by Sean Davies
As the military forces in Tropica had been left unharmed during the War for Reality, the other two continents had feared they would use it to their advantage and had been quick to step up military production; however, Winston had been quick to tie the three continents into a cooperation treaty.
Deputy Prime Minister Thorne had gathered a team of likeminded individuals and laboriously combed through the Military Peace Keeper organisation. They ruthlessly turned out any MPK with a tainted record or hint of immorality in the work place, and they installed rigorous new training regimes and exams that caused the bad eggs they didn’t catch out to quit of their own volition. Although there was a sharp drop in numbers at first, the new Legion of Imperia had a steady rise in volunteers from all the citizens who wanted to do their part in protecting their loved ones and the continent as a whole; even some action-hungry Alts and patriotic Supernaturals had joined up. Now, Imperia once again boasted an impressively well-disciplined army that also worked internally as a police force, and had recaptured many of the convicts that had escaped the prisons and work camps during the War for Reality.
Crime and punishment had always been a ruthless affair in Imperia and the rest of Mydia, with heinous crimes resulting in a quick execution sentence and lesser ones resulting in a fixed, un-appealable term of internment in either a prison complex or work camp. In recent years many MPKs were very much open to bribes, leaving only the worst of the worst and the poor to face justice, but now criminals on all levels had to think twice about their actions. Veronica thought it was ironic seeing as Winston and herself had met in a Supernatural organised crime gang, and broken the law dozens, if not hundreds of times over.
Winston stiffened as the giant holographic image of Christopher Thorne appeared in the centre of the coliseum, and for a moment Veronica saw his newfound imperious demeanour weaken and caught a glimpse of the husband she’d married. Veronica studied the Deputy Prime Minister of Imperia and had to admit that he looked very much like his son, and Winston’s dead best friend, Lewis Thorne.
According to Winston, Lewis had rarely spoken of his parents, even before he had been dominated by the Archmage Omniosis’ insidious control, and had only mentioned that he’d faced similar problems that Winston had endured like endless conversations about his education, future, and career path. As a secret Book Wielder, Lewis had simply gathered his things and left (whereas Winston had lied about getting a job at the Hotel Noir to his own parents), and gone to live with the Trinity of Old in the underground Catacombs. He had, of course, grown tired of their fastidious rules and regulations and defected to join Winston in the ranks of the Shadow Circle, once again packing up and leaving without a trace, and unknowingly breaking the heart of the Trinity Book Wielder, Chloe O’Kelly.
Veronica remembered the day that Lewis’ parents had come to Central Isle seeking answers well, and was sure that it had played a part in Winston’s personality change. Winston had filled them in on some of the details, leaving out the bits about how their runaway son had been taken over and secretly transformed into a half-Alternative grotesquery, and said that he’d died a hero protecting the ones he loved; a statement which had some truth to it, as the real Lewis had clawed his way back in control of his corrupted body to prevent himself from fighting Veronica, and shortly after he had immolated himself so that he could never hurt his friends again. Winston didn’t speak to anyone for over a week after Lewis’ grief-stricken parents had left the isle.
Deputy Prime Minister Thorne finished his speech by generously offering several squads of spare Autons to the barren Continent of Desem, and thanked Winston and Alice for their assistance in keeping the continent safe. Winston nodded his head and once again took on the mannerisms of a proud ruler.
The appointed speaker of the New Desem Republic (NDR for short) rose from her place in the podium, and graciously accepted the offer of the magically-enchanted robotic soldiers. Lana Johnson’s enlarged image popped up in the centre of the arena and she reeled off some statistics half-heartedly; there was clearly something else on her mind. The stout woman’s brown skin trembled and she fumbled with her short black ponytail before she finally broke off mid-sentence.
“Sorry, I have to ask,” Lana began, forcing her nervousness into determination. “What is being done to find Corriztis and Darkheart? We’ve had several attacks on our infrastructure and facilities, and a weird toxic bomb altered several people in eastern Desem. They’re currently undergoing extensive treatment in the Aldacium medical facility!”
A man from the Tropican delegation rose from his seat. “The Darkheart fanatics bombed Beachhead Two only last week! They took out an entire cargo container of Autons, and several dock workers were seriously injured!”
Queen Azalea gently tugged on the man’s suit jacket and he sank back to his seat immediately; however, people from all over the world were already expressing their concerns, and the arena’s magical enchantment elevated their combined voices into an irritating din. Winston stood up from his throne-like seat and waved his arms, gesturing for silence, and the Conclave of Nations fell eerily quiet.
Winston was dressed in a long white trench coat with thick black lines running around the edges, which dwarfed his average build. He had a smart black shirt tucked into a pair of crisp trousers, and a pair of slip-on black leather shoes. Winston had grown his brown hair so that it fell to the base of his ears, and kept it out of his face with a laurel wreath made of obsidian and inlaid with white diamonds.
Before Winston could speak, Lord Imperator Alice Eve stepped forward. “We are doing our best to track both of them down—”
“The Lord Imperator undersells herself,” Winston interrupted with a grin. “The Justiciars will have destroyed both of these pests within the next few weeks. Isn’t that right?” he asked Alice coldly.
