The heavy iron latch of the side room clicked open, a small sound that seemed to ripple through the quiet corridor. As we stepped back out into the pale morning light, the atmosphere between us had completely shifted. The oppressive, suffocating weight of hidden secrets was gone, replaced by the raw, grounding reality of absolute truth.
I slowed my pace slightly, intentionally falling into step beside Sir Armand. I looked at the dark bruise already beginning to puff up along his cheekbone where Buns had struck him. Reaching out, I placed a gentle, steadying hand on his shoulder, giving it a warm, supportive squeeze.
"You did the right thing in there, Sir Armand," I said, my voice soft, entirely stripped of the cold edge I had carried earlier. "It takes a tremendous amount of courage to lay your soul bare like that. I respect you for it. Don't carry the weight of the past alone anymore. We're a team now."
Armand looked at me, his exhausted eyes softening with genuine gratitude. He offered a faint, appreciative nod, the tension visibly draining from his posture. "Thank you, Arthur. Your grace in this matter... it means more than I can easily express."
I turned my head to look back at Patch, offering him a warm, encouraging smile. "You handled that like a man, Patch. Your father needed to hear what you said. You're a good son."
Patch rubbed the back of his neck, a genuine, slightly embarrassed smile breaking through his restless demeanor. "Thanks, Arthur. I just... I'm glad we're not hiding things anymore. It feels like we can finally breathe."
Beside him, Buns walked with her hands buried deep in her pockets, her gaze fixed entirely on the floorboards. Her knuckles were still flushed red. The quiet fury radiating off her wasn't directed at Armand anymore; it had found its true, rightful target. I shifted my position, walking right beside her, keeping my posture completely relaxed and welcoming.
"Hey," I said gently, bumping my shoulder playfully against hers to draw her out of her thoughts. "You mostly okay?"
Buns blinked, looking up at me. The hard line of her jaw softened just a fraction at the warmth in my expression. "I'm fine. Just... ready to finish this."
"We're going to finish it," I promised her, my voice full of genuine affection. "Together."
The moment my fingers gripped the handles of the grand ironwood doors to the hall, the warmth vanished from my face. My features locked into a mask of pristine, clinical detachment. The transition was instantaneous, like a furnace being plunged directly into a frozen sea.
I pushed the doors open. The cavernous hall loomed before us, still littered with the silver shrapnel of the shattered lanterns. And there, sitting on the dais, was Queen Ciara.
She had managed to drag herself back onto her throne, desperately trying to piece together the tattered remnants of her royal majesty. Her posture was stiff, her hands white-knuckled as she clutched the armrests. But she was a pathetic sight. The violent, deep purple bruising around her neck stood out like a grotesque collar against her quills.
The moment our boots echoed in the chamber, her head snapped up. She looked at us, trying to manufacture that infuriating, serene smile she always used to manipulate the room. She looked at the D'Coolettes, then at Buns, her eyes narrowing as she prepared to weave some hollow political platitude to regain control of the room.
She never got the syllable out.
Buns didn't scream. She didn't hesitate. With the explosive, blinding speed of her heritage, she vanished from my side. The air pressure in the room violently cracked as Buns launched herself across the dais, her face contorted into an expression of pure, unadulterated vengeance.
Ciara's eyes blew wide open in an instant recurrence of her primal terror. Her hands instinctively began to lift, her fingers twitching as she desperately tried to summon whatever residual spark of royal authority or magic she had left to shield her fragile body.
"Don't you dare move, Ciara," I commanded.
My voice didn't rise to a shout. It was a flat, surgical whisper that sliced through the air like a razor blade, instantly freezing the Queen in place.
I walked forward, my eyes locked onto her with a terrifying, predatory stillness. "If you fight back, if you use a single ounce of your pathetic authority to protect yourself, or if you so much as scratch a single hair on her head, I will personally pin you to that chair. And then I am going to rip your toenails off. One. By. One. Do you understand me, fraud?"
