Dark Son of Mortis (Chapter 4)

Though the strange-looking, bandaged creature cut quite the figure, the crowd’s eyes were transfixed on the space behind it.

Like taking a walk in its backyard, a small, at least compared to its companion, cloaked individual emerged from the shadows. From top to bottom, it was covered in black, and the space where its face should be was a dark, gaping hole.

Coming to a standstill a distance away, its gaze presumably swept the crowd, judging by their uncomfortable shuffling.

“How long did it take to find all these?”

It questioned the bandaged creature in the same weird voice from earlier, distorted by either natural or unnatural means.

The bandaged creature lowered its head.

“I am ashamed to admit, but this is the result of years’ effort, my Prince.”

Its tone was audibly despondent, as if lamenting its own incompetence.

The ‘Prince’ shook his head.

“No, you’ve worked hard…”

Trailing off, his gaze, which hadn’t left the crowd, finally went to his companion.

“…it’s just that, this endeavor was doomed from the start. Even if you brought me a trained army a million strong, it wouldn’t have made a difference.”

Though the words themselves were depressing, his tone remained even.

In the dark room atop the tower, where the holo-vid was being displayed, the corner of Matriarch Galatêa’s lips quirked upwards.

‘That insurgent child isn’t a fool. With a few carefully spoken words from our spy, his will shall surely crumble.’

Despite having such thoughts, she didn’t voice them, nor did she leak her emotions. His Majesty didn’t react favorably to having his concentration disturbed.

The data live-stream continued.

“…my Prince, you mustn’t lose hope. No matter the false savior’s strength, you will prevail. It is your destiny.”

Laying a hand on its master’s shoulder, the bandaged creature intoned gravely.

The Prince shook his head.

“That isn’t my meaning, but I suppose it isn’t strange for you to think that way…”

While it was impossible to make out his expression, the listeners could hear the smile in his voice.

“…since his rise, the false savior blurred the distinctions between Light and Dark. Although you, born into the Cult of the Old Ways, have an understanding of the latter, your knowledge is still extremely shallow...”

Lifting his arm into the air, the Prince’s baggy sleeve receded, exposing a pale hand with thin, slender fingers—clearly belonging to a human.

“…but expounding on the topic will take too long, and is bothersome to me. However, I’ll say this much: When walking in the Shadows, drawing strength from external forces dooms one to failure. Standing by oneself, walking a solitary path, possessing the strength to cover skies with a single palm—that is the way of the Dark.”

The Prince chuckled to himself.

“No matter how many grains are stacked on top of another, in the end, all one ends up with is a castle made out of sand.”

Bringing his brief monologue to an end, he made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

“Since you all have no value, you can get lost.”

His aura went from jovial to cold in an instant, the impression even conveying through the holo-vid.

There was a period of stunned silence as the crowd, who’d slavishly hung onto the Prince’s every word until now, tried to process this.

Many of them were secret worshippers of the Old Ways, having been nearly stamped out after the false savior’s centuries-long rule. Yet, here they were, risking the lives of themselves and their families just to attend this gathering.

Suddenly, a female voice spoke, the sound’s proximity seeming extremely close through the holo-vid.

“Please, Lord. Many like myself have nowhere to go. It’s true we aren’t worth much, but surely you can find a use for us!”

A Delphidian stepped forward, her appearance extremely destitute. She like many others had clearly taken the term ‘Demon Savior’ literally, hoping for a way out of whatever difficult situation she found herself in.

However, the Prince did not consider her request.

“Don’t waste my time. Accept this mercy for what it is. I won’t speak again.”

Abruptly, like two burning coals, a pair of red eyes appeared inside his cowl.

Seeing this, shocked and fearful whispers erupted among the crowd.

After a period of hesitant scuffling, a dozen-or-so individuals separated outward, carefully exiting the ruin. It was worth saying that many who came simply thought to try their luck, not actually expecting much.

