“Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder why The Monarch’s Wings chose me—a dirty, abandoned wretch—to inherit Cosmos’s will. I don’t have Annalay’s charisma. I don’t have Lorelai’s leadership. I don’t have Sarathiel’s strength. The people of Polus view me with such adoration, but I…I’m not as strong-willed as they believe me to be. I’m scared, so scared of failing them. Of baring my inadequacy for all to see. Am I really deserving of this title? I still don’t know, but if I resign myself here, then that means betraying the trust of everyone who has supported me, bled for me. I must push on until I can become their perfect King. I just need to endure for a little while longer.”

King Ascalon, Ruler of Polus

———

Ascalon

“Pray forgive me,” Ascalon murmurs, zweihander raised up high. “May you find rest in Cosmos’s embrace.”

With a slash, the grotesque monstrosity before him is bisected into two. It gurgles for a moment—its eyes filled with gratitude—before falling onto the floor with a loud crash. This marks the third. Just how many lives have been sacrificed to create these tormented amalgamations? Too many. Far, far too many.

He grits his teeth and struggles to silence a frustrated cry. Ascalon is no stranger to the horrors of Nox experimentation, but this is vile. Disgusting. To treat human life with such disregard…it’s enough to make him vomit. Not even Xeros is heartless enough to approve such creations.

Nokron must pay for this. Ascalon will make sure that he suffers, that he experiences the same pain that he’s wrought upon these souls. Damned be his own proclamation, a man like him doesn’t deserve the mercy of a swift death. He-

“Ascalon, take a deep breath,” Lorelai’s voice suddenly transmits, interrupting his haze. “I can feel that you’re frustrated, but you must regain your composure.”

“I,” he starts. “…ok.”

“In…”

He inhales.

”…and out.”

He exhales.

“In.”

Once more.

”Out.”

And again.

“Now, how do you feel?”

“…Much better.”

A soft chuckle enters his ears. “It’s ok to be angry Ascalon, but never let that anger cloud your mind. You are kind, too much so for this world, but that kindness makes you more vulnerable than anyone else to its cruelties.”

“Hah, I’m not that good of a person, Lorelai.”

“And why do you think so?”

“Would someone kind let themselves be consumed by such fury?”

“Well, did you?”

“What?”

“Did you let your fury consume you?”

“Um, not now, but I was-”

“You were, but you didn’t act on it in the end, did you?”

“I suppose not.”

“Why?”

“Because it felt wrong.”

“And that is what makes you a good person. Anger, fury, hatred…these emotions have plagued humanity ever since their creation. It is a natural part of them, and to push them away is to deny what makes you whole. What matters in the end is how you choose to act upon them.

“What do you want to be, Ascalon?”

He freezes for a moment. Brave? Strong? No, it’s much more childish than that, a dream harbored in secret ever since his days abandoned out on the streets. Pain, fear, and hunger remains a painful memory of his past, but there is one thing that always cheered his child self up no matter how despairing the morrow seemed.

A book of sagas. The one, sole possession of his before his recruitment to the Powers. Tales of adventure and heroism sprung to life from those old, musty pages, and Ascalon always found himself enchanted by those wondrous epics and their champions. Since the very beginning—even now, with his childhood long past—he has only ever desired to be a single thing.

“I want to be a hero.”

It’s a bit embarrassing now, saying it out loud.

“Then you must control it. Use that anger to fuel your determination, and turn it from a wild, frenzied beast into a sharpened blade. Honed, refined, and resolute in one purpose.”

”…To protect.”

Though he cannot see her, Lorelai’s smile reaches him all the same.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Ascalon turns to the corpse and hangs his head in prayer before moving onto the next floor. He should be close now; Nokron’s cruelty shall finally come to an end.

He sprints through the empty corridors all-the-while plagued by an impending sense of unease. From Sarathiel’s description, Nokron doesn’t seem like the type of person who would cower away out of fear. These abominations of his—although menacing—feel rushed, in a sense. Their bodies are sewn together in jumbled, chaotic mess; their body is too unwieldy to move properly; their flesh is crudely combined with scraps and junk; and their behavior…it’s as if they are trying to inflict as much fear and panic as possible, completely disregarding any semblance of reason or stratagem in the process.

And it’s not as if they’re mindless. Each and every one of them, every single body stitched together, are completely conscious of their transformation. With every slash of his blade, a set of eyes look at him with despair. They tremble and writhe, attempting to escape their prison of flesh, but the force that reanimates them also controls their every move. They have no choice but to be locked in an endless cycle, constantly begging for the release of death.

Their existence must have been created to be torturous. But why?

“To generate fear,” Lorelai says. “His power is fueled by a concentration of despair-infused aura transformed into a gaseous state. Sarathiel destroyed his tankard during their fight, so he must’ve been running low when he returned. These creatures’ sole intention is to stall for time. Time enough for Noktron to muster as much Niflheim as he can.”

“To play with life for such reasons…I can’t understand.”

“Then you must look at it from another point of view,” she advises.

“I can’t imagine being able to view the world through his twisted gaze.”

“Rather focusing on the man himself, think of the reasons why he might’ve done so.”

