Chapter 9: The Pendulum and the Liquid Fire
[I. The Sentinel of Time] The Clock Tower stood at the heart of Azmareel like a skeletal finger pointing toward the soot-choked heavens. Inside, the gargantuan bronze gears churned with a heavy, tectonic groan. Tick... Tock... The machinery ground away the seconds without mercy.
Alexander ascended the twisting wooden stairs alone, leaving Silas to guard the perimeter below. His heart hammered in a strange, rhythmic synchrony with the clock's beat. Every step brought him closer to the man who had stolen his past—and to the terrifying truth of his identity.
In the high chamber, behind the grime-streaked glass of the clock face, he found him.
The "Old Newspaper Seller" was no longer peddling rags. He sat in a rickety rocking chair, polishing a piece of intricate metal with a velvet cloth. Around him lay hundreds of stopped watches, their frozen hands pointing to a thousand different moments of death.
The old man raised his head. His eyes were milky-white, sightless in the physical world, yet they seemed to pierce through Alexander's very soul.
"You are late, Little Prince," the old man said, his voice like the grinding of rusted joints. "I have been waiting twenty years for your footsteps."
Alexander stepped forward, his gaze locked on the object in the man's hand.
It was a silver pendant. In its center sat a Void-Black Gem that seemed to swallow the dim light of the room. It was more than a jewel; it was the Key to the Aurelius Vaults.
"You know who I am," Alexander said, his voice a low rasp. "You took this from me that night."
"I did not take it to steal," the old man replied, his trembling hand offering the necklace. "I took it to hide it. If Kruger had found this around the neck of a dead child in the gutter, he would have burned the city to ash to find the rest. My name is Elias, once the Keeper of the Palace Timepieces. I promised your father I would guard the time... until the time was right."
Alexander took the pendant. As the cold metal touched his skin, a violent electric surge raced through his veins.
Visions flashed: Hidden corridors, architectural blueprints, the faces of loyal men waiting in the dark.
This was the missing link. The map to his inheritance.
"The circle is complete," Elias whispered, his tone suddenly turning sharp and terrified. "But while you hunt for ghosts in the dust... the wolves are tearing at your living flesh."
Alexander froze. "What do you mean?"
Elias pointed a skeletal finger toward the great glass window overlooking the city. "Look."
In the distance, exactly where the Manor of the Forgotten Baron lay, a pillar of thick, oily black smoke rose into the sky, followed by orange tongues of flame that painted the horizon the color of hell.
Alexander felt a sharp, phantom pain in his chest—a "severing of connection." Through his Vision, he felt the auras of his men—the Wraiths—extinguishing one by one.
Grey (Terror)... Red (Agony)... then Black (Death).
"Kruger..." Alexander snarled, his eyes turning into glowing embers of ash. "He used my absence."
"The past has a price, and the present does not spare those who look back," Elias said, receding into his chair. "Go, my boy. Save what remains of your kingdom's ashes."
[II. The Purge of the Insects] Silas drove the carriage with a suicidal desperation. The tires shrieked against the cobblestones, and the engine roared like a cornered beast.
"Faster, Silas! Faster!" Alexander roared as the smell of burning wood reached his lungs.
When they reached the Manor gates, the scene was a nightmare. The massive iron gate had been ripped from its hinges, looking like a discarded toy. The front courtyard was a sea of fire.
But the worst part wasn't the fire; it was the Visitors.
A squad of men in thick, chemical-resistant suits and gas masks that made them look like giant insects moved through the grounds. They carried heavy flamethrowers connected to tanks on their backs. Kruger's Purge Squad. They were burning everything. The furniture, the history, and the wounded.
"You sons of bitches!" Silas screamed. He braked violently, leaped from the car, and opened fire with his Kruger-7.
One of Silas's rounds punctured a fuel tank.
BOOM!
The mercenary turned into a human fireball, exploding and spraying liquid fire onto his own comrades.
Alexander stepped out of the car. He didn't run blindly. He was the calm at the center of a hurricane. He activated his Vision.
The attackers' auras were a Sickly, Parasitic Yellow. These weren't soldiers; they were sadistic mercenaries who found ecstasy in the flame.
Then, he saw it. In the second-floor window, a small, Trembling Blue Aura was fading. One of his men was still alive, trapped by the heat.
[III. Through the Inferno] Alexander drew his dagger and his golden pistol. He ran into the furnace.
The heat was an invisible wall, the smoke clawing at his throat, but he saw his path through the colors. A massive mercenary in a gas mask blocked his way, leveling a flamethrower.
"Die!" the man muffled through his mask.
The trigger clicked, and a jet of liquid fire erupted. Alexander slid across the heated marble floor, passing inches beneath the arc of flame. As he slid, he fired once. The bullet shattered the mercenary's goggles and buried itself in his eye.
Alexander rolled to his feet and charged up the burning staircase. The banisters fell around him like glowing embers. He kicked in the door of the trapped room.
Inside was Thomas, the youngest of the Wraiths, barely seventeen. He was huddled on the floor, bleeding profusely from his leg, yet he was still clutching a crate of ammunition to his chest.
"Boss..." the boy whispered, his eyes streaming from the smoke. "I didn't let them... take the guns."
Alexander hoisted the boy onto his shoulder without a word. The black pendant in his pocket felt like it was searing his skin, reminding him of who he was.
"Hold on, Thomas," Alexander said. "We're leaving."
He leaped from the second-story window, using a canvas awning to break their fall, landing in the scorched backyard. Silas had finished off the remaining attackers.
[IV. The Ashes of Mercy] Alexander placed the wounded boy on the damp grass. He turned to look at his home.
The right wing of the Manor had collapsed. The windows were black hollows. The elegant stone was stained with soot. It was a message from Kruger: There is no place for you to hide.
Silas stood beside him, his face covered in ash and blood, gasping for air. "They destroyed the house, Boss. We lost four men. The rest are bleeding."
Alexander stared at the burning ruins. The flames reflected in his grey eyes, but there was no sadness there. There was only a cold, metallic finality. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Aurelius Pendant, holding it up against the light of the fire.
"They didn't destroy the house, Silas," Alexander said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, quiet whisper. "They merely freed me from the burden of defending it."
He gripped the pendant so hard his knuckles turned white.
"Kruger wanted a war. I will give him a holocaust."
He turned to Silas and the surviving men who gathered around him, scarred and broken.
"Gather the men. Treat the wounded."
"Where will we go?" Silas asked.
"To the only place Kruger cannot burn," Alexander replied, his gaze shifting toward the oldest part of the city, toward the tunnels he had seen in his vision. "We go Underground. To the Aurelius Vaults. And from there... we launch the final strike."