It took three hours for Terran to reach the meeting point. Instead of venturing to Derik’s shop, he deemed it best to wait in the sewers for his followers. His bottom jaw was bare. Exposing himself to danger in this state would be idiotic. If his helmet got damaged — well — it would be best to avoid that scenario altogether. And so he waited.

  Terran passed the time by planning out his next speech. This revolution would end with Terran taking his throne. Over the coming weeks and months, he’d slowly influence the situation to secure his power. But all that was later. Terran first needed to be accepted by these men. The correct speech would appeal to their values. Perhaps he should emphasize revolution, rather than himself. Yes, a fight against the corrupt and wealthy. Those two were key as Terran was neither at the moment. Though he couldn’t make this pandering too obvious, or they’d catch on to the trick. It was a tricky balance to strike.

  It took two hours for Terran to formulate a speech he was happy with. Then he spent a few more hours perfecting the syntax and diction. This could be his one chance to gain an army. Each word was vital. In time, he had a satisfactory speech. The men had yet to show so Terran got to forming his longer scheme. There was little he could plan, due to how little he knew of these peasant workers. He was done formulating within an hour. And still, the men had yet to show. Terran moved back to the wall. It pained his bad foot. He tried to stand again, but the achilles tendon ached. It might tear if he moved too much. Sighing, Terran stopped. He was stuck here, on the ground, waiting.

  He raised his left hand. There was a pop and a concerning creak. His bone claws had withered further. Though still sharp, his claws were about three fourths the size. How long until they had withered into nothingness? They would need to be replaced soon. It wouldn’t be a big deal. Metal patches littered his arm. The rusted ones mixed with his skin. So much metal. How long until it surpassed the flesh? Terran sighed. Each day his body took a greater toll. There was no halting this transition to metal beast. It was best not to think of it. If only he could sleep now. That would give him some solace…

  The hours ticked by. Terran wrestled with any and all possible thoughts. He soon resorted to studying the pattern on the opposing wall. The tops of the bricks were darker than the bottom. Uniformly. Perhaps it was related to how they were constructed. Terran groaned at that last thought. This familiarity was painful.

  Twelve hours had been too much. He should’ve said six. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be able to stand again. At least then he could find a new pattern to study without having to risk his foot.

  Creak.

  “This is the place, right?”

  Terran sat upright, as much as he could. The voice was unknown to him. The meeting with Zolin wasn’t scheduled for another three hours. Or perhaps they were two hours late. It was hard to tell. Time was a fickle thing.

  “This is what he said. The entrance was right by the Hero statue.” That was Zolin’s voice. Terran did not call out. Just how would they react to his mangled form? Would they flee from this mangled shriveled form? Would they deem him pathetic? Would they insult him with pity? Or would they decree him a great warrior, one who had survived the impossible? He hoped it would be the last one, but there was no way to be sure…

  “Are you sure he’s even alive, Zolin?” the stranger said. “That was quite a beating. Not to mention that duct you put him through was way too thin. The demon probably got stuck or something.”

  A flashlight’s beam cut through the air. They were rounding the corner now. Zolin said, “There’s something extraordinary about that thing, Zan. And it seems to be on our side. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think my folks can survive another month. If this thing wants to help, I’d say we hear him out…”

  “What if he stabs us in the back? Kills us here, where we’re vulnerable. Police wouldn’t know for weeks. He could get away with it, real easy.”

  “He could’ve done so before,” Zolin said. “Why wait?”

  They rounded the corner. Their lights shined on Terran. It was blinding after so long spent in darkness. Both men staggered back. Zan said, “Is he-”

  “No,” Terran said, sitting up. His voice was hoarse after hours of silence. The Dark Lord broke into a fit of wheezes and coughs. The men glanced at each other. Such an embarrassment. Terran’s first words were to be inspiring, but now his bad lungs had spoiled everything.

  Zolin walked up to him, though Zan hung back. “Are you… hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” Terran yelled, gritting his teeth. Zan gagged. Terran realized then that his putrid teeth were visible without his bevor. Terran cringed. That went against his image in so many ways. Turning back, Terran’s neck creaked as something within him popped. The men flinched again.

  “Do not worry,” Terran said. “I am fine. This is merely the toll I take to do what’s done. Let’s focus on the others. Are they alright?” The line sounded sudden and improved, but in truth Terran had rehearsed it for a good half hour. An appeal to the collective. Someone like Zolin should eat it up.

  “They are just outside,” Zolin said. “We decided to scope here, because…” He stopped there, seeming unwilling to divulge further. Terran did not ask. His reasoning was plain.

  “Bring them down here,” Terran said. “I want to talk with all of you.”