“Alright. Um…I suppose, as a commander under Xeros, the top priority is to achieve victory no matter the cost.”

Ascalon sighs. “I-I really don’t enjoy this.”

“I know it’s hard, but envisioning yourself in another’s position may prove more useful than you think. Once you’ve obtained a sense of their thought process, predicting their future course of action and their strategies will become much easier.”

She makes a good point, but-

“Do you do the same thing with me?” he asks.

“…Perhaps.”

So he’s been dancing around in the palm of her hand this entire time. Ascalon is a bit embarrassed at his predictability, but oddly enough, it doesn’t feel all that bad having someone understand you.

“Anyways,” she says. “Nokron’s main priority is victory and survival. Let’s analyze the state of his soldiers first; how do they look in your eyes?”

“The best word would probably be unrefined,” Ascalon murmurs. “Their movements are not one of practice or repetition. Rather, they rely purely on brute strength and weaponry. The substances used to power their exoskeletons leave them too inebriated to form complex thoughts.”

“And why would Xeros create such a hazardous array of soldiers?”

“Because his nation is overcrowded due to his conquest of the surrounding regions. Many of them are forced into the army still harboring feelings of resentment against him, so he fills them with drugs and leaves them in a haze to prevent potential mutiny. They’re just…expendables.”

Lorelai’s voice becomes slightly more hardened, the difference barely noticeable, but Ascalon can sense a deep sadness in her tone. “Such is the nature of humanity, Ascalon. We are fearful of those different from us, and protective towards our own.

“In a way, our current situation is cruel as well. We cannot afford to leave any survivors, but is that truly the case? Perhaps, if we are to spare these soldiers, then they will run away and find a new life away from Nox Caelum. Perhaps they may even join our cause and fight alongside us.

“Unfortunately, we cannot peer into the future. Possibilities are exactly that: possible, but not certain. We cannot guarantee that our mercy won’t come back to haunt us, so the safest course of action is to prevent any possibilities from occurring at all.”

Her words strike deep, for they are the very same he used to justify his actions. In the end, is he really that much different from Xeros? No, even if he isn’t, it won’t change his duty. He resolved himself to protect the smiles of his people, to ensure that no child will experience the same suffering as he once did.

“Being a leader means making hard choices,” Lorelai whispers. “All we can do is stay resolute in ourselves and continue pushing on. No matter what enemies we make, what atrocities we commit, it is all for the purpose of achieving our goals. Whenever your will starts to waver, remember the reason for why you fight.”

“…Of course.”

The two are silent for a moment. Reality is ever so hard to face when it’s filled with such ugliness, but it must be confronted if Ascalon wants to be a true King. If not, then these feelings of burden will never be resolved.

“Sorry for going off topic,” Lorelai suddenly says, interrupting the awkward silence. “Let’s…move on.”

It’s for the best. If they continue, Lorelai will only become more saddened. Her voice conveys an eternity of sorrow desperately locked away in the depths of her heart, and Ascalon would rather they confront their burdens together in private than separated in this fortress.

“Now, what advantages would Nokron have?

“Against an army such as ours, the only advantage the Nox have would be their numbers and the fortress’s defenses”

“Good. Nokron relied on those benefits during our initial skirmish outside of the walls, but we proved victorious in the end with much less casualties than the Nox. His army is depleted and his defenses are limited now that we’ve breached the inside. With his only two advantages gone, what does he have left?”

“The Niflheim? The only personnel left would be the administrative officers and other non-combatants, so in the end, he would have to rely on his final weapon.”

“But if he’s out of the gas, then?”

“He’ll have to make more since the non-combatants are useless in regards to the fortress’s defense.”

“And if they’re going to be slaughtered in the end anyway?”

“…Then they may as well be put to use another way. Either they die having achieved nothing, or they can be sacrificed for a chance at victory.”

It’s cold, pragmatic, but Ascalon understands now. Nokron is serving Nox Caelum in his own twisted way. In the end, he’s just a man scared of death.

“Panic leads to desperation. Desperation leads to depravity. Nokron may have been a monster before our invasion, but even the most pious of souls will start to break under the threat of failure, of death. When their minds are broken like so, it becomes much easier to foresee their actions.”

He slows his pace and stops right in front of a large, metal door adorned with an ominous black and red crow. This is it. Behind these doors, Nokron lies in wait.

Ascalon takes a deep breath and readies himself. “His creations have fallen. His defenses are destroyed. Since he hasn’t been seen apparating around the fortress, then Nokron must be gathering all of his gas here. This place shall mark his end.”

“You’re not going in with the captains?”

“No. Whatever he has planned, it won’t be able to bypass The Monarch’s Wings. I’ll be safe, so don’t tell the others.”

“I won’t be able to contact you once you enter. Are you sure?”

“Heh, do you even need to ask? I think you already know the answer.”

“…I do. Please, come back safe Ascalon.”

“I will, promise.”

Ascalon unsheathes The Mattatron and holds it close to his chest. “You ready, old friend?”

The blade shines a confidant azure blue.

“Then let’s end this siege once and for all.”