Alice looked away from Winston and towards the crowds of people on the stands. She saw her husband, Jonathan Knight, sitting beside the Trinity delegation, and he nodded meekly.
Alice’s white irises contrasted heavily with her dark brown skin, and as ever her dark hair was parted neatly, but she’d cut it slightly so that it ended just short of her strong chin. Alice was an attractive woman but she never flaunted it, despite Veronica’s nagging insistence.
“Yes…” Alice reluctantly agreed. “We’ve narrowed down their possible whereabouts and are almost done,” she lied. “They’re as good as dead.”
A murmur of satisfaction reverberated through the building, but one brave soul called out, “Where does he even get the name Daedrian Darkheart?”
The scholar Mage, Alexander, put down his hand-written minutes and came forward into the forefront of the Imperial Box.
“It’s from an Archmage fable,” Alex began. “Daedrian Darkheart was said to be a human that developed limitless psychic powers and banished himself to the far corners of the universe to protect others from his god-like abilities. It seems that some Archmages told the story as a warning about how too much power could be a bad thing, but most of them just told it to joke about how lesser beings didn’t know how to handle immense abilities.”
“We believe he is a tall, black-haired male in his early thirties,” the bald-headed General Stein added. “As ever, any information is greatly appreciated.”
“That settles that,” Winston said definitively. “Let’s move on.”
Edward Anderson, often known simply as ‘the Manager’, took his turn to discuss the human affairs of Neo-Industria at the heart of Desem. He straightened his dark blue tie, put his hands inside his grey suit jacket pockets, and began to brag about the metropolis’ great output and massive contribution to the restoration effort, before hinting about receiving a higher return for his ‘generosity’ with the subtlety of a kick to the crotch. Winston narrowed his eyes in a way that reminded Veronica of a cat watching a rodent.
After the Alt Foreman’s last personal assistant had officially gone to work for the Mayor, Edward Anderson had volunteered to take his place
and serve the material wired-in head and torso hidden within the depths of the colossal Foreman superstructure. At first, all had seemed well as Industria City and neighbouring Rigorton were combined into one mega-city. Human and Alt technology proved unstable once mixed, and segregating the facilities and living areas took a considerable amount of space, so Edward dealt with human affairs while the Foreman took care of the Alternatives. However, the auburn-haired man had greater ambitions and tried to seize power, using the Alt’s strange logic against them. He had titled himself as the Manager and claimed to be the Foreman’s boss, and was backed by many human supporters, which spread chaos and confusion throughout the industrial super-city. As Winston was an old ally of the Foreman and a keen advocate of the Alternative race, no one was surprised when he intervened, but with the amount of human support the weaselly Manager boasted, Winston couldn’t simply take him out of the equation. Instead, Winston had forcefully negotiated for Edward to settle himself in Neo-Industria West, formally Rigorton, while the Foreman Colossus would stay where it was in Neo-Industria East, as moving the gigantic robotic structure would destroy a large portion of the city. Veronica wondered how long it would be before the Manager pushed his luck and met with a nasty accident like Georgina O’Claire had done in Gaelliard City.
As though he had read Veronica’s mind, the Manager ended his boasting and pushed his luck. “Now, I would like to discuss the Deep Vein Oil shortage plaguing our planet. I believe it is due to the presence of the Alts. They are clearly corrupting the underground reservoirs!”
The Conclave Amphitheatre erupted into cheers and boos, the statement sparking agreements and arguments. The holographic duplicate of the Manager fizzled out and was replaced with a ginormous image of a mechanical alt on a spider-legged throne backed with a row of giant chimneys.
“Lies, lies, and more lies! There is no evidence of the sort!” the image of the Foreman boomed, crackling with violent static as he was broadcast directly from Neo-Industria through the incomprehensible wonders of Gloom magic. “The lying little gingernut should be executed… very violently! Something involving explosives and orifices!”
To Edward Anderson’s humiliation, a wave of amused giggles swept through the masses of people in attendance, including his allies.
The Deputy Vice Assistant to the Mayor (formally Deputy Vice Assistant to the Foreman), or ‘DVAM’, added his image to the representation of his former boss. He stood with his material head held as high as it could go without his ridiculously tall top hat tipping off, and with his whirring and hissing mechanical arms folded across his chest.
“The Alts of Rura second this—the claims are unfounded, unfounded indeed!” DVAM began in his best attempt of a posh accent. “Also, we would very much like to see the Alt-hater explode, that we would. Thank you.”
“Then it’s clear that the merger failed,” the Manager accused, seeking to save face but ultimately digging his hole a little deeper.
A deathly silence fell over the Conclave of Nations as they awaited Winston’s retaliation.
A wide smile grew on Winston’s face and his eyes became two white slits of sadistic intent. Veronica felt as though the whole building was shaking slightly, but wasn’t sure if it was just her imagination.
