2. The White Sovereign
He danced amid a group of Ashens, whom he almost pitied as he cut them to pieces; blood spraying about, drenching his being.
More… Lucas thought. He lost count of how many he killed, but it’s as if their numbers never dwindled at all.
How long has he been fighting? It felt like forever. About an hour?
No. After a swift glance to his watch, Lucas realized only 5 minutes had passed.
Not good, he thought. While he still has a full Shield, that doesn’t mean anything if he’s exhausted. Shield only refers to the limit of how many times – and how much – his wounds will be able to heal.
But there is more to combat for the Awakened than just managing their Shield.
If he’s exhausted, it means he will make more mistakes.
More mistakes mean more wounds.
Finally, more wounds mean his Shield will decrease until he has no more.
And to be without a Shield means he’s akin to the non-Awakened. And in this situation, it means he will die.
Not that he minded. He just needed to make sure to bite the pill to stop his heart from beating. Dying is better than getting infected and turning into a high-grade Ashen.
And do you know how scary it would be if a Prime turns?
Suddenly, a boulder flew to Lucas’ direction.
Thankfully, he didn’t panic and immediately figured the trajectory. He needed to minimize his movements to conserve energy.
It’s going to miss, he thought and chose not to move, allowing the boulder crash into the dozens of Ashens behind him.
Heaving a sigh of relief, he turned his attention back to where the boulder came from. “Argus,” Lucas whispered to himself.
Argus has been throwing whatever it could grab from the ruins around it, and that was perhaps the sixth boulder Lucas dodged or sliced apart.
But if this goes on, Lucas would fall from exhaustion. It may be slow, but its attack speed is pretty fast, he thought. I need to reach him somehow.
So, he narrowed his eyes as he sought for a way to rush the giant. But there were too many Ashens on the way.
It should be fine, he thought. There are no Grade IIs around, which means he could force his way through.
He was about to beeline the giant when the air shook and time seemed to stop.
What’s happening? Lucas thought when the horde suddenly became frozen in their tracks, like stone sculptures carved by a morbid man.
Even Argus simply just watched and loomed in the distance. Why did they stop moving?
But then, from his peripherals, a silhouette approached. An oppressive presence that seemed to command the Ashen to stay their hands.
With measured pace, the silhouette revealed herself from the shadows, a blade sheathed on her side.
Lithe and slender, she looked looked… beautiful. A beautiful woman not dressed for a battlefield.
She wore a sleeveless black dress, except from the strips of fabric that flowed down her shoulder like black mist.
And cinched on her waist is the symbol of a flower – silver as the long hair that reached behind her knees.
But.
She had a skin white as snow. Not like that old fairy tale, but a skin just like an Ashen.
An Ashen without the hunger. Without the wrath.
And she was without the Ashens’ dead, gray pupils. Instead, she had bright, silver eyes.
An Ashen with the eyes of an Awakened? Lucas wondered, his head aching as he tried to figure out what she could be.
A moment of clarity. A moment of realization.
…An Ascended, he thought.
The Ascended are Awakened who were infected with the Xyz virus, but retained their ability to think and communicate. However, they are still hungry for flesh.
But apparently, they were wiped out ten years ago. So. How?
The figure directed her gaze at him. Crimson lips curling into a light smile.
Lucas suddenly found it hard to breathe, the air seemingly all but abandoning him.
Dread. The Ascended emitted dread.
“Interesting. A child. Yet one who dons a Mask,” the Ascended said with a slight pause. “This means you’re a Prime with SPECTRA. A rarity, indeed. But to others–– a rare piece of a commodity,” she added.
When she said that last phrase, Lucas knew it wasn’t a threat. No, she couldn’t hide her rage even behind her mask of calm.
An Ascended who sees no pleasure in human trafficking. Lucas never expected to see the day, when apparently, they were once the underground industry’s biggest clients.
But what would an Ascended be doing here? Wait, don’t tell me…, he thought as he slowed his heartbeat. To calm himself from what he already knew would be the answer.
Smoke and fire still hung heavy with the noxious air–– vexing his nostril. Yet, with a deep breathe, he somehow calmed himself before the coming figurative storm. “Who are you?”
“You want my name. Yet you conceal your own.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but it seemed to fill the entire space with its clarity.
When Lucas’ response was only a glare, the woman slightly shrugged.
“I am Muriel. Herald of the future,” she said, uttering each syllable as if they wore heavy meaning
Muriel? Lucas thought as he felt a shiver run down his spine.
