The moment the sigil hit the sand the empire changed structurally.
Public addresses were more frequent. Watchtowers were built in places considered safe previously. Public executions of the rebels were growing more common.
Even banners drooped from the tops of countless buildings with the empire's flag.
All within just a year’s time.
The regular civilian’s, even those with little to do with fighting or politics knew about the death of Veran, and disappearance of Cecilia and Torian.
The world felt on fire. Cade and his army didn’t care to put it out, they wanted the fire to run its course.
People got picked up off the streets on simply an accusation that they were acquainted with “The Warden of the Violet Flame.”
Most tried to flee but little could escape their grasp.
Even after Cade’s dirty work, Veran dying, and the absence of two Grand Marshals, it felt the killing power that Rex and Ingrid held were still prevalent.
Most notably, the two Grand Marshal slots were not filled within the year since Torian’s absence.
And yet, the one slot that was filled has executed more in one year than Veran did in five.
The masked figure commonly known as “The Reprisal Grand Marshal” rarely spoke.
When they did their voice didn’t sound like a person's.
Whether or not the mask is distorting their voice, or something else it’s unknown.
But when you eventually hear it?
It shakes you to your core.
A caravan of civilians sped through town. Nearly running down the civilians in the streets.
It knocked people over and as it came to a halt, people scattered.
A few stayed to watch, as they hadn’t seen this cruelty from The Reprisal yet.
Head after head flew off neck after neck.
A soldier was bringing “the associated” to The Reprisal’s blade, when a man was stuck in shock.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
He wouldn’t budge.
When multiple other soldiers went to grab him it was in vain.
“Move.”
That’s all that was heard.
In the crowd of echoes surrounding the man, he and everyone else just heard The Reprisal’s voice.
Immediately he walked towards the Grand Marshal.
He froze again when he met the gaze of the mask.
Their blade didn’t rise.
“Kneel.”
Instantly he brought himself to his knees.
The crowd didn’t dare make a noise.
Then his head met the ground before his body did.
A watcher nearby ran, and the Reprisal pointed.
Soldiers ran after him. Jumping over obstacles, hurdling vendor carts, until he navigated out of Krail’s walls until he made his way to the badlands.
He had escaped, but at what cost?
Return was now never an option.
So he pressed on.
And on.
And on.
Near dusk that night he nearly feinted from exhaustion.
When he eventually started to pass out he felt arms holding him, and before he could even understand where he was, or where he was going, he saw a dim light in the distance.
Then he passed out.
After waking up several hours later by getting water splashed on his face, a soldier but not from Krail — stood nearby.
“Hello, you were out for a while. One of the Commander’s men found you just outside the gates.”
The man was confused. “Where the hell am I, and who the fuck are you?”
The soldier stood from his chair. “You know exactly where you are, and I am Sergeant Slade Trausborne.”
The runner didn’t know how to feel that he was in the Violet City.
Slade removed bandages and put the runners' clothes on the bed. “I’ll be just outside your door, come out and I’ll at least show you ‘round.”
The runner nodded.
When he came out Slade didn’t say a word and they walked.
They left the hospital and made their way onto the streets.
Men, women, and children all nodded or saluted to Slade, even if they're non-military.
The city had no banners, no death caravans, no haunting presence.
Matter of fact, there was no presence at all. It didn’t feel like eyes burned into every corner of every street.
And at the center of it all wasn’t some big monolith, not some huge castle, not some grandeur statue of the Violet King’s greatness.
It was a club.
A nightclub stood at the center of the city.
Inside they roamed through the area.
Alcohol smell filled the room, body heat mixed with heat from the purple fires added to the head, the music thundered against the walls, it was surreal to see something like this after being in Krail for so long.
The runner felt uneasy. “Why are they in cages, are they imprisoned?”
The Sergeant laughed. “If they were imprisoned, why aren’t there any locks?”
After looking closer the runner noticed there were no locks, even the handcuffs were loose, chokers weren’t suffocating, and the nudity and sex was a choice here.
These people wanted the things they were doing to happen, but on their own terms.
They continued to press through the crowds, the scenes of sex and drugs filled the private rooms and even corridors, until they made their way to a short hallway.
The room at the end of the hallway was obscure, but the throne surrounded with purple fire next to it was as clear as day.
But it was empty.
Slade sighed. “Looks like boss isn’t in today, you’ll have to meet him another time. Probably on some expedition.”
And in that moment the runner realized he was being brought to meet Cade.
“Did you–?” The runner started. “Did you take me here to be executed?”
Slade spun around. “What?” He let out a soft chuckle. “Why would we waste resources bringing you back to health, just to kill you? No, I brought you here to meet the man who's responsible for saving your life.”
The runner took a step back. “Cade saved me?”
Slade shook his head and began to walk past the runner. “No, I’m not sure who saved you originally, you were brought here. A lot of people have been getting brought to just outside the city gates for us to take in. Then it was his resources that brought you back to health.”
He followed after Slade. “Why?”
Slade stopped in his tracks and turned to the runner slowly.
Then smirked. “You sure you’re ready for that answer?”