  “Are you sure?” Zan said. He kicked at an old tin can.“This place ain’t exactly… sanitary.”

  “There is no problem with it,” Terran yelled, slamming his fist on the wall. “I cannot be seen on the streets. Bring them down now!” His yell echoed off the walls. Both men walked off. Though Zolin hung back, for just a moment. He was frowning. The disapproval was stark. But the look soon left Zolin, and he ran off to join Zan again. That order had been too direct, but it wasn’t his fault. Anger had gotten a hold of him. Terran was a person, at least deep down. He could still get angry. And he should be mad after crawling for hours through an endless maze of much for hours on end.

  No. This was on him. Terran was not a lord to these people. He couldn’t order as he once did. To them, he was a shriveled and pathetic thing. Something they could toss aside with ease. And he’d remain that way until his armor was repaired. Cursed lungs. Cursed legs. Why must his form make everything difficult?

  The two scouts soon returned with the other men. All ten were here. They hadn’t given up on him completely, though most still refused to look Terran in the eye. Save for Pisk. He pushed his way to the front, and let out a gasp of delight. “Well I’ll be, the bastard actually made it!”

  “I have indeed,” Terran said. “Blackwell cannot defeat me that easily…”

  “Wow,” Pisk said. “This guy is something. Right everyone?”

  He waited. Scant and unconvincing murmurs of support could be heard. The youngest of the men stared at Terran’s claws. Even now, when he was crippled on the sewer floor, there was fear. His power was not gone. The confirmation should have bolstered his confidence. Yet Terran felt nothing. Only emptiness.

  “Let us meet somewhere else,” Terran said. He pointed down the hall. “There is a meeting place down there which is perfect for all of us. The men took three steps before Terran ordered them to halt. Though it pained him, this needed saying. “I will need… assistance to get there.”

  The men drew straws to see who’d do it. Not that Terran complained. The gesture, while rude, was reasonable. Two men carried him with faces pointed away and their noses plugged. The short march took an eternity, but they arrived in time. This concrete husk was separated from the main hall. There were no drainage ducts, or rivers of sewage. Just faded graffiti on the walls. One day long ago, this place may have had a use. It could have been a maintenance sight, or perhaps a shelter of some kind. Now it was nothing.

  A stairwell was at the rear of the room. It wasn’t much of a stairwell, just a half flight steps which lead to nothing. Terran had the men prop him up on these steps such that, even while sitting, he could meet them at eye level. It was no throne, but it was a start. He sat upright, one leg over the other. The regal position. Though he deviated from it slightly by keeping his hand on his face to hide his exposed chin. The gesture was the first subtle gesture of authority. More would be phased in later. The men waited for Terran to speak. Pisk twitched in place at the rear of the crowd, tapping his feet and muttering to himself. Terran said to him, “Is there something on your mind?”

  “What?” Pisk asked, hopping off the wall. “Oh, no. I’m fine. Just got a tune from the diner stuck in my head. Sorry, I can’t remember the name.” He hummed it aloud. A few others joined in.

  “Ol’ Wolina’s Horse,” Zan said.

  Pisk snapped his fingers, “That’s the one!”

  Ol’ Wolina’s horse is down. (Dun. Dun. Dun. Dun.)

  But we can still dance all ‘cross town. (Dun. Dun. Dun. Dun.)

  Got loads of carts to fill with coal. (Dun. Dun. Dun. Dun.)

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Yet there’s still time for Rock and Roll.

  The men laughed and clapped. Even Zolin joined in their idiocy, which appalled Terran. That old time should have been the most mature of the bunch. This army, his first shot at retaking the city, was part of the new aged rabble. What a joke. But repressing this corrupted culture would only be possible after he retook the city. Terran would have to bear this idiocy for now. “Yes, ol’ horse whatever,” Terran said. “Let’s uh, look at our current matters. There are two reasons I summoned you. One, to express my gratitude for saving my life. Two: To talk to you about a revolution. My talk about the wealthy wasn’t mere jargon.”

  They hushed. Terran smiled. Now they could get on to business. Terran had the perfect opener. A simple question which would make him key to their collective conversation. These men would abhor a direct leader, so Terran would become a questioner. One who could guide their talking points with few direct commands. “How much influence do you have, this little group of yours?”

  Zolin said, “We got a union.”

  “What’s a union?”

  “A collective,” he said. “Formed for worker’s rights.”

  “Interesting,” Terran said. “How many are in this union?”

  “Ten. Just us.”

  “And that’s why we’re going nowhere,” Pisk said, standing tall. “I mean, look at Terran. He gutted Gurne. Now he ain’t gonna be stealin’ from nobody’s pockets no more. I say we do it again.” He raised his hand in the air. There was no reaction. Terran sighed. If he were Pisk, he’d be rightly embarrassed.

