Purge(2)

Edith reclined in her opulent office, the soft glow of candlelight casting intricate shadows across the room. Life had always been wreathed in luxury and privilege for her, her every desire fulfilled from just the utterance of a word. From a young age, she had been accustomed to receiving whatever her heart desired, her whims catered to by the indulgence of her father, the previous seatholder of the underworld.

Yet her ascent to power had not been without its bloodshed. Her father's demise had been swift, brought about by her own hand when she decided she, too, desired to rule the underworld of the eastern duchy as he once had.

In the aftermath of her father's death, Edith had expected retaliation, a vengeful uprising from those loyal to the fallen lord. But to her surprise, there had been no outcry, no call for retribution. Among the denizens of the underworld, honour was a fleeting concept, easily discarded in favour of self-preservation. And so, with unsettling ease, they had welcomed her as their new leader, as if nothing untoward had occurred. 

Years passed in relative tranquillity, the ebb and flow of power shifting with the tides of fortune. New faces emerged, old ones vanished, and alliances were forged and broken in the shadows. But for the most part, life had remained unchanged, the status quo preserved by the delicate balance of fear and ambition that every individual in the underworld possessed.

Then came Voss—a newcomer unlike any she had encountered before. Weak in stature yet formidable in intellect, he had carved out a niche for himself among the underworld elite. His presence was tolerated, if begrudgingly, for his cunning mind offered insights and strategies that even the most seasoned lords could not ignore.

But recent events had stirred a restlessness within Voss, a palpable unease that had begun to infect those around him. He spoke of a masked assailant, a phantom figure who had infiltrated his stronghold with unnerving ease, dismantling his defences with ruthless efficiency. Even Lysandria, a formidable force in her own right, had reportedly baulked at the prospect of confronting this enigmatic intruder.

During the emergency meeting convened by Voss, Edith had watched with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension as he recounted his harrowing ordeal. The other lords had scoffed and sneered, their derision masking a deeper undercurrent of her fear—a fear that Edith could feel gnawing at the edges of her composure.

Unease kept building its bastion within her heart and bridging its way toward her mind. After a while, she realized that her should-be-loud surroundings had grown quiet. A phenomenon she realized was not a result of her mindful trance. Her eyes fluttered open and she pushed forth her senses. Sharp and inquisitive they probed the world around her for any anomalies. To her dismay, said anomalies were in fact present and loud. The unnerving mix of cosmic energy and one's soul essence was palpable and abundant within the surroundings and her senses came up against what felt like a wall. Principality Origin. The only thing that came to mind was that someone had her in their principality. It was blatant.

But it was not until one of her lackeys burst into her office, his face pale with panic, that Edith's unease blossomed into full-blown dread. His words tumbled out in a frantic rush, describing a surreal phenomenon unfolding outside—the sky ablaze with colours, rainbows encircling their domain like a halo of ominous portent.

As the gravity of the situation settled over her like a shroud, Edith realized with a sinking heart that perhaps Voss's fears were not unfounded after all. The tranquillity of their world had been shattered, and in its place loomed the spectre of uncertainty and chaos, threatening to engulf them all in its relentless tide.

°°°°

Edith's pulse quickened as adrenaline surged through her veins, her senses sharpening as her instincts kicked into overdrive. Her core thrummed with power and her energy came alive With a whispered incantation, a pair of sleek black short swords materialized in her hands, the weight of one of her more formidable heritage shifted in her palms. She had access to more potent artefacts, relics and summons that could tip the scales in her favour, but she knew she had to ration her energy wisely, lest she find herself defenceless when it mattered most.

Her fingers danced across the buttons on her desk, setting off a cacophony of alarms that reverberated throughout the establishment. In every corner, from the lavish lobbies to the shadowed corridors, the air crackled with tension as the warning signals blared to life. Visitors and staff alike scrambled to arm themselves, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and determination. The Principality that trapped them had already manifested unopposed, its formidable presence serving as a grim reminder of the power that now loomed over them all. It would take a much more superior principality or a heavenly weapon to undo its effects and dismantle it without the need to find its source and unfortunately for her, she had neither.

With a sense of urgency gnawing at her, Edith darted down the halls, her footsteps echoing against the polished marble floors. But as she reached the main entrance, her heart sank like a stone in her chest. The door had been breached, its sturdy frame splintered and broken, and a contingent of ducal militants streamed into the lobby with grim purpose.

Time seemed to stand still as Edith watched in stunned disbelief, her mind struggling to comprehend the gravity of the situation unfolding before her eyes. The duke's forces, here, in her establishment—it was unthinkable, inconceivable. Panic clawed at the edges of her consciousness as a chilling realization dawned upon her.

"The duke...how?" she muttered to herself, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and incredulity. "Their resources should be stretched thin and they must be aware of the consequences of taking out a little establishment such as this...unless..."

A shiver of dread coursed through her as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, each revelation more unsettling than the last. The lockdown, the coordinated assault, Voss' warning—it was all part of a larger plan, a scheme to eradicate them all without a whisper of dissent reaching the ears of the capital.

"I'm not making it out of here alive," she whispered, the words heavy with resignation and despair.

As if summoned by her despair, a figure appeared at the far end of the lobby, his presence commanding attention like a tempest on the horizon. Though his features bespoke youth, there was an air of authority that clung to him like a mantle, his steely gaze piercing through the chaos with unnerving precision. His luscious black locks had a mind of their own and danced freely amid the chaos while his inhumane silverfish grey eyes surveyed the entire scene with reserved contempt. Those eyes landed on her and she shuddered as she held his gaze with her own.

"You must be Edith," he declared, his voice resonating with a chilling calmness that sent a shiver down her spine. "I've heard much about you. I'm sure Michael has briefed you on me."

Edith felt a cold knot of dread tighten in the pit of her stomach as the realization of her fate washed over her like a wave crashing against the shore. She was trapped, cornered by forces beyond her control, and there was no escape from the inexorable march of destiny.

"Surrender and live, resist and die," the man announced, his words a grim proclamation of their impending doom. "That is my offer to you all. However..." His gaze locked onto hers with icy finality. "You are not making it out of here alive."