The battle was won, but the war to save the galaxy was far from over. La Mort still held dozens of planets in his iron grip, and his eyes were already fixed on dozens more. Every world saved and every citizen rescued was a victory, but every loss took a heavy toll on the resistance.

  Ezra’s ship, still cloaked, trailed the General’s war ship like a ghost following in the shadows. When they arrived at the ship hanger, Ezra hovered just outside the hanger, allowing the General to land first. He knew Cane would be waiting—pacing the hangar angry and out for blood.

  Inside his ship, the General stared at the door. He knew what waited for him on the other side of those doors; it waited for all those who failed Cane and La Mort. He had two choices: walk out and face his failures head on, or wait for Cane to tear a hole through the hull and drag him out kicking and screaming. He chose the former; his honour would not allow for such public embarrassment.

  He stood up, took one final breath, and hit the red release button down on the console to the left of him. The ship’s doors hissed open slowly. It felt like an eternity for the General. As his ears finally heard the ramp door land against the metal floor, he spun on his heel and began to walk down the ramp. And who was waiting at the bottom… Cane. Arms crossed, veins bulging, mouth twitching, and an expression colder than the coldest of winters on Elden City.

  The General had seen that gaze fall on countless others before him. He had watched from a distance as men far greater than himself crumbled, broken before a word was ever spoken or a finger was ever lifted. For years, he had felt the cold comfort of being behind Cane, avoiding the firing line, believing he was—and would always be—on the right side of Cane.

  He was wrong.

  “There was nothing I could do,” the General blurted, his legs trembling as Cane stormed up the ramp.

  “Excuses!” Cane shouted, closing the distance until they were nose-to-nose.

  “But Cane.”

  Cane had heard enough, his hand shot out, grabbing a hold of the General’s neck, lifting him off of the ground, staring into those broken eyes as he dug his fingers deep into his throat. “P-please—sire,” the words rasping from his throat, broken, barely understandable as Cane sunk his fingers deeper.

  “Pleeeease,” Cane scoffed, disgusted at the fact those words ever left the General’s lips. “You know the consequences of failure… Geeeeneral.” Cane cast his gaze around the hangar… around at all the eyes pretending that they weren’t watching. “You all do—but now you want forgiveness.”

  The General clawed at Cane’s hand as if it were life or death, trying to allow for his words to be spoken more clearly. “We—we were no match for him, your instincts were right, it was Ezra.”

  Cane’s rage vanished as fast as it arrived, replaced by a smile brighter than the sun and utterly terrifying. “And—you will confirm this story to my father?”

  “Y… yes,” the General said, still struggling to draw his breath—“Y… yes… of course.”

  Cane’s grip loosened around the General’s throat, leaving him to crash to the floor.

  Then he turned on his heel and began to walk away.

  “What are you waiting for, General—G—et up and G—et moving, now!”

  The General quickly rose to his feet, dusted himself, and followed Cane as he stormed across the kingdom toward his father’s throne room. He scrambled to keep up with him, his dignity discarded in favour of his survival. He struggled every step of the way, wincing in pain and clutching his bruised neck; every cough felt like a flame being ignited in the back of his throat and his lungs being seared as a punishment for his failure.

  Cane ignored the rasping—the shudders…the subtle cry out of pain. He was locked away in the darkness that was his mind, basking in his victory.

  Finally, brother, Cane thought, a dark snigger releasing from his chest—finally you’ve been caught. You fell right into my net—I warned you I would catch you, but you were too arrogant to see what was right in front of your face. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? I hope they were worth it, brother. I saved you once… a moment of weakness I’ve never been made to forget since that night, but today, brother—today I finally atone for my sins and right the wrongs of yesterday and show Father that infestation or mercy no longer has any hold over me.

  “Cane—Cane!”

  The General’s voice was a desperate, dry rasp, but Cane didn’t even blink. He just stood there frozen in a trance, his devastating smile still pinned from corner to corner as his eyes stared off into nothingness.

