Mwamba might be useful, but he was expendable. If his ambition became a liability, I wouldn't hesitate to remove him from the board. The same went for his men and the presidents loyalists. Loyalty was not earned through promises of power alone—it was secured through fear, respect, and the calculated application of force.
"When this is done, I'll need to replace those in power, not just here, but across Africa as a whole, since the entire continent is being ruled by greedy leaders... Nyx, if you would be so kind, make me a list.
This list should include 3 heads for the time being, 'Chancellors', that I instruct directly as intermediaries, relaying my instructions to the appropriate ears. It should also include, individuals for positions such as: Military Generals, Sector lords, District Governors, Adeptus Primus, Magistrates, Judicial Overseers, Corporate Executives, and find a place for Sal somewhere in that list. "
[Understood Sir.]
I reached the edge of the city's central district, where the presidential palace stood in the distance, a silhouette of false grandeur amidst the wreckage of Kinshasa. The palace was heavily guarded, though that wouldn't last. Mwamba's forces were closing in, with the sentries already softening the resistance. By dawn, the palace would under his control.
Or rather, it would be mine.
"Any updates on loyalist movements?" I asked.
[None significant, sir. The sentries have successfully neutralized communications within the palace indefinitely. Reinforcements are delayed, and the loyalist forces are uncoordinated. It appears the president is preparing to make a final stand, but his situation is rapidly deteriorating.]
I turned my gaze toward the palace, imagining the panic unfolding inside. The president and his advisors would be scrambling, realizing their defences were failing. The idea of a final stand would be laughable if it weren't so tragic. They had lived too long on the illusion of control, too detached from the reality of their people's suffering to understand that their reign was ending.
"Good," I said. "Let them panic. It will make them all the more predictable."
As I approached the outer perimeter of the palace grounds, I saw the first signs of real activity. Mwamba's forces had begun their assault in earnest. Soldiers in mismatched uniforms, remnants of a military that had long lost its cohesion, were moving in waves. Some carried old rifles, others wielded scavenged automatic weapons. They were disciplined enough to follow orders, but there was an underlying fear in their movements. They had no idea what awaited them inside.
I remained in the shadows, watching the first skirmishes unfold. Mwamba's men advanced on the palace gates, firing sporadically at loyalist guards. The loyalists responded with frantic shots, but they were overwhelmed. The sentries had already crippled their communications, and the confusion was evident in every chaotic movement.
"Nyx," I said, "amplify the disarray. Target their command structure. Make sure no one is giving clear orders."
[Understood, sir,] she replied. [Redirecting one of the sentries to prioritize officers and squad leaders.]
Within moments, the tide of the battle shifted. Loyalist soldiers, now leaderless and disoriented, began to retreat into the palace. The gates fell as Mwamba's forces surged forward, pressing their advantage. It was a slaughter—disorganized, brutal, and inevitable.
I moved silently through the chaos, still unseen. There was no need for me to involve myself directly in the fighting. My role was different. I was the architect, not the hammer. Let Mwamba's soldiers dirty their hands for now.
As I entered the palace courtyard, stepping over the bodies of fallen guards, Nyx's voice spoke again.
[Sir, I've detected a gathering in the presidential bunker. The president and his remaining advisors are entrenched there, along with a contingent of his elite guard. They're preparing for their final defense.]
I raised an eyebrow. "A bunker, huh... How quaint."
[The entrance is heavily reinforced, but that should pose no problem,] Nyx continued.
I considered my options for a moment. It would be easy enough to breach the bunker and finish this quickly, but there was value in drawing it out—allowing the president and his men to stew in their own fear. Their belief in their invincibility was already shattered; now it was time to break them completely.
"Let's give them some time to sweat," I said, smiling. Questioning within for a brief moment, if this had always been my real personality.
[As you wish, sir,] Nyx responded. [Shall I continue monitoring their communications?]
"Yes. I want to know the exact moment they realize there's no way out."
With the palace all but secured, I made my way through the grand entrance, stepping into the opulent halls that once symbolized power. The marble floors and ornate columns felt like relics from a bygone era, now tarnished by the corruption and decay that had seeped into every corner of the country. This palace had been built to project strength, but now it was little more than a tomb for those who had clung too tightly to that illusion.
I moved deeper into the palace, observing the signs of hasty evacuation—documents left scattered, broken furniture, half-packed suitcases abandoned in the corridors. The president's staff had fled, leaving only the loyalists behind to fight a battle they couldn't win.
"Nyx, any word from Mwamba?" I asked.
