“You must die, Shai-Alud,” Prince Nagoya was saying as Marcus’s consciousness began to fade under the waves of Thea. “Your face simply causes me undo irritation.”

Marcus felt the waters of the world flow into his throat and fill his lungs, till his heart decided it was time to give in.

But his mind – that was another story. It died in Marcus’s skull just as his will reached out to touch Nagoya’s wild nerves.

…remember the streets of the human Empire, Nagoya? Remember how they shall parade you through them like a whipped dog.

A flinch – not much, but enough. Marcus felt the Yokun’s claw begin twitch. His grip didn’t loosen, but something had happened, then. This was the first time Nagoya had felt the consequences of being the Shai-Alud’s sleeping test subject for the past few weeks.

The path you walk now…leads to those streets…and to your shame.

A little more twitching. This time, Marcus’s eyes closed, no longer feeling the stinging of the chlorine seas salting them. Instead, he peered into Nagoya’s flailing brain, sensing the tension that was eating at his resolve.

You will be their greatest spectacle…a living embodiment of your people’s failure…

More than a twitch, this time. Now it had become a spasm that ran up the Prince’s scaled arm. He said something which Marcus didn’t hear – but he knew he said it in pain, and with more than a little hint of desperation.

So he went for broke.

Your father will die knowing his son was a failure, and a shamed leader. He will die regretting that he ever birthed you…

And into those words Marcus poured everything – all his own hate, his own anxieties, his own insecurities about the future in this world and those about the future he’d once envisioned for himself before he’d ever met Mari – a blank, discordant miseryscape of disappointment and shame that finally forced Nagoya back, and Marcus rose to take some frantic gulps of Thean air just before his jaws closed up for good.

When he turned, gasping on the sands of the beach, he saw Nagoya looking at him with abject horror, clawing at his own eyes as the picture of his imagined defeat swam in his mind.

“Get…Get out of my mind!” he screamed.

Marcus leaped away from his reaching claws – now, he was an animal going for the kill. Now, there was no Princely pretense.

But as he swiped at the Shai-Alud’s torso, tearing chunks out of his jacket, the Shai-Alud sent only more depraved thoughts into his head, injecting him with visions of his burning, whipped body, broken and bloody against the uncaring sun.

And when Marcus shot another blast of energy at his chest, this time the Yokun was not able to block it. He fell, tumbled over in the muddy waters of the beach shallows, and rose with eyes that spoke of nothing but primal, killing intent.

Yeild…Nagoya…Marcus whispered, his wheezing body barely able to keep up with his thoughts anymore. Run back to your city. Tell them the end is coming. Perhaps then you can still salvage a piece of your honor.

The eyes of the lizardman twitched and then closed, the Prince clamping his claws down on his forehead as though he could still the evil thoughts of his tormentor with pure will alone.

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“I…I am not…your…slave!”

Even as he roared this, Marcus saw the unbelievable truth: the feet of Nagoya had begun to move of their own accord – away from him. Towards the jungle foliage…

“Shai-Alud – get down.”

Marcus saw the dagger that pierced through the air before he heard the weapon being thrown. He’d already fallen – he couldn’t exactly help it. And when he looked back up at his opponent he saw Nagoya’s abdomen had been impaled with a silver blade that glistened against the onset of early morning twilight.

“Your move, Prince,” Karliah said as she stepped into view, one dagger raised and ready to strike the Yokun down.

Marcus looked up at her for the brief moments before he finally faded away, before returning his gaze to Nagoya’s bulging eyes and bleeding gut. Their eyes met, and for a brief few seconds there was nothing but fear that passed between them.

And only then did Nagoya obey Marcus’s command. He ran.

“Coward!” the Tigran shrieked above Marcus, readying herself to leap and give chase – and being stopped by Marcus.

“N…no…” he spat. “He…he’s worth more to us…alive…”

Marcus was able to just catch the incredulous look of the Tigran as she turned to regard him just before he let himself fall into the sands.

“…whatever,” she said. “But you owe me a new dagger, Shai-Alud.”