  “No Pisk,” Zolin said, putting his hand to his head like an annoyed parent. “That would get us arrested. They’d villainize us then, and replace Gurne with someone worse. If we try something, we do it within the law. Change can only happen then.”

  “Maybe Pisk has a point,” a lanky man in the corner said. “I’m not callin’ for purge or anything, but that union’s getting us nothing Zolin. Nobody’s listening to us. They don’t got the incentive. At least Terran is getting results.”

  “Ya see?” Pisk asked. “My way is the best way!”

  “Your way is barbaric,” Zan said. Half the crowd agreed with him.

  “Might be the only way,” another voice piped up. Pisk, and three others agreed with this stranger.

  “No,” Zolin said, turning to this second dissenter. “No. I am not going to turn this violent. Why are we talking about violence now? We’ve just begun this discussion. We’re reasonable folks. If we talk long and hard, we can come up with another solution.”

  Pisk crossed his arms. “You mean one that’s not terrorism?”

  That remark kicked up a flurry of debate. Everyone shouted their own views. The boldest tried pushing their way to the center of the crowd, but were shoved back just as fast. All that shouting echoed off the walls. Their shouts merged into one annoying thing. So many voices. So many dissenters. Never before had Terran had advisors this loud. His trembling legs glowed scarlet. He stood tall, despite the pain flaring into his ankle.

  Focusing on the pain, Terran unleashed an ear-splitting roar. Everyone turned to him. Many were wide eyed. They seemed to have forgotten that he was here. “Enough,” Terran said, before collapsing back into his seat. “One of you is too cautious, while the other is too bold. Another strategy is in order. Something in between the two.”

  Zolin nodded. “A compromise, then.”

  Compromise. The word made Terran shudder, though the armor hid this from the men. “Yes,” he said, after some hesitation. “A compromise. Pisk is right. We need to act fast and with force. But committing a purge of the upper classes is not the way to do it. What we need is a plan. We hit all the cities’ weak points at once, such that Diveky will fall in mere hours. Then we will have control. Nobody knows of our new Order. By keeping quiet, our attack will remain unknown. This is how we bring the city to its knees. When it falls, we start over. Make something beautiful. No longer will idiots rule.”

  “The wealthy you mean?”

  “Yes, the wealthy,” Terran said, frowning. “I thought they were one in the same. My apologies. I’m a bit…lightheaded without full protection.” The excuse seemed to satisfy, though murmurings lingered. That hadn’t been Terran’s first slip up. A few more like that and they would not follow him. He had to get it together. Terran must think like one of them. “Let us talk about resources. What would…the wealthy draw upon in an attack?”

  “There’s… the police,” Pisk said. “And Blackwell.”

  “How many officers?”

  Everyone scratched their heads. Nobody came up with an answer. Terran sighed. Of course they couldn’t. “Alright,” he said. “Besides the police, what means of defense does the city have?”

  “Not much,” Zolin said. “We don’t even have a navy anymore. Our treaty with Pansfinre has them cover for both our navy and army. If another war broke out, they’d be the ones fighting for us.”

  “Wait,” Terran said, sitting upright. “The mainland is a separate entity now?”

  Everyone nodded. Pisk hissed, “Has been for some time.”

  Terran seethed. He clutched the stairs to hide his inner rage. He let vinye slip into his hands. Strengthened claws crushed the concrete into dust. This fight…it was for but a mere rock. Not an empire. Diveky’s idiotic rulers had lost it all. What was he even fighting for then? Terran forced the thought aside. Appearing greedy here would doom him. If he was to take an island from nothing, then he could retake his empire from an island. Terran had all the time in the world to rule. Founding his old empire had been a lifelong task. Terran could do it again. He would do it again.

  “So we have to deal with Pansfinre’s armies alongside the police,” Terran said, forcing his mind back on track. He drummed his claws on the step. “Ideally, we’d take care of both at once. We could trap the police, while also isolating the island from the mainland. The revolution would have a chance then. Is there any event that would see the police gathered in one spot? Like a ceremony or a particularly heinous crime?”

  “There are rumors,” Zolin said. “The current police chief is retirin’. If true, there’d be a welcoming ceremony for the next one. High priority people will be there. Most officers, all of the Blackwells, even the mayor. But it's only rumors. Nothin’ concrete.”

  “It’s a start at least,” Terran said. He brought his fingers to a steeple. A plan was taking shape. And a solid one at that. It was about damn time. “We will need to fight against the current regime. Assaulting this welcoming ceremony would be the perfect opportunity. We can crush our enemies, while sparing the innocents.”

