A gleaming, humanoid robot, its form sleek and imposing, strode into the throne room, its voice a smooth, synthesized baritone. "Report: The kingdoms of Faubrey, Zeltobal, Siltvelt, Shieldfrieden, and Reiki have been subjugated with minimal casualties," it announced, its multiple optical sensors sweeping across the room before settling on me. "The vassal weapons have been repossessed and deactivated until suitable enforcers can be selected to wield them. We are currently finalizing the construction of sufficient fleet assets to initiate the subjugation of the island nation of Q'Ten Lo. The guardian beasts have been placed in stasis to prevent any unnecessary... complications."
I nodded, a satisfied smirk playing on my lips. "Megalomania quota mostly fulfilled, then. Good. Now, with fifteen minutes remaining in my self-imposed thirty-minute conquest schedule, how goes the preparation of that wondrous dish of saucy delight, my delectable wife?"
Asuna, who had been casually examining a holographic projection of a particularly intricate weapon design, shrugged nonchalantly. "Eh, I just started," she said, her voice laced with a bored amusement. "Enhancing my already phenomenal culinary skills with literal divine authority seems… wasteful. But ever since that goddamn ragu rabbit obliterated our taste buds, anything less than an actual culinary masterpiece is goddamn unacceptable."
"Indeed," I drawled, leaning back in the throne and allowing a wave of smug satisfaction to wash over me. "Conquering a world now takes as much time as boiling pasta. How utterly fascinating."
Yui, who had been quietly observing the scene from her perch on the armrest, tapped a finger to her lips, her brow furrowed in thought. "When you put it like that, Papa," she said, her voice laced with a hint of concern, "I wonder if it will take any actual effort to conquer other worlds with a more… robust societal structure. The level of organization in this world is, to put it bluntly, easy mode for you."
Her words hung in the air, a chilling reminder that this was just the beginning. This world, with its incompetent rulers and easily manipulated populace, was merely a stepping stone, a proving ground for our ambitions. The true challenge, the real test of our power and intellect, lay beyond the boundaries of this reality, in the vast, uncharted territories of the multiverse.
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Lord Elroy, Baron of Westgone in the terrirory of melromarc, stumbled through the dense undergrowth, his heart pounding in his chest like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. He, a man accustomed to the finest silks and the most decadent comforts, was reduced to a panting, sweating mess, his finely tailored clothes torn and stained with the grime of the forest floor. His meticulously styled hair, usually a testament to his wealth and status, now clung to his forehead in damp, disheveled strands. The indignity of it all was almost unbearable.
"Gods above," he wheezed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "This is… this is preposterous! I, Lord Elroy, reduced to fleeing like a common criminal!"
His eyes darted around frantically, searching for any sign of his guards, his protectors, his shield against the encroaching fear that threatened to consume him.
"Where are you, you incompetent fools?!" he roared, his voice echoing through the silent forest. "Do you have any idea who I am?! I demand protection! I demand assistance! I demand…"
His voice trailed off, a wave of dizziness washing over him. He leaned against a gnarled tree trunk, his legs trembling, his vision blurring. He was exhausted, terrified, and utterly alone.
"Get a hold of yourself, Elroy," he muttered, slapping himself across the face. "This… this is merely a temporary setback. Those fools, those peasants, they think they can usurp my authority? They think they can take what is rightfully mine? I will crush them. I will grind them into dust. I will reclaim what is rightfully mine!"
His outburst seemed to momentarily restore his confidence. He straightened his back, attempting to regain some semblance of his usual aristocratic demeanor. He would not succumb to this… this indignity. He would find his guards, regroup, and unleash his wrath upon those who had dared to defy him.
"Cease this cowardly retreat!" he bellowed, his voice regaining some of its former imperiousness. "Form up! Report your status immediately!"
Silence.
He waited, his breath held, his ears straining for any sign of his men. Nothing. Only the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds answered his summons.
"I said, FORM UP!" he roared, his voice cracking with a mix of anger and fear. "Do you hear me, you imbeciles? This is an order!"
