At exactly [800] on Nonovber 21st, 2081, the polls for the first President of Rathe came to a close. The deadline to join the queues world-wide had actually ended a half-hour earlier, and thanks to the efficiency of the process, every person got their chance to make their voice heard. Then all at once, the tallies were submitted to the main processing system, giving a final record and naming a winner within seconds.
But many observing the results found them hard to believe. So a recount was held, with each polling station having to reboot their systems and resubmit their results to be processed once more. Yet the outcome remained the same. Then in the interest of ensuring everything was accurate, a few technical squads were sent to polling stations to verify the integrity of the machines. A few key locations were chosen where there were accusations of tampering, and a few more were selected at random to serve as a control. Yet no matter how much they pried, not a shred of interference or manipulation was found.
It was just a little before midnight when the results were finally announced to the public. Corein Gedring on her privately-owned news broadcast was the first to break the story, using intel from an inside source to get it before anyone else. But within minutes of her report, the same information flooded to every other network, posted on the front page of all existing news sites, at the top of any even remotely-related forum.
Though the verbiage changed slightly for each, they all essentially had the exact same headline. ‘And the winner is… Drim Drazah, with an expectation-shattering 89% of the vote!’ As predicted by many, the Fiend had won. But it was by such a high margin that even those who had proudly voted for him, and had no doubts about his campaign and popularity, were a little weary of the results. The world became abuzz with discussion as to whether or not the vote had been rigged or if they were being lied to.
It got to the point that the Central Peace quickly put out a statement to defuse any doubt. Yes, Drim had won, and there was no foul-play involved. That much of the world genuinely stood behind him and his ideals. Compared to when they first re-introduced themselves, let alone a decade ago when the world was still sore and licking their wounds from the war, the Drazah name had been redeemed. It was no longer a taboo word for fear of the past, but rather a symbol of hope for the future.
Then after the initial hectic clamoring had settled, the night was oddly quiet. For whatever reason, there was no press release from either camp. Neither Drim, nor his campaign manager or producer, nor anyone else from the nation of Fiendish made so much of a peep about his victory. And on the other end, there was no word from Hower, whether it be a graceful concession or ranting refusal of the results. After several hours of speculation into the early morning, the masses eventually conceded that it was too late and would all happen the next day, finally retiring to their beds en masse.
But they didn’t expect to wake up to new controversy. Callum Briz had kept his private promise to the Central Peace. Criminal complaints for Hower’s indictments were filed against him in more than twenty countries around the continent, not only by the Vice-Rep but several citizens and independent contractors as well, plus a few more politicians who had their own gripes and circumstances.
The man’s noted absence quickly turned into a manhunt with every law enforcement agency in the world on high alert. The Representative of Horage topped the most-wanted charts within a matter of hours. Yet despite the global effort, no trace of him was ever found.
There were rumors floating about that he’d been killed by The Fiends For Hire who’d caught on to his criminal ways. This spread from eye-witness accounts on the day of the election at Hower’s tower, coupled with damage done to the office, but nothing concrete ever stuck. Officially, the politician was reported missing, with the most popular theory being that he’d gone into hiding after his crimes were uncovered.
And while the Hower dilemma took the spotlight for a few days, when people lost interest, just like always for the past several years, their focus returned to the Fiends. As more time passed and there continued to be absolutely no form of communication, the media went into a frenzy. Theories, conspiracies, even to the point of paranoia, were slung in every direction.
It didn’t help that the Fiends For Hire weren’t exactly doing much to alleviate concerns. In fact, they were practically making it as bad as it could be. Not a single soul was seen entering or leaving the compound ever since the day after the election. No official jobs were completed, none of the Fiendish residents went to their unaffiliated work, and there wasn’t so much as a random post from Niloy who hadn’t missed a day in ages. Then to compound it all, the barrier over the nation of Fiendish had turned opaque, not allowing anyone to peer inside.
The fear that something terrible had happened began to unsettle the general public. They’d just joined together to elect a Fiend as their leader, but now they didn’t even know if the Fiends were alright or even alive. Most of the speculative guesses weren’t remotely close to reality as to why, but a few were surprisingly on the nose. However, they were wholly written off as wild ideas too ludicrous to be possible.
But everything finally settled down and peace returned to the realm when a single message was sent out on Nonovber 33rd. Though it likely wasn’t as lengthy or explanatory as most would have liked, it gave the masses something to cling to.
‘Happy Boon Day everyone. I hope you are having a wonderful holiday. I’d like to thank everyone who went out and voted during the recent election. There was quite an amazing turnout. To everyone who voted for me, I’d like to express my appreciation for your support and believing in me. And to those who didn’t, I hope you’ll give my administration the chance to prove ourselves worthy of your trust to lead this world into a brighter future.’
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
‘The inauguration will be held in two days time on Nonovber 35th, New Years Eve, directly before the main celebration broadcast. Hopefully, it will be kept short, since we wouldn’t want to encroach on the festivities. But regardless of your plans that evening, I hope that you will be able to tune in. Don’t worry, we’ll make it easy for you.’
