2044

William Wallace

A darkness hung over the innermost chamber as Amnael’s soul faded through his nostrils like a musky steam. It was thicker than vapor and he felt chills run through his blood as he inhaled, licking the girl’s blood off his lips. He stood up to his full height and ran a hand through his hair. They stuck in clumps from the sweat that had coated in the swipe. They had stuck his bangs back in a wild mess. He was breathing heavy. His vision waned, but he tensed and pushed through it, stabilizing his breathing.

William looked down at the broken mess of bones and blood that stained the carpet. He blinked and his eyed darted past the ornate decorations toward the rear of the room. There was a disturbance that he was now hyper focused on. It took him a moment to come to terms with what exactly had felt off, he noticed the hairs on the backs of his arms were standing up on edge. He took a deep breath and understood.

He turned and whipped out his arm toward the heavyset door—his arm shot out like a branch, angling up and down at sharp angles. It ended in a sharpened edge, piercing the door and hooking upward. A voice spattered out as blood caught in the throat of the person behind the door.

William stood still with their heart in his grip, the edge piercing right through the center and tearing a hole open. He opened his fist and as the point separated back into his fingers it tore the hole open even further as the body began to shake. He retracted his arm, and it came back crimson. The body on the other side of the door fell with a slump.

He walked over toward the door slowly and placed a measured hand on the door—mounting great force to push it open. It stopped at the body, and he pushed harder. It opened enough for him to step out and he looked down as the door slowed to a close behind him.

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It was his champion. A machinist’s daughter who had an impressive display in her fight for her role. She had overtaken the previous champion by using her wits to use his strength against him. The previous champion was a brute who thought the only way to win a fight was to hit really hard. It had worked for a time for him—but it wasn’t the most memorable strategy. It clearly was going to backfire on him when he came across someone who could take advantage of his pitiable intelligence and ill desire to adapt to new situations. His new champion here had given him the exact medicine he deserved…and here she went and threw it away for her morals. It seems she had some misguided plan to try and usurp the throne. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what method she had used to sneak into the palace. It was an impressive feat, but at the end of the day he felt a pride in snuffing out such a motivated soul.

He continued down the hall toward the spiral staircase heading down. The expansive room under his chambers led to the central elevator that connected through the rest of the palace. It was most likely that the champion had managed some way to the elevator. If he were the dormant kind of ruler that always kept to his chambers he surely would be at massive risk of invasion through the atrium.

It put to mind an idea of a trap he could place for such a future soul who would get an idea. He opened the doors to the elevator and stepped inside. He had some things to check on now that his situation with Amnael has changed. He would return back to the chambers to recover the body—he’d need to schedule a public display to name the arrangement of a new champion, the girl’s family would probably rebel at the sight of their daughter’s corpse. It would be unfortunate to lose a family as skilled as them, but it was an important lesson to learn that only you could be irreplaceable. Dependency was a death knell.

But first, he would go to his workshop and begin working on his own little projects. A new vigor flowing through his blood was sending his mind into a creative frenzy. He had urges and desired to manifest them into reality. The doors shut behind him and he descended.