[General Mwamba is consolidating his forces, sir,] Nyx replied. [He's pushing deeper into the palace, securing key areas. His confidence has grown, but I detect hesitation in his communications. He's beginning to wonder about your role in this.]
I chuckled softly. "Let him wonder. He'll soon understand his place."
As I continued through the palace, I reached the grand hall where Mwamba's soldiers had gathered, standing amidst the wreckage of the loyalist defences. The general himself stood at the center, barking orders to his men. His voice was strong, commanding, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
I watched from the shadows for a moment before stepping forward, still invisible, but letting my presence be felt. Nyx's shroud allowed me to manipulate the light around me just enough to cast an eerie, shifting silhouette.
Mwamba stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he sensed the disturbance. He looked around, confused, and then, as if drawn by an unseen force, his gaze locked on the empty space where I stood.
"Who's there?" he demanded, his voice tense. His hand instinctively went to the gun at his side.
The soldiers around him paused, their attention drawn to the general's unease. They couldn't see me, but the air had shifted, the atmosphere thickening with a palpable tension.
I let the silence stretch, feeding the fear that was slowly creeping into their minds.
"Mwamba," I said, my voice low and steady, echoing in the hall.
The general's face drained of color as he realized who was speaking. He stepped back, his fingers tightening around the grip of his gun, though he made no move to draw it.
"You..." he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "What are you?"
I stepped forward, allowing just enough of my form to shimmer into view—a dark, indistinct figure cloaked in the black mist of Nyx's manipulation of light. The soldiers around him tensed, their eyes wide with fear.
"It can't be that you have forgotten me so quickly, I was sure I left an impression." I said calmly. "You were useful, Mwamba, but don't mistake that for power. You did as I asked, and now you will reap the rewards of your obedience. I spare you and some of your followers from meeting the same fate as the president, given you lot also played a part in the corruption, you will do as I instruct until I deem your contribution... as sufficient penance."
Mwamba swallowed hard, his fear barely masked by a veneer of composure. "What do you want from me?"
"I want you to finish what you started," I replied. "But understand this: your ambitions end here. You may command this city, but only under my direction. You answer to me now."
The general hesitated, his eyes darting between the shadowy figure before him and his men, who stood frozen in place. He knew he had no choice.
"Understood," Mwamba finally said, his voice low and strained. "Well then, that's wonderful." I responded.
I smiled, though he couldn't see it. "Good. Now gather your men. The president is still hiding in his bunker, but that won't last. We're going to end this tonight."
Mwamba nodded stiffly, then turned to his soldiers, barking orders with renewed urgency. The fear was still there, but he buried it beneath the mask of command. His men quickly fell into line, readying themselves for the final assault on the bunker.
I watched them for a moment, then turned my attention inward. "Nyx, status update on the president?"
[He and his advisors are growing increasingly desperate, sir,] Nyx reported. [They're attempting to reinforce the bunker's defences, but they know it's only a matter of time before we breach it.]
"Perfect," I said. "Let them try."
I followed Mwamba and his men as they made their way through the palace, heading toward the reinforced bunker deep beneath the building. The halls echoed with the sound of boots and whispered orders, the tension building with each step.
As we approached the bunker's entrance, a heavy steel door loomed before us, sealed tight. Mwamba's men fanned out, positioning themselves around the perimeter, weapons at the ready.
Mwamba glanced at me, his face tight with anticipation. "Can you get us through that?"
I nodded, stepping forward. I chose not to use the MD in this case, as I wanted to strike even greater fear. I pushed on the heavy steel door with a singular arm, as it groaned, then it bent, then warped, then cracked, and ultimately, it fell.
The soldiers watched in awe, their disbelief momentarily overriding their fear. They had never seen anything like it before—Strength that defied their understanding. The door had warped completely, revealing a dimly lit corridor beyond. At the far end, the president and his remaining guards stood, weapons drawn, waiting for the inevitable.
"Go," I said, my voice a command.
Mwamba's soldiers surged forward, their guns blazing. The guards returned fire, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. The battle was brief, violent, and decisive.
Within minutes, the bunker was overrun, the loyalist forces crushed. The president stood alone, his face pale and drenched in sweat, his hands trembling as he held a pistol, aimed futilely at the approaching soldiers.
"Stop," I said, stepping forward, still cloaked in shadow.
Mwamba's men halted, their weapons trained on the president, but they did not fire. The silence was deafening as I walked toward the defeated man, the weight of his failure pressing down on him like a vice.
"Mr. President," I said calmly, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news... but, your reign is over."