The sheer, unhinged certainty in my voice struck Ciara like a physical blow. She didn't doubt me for a fraction of a second. Her hands dropped uselessly to her sides, her entire body locking up in sheer terror as she forced herself to endure the incoming collision.
An instant later, Buns slammed into her.
Buns' hands gripped the front of Ciara's royal silks, violently wrenching the Queen from her throne and dragging her crashing down onto the stone steps of the dais. Buns pinned her down, her forearm driving heavily into Ciara's already ruined throat, cutting off her breath. Buns' free hand drew back into a tight, trembling fist, aimed directly at the Queen's face.
"Buns," I said softly, my voice instantly transitioning back into that warm, deeply empathetic tone as I stepped onto the first tier of the dais. I reached out, gently placing a hand on Buns' shoulder, not to force her away, but to offer a comforting anchor. "Please stand down. You can't kill her. Not right now."
Buns didn't lower her fist. Her chest heaved violently, her ears pinned flat against her head as she glared down at the suffocating monarch beneath her. "Give me one good reason, Arthur! Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn't cave her head into the stone right now! Look at her! She sat in this beautiful room while my home burned!"
Tears of absolute frustration and old, buried grief began to spill down Buns' cheeks, but her gaze never wavered. "She knew what Acorn was doing! The Northern Baronies... that was my home, Arthur! My family, my friends, everyone I ever knew... wiped out in a cascade she chose to ignore! And Uncle Beau..."
Buns' voice cracked, a devastating sound of pure heartbreak echoing in the cavernous room. "I never even got to find him. I never got to bury him. He's just gone, rotting somewhere under the structural collapse of a system she managed on a chessboard! I want her dead!"
My heart broke for her. I leaned down, completely ignoring the gasping, pathetic Queen beneath us, and looked into Buns' eyes with absolute warmth and validation. I squeezed her shoulder, my voice thick with genuine emotion.
"I know, Buns. I know exactly what she took from you. I know about the Baronies, and I know about Uncle Beau. You have every right to tear her to pieces, and she deserves a thousand deaths for what she allowed to happen to your family."
I leaned closer, my eyes shining with a protective, fierce loyalty. "But please hear me out. I still sadly need her influence. Her crown still holds weight with the public, and her signature is the only currency that can drain the royal treasury without starting a civil war. We need to use her up completely before we discard the purse. If she dies today, the realm fractures, and we can't fix what she broke."
I glanced down at Ciara, my eyes instantly turning to absolute ice, before looking back at Buns with a warm, dark promise.
"But I will give you this promise. Twelve years from now, on my eighteenth birthday, the parameters change. The prophecy will be fulfilled, and this pathetic animal will become entirely obsolete. On that day, I am going to tear her heart out of her chest. And if you stand down right now... I promise you, I will let you help me do it. We will avenge Uncle Beau together. Do we have a deal?"
Buns stared at me through her tears. She saw the absolute sincerity, the fierce loyalty, and the genuine warmth I held for her, contrasted against the total lack of humanity (well Mobianity, but you get the point) I had for the Queen. Slowly, her fist uncurled. She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve and gave a sharp, definitive nod.
"Twelve years...," Buns whispered, her voice tightening. "I trust you Arthur, we have a deal."
Before Buns could even slide backward off the Queen's chest, Sir Armand D'Coolette stepped past us. His expression was entirely empty of his usual chivalric hesitation. He didn't offer a speech, and he didn't demand an apology. He simply drew his leg back and kicked Queen Ciara squarely in the side of the head with every ounce of strength in his body.
**THUD.**
The impact was brutal. The gold crown snapped off her head, clattering violently across the stone tiles and spinning into a dark, dusty corner. Ciara's head bounced hard off the stone steps, a sharp cry of agony cut short as her body went completely limp, her consciousness flickering violently. She slumped sideways onto the dais, blood trickling from her lip, her breath coming in ragged, terrified wheezes.