  The General began to panic; they were at the King’s doors and Cane looked like a madman. Trembling, the General reached out toward the door. He hesitated for a moment, his hand violently shaking in front of him, hoping and praying that Cane would snap out of whatever this was. But as time went by, there was no change, so he knocked the King’s throne room door.

  The knock sounded.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Then finally a third time, each sound louder than the last, blaring through like a drum.

  Cane snapped out of his trance, realising he was in front of his father’s throne room door. He caught the General’s hand mid-air just as it pulled back from the final frantic knock, but he didn’t wait for an answer from the other side. He ushered the General to the side, pushed both doors wide open, and began to walk in.

  “But your father—,” the General said nervously, face pale, head bowed. “He has not granted us entry.”

  Cane’s head snapped back toward the General with a look of pity in his eyes.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “I wait for permission from no-one, General,” he said, snapping his head back around and continuing on into the room.

  As Cane stepped further into the room, he immediately noticed there were guests present… but that didn’t stop Cane. “Father—father,” Cane shouted, drowning out the voices of all four Ezeran men.

  He continued to walk forward until he stood in the centre of the room. Everyone in the room fell silent, and that heinous smile returned.

  “Cane—not now,” La Mort uttered calmly. “I gave my word to these people they would have my time, and I am a man of my word.”

  “But Father—I come with great news.” As Cane looked around, he quickly realised the General wasn’t in sight. “Get in here, General!” he screamed.

  The General, slow and deliberate with his footsteps, met Cane in the middle of the room.

  “King La Mort,” the small blue Ezeran man said. “We are more than happy to adjourn our meeting and pick it back up on comms.”

  With a subtle nod from La Mort, the Ezeran council members began to flow out of the room quickly, giving Cane a cautious, subtle nod as they passed, not wanting to get caught in the middle of the father-and-son tension.

  Once the doors finally closed, all that was left was suffocating silence until La Mort finally broke it.

  “What is the meaning of this, boy?” La Mort’s voice was cold but blunt. “It better be good, because kin or no kin, storming into my throne room comes with consequences.”

  Cane’s smile didn’t fade under the pressure of his father’s words; it grew brighter, it carried more spite. “It is, Father, oh it is. Tell him, General.”

  The General stepped forward, his legs shaking so much it looked as if he stood any longer they would give out under the pressure of the moment he found himself in. As La Mort’s head lent to the side, focusing on the General, the General began to sweat profusely, pouring out of every crevice and into his eyes, blurring his vision.

  His entire arm shook. Come ooon… get it together, the General thought, the words beating unevenly through his mind. You can do this, he said, staring down at his hand, willing it to obey, trying every mental trick in the book to steady his hand and his vitals, and finally there was life. His hand was slow. Shaky. But finally it landed on its target. He spread his hand across his face, wiping away the sweat from his eyes, revealing something terrifying… La Mort was still staring at him. There was no escaping this one.

  “Don’t freeze and hold your tongue now, General—there are plenty ready to take your place,” La Mort said, calm and unreadable.

  “A-hem,” the General said, clearing his throat. “Cane sent my team on a mission to bring planet Arleon under your control.”

  La Mort’s head returned to the centre of his body, then he sat up in his seat. “And—did you succeed, General?” La Mort said keenly, waiting to hear his response.

  The General’s head flickered to the side momentarily, grabbing his throat as he coughed and squinted in pain. “That’s the thing, my King. The Arleon people refused to kneel, so we forced them. We had their warriors beaten, their surrender, and our men ready to load them onto our ships.”

  La Mort’s eyes rolled and his head shook. “This is what you deem so important that you needed to interrupt me and storm into my throne room, Cane. I did not need to hear of this General’s failure, but you know, General—you will not receive mercy here for your failures.”

  “Father, just listen,” Cane said, interjecting in the conversation.

  “Well—General, speak faster. My tolerance wanes.”

  The General took a large gulp and stood tall, trying to show his King he had some resemblance of confidence left. “We had it won, then Ezra came, defeating the Worg beast, casting it out to space. Then he turned his attention to us, slaughtering our men.”

