With a light tap of the staff on the floor, a swirl of yellow sand rose within the empty grand hall. As the grains spun, five undying sand soldiers took shape.
"A new citizen of the Empire has appeared at that location. Bring him back," Riku commanded the five below.
The Desert Emperor Azir did not function exactly like in the game.
In reality, the Desert Emperor had far more than four skills.
His abilities included controlling sand, creating sand soldiers, and a foundation in soul magic.
Most detailed among these were the soldiers. Those he created came in two kinds: permanent and temporary.
The permanent ones possessed their own souls. Their source was the fallen warriors of Shurima, whose bodies had died but whose spirits continued to serve the Empire.
The five before the throne were permanent soldiers.
The temporary kind lasted only twelve hours. After twelve hours, they faded.
At the order, the five soldiers dissolved into scoops of sand and vanished from the hall.
Permanent desert soldiers retained their battle experience from life and even knew shallow desert sorcery.
They could turn their bodies into sand to move, and in the wastes they could draw on the dunes to recondense and shift positions.
While Isamu was assisting Tony Stark in forging the iron armor, his chest suddenly itched.
He frowned, lifted his shirt, and when he saw his chest, surprise and disbelief flashed across his eyes.
"Hahaha! It worked. I am a citizen of Shurima now, Tony. Look. I am a citizen of Shurima."
He threw his shirt open, shouting in wild excitement.
Seeing Isamu bare his chest with such joy, Tony edged back a step, a trace of panic on his face.
"Isamu, my orientation is perfectly normal. Back off."
Isamu: "..."
His elation crashed into a scowl.
"I have a family and a wife, and I am utterly loyal to both. I am not interested in you," Isamu corrected, stern.
Then he could not help boasting. "Do you see this mark? Its appearance means the Shuriman Empire has recognized my identity. I am already a citizen of the Empire. It will not be long before the great Desert Emperor sends his undying sand soldiers to guide me to his realm. Then we can leave this hellhole."
Tony stared at the mark on Isamu's chest and looked stricken.
"Oh God. Isamu, the harshness of this place has finally driven you mad."
He did not believe a single word about the Desert Emperor or Shurima.
He had never seen Isamu's chest before, so he could not know whether that mark had always been there. To Tony, it seemed far more likely the brutal conditions had broken his friend.
"Oh, poor Isamu. When we get out, I will hire the best psychiatrist. Do not worry. I will get you cured."
Tony looked at his partner with pity.
While they were talking, a group of uninvited guests barged in.
The terrorists who had been watching them decided their work had slowed and came to deliver a warning.
Their leader ordered his men to pin Isamu to the floor. He fixed Isamu with a cold stare. "I spared your life because I thought you would produce value for me."
As he spoke, he took a live coal from the fire with tongs and stepped to Isamu.
"I think you need a lesson." He raised the tongs, ready to drop the glowing coal into Isamu's mouth.
Tony froze, torn between fear for his friend's safety and fear that Isamu would crack under torture and expose their plan.
Just as Tony scrambled for a way to save him, the leader stopped. His gaze had snagged on Isamu's chest, wide with terror.
More precisely, on the Shuriman mark emblazoned there.
With obvious fear, the leader set the tongs down. His right hand shook as he yanked open Isamu's shirt.
Staring at the mark that looked as if he had been born with it, the leader's voice trembled. "This tattoo... when did you get it?"
As if the mark had given him endless courage, Isamu gathered his nerve. "It is a reward from the Shuriman Empire. It appeared on my chest this morning. I am a citizen of the Empire now. You cannot trouble me. You live in this region. You should know the Empire's supreme glory is not to be profaned."