‘After the swearing-in is complete, I will be giving a speech detailing many of the changes we plan to make and the policies we want to introduce. Our goal is to start off with a bang, showcasing advancements that will go immediately in effect to improve your daily lives and increase the civility of our society as a whole. You won’t want to miss it. -President Elect, The Fiendish King, Drim Drazah.’
Though many were upset by how vague the message was—no mention of Hower or what had been going on, not even an acknowledgement of their absence—most were satiated. And it led to a flurry of new discussions as to what their new president’s plans would be. But they didn’t have long to speculate, just wanting the day to hurry up and come so they could get their answers.
Yet none dreaded the inauguration more than the man himself. It wasn’t just his usual social anxiety. Honestly, after everything they’d been through, giving speeches didn’t even register as a fear anymore. He’d given enough over the years, begrudgingly each time. But now they’d become second nature to him. Addressing the world was the least scary part of what was to come.
What he dreaded was that something would go wrong. Of course they’d checked every contingency a million times over, and it was absolutely guaranteed to work. But he couldn’t bear the thought of what would happen if things didn’t go according to plan and he was left standing in front of everyone stupidly. That alone made him want to turn around and flee without ever looking back.
So in an attempt to calm himself, while the rest of his organization was running around to get things prepared, he did what any good high-ranking businessman would do: absolutely nothing important. The king actually bribed Valen to send him off alone to one of their safehouses in Horage, the closest one to the venue where the inauguration would be held. But instead of heading straight to his destination, he abandoned society and veered towards the nearest forest, planning to distract his mind with some good old-fashioned monster hunting.
And that was how he spent the morning and a good portion of the afternoon for the most important day of his life. The Slayer took it slowly, methodically clearing out the area, ensuring its safety for some time. Since he was so close to civilization, there wasn’t very much in the way of monster activity. But just searching around and being in the calm of the wilderness once more was refreshing.
He even lingered long beyond the time he was supposed to arrive at the venue. It was mildly out of protest, since no one had managed to justify to him why he needed to be there half a day before he was set to appear on stage. If something was truly important, Phon could just teleport him there. And frankly, the less time he spent in the place the better, especially since there were quite a few people he didn’t want to loiter with. That unfortunately wasn’t exclusive to stuffy politicians.
Since the battle with Rathe, things had been a touch awkward at the Fiends For Hire. Not every member had forgiven what he’d done, quite a few of which would be at the event. Even if they understood his actions and his reasonings, they took issue with the way he’d gone about it. Though Drim really couldn’t blame them, and he was starting to wonder if they’d ever look at him the same. Most had gone back to their usual ways after a few days of rest and contemplation, but there were still a select few keeping him at arm's length.
And while everyone unanimously accepted what was going to happen that night, quite a few weren’t jazzed about specific parts of it. Their reasonings weren’t unified across the board either, so there was no way to please all of them. No matter what, the Fiends would never be the same, and they, like everyone else, would wake up to a new world tomorrow.
But for the matters of the day, imagine Chorus’ surprise when they were called out to the security gate a mere hour before the inauguration was set to take place, only to find the guards questioning a man in a blood-stained cloak with weapons on his wrists claiming to be the president-elect. Anyone with a decent pair of eyes could tell it was actually Drim Drazah, but given the purpose of the event and the sheer status of all the guests inside, they were taking absolutely no chances that he wasn’t some well-disguised interloper or assassin.
The producer vouched for the king, and once they were out of sight of the guards, Chorus dragged Drim to the back-door like an angry parent who had just caught their kid shoplifting for the first time. And just to ensure no one saw the crucially important man in such a state, The Quick Changer donned him in employee attire to make him blend in. While they did also have a copy of the suit that the king was supposed to wear, they didn’t want to dirty it while he was still so ragged.
Frankly, The Slayer didn’t mind being treated as such, rather brushed aside as a worker than the future leader that every single person in the event hall wanted to talk to. Even once inside, he was quickly dragged past all the real staff, not even given a moment to take in the grandness of the venue.
It was a brand new building designed for political events, not too far from the CP headquarters—though no one was supposed to know that bit. And this would be its very first use. Also worth noting was that one of the politicians heavily involved in its funding and construction was none other than Gort Hower. He’d been with it from the very start, eager to ensure every detail was just right. It was practically a shame he’d never get to see it live up to its potential.
Drim found himself stuffed into a shower room right next to the staging area. Before he was thrust inside, he thought he caught a glimpse of familiar faces amidst the flurry of busy hands, but thankfully none seemed to have caught on to his presence. The Fiendish King was then left alone to cleanse himself, and he took his time ensuring he was properly dressed with the clothes his producer had left behind.
Finally, he couldn’t delay any longer, and it was time to head out. In a nice change of pace, when he left the room, the hall ahead had almost been entirely cleared. All the staff had vacated, taking their place to witness the events as they unfolded. However, that meant the only ones left were his companions, all now staring him down with their assortment of colored eyes from staggered spots along the hall.
A few at least pretended to be engaged in something else, or were patiently waiting for things to get interesting, but it was clear they all wanted to talk to him before he headed onto the stage. There was still time. Drim would be the last one to swear his oaths, and his speech would end the night. He probably should have been responsible and paid attention to the rest of the political happenings, but frankly, he didn’t care, and his members took precedence. So as their leader, the least he could do was hear them out one final time.