Despite the evil look upon his young face, Winston spoke coolly and calmly. “Manager Anderson, I can personally assure you that the merger was a complete success, and that the Alternatives’ presence on the planet has no correlation with the DVO shortage. We are currently working to secure oil deposits beneath the ocean, we have multiple alternative energy projects in the works, and I am in the process of enhancing my magical abilities to new levels. If the alternative methods fail, then I’ll make something work. For the mean time, you can always go back to using coal—I’m sure Prime Minister Tiberius will share some with you, at an inflated price to match his generosity of course.”
The amphitheatre erupted in laughter, and the deflated Manager turned as red as a tomato and sank back into his seat. His skinny face was twisted in a mix of resentment and frustration, and looked as though he had sucked on a lemon.
As the Conclave got back into the swing of things, Veronica gave Alice a worried glance, and the Lord Imperator returned the look of concern. Out of all the crazy things that had transpired since meeting Winston, Veronica still considered her good friendship with Alice, the ex-Inquisitor General and her polar opposite, to be one of the strangest.
Alice’s arm vibrated from within, and she unclipped a hatch on her forearm armour to reveal a rectangular touchscreen handheld computing device (or HCD, for short) that also functioned as a mobile phone. The Lord Imperator delicately tapped on the HCD’s reinforced diamond screen with her armoured finger. Her device was built to take a beating, but she was much stronger than an average human even without her power armour’s assistance.
She scowled when she saw that she had a text message from her adversary. The sender’s number was a string of random characters and symbols, and Alice had learnt early on that it was impossible to reply in any way.
The message simply read:
Dear Alice,
Hope you are well.
I’ve sent you a lovely present—
He’s wearing a black backpack.
Lots of Love,
Corriztis.
P.S. Theodore Miller wonders when you’ll put him out of his misery…
Alice fought away the temptation to detach her HCD from her armour and smash it against the nearest white marble column.
“We’ve got trouble,” she whispered in General Stein’s ear. “Cover for me.”
The bald golem of a man grunted and saluted.
Alice left the box via its rear entrance, ignoring the unpleasant look that Winston shot her as she departed. She tapped her HCD and opened the emergency communication network shared by the Justiciar and Conclave.
“There’s a potential threat on the isle,” she said fiercely, broadcasting herself to the entire network. “Be on the lookout for a man with a black rucksack. He will be loyal to Corriztis, so play it safe and keep clean!”
Alice ran through the stone hallways, looking around wildly for anyone suspicious, and saw many Book Wielders and Justiciars doing the same thing.
In addition to Winston’s beloved arena, the Conclave building contained hundreds of comfortably sized rooms for Book Wielders and Justiciars alike to live in, a canteen in each wing, a fancy restaurant, a bar and nightclub, multiple training facilities, a swimming pool, a luxury communal bathhouse that was usually the hub of seedy fornication and questionable behaviour (which is why Alice never used it), recreational lounges, multiple well-guarded armouries and Alchemy labs, a well-stocked library, and a study hall.
The Justiciars’ facilities were primarily located underground in the renovated Inquisition secret headquarters (along with the gold-filled Conclave treasury which Winston claimed he couldn’t remember making), but also occupied several nearby buildings that encircled the amphitheatre complex. There were four entrances to the Justiciars’ main subterranean complex inside the Conclave building, each of which were defended with enough firepower to stop an army, and the elevators were rigged with traps and fail-safes just to be sure.
“This is Chloe O’Kelly—I’ve got the fucker!” a feisty voice from Alice’s device cheered. “I’ve got him contained in one of the south-wing living quarters.”
“I’m on my way,” Alice said, and made a mental note to chat with Chloe about her profanity (again) after the crisis had passed. “Everyone else keep a look out for anyone suspicious. Who knows how many others got past our security…” she added bitterly.
She quickly made her way to the south-wing living quarters on the first floor of the Conclave building, where Chloe and four fully armoured Justiciars were waiting for her.
Alice often paired herself with the Book Wielder Chloe O’Kelly, as the young white-eyed redhead was highly skilled and utterly fearless in the face of danger. Her talents with m
agic vastly outweighed Alice’s, who still preferred firearms and her Spell-forged steel war hammer to the arcane arts. Alice regularly rebuked the girl for swearing far too much over the open communication channels and drawing while she was on duty; nonetheless, they still made quite the dynamic duo.
Two Justiciars in light black armour waved Alice over to a nearby wooden door. She wasted no time, and barged inside where Chloe had detained a smartly dressed man. The rucksack was on the floor next to the man’s perfectly polished shoes.
The residence had light stone walls and flooring, and was decorated with pleasant landscape paintings, a couple of white Conclave banners, and several colourful rugs that made it seem homely, more like a modern-day castle abode than a dungeon cell. It had no owner, and as such it was only furnished lightly with a small sofa, a few bookshelves, a wall-mounted television, wooden coffee table, and a desk with one office chair. The design was the basic template that was repeated dozens of times over throughout the Conclave building, and Alice knew there would be an adjoining bedroom and bathroom through the door on the left side of the room, and a kitchen and storeroom through the one on the right.
Chloe’s hand was extended towards the nervous stranger, with a circle of light blue runes and strange script hovering in the air an inch away from her palm. The magical symbols burnt with intensity and the air around them shimmered as though they were made of fire.