This account will hopefully lead you to better understand the power that The Council wielded. They certainly had political power, but due to a general lack of agreement they seldom used it, so the brutal power on display here was much more commonly utilized. It was that power which the populace truly feared, and that fear was what drew them to The Inviolate and other drastic acts of rebellion.

Notes as to the following pages:

Masquerade, the person whose journal this originates from, has a distinct, flowery writing style that few of the others could imitate, more akin to that of classical poets and (dare I say) myself than the casual recounting I request. Even when journaling, it seems they are trying to be superior. I kept in some of the language, but made sure to help out the laymen that may read this by shortening some descriptions and doing other minor tweaks.

The plan was simple, I thought. Impossible to muck up, provided we all stuck to our duties, which I specifically designed to fit each of them. But I suppose my inability to empathize with the ants working beneath me was my hamartia, as it tends to be.

Thank the gods these ants weren’t as easily crushed.

I put down my fabric scissors and half-finished Godric mask and slid off Glint’s, glancing at the collection I keep beneath my shirt, though I knew the sorted order by heart and which one I needed already. Smiling despite myself, I plucked Zeus’ mask from the row (2nd, on purpose, I like to keep it on hand) and pressed it on, feeling my body twist and my features morph. Zeus’ form was always enjoyable because flying, for me, never truly lost its luster.

I hovered off the ground, supported by an updraft of my own creation, and sped off towards the castle.

The first thing I noticed was not, as I expected, a lone Hoplite (F’s Note: Used here as a term for a duplicate of Amok) keeping watch at the portcullis- Amok’s body was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the entire area was vacant. Damn it to Tartarus, even the guards weren’t present, which means- may the gods take pity, they know we’re here.

I sped over the outer wall, considering my options from here. Redfur, at least, I could count on, but who did I make the most important among these bumbling fools?

Host. Definitely Host.

I circled the castle itself in a matter of seconds, eyes searching for- there it is. The bright orange skin and head of lime green hair ensured I spotted it before it even had a chance to spot me. Landing softly on the ground behind Host, I spoke in the tone I use to intimidate, though coming out of Zeus’ mouth it wasn’t quite as effective.

“Host. Did anyone escape, or is my paranoia just setting in?”

It spun around, looking shocked for just a half-second before it started to speak to me with a tone dripping of sarcastic sycophancy.

“Masq, yah knaow yah cahn't just snayk up on me loike that! Oy moigh' hahve just abeow' peessed moy pahnts.”

I scowled until he replied.

“Nobody gawt awhy, thaht's faw shooah. Nawt even a poigeon.”

“What- Do you think you’re supposed to kill the messenger pigeons? That’s-”

“Amok's thing, Oy knaow. Cahn't a mahn do ah sistah a fuyvah?”

A favor, it said. As though this was the time to be trading duties.

“Where is she?”

“Trehshurers Vault.”

“Lovely. I’m headed over.”

As I flew off, it said something. Athena knows what, I still struggle with the damned accent. Besides, I had slightly more important things to do, such as keeping these miscreants from getting away with flagrant defiance. I swooped into the castle itself, and quickly switched to Glint’s mask again, prepping for the rush, or lack thereof. The world outside, as usual, was brought to a crawl, and I smirked at the thought of Glint having to deal with this constantly. The poor fellow must get quite bored.

I walked down the halls at my own pace, heading down a couple flights before I heard something, a crash slowed to oblivion. Looking around, I spotted a slight crack forming in one of the walls, and strolled over, watching it slowly grow. Sighing, I peeled off Glint’s mask, keeping it in my hand just in case, and the world went normal again.

In a quarter of a second the wall was demolished, and the two ahead quickly followed. I grabbed Sprint’s mask from the shirt and sped over after slipping it on. The real Sprint was currently breathing hard, holding the Captain’s distinctive helm in his left hand, though it was hardly recognizable now with the shape it was crushed into. It was currently dripping blood upon his leg, which I found slightly unpleasant. Sprint looked to me with a dust covered face and spoke through labored breath:

“Either you, Masq, got too fed up to let us do your dirty work, or I’m having a nightmare. Either way, why did you pay me a visit?”

“You’re 10 minutes late, no signal. We should have the throne by now, what happened?”

“You do your job, I’ll do mine, ok?”

“Your job was to inform the Captain of the guard that they’d be reporting to us from now on. How in Tartarus did you get yourself here?”

“They weren't listening.”

“That doesn’t mean-”

“I just taught him how to have an open mind.”

I stared at him with little humor. When I next spoke, my tone was dark and sharp:

“You are a fool and a knave. Where is Amok.”

“Calm down, she's at the basement level I think. Passed her and ‘Lurge while I was looking for the Captain's room, which wasn’t where you said it would be, by the way.”

I felt my nails dig into my palms.

“Both of them? Please tell me you are saying anything other than what I think you’re saying right now.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“I don’t think I am? Listen, they said you told them to head down.”

Frustrated, I stormed off, Sprinting down the stairs to basement level. As I approached, I slowed to a quieter speed, and felt Sprint do the same beside me. Without turning to him, I remarked with direct malice:

“I didn’t ask for you to follow me.”

“You act like I usually want permission.”