His chest tightened, impeding his ragged breathes as he recalled where he heard that name. White hair… she who commands the ash, he thought as he took a step back.
Muriel…
Muriel…
…It’s her, he thought.
A Class VI Awakened. A Sovereign.
“Muriel,” he muttered underneath his breathe. “…Matriarch of the Order of Lewisia. The White Sovereign–– the Betrayer.”
Lewisia. They were once an influential society composed of a membership of equally influential Awakened as its members, they waged a war against the Panamerican League of United Dominions 10 years ago.
A war won by the League.
But Muriel should be dead when Lewisia lost the war.
“But… Beral killed you.”
“Ah… The Bearer of Ares,” she drawled out as if she was contemplating. “I understand how the truth can sometimes be so difficult to fathom. But…”
At the pause, Muriel smiled–– the silver rings of her pupils glinting with the pale glow of the moonlight. “…the loathing in your eyes; your mask cannot hide… I can see it,” she said. “As if I am…” she tilted her head, a finger light on her temple, seemingly deep in thought. “…a monster. A great evil.”
Lucas looked about him, witnessing again the corpses strewn about. Their bodies were mauled. Their innards… they…
Lucas shook his head. And with a deep breath, he looked back to Muriel. “Can you blame me?” he said. “What do you call someone who could kill others without even batting an eye?”
Muriel lowered her hand, her veneer of calm betrayed by a minute disturbance. “You speak seemingly beyond your years, but you are nonetheless naive. We are at war, child,” she said, words spoken slowly and deliberately. “The war of ten years past have never ended, no matter what the League declared–– for we have never surrendered. And war, child. War is a necessary evil. It embraces not one, but everyone.”
“…Necessary?” Lucas whispered, venom in his voice. “Look at them…,” calmly, he said as his eyes darted from one corpse to the next. Some of the bodies were small – children – and already decaying. “Just look at them.”
“Collateral dama––”
He’s usually calm and measured, but at those words, his voice rumbled, rivaling that of the roaring storm of flames around them. “You killed those powerless to fight!”
Muriel did not respond immediately, only walking toward the corpse of a dead child. She knelt and shut the child’s eyelids close. “A tragedy that could have been prevented,” she whispered. “…All these deaths. Does it not remind you your history? When the League butchered those children who were also too powerless to defend themselves? Or do you not? Just another hypocrite who spouts injustice, but blind to the injustice of those whom he serves…”
Lucas was stunned, “The… League?”
“Collateral damage,” she said with a raised tone. “That’s what the League called them. Collateral damage,” continued Muriel with a faltering voice. “The children from the Seed Settlement of Riza. Once a settlement under our protection. They were just collateral damage.”
“Riza. Didn’t you––”
“Used the children as meat shields?” she said, glaring at Lucas. “Of course, you believe the League.”
“But the war… It was you who started the war. And you––” Lucas growled, before biting his tongue, realizing the implication of what he just said. Was he seriously going to actually say that: You started the war. And you expect the League not to strike back?
He felt repulsed of himself. Why did he even think to say that?
But Muriel didn’t seem to mind, and for some reason, that only made Lucas’ feel of shame even greater.
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“Do you know why Riza burned?” Muriel asked, raising an eyebrow.
Lucas pursed his lips and did not answer.
“Because they were Ascended. Mira, Clark, Heather, Blake, Clarissa, just of the few names I can remember, slaughtered like cattle. Why? Because children are the future. And the League believes they will inevitably rise up against them in the future.”
Lucas’ grip on his blade faltered, widening his eyes at Muriel. Would the League really go that far?
“And do you know why we rose against the League?” she continued. “Because of their power and greed.”
“…Power?”
Her eyes narrowed in fury even while her voice remained so calm. “You are ignorant of the evil you serve, and yet you dare speak to me of murder?”
Lucas could not help but bow his head.
The Tragedy of Riza. A highly classified incident the League apparently swept under the rug, yet the public somehow still knows about. “But a lot of people were against that,” he tried to justify. “They even asked for those responsible to step down. Ascended or not, it’s never a good cause to kill children.”
“Fool,” Muriel muttered, just barely loud enough for Lucas to hear. “Against? They’ve done nothing but talk and watch. When the opportunity to do something arose, they refused to act,” she said, pausing to let her words sink in. “And even now, the public act ignorant of Riza, finding comfort in the idea that they’re innocent of it all – satisfied of criticizing the government just so they can say that they have played their part.”
