Jaret hung his head and said, “We, can only guide you. Not force you.”

“Very good,” the emperor said. He placed his hands behind his back and smiled at the lighted map. “Launch changes are approved, Generals. Our new time is exactly three seconds earlier than anticipated to make changes for the movements along the southern seas.”

“Emperor, should we move to the bunker?” an officer manning the map suggested.

“Nonsense. We are fine here. The attack will go as planned and I assure you we—”

“You have to stop this,” Jaret pleaded, tears in her eyes.

“Ah, there it is. There is the pleading I was looking for. No, Prophet. This conflict will come. And Soul will gladly embrace it.”

“One minute,” Orr said.

“Thank goodness we didn’t have to go to that conference. What an annoyance hearing the other—”

“Harol, Harol no,” Orr said.

“Let go,” Harol said.

“Harol, this is not our time.”

“Let go you fool!”

“I just got word,” Jaret said, leaning on the nearby coding station for support. “We have to leave.”

“Prepare us both then,” Orr said.

“Launch now. The timing is irrelevant,” the emperor said as Harol’s dagger shone blood red. “Let the sky burn. Let the—”

Orr screamed in pain as Harol’s dagger sank into his thigh and ripped out, shedding blood on the emperor as another dazzling streak blew a hole in his breastplate.

“Harol!” Jaret screamed.

Before the emperor could gurgle, Harol had his blade at the man’s throat. “Stop it,” he threatened. “Stop it now!”

“Can’t. Won’t,” the emperor laughed with blood coming out his mouth as half a hundred breach-loaders were shouldered toward the Red.

“Do it or you die!”

The emperor only laughed.

Harol panted as he looked around, spying less than a minute on the wall clock. “No time for this,” he said.

The same blow that cut Emperor Boros’s throat sent a blast of energy that exploded against the command center. Smoke and flames immediately enveloped the domed building and threw off the shots of the guards attempting to avenge their emperor.

The next strike came from Orr as he tried to knock Harol’s blade away.

“Harol, we’ve been ordered to evacuate!” Jaret pleaded.

“Is that what you’re doing?” Harol asked as he blocked Orr’s sword.

“Yes! Orr stop that and—”

Through the smoke and flames, Harol dove and grabbed Jaret by the arm. “Sorry,” was all he said as color fled Jaret’s skin and the red in Harol’s dagger grew brighter.

“No!” Orr screamed.

Harol found the spot in Jaret’s mind that gave him the locations of the other leaders of Soul, and disappeared.

The instant Harol arrived in the blue-tiled, arch-lined chamber with display maps and coding stations, he unleashed a fury of crimson energy. Men and women alike screamed as explosions tore through the building. Harol located the president and blasted a solid stream of red that cut her down. Every standing person he shot while keeping awareness of time.

When he arrived at the red and yellow flag-studded command center with its many windows and A-framed ceiling open to the sky, he shifted right next to the leader’s location and slit him in two. A machine gun series of crimson shot from his blade as he unleashed fury on the command center. The Prophets who’d been there chased after him so that he had to shift.

At this location, he didn’t bother to check for the leader, nor for the Prophets. He simply lowered his weapon and blasted a wave of destruction that annihilated the building of a color he didn’t bother checking, shifting away a microsecond before the heat struck him.

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No Prophets were present at the next capitol he destroyed.

The next he shifted to was already destroyed, fires raging. He shot and killed the only man visible. He was screaming in pain before the Red bolt silenced him.

His trickle of remaining White power told Harol that only one leader remained alive. When he shifted there, he saw a White holding a shield above her and the entire copper dome that housed the emperor of this particular nation.

“Stop!” the unknown White shouted when she saw Harol. She placed a second shield around him that prevented him from firing into the crowd.

“We have to kill them!” Harol screamed. “Put your shield down so I can kill them! It’s the only way we can stop them from killing each other!” He fired bolts of furious energy that flew like stones into water before the invisible barrier.

“What?”

“We have to kill them all! Before it’s too late!”

“Red, we’ve been ordered to evacuate.”

“We have to kill them! Help me! Why are you protecting this building?”

“Because the bombs have already been launched.”

Harol dropped his dagger.

“But…” he said.

