A slow fog had rolled through the capital of the Bogan’s new empire, seeming to set a backdrop for an ominous sight. The buildings in Cytora were advanced compared to most of the world, due to decades of isolation following the first war allowing for unhindered technological advancements, and the skyscrapers jutted out from the planet like mighty trees in an iron forest. The large palace within the city was a darker gray than the other buildings around it, made of a metal that gave it a shine even against the smallest of light. Faint lights were visible from the heart of the city, and the constant hum of the Bogan’s bullet train system gave the only proof of inhabitants within the dense fog. Many would call it a technological marvel.
The inside of the citadel brought forth a much older look. The carpets and torches within seemed like that of a castle from one of the Human Kingdoms. All rooms within the citadel led to a large banquet hall, in the back of which lay a large throne, the top layer of which was fitted with an onyx base and ruby accents which formed a thorn like pattern along the back. Two large curved spikes lined the top left and right corners of the seat, which was beautiful enough to make even Boone, the God of commerce, swoon where he stood. The extremely long table near the front of the hall sat empty, as it usually did. It regularly collected dust that the servants would have to clean, as it hasn’t seen much use since the victory dinner, the night the Bogan king’s reunification of his homeland was complete, and the night the Second Bogan War began.
Only a few souls populated the hall. A stern faced individual stood in front of the throne, facing it. His appearance was human, a thin face and pointed chin was combined with his bluish-gray colored hair, combed backwards and parted in the middle. Despite his hair color, his face seemed only in his late thirties or early forties. He wore a long cloth robe of a singular dark gray color, similar to the citadel’s exterior.
The throne he stood in front of was occupied. A Bogan sat in it, caressing his own face with a metal finger, intrigued as to what the man was telling him. The right eye and right arm of the Bogan no longer existed, replaced with cybernetic enhancements. The arm was well fabricated and of a sleek and smooth design, light steel in color with a white stripe through the middle. Inside the arm, an orange stone lay embedded in its palm. The eye matched the color and sleekness of the arm, the focal point being the large red circle that stood in place of a normal Bogan eye, the lens of it slightly jutting out of the cybernetics that held it in place with small wires to match. His face was rounded, with sharp eyebrows to match his gaze which could probably cut through stone. The cyborg’s ears twitched every so often as he scratched his bald head.
He made himself living proof of the benefits of a technological revolution. Cyber, the Prophet, had made the ultimate sacrifice, giving up life and literal limb to become part of what his words of wisdom had sewn for him. He held no regrets, only hope for his voice to reach the ends of the planet.
The human spoke with a cold tone, for most of his emotions had died long ago. “The report from our occupation zone of Briarteal has confirmed success. At this moment they have thirteen wagons worth of prisoners within the encampment, with more on the way.” The man slowly turned towards the door. “Perhaps your ramblings will work on them, after all.” The Bogan lord shifted in his seat, unamused. “I care not for what my ‘ramblings’ shall do to them, Malcolm. I care that they are well tended to.” Cyber’s fake eye flickered as it stared him down. His voice was booming, full of nothing but determination and sternness, and yet he sounded more concerned than anything at the moment.
“Lord Cyber, imprisonment is meant to have purpose, and part of that purpose is keeping those imprisoned in line. That includes-”
“Do not lecture me about such fallacies, Icara.” Cyber slammed his cybernetic fist into the armrest of his throne. “These people are being stolen from their homes by foreign lands, dragged into enemy territory for a purpose not yet known to them. Their time spent there shall be as pleasant as it can be.” he scoffed, dropping the name of Malcolm’s race. Cyber was very careful when it came to POWs, for it was not their fault their leaders were incompetently sending them to die in foreign soil. In his eyes, he could ‘help’ them see the truth, and join his cause.
The Icara were similar to the humans of the world, with one simple difference: They had avian-like wings. Natives of the northern nation of Frostfall, the Icara were technically neutral in the war, but Malcolm sought out the Bogan hierarch for personal goals. Malcolm’s dark grey wings were tucked away behind the large cloak he wore as he sneered slightly. Cyber always referred to him as The Icara when he was annoyed.