Lucas did not reply for a moment as he closed his eyes. He couldn’t deny her words. But what was he supposed to do with all the information at that very moment? Nothing. “And these deaths. Are they not enough to sate your lust?”
“Lust? You think I take pleasu––”
“If what you say is true, then what the League did was indeed evil, and I shall do my best to see that justice is served–– as is my duty,” he said, lowering his voice once more. “But these deaths. Does it make it right? Does it make you right? Does it justify your massacre? Does it not make you the same as those whom you loathe?”
Muriel scoffed. “What can a mere Prime do to find the root of that evil, when society itself has already failed? Your arrogance is unbecoming, child,” she said. “Blood… it has already been spilled.”
She continued when Lucas did not respond. “Revenge. Justice. It matters not. Death is a necessity. And soon, the others will follow,” she said. It should have sounded like a threat. But Muriel said it as if it was a prophecy. “But humour me, child. You speak of evil. But do you truly understand what it is?”
Lucas parted his lips to speak, but no words came out. He only unknowingly gripped tighter the hilt of his blade.
“Evil is–– disregard to morality. An indelible mark etched into the very fabric of our being. Darkness lingering deep within our hearts and minds, corrupting what makes us men,” she said.
Muriel then turned her back against Lucas, as if he wasn’t even a threat, gazing at the stiff Argus instead, as though the giant was her pet. “The gradual decay of the soul, the erosion of empathy, and the indifference to suffering. It thrives when we, as a collective, pretend to be blind. It thrives when the conscience of men becomes numb to the cries of the oppressed.”
With heavy eyes, Lucas did not answer, his gaze only lingering upon Muriel’s back.
“Something that perhaps you must not understand–– for you belong to the special few. Someone cultivated by the League, hidden from those who starve and cut each others’ necks just for something to eat. Just for something like a sliver of a bread to feed their youngs. Like pigeons… yet without the freedom to break free and fly.”
Lucas, hearing her words, seemingly absent-mindedly looked at the bloody ground with dead eyes. Why could he not respond? Why must she make sense?
“Yet you must feel that you’re innocent of it. No?” she said, still not parting Lucas even a glance. “Even when you see the signs. Even when you feel it. Even when it makes you sick–– you’d rather remain in your little bubble of ambition and dreams: To destroy the Ashens, to be a hero,” she said with a scoff. “So much for being a hero… choosing to hide from it all as you live in comfort and luxury.”
At that, Lucas felt–– conflict.
“Do not blame me when the League failed to heed my warning–– evacuate your people or they will die. Yes. Given chance, twice even, they remained stoic and self-important,” Muriel said. “Their arrogance caused these deaths. It is them who you should be pointing your blade at.”
“…Warned? You warned the League?” Lucas paled, unsure how to process that or if he should even believe Muriel. If the White Sovereign is telling the truth, and only wanted to destroy St. John for some reason and wanted to avoid killing innocent people as she implied, then this could all have been avoided.
While he refused to believe her words, it only made sense. If the League heeded Lewisia’s warning, that would be them admitting that they have failed to crush Lewisia in the past.
That would threaten the position of those at the top.
Muriel craned her neck as she seemingly studied Lucas’ features from the corner of her silver eyes. “Peace, child. Only with true peace and order can humanity be free from its own perils. And only within the embers of destruction can humanity rise once more… as one,” she said. Her voice soft.
Lucas locked his jaw as he silently met Muriel’s gaze.
“And blood is the price for peace. The debt we all pay,” Muriel said as she swivelled, leisurely directing her body back to Lucas. “A debt that couldn’t have existed if we hadn’t been drowned by our own ambition. Our own greed. Our own irrational fears.”
Lucas avoided Muriel’s gaze.
He stood there for a while, trying to come up with a justification to attack Muriel. But since when did he ever care for justification?
He’d killed in the past. He’d assassinated people. Because he was told they were corrupt or evil. He only had to take care of the job.
But this time. It was different. No one told him that Muriel must be struck down. That she’s evil.
But could he really call her evil?
When suddenly, a voice entered his mind. Stop showing off, the voice said.
It was a memory from the past. A time of innocence; of dreams. He was just younger then, long before he joined SPECTRA. He hadn’t learned how to kill then yet.
Lucas cut an apple in six separate pieces with a single slash of his knife, grinning to Micah who watched with widened eyes.