A Prophet with a short sword shifted next to the White and slit her throat before shifting away. In fright and confusion, Harol screamed and put the last of his White energy into a shield as a deafening glow exploded against his senses.

“Defending yourself against a nuclear blast is quite the achievement for someone inexperienced with White techniques,” the Blesser noted.

“Jaret was one of the most powerful White Prophets, Blesser,” the White Chair said. “Used to shielding during the wars of Prosper. It was the reason she was sent to negotiate with the emperor.”

“I see. You limited the danger, and yet accidentally gave the accused all the power he could ever need.”

“It… would appear so.”

“Harol of the Red Prophets.”

“Ye-yes, Blesser?” Harol said, taking a slight step away from Jerard, the Red beside him.

“You say you witnessed Propheticide at the building in Soul known as the Electric Palace?”

The gallery responded to this with smirks and chuckles behind palms as some bold few exchange whispers and smiles. Electric Palace was a popular name for exotic dance clubs on at least three planets.

“I will have calm,” the Blesser’s voice shot into the gallery without echo. “This could easily become a private matter. The gallery will remain silent and listen intently — and listen alone.” The Blesser cast a glare at the silent Prophets before turning her eyes on Harol.

“You witnessed the murder of a Prophet, Harol,” the Blesser said. “Is the individual in this room?”

“Of course he’s in this room it was him right there,” Harol said, and pointed to the man cracking his knuckles beside him.

“This is an official case, Harol, and we must be exact for posterity. Is the person who committed Propheticide in this room?”

“Ye-yes.”

“Can you point to him?”

The second Harol pointed to Jerard, the man shouted, “Duty! It was duty not murder! The order came from you if you—”

“We are not to you yet.”

“The Sept gave the order to pull out and leave Soul to its fate. I was trying to stop a civil war! I—”

The Blesser didn’t twitch when she gave a telepathic order to one of the Gold guards standing behind the accused. His hand clasped on Jerard’s wrist, silenced him with a yelp of protest as the Red instinctively went to his belt. When his hand found no short sword, he lowered his arm.

“The next outburst will cause me to place you in a shield,” the Blesser noted when Jerard calmed down enough for the guard to step back, though he remained within reach. “Now, Harol, can you name the individual you accuse of Propheticide?”

“When we came into the Sept, you said his name was Jerard,” Harol noted.

Like the slow opening of an aged door, the Blesser shifted her gaze to the Red Prophet in the middle. “Jerard of the Red Prophets. You stand accused of Propheticide.”

“I...” Jerard began before the White raised her still dim mace.

“Do not force me to shield you from outbursts. I intend to get answers from you, not averted accusations.”

“This man killed more Prophets than any ever known!” the Gold Chair growled. “Even asking him to tell his side goes against everything the Sevens Prophets stand for.”

“I think you will find, my Gold companion, that the opposite is true.”

“I refuse to allow this. I call for a vote of the Sept to silence this murderer immediately!”

Two Gold and White Chairs stood in agreement with the first Gold. They called for a vote and began raising their hands in favor of immediate execution. Only the Blesser’s mace rapping on the podium set them back to their chairs.

“This is not something we can vote on,” the Blesser announced. “The Prophets have few laws, but the one I am not going to violate is the procedure on execution.”

“The Prophets have few laws so that we may execute judgment on a contextual basis. Change and adaptation are fundamental and the very reason a vote on execution should be allowed,” said the Gold Chair.

“Not to educate a White on Prophet law,” the Red Chair said, “but this case follows exactly on Prophet law.”

“How so?” the Blesser asked.

“The law states that any witness of Propheticide is to immediately execute the murderer. Then be brought before the Sept for the truth of the action to be seen.” He spoke then to Jerard. “Then, if he is found to be truthful, he is given recovery time. If he is false, he is immediately himself executed. The only violation of the law is that Harol was unable to execute Jerard at the time of his Propheticide.”

“That’s a twisting of the law!” the Gold accused.

“It’s closer than what you suggest, Chair of the Gold, so please stay seated,” the Blesser said.

The Gold Chair’s face seemed pinched for a moment, before all tension flooded from his face. When he sat down, he was the picture of composure.

“In order to validate Harol’s claim of Propheticide, we must investigate this further,” the Blesser continued. “Jerard of the Red, you say it was duty that forced you to kill Prophets. Explain.”