…

---Hokiyama, City of Scarlet Knives---

---Patriarch Kanade Jung’s Pagoda---

Patriarch Jung looked out into the blooming cherry-blossoms that lined his city’s streets. Hokiyama’s blossoms were in full bloom, this year, and though he was too old to spend his days meandering among the common Yokun these days, he still enjoyed taking in the sights of the new autumn festival from his Pagoda balcony.

This year’s was a double celebration, however. In the far distance, far beyond the Nobles quarter, the great Dreadnoughts commanded by his son were steaming into port. From here, Jung could almost see the entire fleet. Yokun of all stripes had gathered on the hills behind the city for the occasion – the welcoming home of their valiant Prince who had beat then humans back to their dingy cities in the North. When the flagship finally hit their shores, the banners of the House of Blades were unfurled on the great seawalls of Hokiyama, and the Patriarch watched as his son disembarked, waving with a firm steelclad claw to his people.

He allowed himself a smile – the smile of a proud father watching his son return, and yet knowing that he must leave again.

“Yaresh…” he mumbled to himself. “Only you can be trusted to subdue these infidels in the South. Not even a Shai-Alud born of the rats can resist you.”

The Patriarch poured himself a small bowl of Zakry wine as he sat and sighed under the weight of his commandment.

“Here I am,” he said, “A father sending another son off to a war on the eve of his greatest victory…but who else can be counted on if not you, Yaresh? Besides, when you learn of Nagoya’s fate, you’d have volunteered yourself. I know it. You are the hammer. Nagoya, the shield. And Yamrah…”

He heard familiar footsteps as he uttered these words – those of Prince Yamrah approaching him with firm intent.

He is the mind.

“Father,” the Prince said. “My Brother awaits you with the delegates from his Clan. Shall we greet him together in the Court?”

The boy spoke these words as officially as he could, but his father was not to be deceived. He could tell when his son had an air of frustration to him. For the last few days he had sequestered himself in the training rooms beneath the palace, practicing against slaves and even slaying a few when his temper reached boiling point. Jung had heard reports that his son was blowing off steam – such as boys his age tended to. Jung could guess at what had prompted this behavior.

But, instead of directly addressing the cause of his son’s ire, Jung simply allowed himself another small sigh. There was no need to provoke immediate confrontation on this day of all days, especially when he may be able to, as the humans said, kill two birds with one stone…

“Such pomp and celebration,” he said. “As I have grown old, so has my patience for sycophants withered on the vine. If I could simply have Yaresh come to these chambers and ignore all these silly traditions, I would do so in a heartbeat.”

“You are the Emperor of the Blades,” Yamrah pointed out. “If you so commanded it…”

“Oh, am I?” Jung chuckled. “Forgive me, my boy, sometimes I forget these days.”

At Yamrah’s surprise, Jung extended him a withered old hand.

“Please, my son,” he said. “Do not feign surprise. If any of the Court – or the other Houses for that matter – ever felt that I was no longer fit to rule, they would take the head from my shoulders without a second thought. Loyalty to the Empire and loyalty to me seem not exactly synonymous these days.”

“Father…such actions would be treason!”

“To whom?” Jung countered, raising a quizzical eyebrow to his son. “When a traitor rules, can there really still be those who shall live to contest their claim?”

“Father – you – you would know,” Yamrah protested. “If anyone planned to usurp you, you would have seen it coming already.”

“You think too highly of me, my son,” Jung said. “There are many within the Court who think to hide their true faces from me – shedding their smiles for new sneers every few months or even weeks. You, my son, are no exception.”

Yamrah bristled, but before he could say anything more his father cut through him.

“You are frustrated that I will not permit you to travel South with your Brother.”

Yaresh looked as though he were about to make some impulsive retort. The fact that he stopped himself told his father that there was wisdom in his youngest son.

Good, he thought. That’s what I need from you.

“Go on, Yamrah,” Jung then said. “Make your case. Why should I send my other son off to war?”

Yamrah straightened up, fixed the crimson sash that crossed his pristine onyx armor, and answered his father without a single step out of line:

“Father, I am your loyal son now and always,” he said. “But our family is the cornerstone of this Empire. I do not see why I should stand by and let one of us fall to the vile Keji-Sai of the Pale Lady and her infidel mate, Father.”

Jung sat back, took another swig of wine, and smiled up at his son’s barely tamed anger.

“My son,” he said. “That is exactly why I need you by my side.”