“I’m afraid that was only the good news.” Malcolm continued, seemingly used to such remarks. Cyber crossed his legs on the throne as he leaned back further. “Oh, is that so?” he asked with an obviously fake interest, tilting his head as his eyebrows rose sarcastically.
“Indeed, it appears the convoy containing the royal blood is currently undergoing a coup of sorts. Considering a majority of those imprisoned in it have soul shards, I see the guards standing little chance. They’ll surely succeed.” Malcolm’s tone remained constant as Cyber sat and listened. Following was a long pause as Cyber thought, his demeanor fading as he internally realized the severity. Malcolm took his silence as a sign of disinterest.
“Your majesty, if she makes it back to Merla, she will surely tell Queen Beatrice of her capture. Anweon may sway to the Maxim side, we cannot-”
Malcolm was interrupted again. “I suppose we were wrong to believe that we could keep up this system forever. Someone was bound to escape. Of course it was the one person we didn’t want to…” Cyber seemed to talk to himself, distant.
Malcolm quietly looked around, uneasy and unsure of what to say. Cyber turned towards him, his eye flickering again. “There’s a simple solution to this issue. Many shard users work as mercenaries and bounty hunters. There are those whose loyalty is neither ours or our enemies, they simply care about a paycheck.” Cyber smiled to himself as he said this. Malcolm glanced towards the wall as he thought. “Are you saying that you’ll simply put a bounty on her? If one were to find her that was loyal to Anweon, then-”
“They will prevail, Icara.” Cyber growled slightly. “One wouldn’t be able to resist what shall be on her head. And if he were, then simply send another one better than he.” Cyber finally began to rise out of his throne, the metal arm creaked slightly as it gripped the armrest.
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“The war has caused poverty, and poverty brings desperation for income. There will always be a better and hungrier hunter, Malcolm.” He said, letting go of the throne as he stood straight up. “500,000. That’s how much she shall be worth, the bounty being placed under your name, of course. Most Maxim know not of your allegiances nor your name.” Cyber said, descending the three steps from his throne. Malcolm's eye twitched slightly.
“Perhaps you should rather send me to collect her, Lord Cyber, or perhaps Jericho may find some use.” Malcolm was very unnerved to have his name publicly attached to a matter such as this.
“Jericho is many times more useful than you, Icara, and his loyalty far exceeds what I’m certain yours could ever be. You shall remain here, so you may not conspire against me. Always remember that your life within my walls is only as valuable as your research.”
Cyber’s mechanical eye sputtered a bit, before sparking and shining an image onto the wall in front of them like a projector. There it showed an image of Alice, taken while she was talking with an individual. Seems a stalker type person had followed her somewhere and taken the shot before taking her out.
“So many resources wasted for a simple girl.” Malcolm stood behind Cyber, his arms clasped behind his back as he glared at the image before him. Were it not for the cloak , one would see his hands trembling with anger. His superior was a fool. A fool, yes, but a fool with deep pockets and a deeper desire to finish the war swiftly as to minimize casualties. This desire led to Malcolm being allowed to run his experiments to begin with, as many would call them macabre, cruel and unusual… war crimes.
The door slammed open as a pair of Bogan guards brought in a human man, desperately attempting to fight the grips on him. His darker skin had partly given away his homeland. “We found this one attempting to communicate with South Sindelva. We believe he is guilty of espionage.” The Bogan said in their native language.
The man struggled through grit teeth as Cyber’s projected image faded. He walked over slowly, the man’s attempts at breaking free became more sporadic the closer he got. When Cyber reached the man, he smiled as warmly as a Bogan could before slowly extending his arm. The man leaned backwards, but the Prophet’s hand touched his forehead. The man’s fighting slowly faded as his eyes began turning many shades. Eventually it settled on a pinkish color before the guards dropped him. The man slowly rose, no longer in a fighting state as he slowly grew a smile on his face. Cyber motioned towards the door, and the guards left, the man following them. “Tell the Sindelvans that all is well.” Cyber’s order echoed through the room towards the man before the door closed.
