The empire's palace halls buzzed with whispered discontent following Emperor Morris's announcement. Among the murmurs, the most common question lingered: Why Commander Abbadon? Of all the emperor's trusted generals, why him?
Moyo, commander of the imperial northern fleet and Abbadon's second-in-command, found himself burdened with doubt. Standing on the edge of the grand balcony overlooking the capital, his face bore the weight of deep contemplation.
"I know he has hidden motives," Moyo muttered to himself, his voice barely audible above the soft rustle of the evening wind. "That ridiculous smile of his betrays him. He reeks of ambition, and I'll be damned if I allow him to foster betrayal under my watch."
A decision hardened in Moyo's chest. I will monitor his every move, his every word, his every gesture. He will not be given the chance to disgrace this empire or challenge the emperor's will.
But as the palace prepared for the first day of Abbadon's regency, it became painfully clear that things were about to change—and not for the better.
---
The imperial court doors swung open with a loud, grating creak, announcing the arrival of Abbadon. He strode in like a lion who had finally caught the scent of prey after days of hunger. His ornate armor glinted under the light of the crystal chandeliers, and his gaze roamed over the court with a predatory gleam.
The court members, servants, and guards tensed as he approached. His soldiers followed in formation, their presence exuding both discipline and menace. Abbadon's self-satisfied smirk betrayed his thoughts: This palace, this empire—it is all mine now.
"Make way for the reagent!" one of his soldiers bellowed, his voice echoing through the vast hall.
The crowd hesitated, moving with reluctant obedience as they parted to let Abbadon pass. The soldiers, emboldened by their commander's newfound power, carried themselves with an air of unchecked arrogance.
"Are you deaf?" snarled one of the soldiers as a young palace maid, busy with her duties, failed to step aside quickly enough. "Do you not see the reagent approaching?"
"I'm terribly sorry for the misunderstanding—" the maid began, but before she could finish, the soldier struck her across the face with a resounding slap. The force of the blow sent her sprawling onto the marble floor.
A collective gasp rippled through the court. The room fell silent, save for the muffled sobs of the maid as she tried to rise to her knees.
Abbadon halted, turning his piercing gaze toward the scene. "What's this now?" he asked, his tone cold yet curious.
"Apologies, my lord," the soldier said, bowing his head. "She disrespected your presence."
Abbadon let out a dry chuckle. "Did she now?" He approached the trembling maid, who knelt with her head bowed, her cheek already reddening from the strike.
He crouched down, lifting her chin with one gloved finger. "What's your name?" he asked softly, almost sweetly.
"Amara, my lord," she whispered, her voice shaking.
"Well, Amara," Abbadon said, his tone turning sharp, "you must learn to show respect to your superiors."
Before she could respond, his hand moved to her shoulder, then slid lower to her waist. She stiffened, her breath hitching in fear.
"My lord, I'm not comfortable with this," Amara said, her voice trembling. "I don't like to be touched by a man."
Abbadon's eyes darkened. "Not just any man," he corrected, his voice rising. "I am your reagent! You should feel honored to receive my attention."
Amara's eyes darted to the ground, her hands clenching into fists as she prayed silently for the ordeal to end.
Abbadon's patience snapped. He stood abruptly, his face contorting with rage. "You dare reject me?" he bellowed. "You dare deny me?"
The court remained frozen, too fearful to intervene.
"Take her to my chambers," Abbadon ordered his soldiers. "And if she resists, kill her."
Amara's pleas fell on deaf ears as two soldiers grabbed her by the arms, dragging her from the hall. She sobbed uncontrollably, her cries echoing through the silent court.
The incident spread through the palace like wildfire. Whispers of the reagent's cruelty and arrogance filled the corridors. Servants spoke in hushed tones of the maid who had been dragged away, fearing they might meet a similar fate if they crossed Abbadon.
Moyo heard the rumors as they reached the barracks. His jaw tightened, and his fists clenched at his sides. This man is a disgrace to the empire, he thought. And now he tarnishes the palace itself with his vile behavior.
But Moyo knew that the emperor's absence limited his options. Confronting Abbadon directly could mean his own death—or worse, the collapse of the fragile order the emperor had left behind.
---
In the privacy of his chambers, Abbadon paced back and forth, his mind racing. The incident with the maid had spread faster than he anticipated, and the thought of the emperor hearing about it filled him with dread.
I need to act quickly, he thought. If the emperor learns of this disgrace, he'll strip me of my position—or worse.
Abbadon's mind churned with schemes. His power as reagent gave him access to the empire's resources, and he intended to use them to solidify his hold. If he could seize control of the empire before the emperor's return, he would no longer have to fear repercussions.
Summoning his most loyal advisors, Abbadon laid out his plans. "The emperor's absence gives us a rare opportunity," he began. "We must consolidate our power. Spread our forces across the colonies, strengthen the fleets, and ensure the capital remains under my control."
"But, my lord," one of his advisors interjected cautiously, "the emperor's loyalists may resist such moves. Commander Moyo, in particular, is known for his integrity."
"Then we'll deal with him when the time comes," Abbadon said dismissively. "For now, focus on bolstering our strength. The emperor will not return to an empire—it will be my empire by then."
---
Meanwhile, Boyka, ever watchful, caught wind of the growing unrest within the palace. Though his primary goal remained the emperor's assassination, he couldn't ignore the storm brewing in Abbadon's wake.
He stood guard outside Princess Asake's chambers, his mind heavy with thought. Asake noticed his distracted demeanor and approached him with concern.
"Boyka, is something troubling you?" she asked gently.
Boyka hesitated. How do I explain the turmoil unfolding within these walls without revealing my true intentions?
"It's nothing, Your Highness," he replied, forcing a faint smile. "I'm just wary of the changes in the palace. Commander Abbadon's presence seems to unsettle many."
Asake nodded, her own worries evident in her expression. "I've heard the whispers, too," she admitted. "But my father trusts him, and we must honor his decision."
Boyka's fists clenched behind his back, but he kept his composure. Trust? he thought bitterly. The emperor's trust in Abbadon may cost him his throne—and his life.
As tensions continued to rise, the palace stood on the brink of chaos, its fate uncertain under the reagent's volatile rule. In the shadows, both allies and enemies prepared for what was to come, each driven by their own ambitions and fears.