The air in the High Command's sanctum was filtered, cool, and carried none of the scent of burning iron that currently choked the city below. High above the skyline of Ironwell, the chaos looked like a beautiful, silent map of light and shadow.
At the center of the obsidian table, a holographic projection of the Grand City pulsed with thousands of red dots—the newly "Awakened."
"Progress is... messy," the man with the white hair remarked, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. He kept his eyes strictly on the map, pointedly avoiding the figure seated to his right. "But the yield is three times higher than our projections. The city is officially a petri dish."
"It's a battlefield," a voice boomed from the shadows.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop as Hades leaned forward into the light. The high-ranking officials around the table visibly stiffened; one Council member even pulled his chair a few inches back, his breath hitching.
Hades was a mountain of a man, his chest encased in high-grade, weathered leather armor that bore the scars of a hundred skirmishes. Long, vibrant purple hair fell past his shoulders like a silken shroud, framing a face that was more predator than soldier. As he spoke, a pair of elongated vampire fangs caught the holographic light, glinting with a lethal sharpness.
Most striking were the wings tucked tightly against his back—a grotesque, beautiful asymmetry. His left wing was a stark, feathered white, like that of a fallen angel, while the right was a deep, bruised purple, pulsing with the same unnatural hue as his hair. He didn't just command the room; he oppressed it.
"The Council is demanding an end to the riots," Hades growled, his voice a low, guttural rumble that made the water in the glasses on the table ripple. "If we don't initiate the second phase and seize the government hubs now, we'll lose the tactical advantage for the Civil War. We need the military sectors under our thumb before the neighboring territories realize Ironwell has fallen. My legion is ready to cull the weak, but we need a clear directive."
The other members of the board remained silent, none of them daring to meet the General's gaze. Only Eris remained unmoved. She sat at the head of the table, her black fur coat draped over her shoulders, her expression one of mild, almost bored curiosity.
"The General is right about the war, but wrong about the timing," Eris said, her voice cutting through Hades's heavy presence with cold, melodic precision.
The Council members held their breath, waiting for Hades to snap, but Eris didn't even look at him. She was looking at a live feed of the empty holding pod at the Black-Site facility.
"We don't just need soldiers, Hades. We need a symbol. Something the Awakened will bow to. Something that carries the weight of history."
The man with the white hair swallowed hard, his voice trembling slightly. "You're talking about the boy. Brock."
"I'm talking about a King," Eris corrected. "But Kings are made through trauma, not just blood. Brakus and his little band of ghosts are already hunting him. They think they're the heroes of this story."
She stood up, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the burning metropolis. "If we tell Brock the truth now—that his power is a birthright—he might resist. But if we withhold it? If we frame Brakus and that... abomination Daniel as the ones responsible for the city's death? If we show him a world where his own family is the threat?"
She turned back to the board, a predatory glint in her violet eyes.
"He won't just join us. He'll lead the charge against them. We'll give him a crown forged from the lie that his brother betrayed him. By the time the Civil War truly begins, Brock will be the one burning Brakus's world to the ground. And he'll do it to 'save' what's left of Ironwell."
Hades leaned back, his mismatched wings twitching with a faint, restless energy. He ran a clawed finger over one of his fangs, his cold eyes fixed on Eris. He respected only one thing: the capacity for absolute ruin. And in Eris, he saw a kindred spirit.
"And if he finds out?" Hades asked.
Eris smiled—a slow, shimmering expression that didn't reach her eyes. "By then, there won't be enough of Brakus left for the truth to matter."
"Regardless," Hades growled, the sound vibrating through the obsidian table, "I am sending my finest to test the boy's limits. I still harbor doubts that a mere child could lead a legion like ours. Lineage or not, a king is forged in fire, not born in a lab."
At a sharp gesture from Hades, three figures stepped out of the oppressive shadows behind him, their presence immediately shifting the air in the sanctum. These were his Top Officers—the elite vanguard of his private army.
First was Argon. A short, stocky mountain of a man, he stood with a center of gravity that seemed unmovable. He was dressed only in the bottom half of a traditional white Gi, his torso a roadmap of jagged scar tissue and corded muscle. Tied tightly around his waist was a tattered grandmaster's belt, its fabric frayed from years of combat. He didn't carry a weapon; his fists, calloused and heavy, were enough.
Beside him stood Blitz. Slender and unnervingly still, he was draped in flowing silk robes that shimmered like oil on water. He carried himself with a predatory grace, his eyes darting across the room with a speed that suggested the world moved in slow motion to him. He was the scalpel to Argon's hammer.