A faint rustling sound came from behind him. He whirled around, his hand instinctively reaching for the jeweled dagger at his belt, only to find it gone, lost somewhere in his frantic flight.
"Who's there?" he demanded, his voice trembling. "Show yourselves!"
Five figures emerged from the shadows, their forms obscured by the dense foliage. Relief washed over him. His guards! They were still here, loyal to the end.
"My lord," one of the guards said, his voice hesitant, "We've lost contact with the others. Something's not right."
"Nonsense," Elroy scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "They're probably just disoriented. Lost their way in this accursed forest. Round them up. We must make haste and reach the capital before those rabble gain any more ground."
The guards exchanged uneasy glances. One of them, a young man with a fresh scar across his cheek, stepped forward. "My lord," he began, his voice shaking, "I don't think-"
His words were cut off as a blinding flash of light erupted from the forest behind them. Elroy spun around, his heart leaping into his throat. Another of those gleaming, metallic figures stood there, its single, glowing eye fixed upon them with an unnerving intensity. The young guard, the one who had dared to voice his doubts, let out a strangled cry and stumbled backward, his hand reaching for the sword at his side.
But his sword was gone. It clattered to the ground, followed by the sound of another blade falling, then another, and another. The remaining guards stared at their empty hands, their faces pale with terror.
The one remaining with his sword seemed to ripple for a moment, it was metal!
Elroy, his mind reeling, his senses overloaded, felt a cold dread creep into his soul. He had heard of those metallic figures before, in the panicked whispers of fleeing nobles, in the terrified tales of those who had dared to defy the new regime. They were called Enforcers, soulless machines of war, imbued with a power that defied comprehension.
The Enforcer raised its hand, and another blinding flash of light consumed them.
"Beginning spatial displacement."
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Lord Elroy awoke in a cold, sterile cell, his head pounding, his body aching. He sat up, his eyes darting around the unfamiliar surroundings. Bars of cold, unforgiving metal enclosed him, trapping him in this stark, desolate space. A shining screen, like the status screen he had always relied on, flickered to life before him, its surface displaying a message in stark, bold letters.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
"Welcome to Evil Prison," a voice echoed through the cell that matched the text. A voice he recognized with a chilling certainty. The voice of the Sword Emperor.
"You are, in fact, in the right place. You'll be moved to Idiot Prison in one year to begin your psychological evaluation and rehabilitation. That might take a lot longer, so enjoy your stay!"
The screen went dark, leaving Lord Elroy alone in the chilling silence of his confinement. Panic clawed at his throat, a primal fear squeezing his heart in a vice-like grip. He was trapped, imprisoned, stripped of his power and his privilege. And worse, he was at the mercy of beings whose power he couldn't even comprehend, beings who saw him as nothing more than a… a criminal.
He was a nobleman, a baron, a man of wealth and influence. He deserved respect, deference, adulation! Not this. Not this cold, impersonal imprisonment. He would escape. He would find a way to reclaim his rightful place in the world. He would…
"THERE HAS TO HAVE BEEN A MISTAKE!" He shrieked.
"Mhm, no, so here's the deal, I'm going to give this recording to everyone who thinks they are slavers and murderers yet somehow deserve mercy." The voice played over at an ear splitting volume. "In my home country, which to be honest is about only half as barbaric as here, just with shinier towers, would put you in a cell for your entire life without chance of ever leaving, and if you pissed enough people off. We'd just fucking kill you. So, Mr. unlawful and involuntary confinement, how about you sit tight, shut up, don't make my robots taze your shit in for trying to escape- before I multiply your sentence by 120 and put you in the bad cells. Good? Good."
Baffled, Elroy, no territory to his name or titles to claim, slumped against the cold, hard wall, his resolve crumbling like stale bread. Hope, a fragile flicker in the darkness, died within him. He was alone, defeated, and utterly broken.
