The most expensive blood is the one given willingly, not taken by fate or chance.
An Army of Idiots
The door creaked open, and there stood Ábel, grinning ear to ear, with a box of sweets that was probably big enough to feed a village. I knew that grin—it wasn't just a "hello" grin; it was an "I messed up, but please don't kill me" grin. I sighed, let him in, and went back to the living room.
"Ábel," I said, my voice a perfect mix of weariness and suspicion. "What did you do now?"
He trotted in, plunking the box onto my desk with a flourish. "I come bearing apologies!" he declared. "And desserts. Mostly desserts. Look, there are macarons this time. Fancy, right?"
I leaned back in my armchair, already bracing myself. I pinched the bridge of my nose, already feeling the headache blooming. "What happened?"
"Okay, so..." He shifted awkwardly, then started unpacking the sweets. "Remember when you asked me to mute the fan page?"
"Yes." I sighed, long and slow. I had been hoping to forget.
"Well..." He trailed off, busying himself with arranging the desserts as if he were auditioning for Great Plate Arranging of the Realm.
"Ábel," I said, my voice dangerously flat.
"Right, okay, okay!" He threw up his hands. "So, I tried. I really did! But when I announced it—just to explain why—it sort of... backfired."
I raised an eyebrow. "Backfired how?"
He winced. "Uh, the fans didn't take it well."
"Define 'not well.'"
"They—" He paused, nervously adjusting his scarf. "—they were outraged. Like, really outraged. They started demanding to know who was responsible for giving their beloved Hueless King a headache."
I stared at him. Blinked. Sighed.
"And what did you tell them?"
"Nothing!" He looked sheepish. "But they wouldn't let it go! They're mobilizing, Shay. Like, mobilizing. Someone even suggested forming a resistance group against whoever's messing with you!"
This time, I stopped mid-sigh. "Wait. What?"
He looked up, his face lighting up like a kid who'd just been caught stealing cookies but thought he could charm his way out of it. "Yeah, they're calling for the name of the organization that dares to give you a headache. They're ready to, uh, fight for your honor or something."
I sat up, suddenly intrigued. "Say that again."
Ábel blinked. "The fans want to know who's responsible for your stress, so they can, you know, make them suffer."
A slow, sly smile crept across my face. For the first time in hours, I felt... lighter. "Perfect."
Ábel tilted his head, confused. "Uh, what's perfect? Shay? Why are you smiling like that? It's a little scary."
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk. "Here's what you're going to do. You're going to tell them it's Belizár who's making my life difficult."
Ábel's jaw dropped. "Wait—Belizár? You're serious?"
"Dead serious."
"But—but—he's—"
I cut him off with a wave of my hand. "Exactly. "He" is the Time Mage. Consider this... tactical karma," I added, smirking, "They will give her a hard time. Probably."
Ábel still looked unsure. "You're really sure about this?"
I picked up a macaron and bit into it. Pistachio. Nice. "Ábel, do I look like I'm joking?"
He squinted at me, then shook his head. "No, you look terrifyingly pleased with yourself."
"Good. Now go. Tell them. And if you're lucky, I'll even share the next box of sweets you bring."
He groaned muttering something about how I was greedy. I just smiled to myself and reached for another macaron. Maybe being the Hueless King wasn't so bad after all.
"But," he said, "there is more."
I raised an eyebrow, motioning for him to elaborate. "What now?"
He pulled out his phone from his pocket and showed a couple of pictures, revealing rough sketches of t-shirts, mugs, and—surprisingly—caps with 'Hueless King' emblazoned across them in a wild, scrawling font. The designs were... eccentric, to say the least.
"Merch," Ábel announced with the enthusiasm of a salesman. "They're making it themselves. Crowdfunding it, even. The 'Hueless King Merch Army' has taken off like wildfire."
I rubbed my temples, half-amused and half-annoyed. "They're really calling themselves that?"
He nodded, grinning. He hesitated, then leaned closer. "It's chaotic. We need some kind of order if we want this to actually make sense—and bring in funds."