“Stop showing off,” Micah scoffed but he still laughed anyway. After a moment, however, he sighed. “I wish I was an Awakened too. So I can also protect you and Mom.”
Lucas’ face gentled, placing a palm over his little brother’s head. “Even if you don’t. I’ll keep getting stronger and stronger. I’ll keep protecting you and Mom! You’re also the smart one between us! Maybe one day, you can invent something to destroy all the Ashens!”
Micah’s a genius. Unlike Lucas, Micah inherited their parents’ aptitude for science.
Micah sighed again. “But…”
The door slammed open. “Fried chicken?” It was Mom. She grinned as she held a smoking bucket of chicken. She’s finally home from work.
The smell grew bolder and Micah ran to her, leaping like a cat to whisk the bucket away.
But she twirled, and Micah was about to hit the door when her firm hand snatched and held him by the scruff of his shirt. “Manners, Micah!” She clicked her tongue. “Go set up the table, you goof!”
He prevented himself from cursing God, for recalling only memories where he promised to protect his family. Why must he be served with recollections that only reminds him of his failures? His guilt?
But that memory somewhat filled his eyes with tranquility.
His family. They were his everything. They kept him in the light when he felt the world swallow him with its ever-growing darkness. They healed his mind when he witnessed for himself the depravity of men.
They were his fireflies.
“You’re right,” Lucas said.
A smile from the Ascended. Sympathetic. A kind one. “Child. To kill you would be a waste. Your potential is boundless. Join me and you shall witness a world anew.” A pause as she gestured to the surroundings. “This… horror you see. It’ll all be over. All of it. Imagine a world without evil. Humanity as one. Oh, all the things we could accomplish, to the stars that await us beyond.”
Lucas hummed, as if contemplating Muriel’s offer. Indeed, he wondered how strong he would be if he had the strength and constitution of an Ashen. And apparently, Muriel can provide that power.
But… “You say blood is the price for true order and peace, right?”A mutter tainted with disgust. “But the price of blood is also blood, no?”
Muriel responded with a raised eyebrow. “…A sentiment I do not deny.”
Lucas dropped to his knees, and lowered his head to a bow.
Muriel smiled.
And Lucas tied his shoes.
Muriel frowned.
His family, killed by monsters he loathes, then offered a hand of sanctuary – by the same kind of those monsters that took them all away – Lucas felt repulsed. Peace? Order? he thought.
He stood up and breathed the acrid air. “Then you’re prepared to pay for their blood with your own, no?” he said with a lilt.
“…A child who speaks the tongue of hatred as if he understands it,” Muriel stifled a laugh. “I would have been impressed. But alas… as a Prime, they edified your brain with the illusion of maturity. They tamed your eyes the sight of death. They denied you–– pleasure of your youth.” She paused, allowing her words of platitude to momentarily hang in the air. “Is this right to you, child?”
“Why not?” Lucas shrugged, not even bothering to respond with a platitude of his own. Why should he? It may be foolish to aggravate Muriel, who has stayed her hand so far.
But there’s only two outcomes out of the situation; Lucas dies, or Muriel dies. The former would likely happen. But death. Lucas is prepared for it. “We are born to die anyway. Even better if I can take you down with me.”
“To die for the future of humanity. Is that what they taught you?” Muriel smirked. “Ha… Children. They can be very, very impressionable, it’s almost sad.” Gesturing to the surroundings, the Ascended continued her spiel. “Look around you, to the Ashens you have slain. And in the name of justice, how many lives have you stolen?”
A dark cloud enveloped Lucas’ features.
“…Did it make you feel better? At peace?”
Lucas did not reply. No. He could not reply. He didn’t know how to, as memories of his past escapades flashed in his mind – how the people that he killed haunted him every night.
“…You accuse me of murder, yet your hands are no less stained,” she said. “In our more peaceful past, children played, not taught to kill. But you. You are enslaved. A machine for slaughter.”
Lucas did not reply.
“You are not the saint you think you are. You are no hero,” she said. “…You have no right to rage.”
Lucas gazed up the starry sky. He did not deny Muriel’s words. Those were all true. There is no denying that. “Yeah… something about fighting so the children of tomorrow won’t have to or something,” Lucas said with a whispery tone of voice as he paused for a moment. “And it’s stupid, I know. As if it will ever stop.”
He shifted his gaze back to Muriel, who just tilted her head and surprisingly allowed him to continue speaking.