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Gondar, Seventh General of the Zeltoble army, watched in numb silence as his world crumbled around him. The sky, once a serene expanse of blue, was now choked with smoke and ash. The air, thick with the acrid stench of burning metal and scorched earth, rattled with the thunderous tread of those… things.
Those gleaming, monstrous machines of war, their forms shifting and adapting with a fluidity that defied comprehension, had swept across the land like a technological plague. Their weapons, beams of energy that could vaporize steel and shatter stone, left nothing but smoldering ruins in their wake. His men, his proud and valiant soldiers, had fought bravely, desperately, but it had been like pitting ants against a raging inferno.
He, a seasoned veteran of countless battles, a man who had faced death with unwavering resolve, now trembled with a fear he had never known. This wasn't war; it was annihilation. And there was only one way to stop it.
With a heavy heart, he approached the nearest of the colossal, golem-like constructs that had been systematically dismantling his kingdom. Its metallic form towered above him, its glowing eyes fixed upon him with an unnerving intensity. A synthesized voice, cold and emotionless, echoed from within its metallic frame.
"Surrender or be eradicated. Choose wisely."
Gondar, his pride swallowed by the bitter taste of defeat, raised his arms in surrender. He was the last. The king, the nobles, the other generals… all gone, either captured or killed in the relentless onslaught. The weight of his nation's fate rested upon his shoulders, a burden that threatened to crush him.
"I, Gondar, Seventh General of Zeltoble, the last remaining officer not currently in custody, and as the final military asset, as well as Viscount, and therefore the last ruling individual of this kingdom, do hereby surrender the kingdom of Zeltoble to the Sword Empire and its rulers, Kirito and Asuna," he declared, his voice hoarse but resolute. He had failed his king, failed his people, but perhaps this surrender would spare them from further suffering.
"Surrender accepted," the deep, echoing metallic voice responded. "Please stand by for governance overhaul."
The voice used is found here...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cJqf0zDY72g
Gondar closed his eyes, bracing himself for whatever fate awaited him. He had no idea what this "governance overhaul" entailed, but at least this day of absolute despair was over. A flicker of hope, faint and fragile, remained within his weary soul. Perhaps, under the rule of these powerful, if terrifying, beings, Zeltoble could find a semblance of peace.
Or perhaps, this was just the beginning of a new kind of nightmare.
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Takt, his face contorted in a mask of manic glee, pressed his boot down harder on the fallen woman's chest, a groan of pain echoing through the ruined chamber. The Seven Star Gauntlet, a relic of immense power, lay discarded beside him, its former wielder now nothing more than a broken doll beneath his heel. He leaned down, his eyes glittering with a cruel amusement, and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face.
He then reached for the gauntlet with a demented smile on his face.
"You know," he said, his voice a soft, almost seductive purr, "you're kinda pretty, for a goody-two-shoes hero. It's a shame..."
He trailed off, a shadow falling over his face as a towering figure materialized behind him. A gleaming, metallic form, its sleek lines and intricate design suggesting a level of technological sophistication that dwarfed anything he had ever seen. A single, glowing eye fixed upon him with an unnerving intensity, its gaze piercing through his soul.
A synthesized voice, devoid of emotion, echoed through the chamber.
"Analysis complete. Subject identified as Takt, thief of all current vassal weapons. Moral alignment: Chaotic Evil. Probability of redemption: Zero. Verdict: Elimination."
Takt's grin vanished, replaced by a look of stunned disbelief. "What?" he stammered, his voice raising with defiant rage. "Who are you?!"
The metallic figure ignored his question, its focus shifting towards a cylindrical device mounted on its shoulder. The cylinder hummed with energy, a faint blue glow emanating from its core.
"Commencing elimination."
A blinding flash of light. A searing pain that consumed his very being. And then… nothingness.
Takt, the thief, the manipulator, the self-proclaimed scourge of heroes, was gone. Erased from existence, his ambitions and his cruelty extinguished in an instant. Another piece of garbage removed from a world starving for order under the rule of its new Emperor and Empress, even if they didn't know that was what they needed.