  “Smart—that way its regenerative properties are nullified—but one question keeps running over and over in my head, General,” said La Mort. “If he slaughtered all of my soldiers, how are you still standing before me to tell the tale?”

  “Because he spared me, my King. I refused to surrender. The Worg beast may have been defeated, but our soldiers still stood strong, so I gave the command. If they weren’t going to surrender, then they would perish. I issued the command to fire, and before their firearms rose past their hips, Ezra slaughtered them before I could even blink, my King. Arleon became a graveyard for some of our finest soldiers.”

  La Mort began to clap, slow, heavy, and theatrical. “Should I take out the harp, General, or perhaps the violin?”

  The General’s eyes widened, the present moment blurring as a tide of red washed over him as the memories were pulled like a tide to the front of mind. He wasn’t in the throne room anymore; he was back on the blood-soaked soil of Apol, the Reteka, and finally Paladon, each time standing paralysed as his world ended.

  In his mind’s eye, he saw them fall again. General Keal, Ramon, and Luo, men he had given a start to, men he had trained with, bled with, and laughed with and came up under. But they didn’t mean anything to La Mort; all he saw was their failures, and in La Mort’s eyes that was a capital offence. He remembered the noise they made when their souls left their bodies… he stood mere inches away as their blood splattered onto his lips, helpless to do anything but watch on as they took their last breaths and their lives faded from this world.

  His hand rose slowly toward his lips; he could still taste it now, years later—the warm taste of copper and iron on the lips like it was yesterday.

  “Here today, gone the next, replaced by another, then another after him, then they’re lost to time, a mere footnote in the annals of history that no one will talk about, General. You know why—because that’s their role in this world… to serve, to be one of the millions in my story, General.” What I want to know is, General, you say your men were slaughtered but you stand before me, which means you took the easy way out, General. And Ezra, what proof do you bring other than your word that Ezra was the man who slaughtered my men?”

  Cane’s smile quickly faded from the one he couldn’t hide. “Father—is his word not enough?” Cane shouted, his voice a mixture of disbelief and anger. “He is the only survivor of the mission—one of the General’s. Surely that carries some merit, Father.”

  Cane’s words didn’t move La Mort. He sat perfectly still, his hands rested on the arms of his throne. “You want me to take the words of a coward as gospel, boy. I have been in too many wars, seen every type of person, creature, and being, and what I learnt along the way was to never trust someone’s word just because they tell me to.”

  “I have proof it was Ezra!” the General blurted out, snapping out of his prison of memories. The words tripped over each other in his haste. “Actual, physical proof, my King! The proof the body cannot hide… battle scars from his battle with the Worg beast.”

  Cane’s head twisted in shock toward the General, and that wicked smile returned, just like daylight does every morning. Bright. Inevitable. And nowhere to hide.

  “There you have it then, boy,” La Mort said. His words were final, like a judge slamming his gavel. “Bring me your proof, and Ezra will stand trial for his crimes.”

  Cane could not hide his excitement at the news. He grabbed a hold of the General’s arm and stormed out of the throne room doors, dragging him along to go look for Ezra.

  I thought you were smarter than that, Ezra, La Mort thought, his gaze still fixed on the spot where the General had just stood. That day in Zoron, I thought you learnt your lesson. An agreement signed by the silence between us—I thought we found a middle ground, but instead you dig up a grave we both agreed to leave buried, boy, La Mort mused.

  His mind flashed back to the “battle on Zoron.” Ezra had come so close, finally removing the King from his throne and his position of dominance. But close is not close enough; you come for the King, you do not miss, because the opportunity that was there yesterday is not going to be there today.

  You took a swing at the King once and missed. There will be no one to save you, dear boy, if you’re planning another attempt—I can promise you that.

  The silver beneath his palms finally snapped, and a loud crack echoed throughout the throne room like a shot of thunder. La Mort didn’t flinch. He simply looked down at the battered metal, then looked back up as if nothing happened.