Finally, there was Glint. A witch of striking and terrifying beauty, her long, dark purple hair seemed to move with a life of its own. As she stepped into the light, she offered a sharp, mocking smile that revealed elongated vampire fangs. Her eyes glowed with a faint, arcane hum, signaling a mastery over the supernatural that made even the other Council members recoil.
Hades looked at his trio of killers, then back to Eris. "If the boy survives them, then—and only then—will I consider him worthy of the crown you've built for him."
Glint leaned in toward Eris, the faint scent of copper and dried herbs clinging to her. She let a low, purring hiss escape her throat, her sharpened teeth grazing her lower lip.
"A 'King' made of paper and lies, Eris?" Glint whispered, her voice like grinding glass. "You spend so much time weaving your little webs. I'd rather just see if the boy bleeds purple or red."
Eris didn't flinch. She remained perfectly still, her violet eyes fixed on the witch with a look of detached boredom. "Your preference for blood has always limited your vision, Glint. You see a carcass to be drained. I see an empire to be built. It's why you take orders from the General, and I... do not."
Glint's hair lashed out like a nest of disturbed vipers, the tips sparking with dark energy. "One day, Eris," she spat, "I'll find out exactly what's under that cold skin of yours. I wonder if there's a heart at all, or just more ink and blueprints."
"If you ever find out," Eris said, finally meeting Glint's gaze with a cold, absolute intensity, "it will be because I allowed it. And by then, you'll be far too useful as a memory to ever tell the tale."
The air between them grew thick with killing intent, but before Glint could snap, the room died. The holographic map flickered and went dark. A tectonic vibration rattled the floor as Hades unfurled his mismatched wings—white feathers on the left, deep purple membrane on the right—stretching them until they scraped the high ceiling.
"Enough."
The word was felt in their marrow. The vibration stopped instantly. Hades retracted his wings, his eyes sweeping over his officers. "Glint, take Argon and Blitz. Move to the secondary site. If the boy shows a flicker of the Royal blood, test him. If he breaks... kill him."
Glint gave Eris one final, mocking baring of her teeth before vanishing into the shadows with the others.
Eris didn't move as the heavy doors sealed, locking out the remaining council members and leaving her alone with the General. She didn't seem shaken by Hades' display of power; if anything, she looked refreshed by the silence it had created.
"You speak of him as if he were a common soldier, Hades," Eris said, her voice smooth and devoid of the venom she'd used on Glint. She turned away from the door, walking slowly toward the massive window that overlooked the smog-choked horizon of Ironwell. "A King doesn't need to survive a culling. He needs to survive himself."
She reached into the pocket of her fur coat and pulled out a small, jagged piece of obsidian—a relic from the site where Brakus's father had fallen.
"The 'Royal' blood isn't just a genetic marker; it's a catalyst," she continued, turning the stone over in her fingers. "If Glint pushes him too hard, she won't just find out if he bleeds red. She'll find out why the world forgot that some lineages weren't meant to be suppressed."
Hades stepped up behind her, his shadow swallowing her small frame. "And if he isn't what you think he is? If he's just a scared child who screams for his brother until his lungs give out?"
"Then he is of no use to me, and you may let Argon crush his skull," Eris replied coldly. She turned to face him, her violet eyes reflecting the dim light of the room. "But I have seen the potential buried in that family.
There is a reason Brakus has spent his life keeping that boy tucked away from us. It isn't just out of love, Hades. It's because he knows exactly what Brock is capable of becoming if the right hands mold him."
Hades fell silent for a moment, his jaw tightening. He respected strength above all else, and Eris's absolute certainty was a strength of its own.
"The transport to the secondary site will take an hour, and I want the boy kept in isolation for three more after that," Hades said, his voice a low rumble. "Let the silence weigh on him. Let the fear settle into his bones before my officers step into that room. I want to see what is left of his spirit when the shadows start talking back."
"A wise precaution," Eris noted. "Break the shell before you try to harvest the pearl."
"Exactly," Hades said, turning toward the observation deck. "We begin the evaluation at dawn. If your 'King' fails to rise by sunrise, Eris, I hope you're prepared to lead the front lines yourself. Because once the Shadow Company moves, there is no retreating into the ink and blueprints."
"I have never been one for retreats," Eris said, a faint, chilling smile finally touching her lips as she watched the last light of the sun dip below the horizon. "I prefer to simply rewrite the map."