“Oh my, that was quite the magnanimous display. Bravo, Xeros. Bravo. Unfortunately, your efforts are in vain. The end has finally come; the drum of liberation has been struck. Enjoy these few moments of respite while you can, for today you shall serve as the fodder for mine Constellation’s grand scheme. Heheheh, I only hope that it shall deign to grant me your corpse once this whole affair is over. I think you would bloom a marvelous scarlet…”

Satanael

———

Xeros

“Are you actually going to take her in?” Luxanne asks. The two have dropped off Lilac to a nearby officer and are now currently roaming the oil-stained streets of the Freedmen district.

“But of course,” Xeros replies. “Not a single word of mine in that exchange was false, Luxanne. Lilac shall be given equal treatment and enrolled into the education system within the Hyperion district. Whether she succeeds, or fails, is entirely dependent on her own motivation and drive.”

Indeed, children are precious. They are malleable, and innocent from the sickness of the mind known as stagnation. One must remember that behaviors and beliefs are taught—not engrained—and the younger the child, the easier it becomes for them to retain the correct values.

It is a shame Xeros picked up Luxanne at the older age of thirteen rather than earlier. Some less fortunate traits such as compassion remain engraved upon her nature despite the long years they have spent together, but perhaps that is for the better.

He has always respected Luxmi and her will—even after her death—and though the two of them never truly agreed on a solution to root out the corruption within the nation, they shared a common kinship and passion. Xeros still believes her values to be foolish, but he can’t deny that the flame within her chest surged ever more furiously than his own. Now, that flame has been inherited by Luxanne.

A hot fire fueled with righteousness is what drives her, and once her mother, forward; unlike Xeros, who carries on through bitter-cold feelings of spite. If only Luxmi would have been more hardened, more realistic…then Xeros wouldn’t have to carry this bothersome mantle of Ruler.

But such is life. When there is no one to fix what is wrong, then you must do it yourself or accept a future filled with misery.

“Do you really think a single display of generosity will sway the citizens of the Slums to your side?” Luxanne says. “You, who is the sole cause for all of their hardship?”

“They reside in the filth and mud because they failed, Luxanne. I could not care less about the older folk: they had their chances, and they squandered them.

“However, even the lowest of dregs can cause a large…inconvenience, if given the chance. All I’ve done is sow a seed of hesitation; they shall be conflicted whenever they think of rebellion. Such thoughts tend to appear in their minds from time to time—unwilling to accept that the fault is their own and instead placing the blame on others for their current hardship—but they shall harken back to this moment of generosity when the ember of rebellion begins to reside within them. I do not expect to swathe them to my side; I expect for them to falter before they fully commit to their folly. That is enough.”

Luxanne stays silent for a moment and takes a few, brief glances at the Freedmen residents. Although the Ruler of their nation is right in front of them, the majority of the populace appear to be ignorant of his presence. A constant rush of bodies storm in and out of the surrounding buildings while a large, moving mass of men and women form on the pavement. Shoes and heels stomp upon the earth in frenzied, rhythmic beats—every person hurrying towards their destinations with heads lowered and eyes focused on the ground. Their dark, leather attire is stained with spots of black and grey—as are their faces coated in a layer of grime—and their skin is dirtied with filth even more so than the Slum residents, but they seem oblivious to their current dishevelment. Or rather, they do not care; work is their only priority.

The Grand General can tell that she’s unnerved by the display, but is this not what every nation should strive for? Strict discipline and a steadied regime are the core values of an efficient workforce, as is also expected from those serving in the army. Luxury shall only be given to those who deserve it; happiness has to be fought for.

“What do you think about the people around us?” Xeros questions. He always asks these types of questions in order to gauge his ever-so naive discipline’s true thoughts, though she never voices them out loud. What’s important is her reaction, the tremble of her voice, and the occasional bout of silence that speaks more than words can.

"...They appear to be hardworking citizens of the empire-"

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

They appear to be conquered remnants of the outskirts unwillingly forced into labor for the empire-

"-full of vigor and passion-"

-beaten and exhausted-

"-who are dedicated towards the improvement of their craft, and the opportunities that await them once they prove themselves worthy of greatness."

-who are meekly fulfilling their duties, and are struggling to maintain a stable life in a nation where competition and desperation dominates over all.