I chuckled softly, turning to Armand and clapping him warmly on the back. "A beautifully executed strike, my friend. Don't ever apologize for that one. She earned every bit of it."
Armand exhaled a long, steady breath, adjusting his coat with a sense of finality. "It was a debt long past due."
I turned my attention back down to Ciara, the smile instantly vanishing from my face as I stepped closer to her trembling, bleeding form. I tilted my head, looking down at her with pure, unadulterated mockery.
"You know, Ciara, it's funny," I purred, my voice dropping to a cold, predatory drawl. "You always thought you were the smartest person in the narrative, didn't you? You sat up on this throne playing your little shadow games, looking down on everyone else. You thought Maxx Acorn was beneath you. You thought he was just a crude, blunt instrument."
I let out a soft, mocking laugh, nudging her side brutally with the toe of my boot.
"But let me tell you a secret: Maxx might not have been smarter than you, but he was just crazy enough to almost stop me. He had the unhinged, chaotic audacity to build a system that would tear down entire regions the moment his heart stopped. He was willing to burn the whole board down just to spite me. He had commitment. But you?"
I leaned down, forcing her to look into my eyes, which were totally devoid of humanity.
"I know about the Anarchy Beryl. I know you have the means to find, access, and channel that raw, unstable chaos right now. You could use it. You could risk it all, transform into a Super like State, and wage a god-war in this room. You might *maybe* even take me down with you if you did."
I paused, watching the absolute dread paralyze her features. A cruel, mocking grin split my cheeks.
"But you won't do it, will you? You won't ever touch it. Because you are terrified of the price. You know that kind of power burns a mortal body to ash from the inside out. You aren't willing to risk your precious, miserable life, even if it means saving your kingdom. Underneath all that manufactured elegance and royal poise, you're just a sniveling coward who wants to survive more than she wants to win. Maxx was a monster, but you? You're just pathetic."
Ciara offered no response, merely a low, rhythmic sob, her fingers clutching her throbbing head against the stone as she swallowed her humiliation.
I stepped away from her, instantly shedding the freezing malice as I turned back to face my friends. My expression brightened, becoming warm, welcoming, and full of clear, shared purpose as I looked at Armand, Patch, and Buns.
"Alright, team. We aren't leaving just yet," I said, gesturing toward a large, heavy oak table situated near the side of the dais. "If we're going to fix the grand design, we do it right here, where she has to watch us dismantle her empire piece by piece. Armand, go into her private archives and fetch the regional blueprints for the northern sectors. Patch, help him carry the ledgers. Let's map this out."
Patch nodded eagerly, his restless energy turning into focused intent. "On it, Arthur." He and his father immediately moved toward the back rooms, completely trusted and at ease.
I turned my gaze back to Buns, my tone deeply respectful and gentle. I reached out and took her hand, giving it a warm, reassuring squeeze.
"The Northern Baronies are a massive graveyard right now, Buns. A direct result of Maxx's insanity and this coward's complete lack of oversight. Hundreds of thousands of survivors are rotting in the ruins, abandoned by the crown. But we are going to change that. Sir Armand, Mary, and Patch are going to oversee the physical logistics and security of the entire reconstruction."
I looked into her eyes, my voice thick with a protective, fierce loyalty. "This is your homeland. You don't have to go if it's too painful, but if you choose to come north with us... you will have full authority over the search efforts. You will have all the resources, all the men, and all the time you need. We are going to find Uncle Beau, Buns. And we are going to give him the grand, honorable burial he deserves. You're going to rebuild your home."
Fresh tears welled in Buns' eyes, but this time, a bright, beautiful smile broke through her grief. She squeezed my hand back with immense gratitude. "I'm going, Arthur. Try and stop me. I want to build it back better than it ever was... and I want to watch her break under the weight of the stones we lift."
"That's exactly what we're going to do," I said, a genuine laugh escaping my chest as Armand and Patch returned, dumping a massive stack of maps and financial ledgers onto the oak table.