I scoffed, rolling the idea around in my head. "And you're telling me this because...?"
Ábel's grin widened. "Because you need cash, and this could be the perfect way to get it. With the upcoming battle, funds will be tight. So I thought, why not channel the chaos into profit?"
The room seemed to tilt a bit, the seriousness of the war weighed against the absurdity of selling 'Hueless King' branded aprons. I let out a sigh and nodded, a spark of reluctant amusement in my eyes. "Alright, Ábel. Find a way to get us in on this."
He smiled, already halfway out the door. "I'll be back with ideas—and a plan to clean up this mess."
"Yeah-yeah," I waved. "Good luck with that."
For a moment, I stood there, the silence of the room settling over me like a comforting blanket. A small smile was hiding in the corners of my mouth.
Ábel had grown so much since I first met him—an annoying, wide-eyed kid with more energy than sense and a grin that could make you forget why you were mad. He was still silly, still a whirlwind of puppy eyes and half-baked ideas. But I couldn't deny it: he was sharp too, clever in a way that crept up on you. He'd already turned the mess of fan-driven chaos into a plan with real potential. That was smart. Maybe even brilliant.
I lounged on the couch, arm draped over the backrest, staring blankly at the ceiling. Sometimes eating a macaron. Well, my mind was on something far less mundane.
In my head, I could see them: my fans. Clad in makeshift armor cobbled together from merchandise—hoodies with my mask, scarves with my crest, even socks bearing my name. They marched in perfect, terrifying unison, waving banners that read 'For the Hueless King!'
One woman in the front had fashioned a spear out of a broomstick and a foam crown topper. Another carried a shield made entirely of meme posters. At the back, a row of particularly unhinged devotees carried battle chants set to the tune of pop songs.
I almost choked on my own laugh. This is what happens when you accidentally acquire a cult following, I thought grimly.
The front door slammed, and I heard familiar, light footsteps. A moment later, Rolo burst into the living room, his face still flushed from the cold outside. He was balancing a takeout box precariously in one hand and fiddling with his scarf with the other.
"What's with that face?" he asked, plopping down unceremoniously onto the couch beside me. "You look like you're deciding whether to conquer the world or burn it to the ground."
I gave him a side glance. "Neither. Just thinking about my fans. They're probably organizing a crusade against the Time Mage as we speak."
Rolo blinked at me, then snorted. "You're kidding."
"Am I?" I countered, raising an eyebrow.
He paused, eyes narrowing. "Okay, no, you're not."
I smirked, leaning back into the cushions. "Now I can't stop picturing an army of them, armed to the teeth with my merch."
Rolo laughed so hard he almost dropped his takeout.
I couldn't help but chuckle. "My fans are the most terrifying force in the realm. Forget soldiers; give me a battalion of them, and I'd win any war."
He shook his head, still laughing, then nudged me with his elbow. "So, anything else on your evil genius agenda, or are you just lounging dramatically until inspiration strikes?"
"Neither. I was waiting for you." I gestured at the takeout box. "How was training with Mose?"
Rolo's smile faltered slightly, but he recovered quickly, setting the box on the coffee table. "It was... okay. Progress is slow, but he's trying."
"And?" I prompted.
Rolo sighed. "And he's managed to drain a cactus. Which I guess is progress. But I don't think he's ready to, you know..." He made a vague motion with his hand, miming life-force extraction.
I nodded, steepling my fingers. "I told him to practice on plants for a reason. If he can't control himself with a cactus, he'll never manage with anything—or anyone—more complex."
Rolo frowned. "You're really sure about this, Shay? I mean, it's Mose. He's not exactly the... aggressive type."
"That's exactly why I want him to learn," I said, my tone firm. "Because he is a pushover and you won't be always with him to save him. His ability could be a game-changer if he masters it. But if he doesn't, it's just a liability."
Rolo looked at me for a long moment, then sighed. "You're impossible sometimes, you know that?"
