The transmission of King Orlox's death was seen on every droid in the kingdom and in its allied territories; an international news that unleashed panic.
"Vlad, wake up!"
Agatha snapped Vlad out of his stupor, and the sound resumed only for his tear-filled eyes to visualize his father's corpse impaled on the wall, and his mother crying inconsolably in Franksteine's arms.
A scream exploded from the once prince's throat, overwhelmed by strong emotions as he stood up and attempted to go to his father, incredulous of what had happened. In his mind, he kept repeating that it couldn't be real, it all had to be a macabre nightmare induced by nerves until Lawrence's grip took him from behind, preventing him from taking another step.
"Let me go!" he cried out inconsolably, "He needs me!! Dad! Dad!!"
"Please, Vlad! Listen to me, please, son," Lawrence turned him around to look him in the eyes, "you have to be strong, now you are our king and therefore you must behave like one. We will take you to a safe room. It's dangerous for you to be exposed."
"What about my mother?"
"She will go to her own shelter, you trust," Lawrence spoke soothingly, always knowing how to calm him.
"I'll go to protect her majesty," Agatha stood by her lord, "I am his squire and bodyguard! Where he goes, I'll go!"
"I entrust you then, Agatha. Take Sir Garland with you; he is the strongest of the entire royal guard," Lawrence knew he could trust her, he could see how she had been hugging him to calm him with genuine affection.
The lord of the machines analyzed the spear through a hologram on his bracelet and was amazed by the distance it had been thrown.
The guards lifted Orlox's body onto a stretcher, and as it was covered by a white blanket, Alexandra stopped them so she could see his face one last time, giving him a kiss on the forehead before being escorted by Lawrence and Franksteine, who picked up the spear to analyze it in his laboratory; undoubtedly, it possessed a science that was unknown, imbued with the "spark".
…
In the streets of the city, chaos reigned. Uncontrolled masses ran frantically, terrified by the possibility that the terrorist attack had not ended, while local militia tried futilely to maintain order. Everything according to the plan of a shadowy figure, hooded and crouched on a fire escape in an alley, far from public view, in a cold calm reflected in that sharp smile; the darkness had not ended.
A pair of young lovers ventured into its domain, seeking refuge. As they fell under the shadows of the buildings, they did not see the hooded figure who leaped upon them, seizing them both by the nape of their necks, slamming them to the ground. He didn't kill them, but he left them badly wounded—broken noses, bleeding bones, consciousness fleeing their bruised bodies.
The stranger withdrew his right glove, revealing long, twisted purple nails resembling crow's claws, and venomous as snake fangs. He buried his index finger into both their necks in a swift jab. He injected a larva that made its way into their bodies, one that could remain dormant until he gave the order, as he had done to many victims within the crowd, reaching the limit of what the spark allowed.
…
Vlad and Agatha followed the silent Garland through the hallways of black and white cobblestone floors amidst opulent walls illuminated by stained glass. The young king's heart raced as he lost his breath, his mind teetering on the brink of collapse under the strain of his own sanity's descent. He was in a true battle, like never before, and as Lawrence had said in their death chamber trainings, in wars, he would always be a prime target for the enemy.
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A golden crown, even if he wasn't wearing it, was already tattooed on his soul, seen by all who would claim it. By becoming king, he ceased to be a mere human and had to take that power, master it, or be consumed by the sheer terror of a burden that was already suffocating him.
He gripped the steel and rifle hilt, unsure of which to turn to in initiating a combat. He had been in skirmishes against barbarians in the past, small battles and monster hunts in his training stays with the Makian tribes; he had always had bodyguards.
Garland opened the doors to a bastion of long banners on the railings, shaken by the whistling wind, a fifty-meter journey to great heights. Looking down invited vertigo, so they encouraged the suddenly slowed pace, halted abruptly by Garland's massive bulk just halfway through the journey.
"What's wrong, Gary?" Agatha didn't understand the giant's behavior, who only growled in a sign of agitation, smelling the stench of blood and murderous instinct.
Before them, the opposite door opened, and ten soldiers emerged; something strange was happening to them. Clad in head-to-toe armor, faces hidden by helmets, carrying bayonets and electric spears, they stood in a defensive line with bowed heads, like inert figures.
Cold sweat ran down Vlad's forehead, his tongue twisted in his mouth, unable to issue an order for them to step aside. Something was wrong, a darkness of pure type emanated from those soldiers, and from a distance, he could feel it; from their visors, there was nothing but darkness.
By invisible command, the silent soldiers raised their bayonets and squeezed the triggers, firing a burst of bullets and sparks blocked by Garland's massive bulk as he charged forward with crossed arms, unleashing a warlike cry.
In a display of titanic strength, he broke the formation of his former comrades, tearing them from the ground, flipping them upside down, and hurling them into the void; finishing one of them by slamming him to the ground with a punch that crushed the helmet, liquefying the skull that oozed its gray matter through the cracks of the shattered armor. The unstoppable knight, his own body was the weapon itself.
The door through which they had entered reopened, a new horde of silent soldiers was coming after them armed with bayonets and electric spears, aiming to kill. All artillery this time was repelled by an arcane wall raised by Agatha's hand, trained in the use of the spark; she measured her strength against the fire of twenty distant warriors, giving time for the armored one to resume the charge, breaking through the barrier like water straight into a slaughter that was taking time they didn’t have.
Among the bodies, Vlad took the electric spear, long-range hand-to-hand combat and distance shooting by a cannon attached to the tip, activated by a trigger on the handle smeared with glyphs. The weight of the weapon somehow made him feel bolder.
"Hurry up, Vlad!"
Agatha directed him, floating, propelled by her own runes fueled by the spark within her; a gift few were born with, and Vlad was not lucky enough to have it, compensated with the means available to the elite.
Inside the tower, they descended the spiral stairs at a brisk pace, and upon entering the hallway, they encountered a horrific scene. The study room, checkerboard of black and white, the large bookshelves casting their shadow over a bloody cannibalistic orgy of the servants, grotesquely deformed; piled up, peeling like animals on all fours for the entrails of the disemboweled guards who did not incubate the larva, rib cages from which they ripped out raw intestines thrust into bestial mouths emitting resonant growls.
Sharp claws covered in red, muzzles divided into four parts filled with yellowed twisted fangs, pale veiny skins with pointed ears and completely black eyes. Vlad endured the nausea, instinctively recoiling, and the grip on his spear trembled. Agatha stepped forward with staff in hand, her gaze reflecting the iron in opposition to the ghouls who squealed in unison at the entry of new prey.
Time slowed down before Vlad's eyes, all sound muffled, only the beating of his heart kept him sane, and as he was about to execute the first bolt from his spear, Agatha pronounced sentence by raising her scepter, which gleamed in a blinding light.
A wave of dizzying winds struck down the hungry horde, carrying with it shelves, books, and papers that were ravaged by this invisible force, currents that fluttered the robes of the sorceress and the young king. The screams of the beasts as they were smashed against the walls, floor, and ceiling, smeared with blood, eclipsed the sound of the bells on Agatha's hat.
Time gained, not all ghouls fell from broken necks, some still able to move among their broken bodies, unable to feel pain, using their claws to crawl and rise only to receive a clean stab from the king's spear, still hesitant as they were once his own employees; the only comfort was the mercy of freeing them from that pitiful existence.
Finishing off those who stood in their way, they continued their route through the echoing halls, the siege alarm issued by Sir Todur echoing through the speakers. A massive attack by a plague that infected part of the staff, by an entity unknown to Vlad's knowledge, panting as he sprinted alongside his flying shield who controlled the winds as she was the bearer of the spark.