I kicked a stray piece of silver shrapnel out of the way and pulled up a chair, gesturing for Buns and the D'Coolettes to join me. We gathered around the table, the morning sun climbing higher through the windows, illuminating the blueprints of the new world we were creating.
At the foot of the throne, the crownless Queen remained slumped in the dirt, entirely obsolete, forced to listen to the exact architecture of her own undoing.
-------
The morning sun poured through the high, arched windows of the grand hall, casting long, golden beams across the heavy oak table. The air was filled with the crisp rustle of parchment and the low, steady murmur of planning. It was a beautiful contrast to the shattered glass and the pathetic, whimpering monarch still slumped in the dust at the base of the throne.
I leaned over the expansive map of the Northern Baronies, tracing a finger along the main supply routes. I kept my tone incredibly warm and supportive, treating the D'Coolettes and Buns not as subordinates, but as absolute equals in this new world we were forging.
"These roads here," I said, tapping a faded ink line that snaked through the mountainous region. "They're going to be completely washed out from the collapse. Patch, you have the best eye for structural integrity among us. I want you leading the vanguard on clearing these passes. Think you can handle that?"
Patch leaned over the map, his eyes tracing the route. The heavy burden he had carried into the palace earlier was completely gone, replaced by a fierce, productive energy. "Absolutely, Arthur. If the main bridge over the chasm is down, I can route the caravans through the lower valley until we get a temporary crossing built."
"Brilliant," I beamed, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "I knew I could count on you."
I turned my attention to Buns, who was staring intently at a specific sector of the map—a small, highly detailed quadrant near the edge of the Baronies. Her ancestral home.
"We'll set up the primary medical and search encampment right here," I told her gently, my voice softening to offer her all the comfort I had. "It's central enough to dispatch teams in every direction, and it's defensible. You'll have a direct, secure line to Terminus. Whatever you need—whether it's heavy lifters, medical supplies, or simply more hands to dig—you just say the word, and I will empty the royal coffers to send it north."
Buns looked up at me, the ghost of a tear shining in her eye, but her smile was fiercely determined. "Thank you, Arthur. Really. We're going to find Uncle Beau. I know it."
"I know it too," I reassured her, giving her hand another warm squeeze.
I straightened up, stretching my back slightly before turning my gaze to Sir Armand. The veteran knight was scrutinizing the ledgers, already mentally calculating the sheer volume of grain and stone required for the expedition.
"Armand," I began, my tone shifting to one of deep professional respect. "With you, Mary, and Patch heading up the Northern reconstruction, I'm left with a slight logistical issue here in the capital. The Royal Guard is in shambles, the current commanders are either corrupt or completely incompetent, and I need someone to hold the line in Terminus while I manage the broader geopolitical theater."
I crossed my arms, offering him an encouraging, open look. "Is there anyone you trust to take your position here? Someone who won't bow to the old aristocracy, someone who can keep this city secure while you're gone?"
Armand slowly lowered the ledger, his brow furrowing in deep thought. He looked out the window, his mind clearly sifting through decades of alliances, soldiers, and mercenaries.
"The capital is a viper's nest," Armand said gravely. "Most of the established guard captains are firmly entrenched in Ciara's pockets, or worse, loyal to the old noble houses. Trust is an incredibly rare commodity, Arthur."
"I know," I replied sympathetically. "But I trust *your* judgment. If you say a name, that person gets the job. No questions asked."
Armand sighed, a heavy, reluctant sound. "There is one person... if barely."
I raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued.
"Oh? Let's hear the name."
"Cutlass Mongoose," Armand said, the name carrying a heavy weight in the quiet room.
Buns' ears twitched, her eyes widening slightly at the mention of the name, though she stayed perfectly silent.
"Cutlass Mongoose," I repeated, tasting the syllables. "Sounds like a rogue. Tell me about this Mongoose."