I smirked. "I know."
He picked up his takeout again, muttering under his breath about 'his Majesty,' and I settled back into the couch. My fans were still marching in my mind, but now, somewhere in the back, I pictured Mose quietly draining a cactus as they stormed the Time Mage's castle.
Rolo broke into my thoughts with the grace of a rock shattering glass.
"Do you ever not nap?" he asked, his tone dripping with mock exasperation.
I cracked an eye open, glaring at him as much as my limited energy allowed. "Do you ever not complain?"
He wasn't fazed.
"I'm just saying, Shay. Here I am, slaving away on all these insane projects you toss my way, and what do you do? Lounge around like some bored cat, daydreaming or napping. You could at least pretend to contribute."
"Slaving away?" I echoed, sitting up just enough to prop my chin on my hand. "You look fine to me. No chains, no whips, not even a tragic violin playing in the background."
"Ha. Ha." He rolled his eyes. "I'm serious, Shay. Magical mines. You wanted them and I don't even know what they should be like."
I sighed. Loudly. "Fine, Rolo. What's the problem this time? Where have you hit a wall?"
He frowned, running a hand through his hair. "I can't figure out how to make them more destructive. They're functional, sure, but they're... underwhelming. I know you're expecting something, I don't know, apocalyptic, but I'm stuck. Like, do you want a crater the size of a city block, or are we talking scorched earth? How should I achieve that with the limited resources we have?"
Another sigh escaped me, this one heavier. I straightened, biting the pad of my thumb until a sharp sting blossomed, and then held up my hand. A bead of dark, glistening blood welled to the surface. I held it in front of his face, letting the crimson droplet catch the light.
Rolo blinked at it. "What? You want me to kiss your boo-boo?"
"Focus," I said, exasperated.
Rolo squinted, then tilted his head, utterly confused. "...Is this some metaphor I'm supposed to understand? Because if it is, I've got nothing."
I rolled my eyes and waved my hand closer to his face. "Think, Rolo. What's so special about me?"
He stared at the blood for a moment, brow furrowed in concentration. Then realization dawned on him, and his eyes widened. "Wait... wait, wait, wait. Your blood—it's different, isn't it? Magical. More... potent?"
"Ding, ding, ding," I said flatly.
Rolo stared at me, his eyes flicking from my hand to my face, trying to piece together the significance of what I had just shown him. The dark, glistening drop of blood hung in the air between us, almost pulsing in the quiet. It wasn't just blood—it was power, a curse, a prize.
I smirked without humor, pulling my hand back. "Now you're catching on."
Rolo's brows furrowed, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "But can it be used like this?"
For a moment, my thoughts flickered to my second life, unbidden and unwelcome. Cold chains. Dark rooms. Blood running in rivulets, too precious to spill but too vital to keep.
The second life was the one where the hunters had found out. They had seen the glimmer in my veins, the power that no one else possessed. It had made them rulers of the night. They'd chained me up and used my blood like a commodity until I was too weak to move but not weak enough to die. Even now, I could remember the cold stone floor of that cell, the sharp, taunting whispers, and the taste of hopelessness in the back of my throat.
I let out a sigh that sounded much heavier than I intended. "Yes, it can. We need to use it, but only when it's absolutely necessary. And the amount will be controlled by me."
I shook the memories away, plastering on my usual smirk. "Now you know I'm the secret ingredient for all your magical needs. Next thing I know, you'll be bottling my blood and selling it as artisanal life elixir. Ten gold a drop. Comes with a free gift basket if you order in bulk."
Rolo groaned. "As if I would do that..."
"I know," I said, leaning back against the cushions. "So? Are we done with the problem-solving, or do you have more to complain about?"
"You're the worst boss ever."
"Flattery will get you nowhere, but nice try."
He shook his head, muttering under his breath as he turned back to his notes. I closed my eyes again, letting the faintest shadow of that old memory linger a moment longer before shoving it back into the depths where it belonged.