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{Pil}

{“I am Icarus, Aegis, Master, and Slave. This is my closing and farewell for now.”}

The recording replayed its ending scene. Blared from every shop, food vendor, and vice den on the stroll down Pil’s exceptional promenade. Enticing patrons to venture inside and listen. Like this restaurant with its fancy diorite bar and glass booths. All around the establishment, contraband entered the ears and minds of the impressionable public.

The irritated man gritted his teeth and asked for the check, careful to keep the hood of his carbon fiber coat closed. Couldn’t let the locals see his face. After paying a ridiculous amount of credits for grilled mushrooms he didn’t even touch, the man stepped away from the bar and headed for the door. Flexing, he felt tight in his own skin. This compression setting bunched his muscles to discomfort. He resented it. But how else would he hear the Verse illegally broadcasted across the Vast Collective for himself?

{Take care not to lose sight of your own well-being. Because if the great King Rayne—Killer of Night—falters, how will the Shadow push on?

Be brave. Your army is coming to rescue you. Leave some for the rest of us.}

That elegant cadence matched with that arrogant charisma—The Atheneum. Accomplice to his brother’s demise, Korac, the former Icarean General, knew very little of shame. Much like these shop and restaurant keepers who fearlessly sold admission for listening parties. Hence the expensive vegetarian meal.

Profiting from infamy. How positively capitalist of them.

Korac and the Aegis slayer known as Sagan or Seamswalker mocked the very laws they offended with this Verse while recording it. Congratulated one another for their indiscretions and claimed the side of the righteous in their constant lovemaking.

Children.

The frustrated man flexed his fists again. As he passed the bar, people attending from all eleven planets muttered excitedly.

“I can’t believe how little I understood of Cinder’s suffering.”

“His woman sounds hot. Maybe hotter than the Silver General, himself?”

“I wonder what the Tritan’s want with the Aegis Dyson’s Sphere?”

“Have you found a copy of Nox’s Verse? I hear it implicates Primary Rem in more atrocities—”

And so the speculation went on.

This amount of provocation did not bode well for the irritated man’s cause. Nor the others’. He left the venue to find more of the same on the street. The bustle of people hushedly discussing the significance of Korac’s Verse.

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Outside a botanical shop, a Caprent man and a Mon3 drone wondered aloud, “And the Progeny were charged as traitors without appearing before the Tribunal. Three out of the four Eminents agreed.”

The drone frowned at this. “That was two months ago, right? After the disaster which closed all the conduits to Gait?”

Slyly, the Caprent looked around and lowered his voice. “My cousin was indentured to the Pain Curator. The Progeny freed him. Gait was no accident. That was the Seamswalker and her vengeance on ol’ Razor.”

Eyes wide, the drone swallowed hard before verifying, “Your cousin is safe, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Works in the Lamian porn industry now. But you know… he doesn’t have any idea what happened to the Progeny after. Just the same rumors we all hear of their sabotaging slave industries Collective-wide.”

Normally, the irritated man would interrogate the Caprent about his cousin. In fact, he planned to do exactly that.

Later.

Now was the time to breathe away from the others. As unhappy as they were. With him. With Gait’s destruction. And with the Progeny. Never mind the loss of a genius they never fully appreciated—

“Looking for Razor?” A Pil Dwarf appeared from a black hole of a den. Dark and vacuous, it smelled of molded cheese.

When the question sunk in, the annoyed man tilted his head to the side. “What are you on about?”

Slinking big blue eyes left then right, the Dwarf encouraged the irritated man to lean closer so he could elaborate. “I worked on Gait when it went to pieces. I stole some of Razor’s equipment, see? Set up my own Emporium of Exotic Experiences in here. You want it, I got it. Including Rayne’s pain.”

Fascinating. Knock-offs of the Pain Curator’s once great empire. That brilliant young man contributed more to the Vast Collective than any single mind in existence. Nacres, memory exploration, access to all manner of vice—And this is what it amounted to.

“Get lost and take your counterfeit pain with you.”

The Dwarf scoffed before offering, “May Elden forgive you, mister, for aggrieving a humble merchant with such venom.”

Now the man was angry. No amount of breaths or heartbeats would span long enough to let him calm down. He stormed back to the Dwarf and snatched him before the short man could escape. In his face, the angry man spat, “Elden was a sociopathic opportunist with no regard for those in his life who loved him. He cared only for prolonging his people. Which sounds noble, until he disregarded his advisers, pushed his wife away, and abandoned his daughter. The only reason you even know the pagan’s name is that he got very, very lucky once and the Vast Collective has paid gravely for it ever since—”

Tears spilled from the Dwarf’s eyes, tripled in size. He was terrified, but not of the angry man’s words.

Fuck.

The hood fell back and revealed the angry man’s pale blue skin with deep blue striations. A clear film that passed for eyelids slid over his black voids with every blink. No lips, nose, or ears—No way to mistake him for anything but a Tritan.

A crowd gathered and gawked.

Wonderful. Just spectacular.

Tired, so very done, Remorse deactivated the compression field on his orb to zero percent. Within seconds, he stretched to his full height of sixty-five feet and substantial breadth.

Time to take out the trash.

After decimating the promenade, he’d convene with the others to resolve this situation caused by freeing the Verses into the Vast Collective. Civil unrest wasn’t the right word for it. No. This shit stank of revolution. And with every attack on their supply lines, despite Imminent’s discretion, the Progeny gained more ground in this war. The efforts of the clandestine organization couldn’t afford this exposure. It hurt Enki’s research of the Mother to revitalize the reproduction of the Tritan race. Only one young woman satisfied their requirements thus far, making her the most likely candidate in Enki’s ambitions.

And then there was Silence. Her eyes kept careful watch on Remorse to repay the kindness he showed the powerful female when the Primary left her for millions of years in stasis. With that threat looming at all times, Remorse deserved a fucking break.

Yes.

Senseless, stress-relieving destruction now. Imminent anti-Progeny campaign later.

They would start with Tameka.