Still, a surprisingly large number remained—about thirty individuals in all. A few even dropped to the ground, thumping their heads against the cracked and dusty stones.

“Lord, you are young, but from your speaking, it’s clear you are knowledgeable and wise. Please, let me serve you like my ancestors served the Cult! I have no family and nothing to live for!”

A male alien of an unknown species, being one of the kneeling, raised his head toward the Prince with worship in his eyes—rather well known in their underground movement for his fanaticism.

The Prince didn’t even look at him, instead his head suddenly tilted to one side, the pair of red eyes sweeping the crowd until he was staring directly into the holo-vid’s receiver.

“You there, the one in the grey robe. Among everyone here, only you seem to have some fate with me.”

His voice, which sounded childish despite the distortion, suddenly dropped in pitch.

“Come forward if you wish to serve me.”

Immediately, everyone’s gazes turned toward the spy, recording and broadcasting to the Emperor and Matriarch through some unknown means.

There was a period of silence before two feminine, pink-skinned hands came into view, as if seen through a first-person perspective.

“Lord, this humble one is unworthy, but she will do her best for the Savior.”

Despite being singled out so suddenly, the spy’s voice didn’t even shake. Gently pushing through the crowd, she made her way toward the Prince.

Many different looks were being sent her way—ones filled with envy, resentment and even disdain. The reason for this was unknown, the spy’s appearance being mostly concealed. However, from her skin tone, it wasn’t outlandish to assume Zeltron heritage—a race with mixed public perception on planet Zakuul.

Finding an open spot, she stood a short distance from the Prince, her head likely bowed given the image’s low angle.

“Let me take a good look at you.”

His voice drawing closer, a pair of dusty, shoeless feet came into view, sticking out from underneath the hem of a black robe. Despite the rough terrain, they weren’t scratched or calloused.

Like the nails on his fingers, his nails were a strange black color. Just from looking alone, it was possible to tell the color wasn’t painted on, somehow appearing natural.

“Tell me, are you trained in the ways of the Force?”

Now right in front of her, the Prince posed the question, his tone curious.

The spy raised her eyes, clearly trying to observe his face, but the space inside the cowl remained pitch-black. Even the red glow of his eyes had disappeared at some point.

“I’m… no I haven’t, young Lord.”

For a moment, her voice sounded unsure as if thinking things over, but then providing an answer. It wasn’t suspicious at all, appearing like natural nervousness from being put on the spot.

The Prince walked closer.

“Is that so? Please extend your hand—there’s something I’d like to check.”

His small, pale hand emerged from his sleeve, palm facing upwards.

Unable to resist unless she wanted to look out of place, the spy could only comply.

The surveillance device implanted in the Zeltron’s body was state-of-the art, a type of organic machine undetectable via common methods. But, from when she’d been called out until now—the Prince’s demeanor was too unusual.

Matriach Galatêa knew the operation had likely failed. In preparation for the fallout, while still kneeling, one hand went to her waist, activating a transmitter there. Given the mission’s importance, she didn’t send the spy without backup—already, a squad of Sisters were on their way to the ruin.

The moment the spy’s hand touched that of the Prince, it stiffened before the muscles and tendons under her skin spasmed briefly.

“Oh…?”

The Prince made a sound like discovering something interesting. His small hand, having only made light contact, reached forward, grabbing the Zeltron’s wrist.

Strangely, despite what was happening, the pink-skinned hand in the image didn’t move, the spy not making an effort to escape.

Then, something even stranger happened—the veins, barely visible underneath her shaded skin, started discoloring, growing darker and thicker until they bulged black, like leeches inside her flesh.

Even the light sound of breathing, having been audible through the holo-vid, abruptly ceased.

“What is that, some kind of bionic implant? Goodness me, people are getting more and more creative these days. What will they think of next?”

The Prince, still visible in the frozen image-feed, spoke conversationally.

Suddenly, there was an explosion somewhere behind him. A massive column of flame bloomed, flinging dust and shards of rubble across the interior.