Or so her true thoughts appear to be. Xeros will not deny that their lives can hardly be called a fulfilling one, but this constant stream of work is very effective at dulling their resistance. Their minds are preoccupied with endless duties and tasks, and when night falls and darkness envelops the land, they are too weary to think of naught but respite. There is no opportunity for rebellion; all that is left are tired, tired souls. Even so, they must continue to work or they shall perish. They must continue to survive with only the possibility of future ascension to a better layer, a better life, to keep them motivated.

For a nation constantly seeking to expand itself, balance must be preserved in order to maintain a steady grasp over the populace. Hardship must be accompanied by reward. Kindness must be accompanied by firmness. Make them forget about the past, and steer their sights only towards the future. If only Luxanne would realize this...

"Hm, a model answer," Xeros says. "Remember this Luxanne: loyalty is earned, not given."

"Yes s-"

But before she can finish, a sudden wave of dread washes over them from above. It is a chilling feeling, an impending sense of coming disaster, and as they raise their heads towards the sky, they notice the silhouette of a figure dropping from the upper layer. It faintly resembles that of a woman.

"Is that...?" Luxanne says, eyes widened in horror.

Xeros growls and curses under his breath. "Of course that vile woman would do something like this. Step aside, Luxanne."

She follows his orders and retreats far away from him. The Grand General raises his arms up high, and aura stained black as night begins to cover the entirety of his body. Everything, from head to toe, is covered in darkness while a murky wisp trails away from his cloak.

Sparks of energy crackle in the air around him, growing in size and roaring amidst the turbulent wind until, eventually, it roars to life in giant arcs of dark-red lightning that sizzles and sears everything in the vicinity. The citizens scream and run away from the energy, the entire layer descending into chaos as buildings

In an instant, it unleashes the entirety of its charge onto Xeros's arms, coating it in a layer of screeching discharge and joining with the black wisp to form a swirling array of color. It spins faster and faster until red and black join together in a marriage of blinding light.

"Scattered remnants of the mother long lost—I command you!" he cries out. "Bend to my will, and bring forth the claws of the ones who stalk the night! Come forth, The Corvid’s Talons!”

With a pained cry, Xeros shoots the energy into the air above him. Dark lines of bubbling flesh emerge from the collection of aura, spreading out into thin, pulpous veins before growing sprawling masses of sinew around its budding skeletal structure. Black feathers sprout out from the fleshy base of a human arm; ivory bones jut out and form the shape of a hanged claw from what would be human fingers. The transformation is complete, and towering over the city layer are two pairs of giant hands. The manifestations are not quite human nor corvid, but rather a sickly amalgamation between the two.

“Oya oya, is old raven boy going all out for little ol’ me?” the voice in the distance yells out with glee. “Ever the charmer you are, Xeros!”

“Libevich, you truly excel in testing my patience!” Xeros barks. “I have already heard of your little stunt over in the Archon district; consider this your early punishment.”

The two talons rush towards the descending Libevich and crushes her in-between the palms of their hands. The Nox commander explodes into a pile of splattering organs and flesh, the remnants of her body falling onto the ground and smashing directly in front of Xeros. His cloak becomes soaked in her blood, but it isn’t the first time he has had the misfortune of being sprayed with her insides.

And unfortunately, it will not be the last.

The crushed remnants of her body begin to pulsate and writhe around on the ground. They slowly begin to move, crawling themselves into a grotesque pile—as if each bit of flesh has a mind of its own—before eventually reforming into the shape of the Nox commander once more.

“Fufu, now wasn’t that fun Xeros?” Libevich says with a slur, vocal cords not entirely rebuilt just yet.

“The only thing you have wrought upon me is frustration,” he sighs. “My officers are still busy with cleaning up your tantrum from above, yet already you insist upon creating another disaster with your descent.”

“Aw, don’t you be like that to this old woman. Wasn’t it fun to let loose after so long? The only time you ever use your aura nowadays is to form that creepy eyeball of yours. Embrace the carnage, Xeros; soak yourself in some blood every once in a while.”

“As you can see, I am already soaked in blood. Are you satisfied now?”

He glares at her with a look that would make even the most disciplined soldier falter, but she brushes it off with but a wave of her hand.

“Fine, fine you uptight little corvid. I didn’t come here for you anyways. Now just where is she…”

Libevich looks around the area with the gaze of a lost child looking for their mother before finally spotting Luxanne hiding in a nearby alleyway. It is a rather decent location veiled by the shadows of the walls, but unfortunately the white gleam of her armor betrays any semblance of illusion.

“Luxanne, darling! Come here, come here; it’s been much too long since I’ve last seen you. Come give your godmother a hug!”