Curze's eyes were colder than ever. He could see the future.
He saw the possibilities surrounding the officer. If he spared him, the officer would awaken, lead his army to join the Midnight Phantoms, and within months, they would seize the hive. A bright future awaited them all.
The future told him sparing the officer was the right choice.
But Curze didn't care.
The nobles at the spire had sent troops to vent their anger. Curze would vent his too.
"It's that monster!"
"Shoot! Fire! Kill him!"
"Jax, don't let him escape!"
The nobles barked orders in the comm channel, directing their soldiers.
Curze wasn't in their channel, but his hearing far surpassed mortals. He could hear their so-called whispers.
The nobles knew of his ties to the Midnight Phantoms, an easy guess.
Both Curze and the Phantoms had appeared in the lower hive almost at the same time, and it was obvious the "monster" had been paving the way for them all along.
The nobles' attack wasn't just to reclaim the reactors. It was also a trap to draw him out.
In a fraction of a second, Curze understood their plan. His body never faltered, weaving through the soldiers with terrifying speed, harvesting lives with inhuman efficiency.
Scarlet beams of plasma stitched into a burning web, yet Curze always found the gaps. Though massive in stature, he moved with unnatural grace. Tanks, soldiers, none could so much as brush the hem of his cloak.
Two years of constant hunting had honed him. Day by day, he had grown sharper, his skill now near perfection.
"Bzzzzz-"
A droning hum filled his mind. Five soldiers before him crumpled into pulp, as if squeezed by invisible hands. Curze's movements slowed, trapped as though frozen in amber.
He glanced right. A soldier stood with his hand raised, palm clenched like a fist.
A psyker. Hidden among the troops. The nobles' secret weapon prepared just for him.
Curze felt the pressure mounting, walls closing in from every side, threatening to crush him to paste.
Soldiers and tanks fired, but their shots fizzled and broke against the barrier of psychic force that bound him.
Even trapped, Curze did not panic. He knew he was not alone.
The psyker had to focus all his will to restrain Curze, leaving him blind to everything else.
Caelan wanted to snap his neck, to free Curze outright.
But he hesitated. He noticed the boy, the one-eyed youth everyone else ignored. Crawling, bleeding, and dragging himself across the ground. He grasped at a fallen lasgun. His remaining eye was crusted with blood, his vision too blurred to aim.
Caelan lifted his arm, guiding him.
The boy had a flash of insight. He stopped trying to aim. He simply pulled the trigger.
Zzzap!
A red beam lanced through the psyker's back. Unprepared, he screamed in agony.
Pain shattered his concentration. The psychic grip collapsed.
Curze melted into the dark, silent as shadow, and reappeared behind the psyker. With a single motion, he slit his throat.
Nothing could stop him now. In minutes, hundreds of soldiers lay dead, their blood washing the floor.
And the tanks?
Caelan clenched his hand. Metal shrieked in protest as the war machines twisted and crumpled into scrap.
The boy collapsed, breath shallow and fading.
At the edge of death, he thought he heard the guns quiet, footsteps approaching.
"Your sins aren't cleansed yet. Live."
He thought he heard Curze's voice, but he was too weak to understand.
Curze turned. Philly was hurrying to the platform with her people.
"Take care of him."
Philly nodded, eyes filled with sorrow as she looked at the fallen young warriors.
But Curze had no time to grieve. He slipped into the darkness, climbing up the lift shaft.
The war was not over. Another wave of soldiers was descending. Many more would die. Curze would stop them inside the lift.
Hidden among the ceramite beams, he crouched in the gaps around the shaft. As the lift descended, he leapt into it.
The slaughter began again.
In the tight confines, Curze thrived. The dark concealed him. Even breathing down their necks, the soldiers never saw him until it was too late.
Inside the lift, they only saw comrades dropping one after another. Death closed in. Terror shattered their brittle courage.
"There! I saw him!"
"Shoot! Kill him! Kill him now!"
Panic drove them to spray fire wildly. Scarlet beams crisscrossed the cramped space, forming a killing web.
Curze slew a handful. The rest killed each other in their fear.
The comm channel fell silent. The nobles had watched it all live, their laughter choked off.
Curze picked up the officer's comm unit.
"You want war? Then I'll give you war. But the rules will be mine."
"Wait, this is a misunderstanding! We can negotiate! Take the lower hive, it's yours, we won't interfere."
Curze laughed.
"You can't think of negotiation only when you're losing."
Crack! He crushed the comm unit.
"Caelan… have I grown weak?" Curzed murmured.
"Why do you say so?" Caelan asked.
"Attachments. Bonds. Friendship. Whatever you call it… they make me weak."
If Curze had nothing, he could be unmoved by anything. No death could sway him. But now, the deaths of mortals unsettled him.
"Do you know what you're doing?"
"Starting a war."
Caelan shook his head.
"I told you before, this isn't just war. It's revolution. Revolution is not a dinner party. It's one class overthrowing another. Those fallen warriors, do you think they weren't afraid of death? Of course they were. Who isn't? But they feared more that their death would be meaningless. That they would die for nothing."
"You are their king, Curze. They sacrificed for your ideals. Even in death, they upheld your justice and your order. Tell me, what is it you fear?"
Curze fell silent.
He had no regrets. He knew he was right. He knew their sacrifice had meaning.
He would not abandon them. He would not waver. He was only afraid, afraid of the uncontrollable future.
He had seen it. He had foreseen the nobles' assault. Yet he had failed to stop it in time.
Hundreds were dead. Only hundreds. A fraction of a fraction of the hive's billions. Even within the Phantoms, they were but one in ten thousand.
Insignificant as a whole. Insignificant as individuals.
But what about next time?
And the time after that?
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
[email protected]/DaoistJinzu