Chapter 90: The Illusion of the Fallen Crown
The Royal Palace of Athelgard was bathed in a deceptive silence. In the master suite, the air was thick with the scent of expensive incense. King Zero lay in his massive, gold-leafed bed, his breathing slow and steady. Beside the bed, a high-ranking Royal Guard stood like a statue, his hand resting on the hilt of a vibranium-core blade.
Suddenly, a soft rhythmic knocking echoed from the heavy oak doors. The guard didn't move his feet, but his eyes narrowed. He stepped toward the door and peered through the high-security glass slit. A waiter stood there, holding a silver tray with a decanter of water.
The guard's instincts screamed. It was 3:00 AM. The King never requested water at this hour.
Slowly, the guard drew his silenced tactical pistol. On the other side of the door, the "waiter" suddenly dropped the tray. In one fluid motion, he pulled a heavy-duty thermal charge from his jacket and slapped it onto the lock.
BOOM—TSHHH!
The lock melted instantly. As the assassin tried to burst through the door, the Royal Guard fired. A single, silent bullet pierced the waiter's forehead. The man slumped to the ground, dead before he hit the carpet.
The guard stepped over the body, kneeling to inspect the face. He grabbed the man's hair and pulled—the skin peeled away like parchment. It was a hyper-realistic mask. Underneath was the pale, muscular face of one of Spero's male Super Soldiers. But before the guard could process the lack of a heartbeat, a cold chill ran down his spine.
"You're looking at the wrong puppet," a feminine voice whispered from the shadows behind him.
The guard tried to spin around, but he was too slow. The female Super Soldier—the one Spero had released—grabbed his head with both hands. With a sickening CRACK, she snapped his neck bone like a dry twig.
She let the guard's body drop and walked toward the bed with a predatory grace. She looked down at the sleeping King Zero, a twisted, triumphant smile on her lips. "Today," she whispered, "Athelgard is finally free from its dictator."
She pulled a jagged, obsidian blade from her belt and, with one swift motion, slashed it across the King's throat. Blood sprayed across the white silk sheets.
At that moment, the balcony window shattered. The third Super Soldier—the largest of the three—leaped into the room, his claws extended. "Is it done?"
"You're late," the female replied, wiping blood from her cheek. "The King is dead. Now, we move to Phase Two. We kill the wife, and then we find the Prince. Spero already sent a squad after Enoki. By sunrise, this bloodline will be extinct."
They turned to leave, but as they reached the door, the room temperature suddenly plummeted.
"Going somewhere, kids?"
The voice was deep, resonant, and chillingly calm. The two Super Soldiers froze. They turned around slowly, their hearts—engineered for war—suddenly hammering against their ribs.
Standing by the blood-stained bed was King Zero. But he wasn't lying down. He was standing tall, his royal robe perfectly clean, his throat unmarked. On the bed, the "body" they had just killed began to dissolve into a swirl of dark, shadowy mist. It was a high-level illusion—a Vane Decoy.
"Did you really think I reached the throne by being easy to kill?" King Zero asked, his eyes glowing with an ancient, terrifying golden light.
Before the Super Soldiers could react, the main door swung open. Miss Hima stepped in, her heels clicking sharply on the floor. She was adjusting her gloves, looking bored.
"Oh, I'm late," Hima sighed, glancing at the dead guard and the intruders. "But no matter. I honestly didn't think Spero would be so insulting as to send such weaklings to do a god's job. This isn't an assassination attempt... it's a joke."
The large Super Soldier roared, his muscles bulging as he prepared to lunged. "Weaklings? We are the pinnacle of the Kara Group!"
Miss Hima didn't even look at him. She simply raised a finger. "Sit down. The adults are talking."
Rollv 13: The Vigil of the Damned
Far from the palace, in the lightless depths of the prison, the atmosphere was a different kind of tense.
Hana was curled up on the thin, grimy mattress of their cell. She was exhausted, her body still recovering from the trauma of the transformation and the paralysis of her legs. She slept fitfully, her breath hitching every time a distant scream echoed through the cell block.
Ren, however, was not sleeping.
He stood in the center of the cell, his back to the bars, his eyes scanning every inch of the darkness. His chains rattled softly every time he shifted his weight, but he remained alert. His mangled arm was wrapped in a piece of his own jumpsuit, the pain serving as a constant reminder to stay awake.
47 deaths, Ren thought, his mind racing. Even if Silas is the best lawyer in the world, those 47 families won't wait for a court date. They want blood. And they'll pay anyone in this jail to get it.
He looked at the small ventilation shaft and the shadows under the door. He knew how prisons worked. A "accident" in the middle of the night, a guard "forgetting" to lock a door, a poisoned meal—there were a thousand ways to die in Rollv 13.
I can't sleep, Ren told himself, his eyes bloodshot. The moment I close my eyes, they'll come for her. I have to be her shield. I have to be the monster that keeps the other monsters away.
He touched the wall, feeling the cold stone. He could feel his 50% Feral blood thrumming under his skin, fighting against the suppressor injection the guards had given him. He was weak, his Vane energy was dampened, but his instinct was sharper than ever.
"Come on," Ren whispered into the darkness, his voice a low growl. "Try it. See what happens when you touch her."
In the distance, he heard the heavy footsteps of a guard patrol, but among those steps, he heard something else—the faint, metallic scrape of a shiv being sharpened against a stone wall.
They were coming. And Ren was ready to turn his cell into a graveyard.