  “Bombs could do the trick,” Pisk said. Everyone scolded Pisk at once. They called him a mad man. The kid waltzed to the center of the room and turned to his angered comrades. “Why are ya against it? I’m right, aren’t I? How else would you wanna do it? Go in there with guns blazing, and hope Raven doesn’t kill us all?”

  “We can’t do it,” Zan said. “The collateral damage would be great.”

  “We are few. We are desperate,” Terran said. He tried to stand again, but his bad leg would not allow it. “The desperate cannot debate. Morality is a privilege for those with options. We have none. Only decisive action can allow for a swift takeover.” He raised his hand, and clenched it into a fist. An unnecessary act, but Terran needed to build the drama up somehow. “I do not know much about this new bomb technology, but I’ve read of its power. We detonate a few on the bridges to isolate the city. A couple at the rally to stop the cops. Few innocents will die. Just our enemies. But even then, are a few deaths truly that high a cost? Many more die whilsts the wealthy are cooped in their pens, feasting like pigs.”

  That last metaphor worked wonders to quell the voices of dissent. Even Zolin seemed to go along with it. Good. He’d practiced that line far too long. People were simple that way. Impress them with a good speech, and they were yours. Terran said, “We have ten. That is not many. If you don’t mind, I’d like to suggest a plan. I have had… experience in this matter.”

  Nobody objected so Terran continued. “We divide and conquer,” he said. “That is the best way to do a task. One group can conduct research on the bombs. How many do we need? Where do we put them? And for god’s sake, do not discuss it in the open. Speak in code if you must.”

  Next, Terran gestured to the three who had been the most opposed to the plans of murder. This included Zan. “You can alert the other workers who have been mistreated, and get them to join our cause. Eleven men are not enough to bring change, but be cautious. Only those you would trust with your life. I’m thinking that we need twenty men. Perhaps thirty. While they’re recruiting, Zolin, you could research these rumors about the commissioner’s retirement. Is this ceremony true? When and where is it happening?”

  Zolin nodded, then crossed his arms. “And what will you do?”

  It was less of a question, and more of a challenge. These people were unwilling to support those that just talked without pulling their weight. “I shall have the most important job of all,” Terran said. “I will distract Raven on the day. Make sure she does not interfere. I am Gifted, so only I can face her.”

  Zolin stirred in place. Terran said, “That’s just what our powers are called.”

  “Lightened up budd,” Pisk said, jabbing Zolin at his side. The greaser pointed to Terran. “This guy’s helpin’ us. We’re finally takin’ a stand like we always wanted. Can’t ya just be happy about that? Change is coming to our fair city. And it's coming with a vengeance!”

  “Believe me, I’d do more if I could,” Terran said. “It’s not like I enjoy being in these sewers alone, save for the rats. But I am injured. There are ways to fix me, but I’d rather not access them until the incident at the coal plant blows over. You understand, right?”

  “You're right,” Zolin said, looking away. He sighed. “You’re too hurt to go out. Sorry fer challengin’ ya. Just don’t like it when people talk big without doing anything, that's all.”

  “It’s quite alright.” Terran tried standing again, but still found himself incapable. He cursed himself. His closing remarks would be far worse now. Best to just make his voice dramatic. “We are few. But that does not mean we are weak. We will rise up. We will break the chains that bind us. Our Order of Broken Chains will have its way!”

  Pisk clapped. Nobody else did. Terran sighed. If he had stood, there would have been thunderous applause. “Ponder the name,” he said. “And begin your tasks. I, unfortunately, have to wait here. Return here tomorrow. I will still be here.”

  With that, the men left. No goodbyes. No praise. They ran right for the hall. Some sang that obnoxious horse song again. At first, Terran feared they had disapproved of him. But he did hear whisperings of recruitment and library visits. They were taking this seriously then. At least somewhat. The situation was out of his hands, though. That was the worst part. With his wounds, Terran could only trust these people wouldn’t screw things up. And you couldn’t trust anyone. He knew that more than anyone…

  Laughter echoed from the distant hall. There was a metallic lurch, followed by a slam. Then there was silence. Sighing, the Dark Lord sat upright. He would stay in the regal position until they returned. This chamber was his throne room. It paid to act regal.

  Drip… drip… drip…

  Terran’s leg twitched. Then his knee bounced. Terran clasped it, but still it shook. That did nothing. He clenched his leg with both hands, and dug his claws into ruined flesh. Still his leg bounced.

  Drip… drip… drip…

  With a sigh, Terran leaned against the concrete step. His bad leg still bounced and that cursed dripping continued. This would be his life for the next day. Try as he might, the supreme ruler of filth could not even stop his bouncing leg.