“You’re right. I am no hero nor will I ever become one. I’m a murderer,” he said with a peaceful smile. A smile that befits the warm welcome of death. “And you’re right. War is a force that spares none, embracing all in its merciless grip. ”
Lucas continued and spoke over Muriel who parted her lips to speak, his gaze shifting cold and emotionless, not allowing her to interrupt. “And it will stop only when humanity kills itself.”
“Oh?” Muriel said, seemingly amused.
“Humanity can die for all I care,” he said as he raised his blade once more. “All I want now–– is to kill you. If I am a machine for slaughter. Then so it shall be. I’ll slaughter you if it’s the last thing that I do.”
But while, and again, he may stand no chance against the White Sovereign herself; did he really have a choice?
He would be spitting on his honour, his duty, and the memories of everyone he lost if he were to flee. Not that he could even flee against a Sovereign as a mere Class II anyway.
And it’s not as if he had no chance. He does, albeit how minuscule it was.
While the Awakened could heal instantly as long as they still have some Shield left, there are two ways to kill them with one shot – cut off their head, or stab their heart.
It doesn’t matter what Class they are. As long as you catch them unaware, Shield or not, they will die. And who’s good at catching their opponent unaware? SPECTRAs are.
But his pistol will be ineffective against Muriel, who has the traits of an Ashen.
He has to cut off her neck.
He activated Amplify, shrouding himself with a flame-like cloak of pure aether.
Muriel just looked at him with that same smirk of amusement, her pupils becoming bright blue – the indication that an Awakened activated their Aura.
Blue. She’s an Evoker. A ranged-type. That puts me in a range disadvantage, thought Lucas. But the fear and alarm he should feel was nowhere. That smile. That goddamn smile. He wanted to crush it.
She may be long-ranged, but the distance between them was no more than 20 feet. He could reach her in a single breathe.
So, after two beats, when Lucas was off his global cooldown, he stomped on the ground. It cracked, and the momentum pushed him with great speed. He didn’t need a spell to move that fast in close range.
He zipped behind Muriel and aimed his sword at her neck. A distraction.
When she turned her body to him, he used Blink to appear behind her again. That’s why he didn’t use Blink immediately when he charged.
There, he thought as he stared at her nape before immediately using Aether Blade. “…Die.”
“How juvenile.” Muriel shifted her body with a slight step from one foot to the other. She tilted her head, and Lucas’ blade phased through nothing, inches away from her neck.
Lucas didn’t even hit the ground when she gripped his shoulder and slammed her knee on his stomach. And he didn’t even have the chance to activate Mist to avoid the attack.
“Yet just another one blinded by mindless wrath. Perhaps it’s best to end you lest you become a Rogue. You are becoming one anyway,” said Muriel… pity in her eyes.
Lucas gasped for air; crimson splattering and painting the cobblestone as he tumbled on the ground. He coughed on his hand – blood. He wasn’t healing.
This could only mean…
[Shield Remaining: 0/3700. Recommended Action. Retreat.]
He felt his insides squirm and his wounds refusing to heal; his eyes shifting back to silver from red.
[Aura deactivated. Shield deactivated.]
She neutralized me with just––––– one hit, Lucas thought as he struggled to get up. What was he thinking? Why would he think he could beat a Sovereign? The power difference is too much. It’s like an infant trying to defeat a raging lion.
But he could still fight. The Awakened still has enhanced physical body and senses compared to the non-Awakened, even without their Shield.
So Lucas clenched his jaw and raised his blade once more, zigzagging toward Muriel for a final assault. Not yet, he thought.
He roared and aimed at Muriel’s neck.
But he missed his mark again, and the Ascended’s knee connected to his jaw this time, sending him crashing against the wall of a nearby house.
“Trash.” A single word from Muriel. Mumbled.
Lucas lay bloodied on the ground. But there was a smile behind his partially shattered mask. A smile of self-mockery. Of defeat.
To raise his blade against a being much stronger than him was truly foolish. But he felt no regret. He fought until his death. And he was more than satisfied.
He stood up, his blade still drawn, but he knew he could wield it no more.
“Pathetic,” said Muriel with a tone filled with disappointment as she finally drew her blade.
Step by step, she slowly moved closer to Lucas.
Her footsteps drummed, each beat like the ticking of a clock counting down to Lucas’ death.
“You’ve been told you’re powerful. A blessed. Special. But now… you wouldn’t even be a footnote to what is to come. Just… a number. A statistic.”
Lucas looked at Muriel’s blade. Sharp. Clean. But death – he welcomed with nigh indifference.