”
Nokrom thrusts his spike into the guard's abdomen. Confusion, surprise, horror; the guard has only a brief second to ponder these feelings before he’s thrown over the edge of the fortress. He flails mid-air, despair wrought upon his meager face, before splattering on the ground right next to a pair of gatekeepers. They stare at the mangled flesh in horror and attempt to call out for help, but their voices become silent as Nokron materializes before them.
“Tell me,” he rasps as he approaches them. “Do you think there’s still time left?”
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“Uh, I-I,” one stumbles.
“Yes! Of course there’s still time left!” the other quickly interjects, all too knowledgeable about the commander’s quirks.
“…Ah, I see,” Nokron says, realization dawning upon him. “Yes…yes, of course. There is always enough time. I see it now; I see the path forward. I simply need to do both at the same time!”
Nokron walks over to the destroyed remains of the guard and picks up what is left of their corpse. This shall do nicely; the only thing left is to gather the rest of the worms.
He points at the stumbling gatekeeper and beckons them forth. They look at their partner with terror in their eyes, but there is nothing that can be done. They walk forward, grim resolution settling into their body, and brace themself for the inevitable.
“Gather the rest of the soldiers,” Nokron orders, placing a bloodied hand on their shoulder. “Tell them to all assemble at the heart of the fortress.”
“Ah? Um, of course. Right away sir, I’ll gather them all with due haste.”
“Then go.”
They scurry off, a massive burden released from their body. How cute. Nokron doesn’t necessarily dislike cowards. On the contrary, such people are an excellent source when it comes to gathering the essence, but The Grand General has his orders. He must comply, so it must be done.
“You. I have other plans for you,” he says, turning around to face the other gatekeeper. “I recognize that face. You have served me for a long, long time haven’t you?”
“…Indeed I have, sir.”
“Then you know what will soon occur?”
“Yes. Yes I do.”
“That shall make this much simpler. Gather the rest of my vapor and place some empty canisters at the square. You will serve as my assistant.”
“It…would be an honor, sir.”
“Excellent. You do not waste time. That is good.”
The gatekeeper salutes Nokron with a grim expression before leaving his post. Step. Step. Step. All the way into the fortress. Look how hard they try to remain calm, but he knows the truth. He knows they’re the most terrified of them all.
The tank is almost empty. Perhaps he should take a nice, brisk walk back rather than consume the essence for once. It shall be a nice change of pace. It is a beautiful day, after all; one should properly enjoy the small comforts that the world provides at times like this. Yes…let’s do that.
But before he can bask in the morning sun any longer, the world begins to twist and contort before him, vision starting to fade. A cacophony of cries and screeching nonsense fill his ears, and in an instant, he returns back to the dark dungeon with the corpse still in hand. That’s a shame, looks like his time has run out.
It doesn’t matter. There’s always time afterwards to enjoy the day. For now, his legion awaits. Xeros will receive the disciplined army he so desires, and Nokron will be able to gather more of that enthralling vapor.
As he exits the dungeon’s quarter, Nokron can’t help but feel a sense of unease. Just why has he been so paranoid as of late? Why does it feel like time is running out? It’s irrational. It’s foolish. Yet, something deep within his very being is screaming that oblivion is coming.
He opens the door and steps out into the dull, steel halls of The Magnus Murus. Everything is designed, built, and operated for the sole purpose of war with no decorum in sight. There’s no need for it, for such frivolities only invite individuality. This nation has no need for such principles. Only followers.
Defense systems are installed onto every crevice of the fortress. From the outside to within, the walls are filled with weapons and explosives, ready to spring to life once triggered, and the whole structure is designed to serve as a winding maze to all that attempt to invade.
Nokron doesn’t understand why The Grand General goes to such extremes. The fortress is far away from the front lines, yet every facility is equipped to deal with a full-sized assault. Well, it’s not his problem. He is a soldier. A soldier is disciplined. A soldier follows orders. A soldier obeys his superiors.
He steps out into the heart of the fortress and slowly walks towards a podium near the front. A force numbering near a hundred thousand stare at him with anxiety in their eyes, unnerved by his phantom-like existence and the dripping corpse in his hand. It is a large number for a singular legion, but they are mere expendables. Conquered inhabitants of former republics now integrated into Caelum forces. All Nokron needs to do is keep them in line, make them obedient, and then he’ll soon return to the comforting quarters of his laboratory back in the capital.
The gatekeeper from before stands at attention next to a large cloud of pale green fumes contained in a glass container. The gas within revolves and swirls, eager to escape its confinement, and ghastly images of revenants writhing in agony take form within the maelstrom of energy. A pile of empty canisters lie behind it, connected to a machine resembling a gaping maw through pipes and channels.
“I’ve brought the Pandora’s Box and your fumes as ordered,” he bows.
“Very good,” Nokron murmurs. “Then let us begin.”
Nokron throws the body onto the floor and connects his tank with the glass container. He takes in a breath-full of vapor and lets his mind be filled with insanity before grabbing onto the corpse's head. Horror envelopes the crowd as the splattered soldier springs to life, organs and intestines manifesting from the unknown as the body is rebuilt in a most grotesque display. It screams and cries from the resurrection, body bared for all to see, before eventually being fully restored to its previous self.
“I-I-I’m alive?” the living corpse mutters in a frenzy.
“No,” Nokron rasps. “You have already run out of time. I am simply delaying the inevitable.”
He smashes its face onto the ground and the crowd flinches as bits of flesh and brain-matter fly out into the air. Blood splatters onto the terrified soldiers on the front, but they have no time to process what just happened before the body begins to reform in front of their eyes once more.
It is a horrifying cycle. Again and again the corpse is brought back to life, only to be ruthlessly crushed by Nokron without a moment of hesitation. It begs for death, it begs for the end, but the end never comes. The other soldiers can only watch helplessly, creeping madness invading their minds as they continue to witness the cruel demonstration.
Meanwhile, a hazy cloud begins to form above them, formed from the abundance of fear and terror that fills the square, and the energy is sucked into the maw-like machine before being transformed into the same fumes that power Nokron’s lunacy. It is Creation, malformed by twisted intent and transformed into concentrated despair.
Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, Nokron finally stops. The canisters are fueled, and his message has been sufficiently displayed. Death is allowed to take the corpse as its suffering finally ends.
“Do you understand?” he asks for all to hear.
Silence. Nods. And finally, grim acceptance.
“Very good.”
Nokron walks out of the despair-filled room, leaving only the hushed within to dwell upon what they have just witnessed. A permanent scar has been etched onto their hearts, and memories of this day will haunt their dreams for the rest of their existence. Now, they have been truly tamed.
It has been a good day. There is still much to do, but it is of no worry. After all, there is plenty of time to spare.