I rolled my eyes, and like he could sense it, he continued:

“You need all of us to storm the throne room anyways.”

“Horseshit. I need you people like I need a doxy, or like you need to resolve situations without flattening someone’s skull. Which is to say, maybe I do, but strike me down before I admit it.”

That made Sprint laugh, which consequently alerted someone to our presence. Out of the shadows came a woman in half-plate, built like a bear and just about as hairy- a Hoplite, for sure. She looked a little shameful, doing her best to hide it.

“Oh, hello Masq! I was just leav-”

“Send out Amok.”

She began to rub the back of her neck.

“Amok said they’ll kill me if I-”

I retracted my hand from her chest a second later, her right lung firmly in my grip.

“And Olympus forbid that, right?”

I dropped the lung and groaned, rubbing my eyes with my forearms.

“I’m tired.”

Sprint chuckled and patted me on my back before heading to the vault’s open door, with myself following after. Looking inside, it was far more expansive than I had initially assumed, and I couldn’t see either of the two people I’d come to talk sense into. Obscenely frustrated at this point, I began to yell for Amok with much greater ferocity than my usual commands showed:

“MUCK! COME OUT HERE!”

Sure enough, slinking like a dog who ate your rib-eye, Amok showed her face, peeking out from behind a marble statue of some Olympian I’d never learned about.

“Sorry Masq. I didn’t mean to-”

“Oh but you did. That’s the problem, isn’t it? That you can’t keep your Hermean fingers from the treasure for THREE SECONDS?!”

She shrunk back, and I contemplated the difficulty of doing to her what I did to the Hoplite. Styx, I even have her backup’s location, I could end her altogether with ease…

But no. Whether I like it or not, I need them. All of them.

For the time being, at least.

“Amok, I beg you to stop shoving gold coins and jeweled chalices up your asshole and assist me in taking the throne room. Remember, without Kyrian, I hold authority.”

Head low, Amok walked past me and out of the vault. Signaling for Sprint to accompany her, I glanced around for Metallurge, and found him crouched amongst the jewelry.

“What are you doing.”

He replied quickly, eyes never leaving the ornate necklace he was examining:

“Do you remember Verona?”

“Vaguely. You’re still courting her?”

“Getting married, actually. Within the year.”

“Cheers, but don't make excuses.”

He sighed, as though he wasn’t at fault.

“Masq, get all the way off my ass.”

In a fraction of a second, I pulled him up by his collar till he was level with my eyes.

“Say that again and I’ll show you why I was Kyrian’s first.”

He stood up to his full height, a good few inches taller than Blink’s body put me, and placed his hand on my midriff, holding it firmly.

“You’re gonna… what, beat me? With what? Torture me? How? Kill me? I’d put you in the ground before you could reach for my mask.”

“I could just-”

“Maybe. Or maybe you’d just fail to kill one of your few trusted accomplices and get put into a coma in the process. Is it really worth trying?”

This greatly angered me, but I tried to speak as though it didn’t. I let go of his collar.

“Fair enough.”

“Nice to see we can talk things out. Now, leave me alone while I sort, I have a lot to get through.”

My lip twitched into a snarl for but a second, before I managed to resume control.

“Very well.”

Once he let me go I Sprinted upstairs, silently fuming. My plan was in crumbles, my council was all incompetent or treasonous, and, to say the least, I was not pleased. Kyrian, I wondered, where are you now? Always there when you don’t, but when you require him most…

Shaking the thoughts from my head, I reached the Throne Room door. A strong yet elegant affair, it was about 16 feet tall and 8 inches thick, silver-trimmed black pine with a 5’8” human-shaped hole blown through it. Stepping in, I observed the… interesting scene laid out before me:

Redfur, in full Lupine physique, wolf eyes burning with either hunger or rage (but likely hunger), was restraining King Godric with little effort, surrounded by the half-consumed gore of what I assumed to be the Royal Guard. Sprint and Amok, meanwhile, were using the gaudy gilded curtains to rub the blood off their hands and faces, to little success.

Time to make the best of a bad situation, I resolved.

“Hello, good king Godric, it is saddening that this is how we must become acquainted.”

The king, often looking confident and secure (if not haughty), was looking quite the opposite in this scenario. His voice quivered with every word he spoke.

“Wh-what are you people?”

I gave him a wry smile.

“Monsters. Nightmares, some might call us. Gods of a sort. Is that really important to you?”

Redfur’s saliva slowly dripped onto his shoulder while he gave the matter thought.

“I suppose it isn’t terribly so. But it might help me determine what you desire. I can please a god, and wake from a nightmare, but I’m unsure if I can slay a monster like you.”

That certainly had hit a chord. This man certainly knew how to talk his way out of things.

“I want your kingdom, king.”

He sighed and spoke with dejection:

“Very well, I will relinquish my status to you, provided you call off the attack dog.”

I nodded.

“Sounds lovely. Redfur and Sprint, keep the good king restrained. Amok, if I may have a wo-”

That’s when Redfur bit the good king’s head off.

Closing Notes: After this, Masquerade went to sleep. He wrote this 3 days after the event, and still seemed just as angry. I’d be surprised, but at risk of revealing what’s to come, he never really lost that anger.

Just burned bright until finally snuffed.