Cyber’s attention returned to Malcolm’s previous comment, as Malcolm stood slightly frozen after remembering the true powers the man he thought a fool had within him. “Perhaps it is, Malcolm, but this girl knows not what fate has set for her. Even we cannot fully comprehend what a descendant of his may be capable of.” Cyber stared at his non mechanical hand, pinkish sparks emitting from it before he closed his fist. “Fate demands her to be here.”
“I… shall inquire for a bounty to be placed.” Malcolm's voice shook slightly. Cyber chuckled slightly at the fear he had instilled. “Very good. Now, return to your research afterwards. You promised me results, and I wish to see them by the week’s end.” he waved his hand before walking back towards his throne. “When Jericho returns, inform him of the status. Considering it’s his men operating the prison and its transports, I’m sure he’d like to know the damage.”
As Malcolm weaseled away, Cyber resumed his position as he sat again upon the onyx throne. He rested his head against his arm as he hummed to himself. He sat alone for a few seconds before his humming stopped. His face contorted to have a more stern look, although there was no one to receive it. His thoughts got the best of him. He always tried to not think about it, he would never know if there was a shard user that could read minds. This time, however, he thought almost out of instinct as he sat alone in his throne.
‘Even now… whatever lies inside the vault still calls to me like a beacon’.
The door to the throne room creaked open as a group of silhouettes clustered together near the entrance of it. Cyber looked up, his smile eerily spreading across his face. “Ah, I see you’ve finally arrived. Malcolm may attract a few wandering souls with his tasked bounty, but I prefer those who are true to their claims of being… ’professionals’.”
Cyber had known the status of this coup long before Malcolm had. Malcolm could not be trusted, and so he had other resources to obtain important data. As Cyber has said to his face, his only importance was his research, but he felt Malcolm may remain more loyal were he given a higher position, even if it were fabricated. He had sent word out for such mercenaries prior, and thankfully due to one of his minion’s soul spells, they reached Cytora fairly fast. Malcolm could also be used as a last resort if the Spencerson were to reach her city. ‘Malcolm Benedict, rogue Liberation scientist attempting to please his leader, conducts an underground corral of soul shard users for use by him in his experiments’. He could see the newspaper headlines already.
One of the figures walked forward, a small clinking sound echoed from the chain attached to his weapon hitting the glowing yellow stone on his waistband. “Your words reach far, as for usual, Lord Cyber. But as for me, consider your bounty already collected.” There was a murmur among the silhouettes, it seemed they weren’t together, but rather a number of individuals seeking the same bounty for themselves. The faint smell of tea wafted through the door, one of them seemed to have brewed it for this special occasion of theirs.
“Very well, Mr. Visigoth, consider the contract open.” Cyber spoke as if he knew the man personally, which he did. Hans Visigoth was a key part of his Vision, after all. Pleasing Lord Cyber was always first for Hans, and so he decided to take the bounty alongside this rabble to prove his ability and loyalty. With that, the mercenaries and Hans quickly left the doorway, one chuckled to himself like a maniac, stomping one foot as he wandered off. Another slowly trudged behind the others, its heavy body not limber enough to keep up.
Cyber tapped his cheek as they left, subtly delighted to watch these souls race for the prize. His other hand balled into a fist, still resting in his throne as he chuckled to himself. “Now, little Spencerson, we shall see what fate has in store for the both of us… let the hunt begin.”
Soul Spell: Prophet’s Call
Spell Type: Hive
Spellcaster: Mosa Cyber
Shard Color: Orange
Shard Stats:
-Offense [2/10]
-Defense [2/10]
-Range [3/10]
-Spread [7/10]
-Utility [10/10]