"A mercenary by trade, but a warrior by nature," Armand explained, his voice measured and cautious. "Cutlass operates on the absolute fringes of the kingdom's underworld. The Mongoose possesses incredible martial skill, unparalleled reflexes, and a terrifyingly sharp mind. More importantly, Cutlass follows a very strict, albeit entirely personal, code of honor. Coin buys the Mongoose's time, but loyalty buys the blade."
"But you said 'if barely'," I pointed out, leaning against the edge of the table. "What's the catch?"
"The temper," Armand replied bluntly. "Cutlass is utterly uncompromising and viciously independent. The Mongoose does not take well to authority, nor to the traditional chain of command. If you put Cutlass in charge of the capital's security, Terminus will be safe, but the methods used to keep that peace will be incredibly brutal. Reining the Mongoose in might prove to be a massive headache."
A genuine, bright smile spread across my face. A brutal, uncompromising rogue who hated the traditional establishment? It sounded absolutely fucking perfect for the new regime I was building.
"Armand, you have impeccable taste," I laughed warmly, clapping my hands together. "We will find Cutlass Mongoose before you and the transport caravans depart for the Northern Baronies. I'll personally make sure the Mongoose is brought into the fold and given the authority needed to keep Terminus in line."
Armand offered a respectful bow of his head. "As you wish, Arthur. I will send out feelers through my old contacts to locate the Mongoose's current whereabouts."
"Excellent," I said, stepping completely away from the table and rolling my shoulders. I dusted a stray speck of ash off my jacket, the warmth in my voice remaining perfectly intact as I looked at my friends. "Well, you three have the blueprints, the ledgers, and the authority. I'll leave you to draft the final supply lists. I have a brief errand to run."
Patch looked up from the map, his brow furrowed in mild confusion. "An errand? Arthur, we just completely upended the monarchy. Where are you going?"
I paused halfway to the grand double doors.
A low, rumbling chuckle began deep in my chest. It wasn't directed at them—it was entirely devoid of malice toward anyone in the room—but it was undeniably dark. The chuckle bubbled up my throat, morphing into a sharp, echoing cackle that bounced off the vaulted ceilings of the hall.
Even Ciara, bleeding and pathetic on the floor, flinched violently at the sound of it.
I turned back to look at them, a wide, terrifyingly cheerful grin plastered across my face. My eyes, however, danced with the promise of absolute, unmitigated violence.
"You see, Patch," I explained, my tone light and conversational, as if we were discussing the weather, "a few days ago, I sent out a very polite, very clear broadcast to all the neighboring nations. I suggested that we all stand down, lay aside our weapons, and embrace a united, peaceful Mobius under my guidance."
I casually checked my fingernails, my grin widening.
"Most of them were smart enough to listen, or at least not oppose me openly. But Spagonia? Spagonia hasn't been returning my calls. In fact, scouts from the war tell me they have completely ignored my warning. They are actively arming their borders, mobilizing their heavy artillery, and preparing for a prolonged siege. They actually think they can resist the tide."
Buns stared at me, a mixture of awe and slight unease crossing her features. "So... what are you going to do Blue?"
"Me?" I laughed, a bright, manic sound that made the air in the room crackle with static electricity. "I've been cooped up in this palace all morning dealing with politics and crying monarchs. I'm feeling a little stiff."
I winked at Buns, my energy completely unhinged but entirely friendly toward her.
"I'm just going to go for a quick run. Stretch the legs, get some fresh air. It shouldn't take more than an hour or two to turn their entire military infrastructure into abstract art and remind them why listening is a virtue."
I grabbed the handles of the heavy ironwood doors, pulling them open to reveal the bright morning outside. I looked back over my shoulder, offering my friends one last warm, brilliant smile before the slaughter began.
"Hold down the fort, team. Let Armand know when the supply lists are finalized. I'll be right back!"
And with a deafening sonic boom that shattered the remaining stained glass windows of the grand hall into a million glittering pieces, I vanished, leaving the capital behind as I raced toward Spagonia to deliver a massacre...