“We are falling.”

“No. We’re rising.” General Harion held his chin up shifting the cavalry sword at his side.

“Our great nation may be conquering the world but we will have nothing left but mud and dirt. Our planet is becoming one of sorrow. A kingdom of death. Illusia and the rest of Verthurst will never be the same.” Said General Pyre, noticing that the other four generals were just as nervous as him.

General Harion however was the only one in attendance that still wore his decorative eagle helm and chest plate, signaling his defiance of empathy and promoting his loyalty to the nation of Illusia to the others. “He knows exactly what he is doing and what needs to be done. With Goldmeadow destroyed and irradiated those Mercia heathens will bow their heads to us. The border cities of Fairlyn and Gosslyn will soon realize how resisting Lord Draken will only end in defeat, submission, and subjugation. These lands are rightfully ours.”

There has been much talk about sacrifice over the last few months, mostly from Lord Draken, but Pyre could only feel pensive, obligated as he was to his peers but never to himself. He never really had a self to sacrifice. He lived in his highness’ shadow for so long that he had forgotten who he really was, living to serve, living to dispose of his enemies and watch them burn and melt away. Lord Draken’s power of radiation by simply being close to his enemies meant no one could oppose him and those who did were met with radiation sickness and, if close enough to him, instant death.

“Lord Draken and his radioactive qualities make him a perfect figurehead for our empire.” Said Harion with defiant pride. “He came to us in our time of need during the Verdon War only four years ago and has been burning his way through every battlefield simply by walking onto it, without fear, without apprehension. I was there during the taking of Pinon Hill when he walked through the enemy line and left them squirming on the ground, melting where they stood. It was magnificent.”

As he finished the great double doors to the conference chamber opened ominously. Harion walked through first with his chest out while Pyre and the other four walked through with their heads lowered, expecting another tirade from the great warlord. They walked to their respective posts on the round platform, facing Lord Draken, who stood twenty feet away behind the invisible, magic barrier, standing at the height of an idle Golden Mare, arrayed in his battle armor. His presence was magnificent and deadly, a dark lord who refused to remove his crimson armor in the presence of anyone except his concubines. Pyre stared into the eyes of the distant lord, hidden behind a horned helm, brooding sockets like burning cinders, his shoulders broad with hulking dragon pauldrons, and wondered if there was even a man behind that crested and narrow face plate. The chest piece was spiked with the mouth of some dreadful beast, wide and all-consuming. Despite never having seen his face Pyre had been loyal, even while the bodies of the world piled around them. Who could dare defy such a murderous god?

“Have we secured the western countries and executed the enemies of the people?” Boomed Lord Draken in a monotone voice. He controlled his words with frightful insistence.

“If it please my lord, we have sent the generals of Westmer to the burn pits.” Said Harion. “They are no longer a threat.”

Pyre cringed. He had seen the burn pits for himself and reflected on the echoes of screaming men and women as they were dragged to the towering infernos that Draken had created in the open fields of battle, like sinkholes of flame and volcanic ash.

“Ah, good, good. Let the dying gasps of our enemies enlighten those who wish to defy the mighty Illusia.” Said the lord. “And I trust, Harion, that the Tyiana and Sangju territories to the east are under control?”

The conquest had always been slow going, considering Draken had to travel to such lands to conquer them. By carriage the lord would be brought, under deceptive means, to the capital cities if they refused to be subjugated. Entire town and city councils, kings, queens, senates, oligarchs, and other heads of states were turned into crumbling masses of flesh and bone on the spot. His military was sent in afterward to clean up the mess and restructure and incorporate the populaces into the Illusian Empire. It was brutality. It was cruel. The cities that Pyre reconstituted devolved into havens of crime as morality declined. And he had to clean up the bodies. The image of melting eyes was hard to get out of his head.

He started to grip his sword hilt tightly. The talk of descent was heavily on his mind. “The people hate us. The world is against us.” He had told General Mackin in the secret meetings. Despising an emperor was no light conversation. Killing a king was never easy.

“Change always yields pain. These are the growing pains the Lord had told us about.” Mackin had tried to rationalize Draken’s action during the cabal discussions.

“This is no longer about politics. This is about one man’s thirst for power.” General Jolyn had countered. The conversations had always ended the same however. Lord Draken had to be removed, for the sake of all humanity. But who would risk their lives to get close enough to the Lord to be able to kill him? Who would make the sacrifice? And who in the world would truly care if we did make that sacrifice?”

The answer was inevitably: “no one.” None of them would be the hero from ancient myths. They were too rich off the backs of the dead to risk their own lives. All the slaughter and progress of the empire would have been for nothing.

“General Pyre.” Spoke Draken in a breathless whisper. “You are often quiet during these meetings. What say you?”

“The Tyiana and Sangju territories will submit or die.” He told the lord what he wanted to hear and reluctantly approached the center of the chamber and stood on the emblem emblazoned on the floor of the mighty dragon that roared with flame. Remaining as stoic and still as he could manage, he gave his field report of the areas, mentioning the suicide bombers that attacked a military convoy only briefly. His heart beat faster, but only a little. His pride made him stronger.

“Why is it that the feeble wish death over becoming a powerful nation?” Whispered Draken malevolently. “And you, Pyre, you have shown fewer results with bringing your territories under control. I suspect that you’re becoming feeble as well.”

The opaque barrier between them shimmered in the gloomy light. Pyre wasn’t afraid anymore. “Or perhaps you are afraid of losing power. You’ve been blessed with such power for so long that only more power can satiate you. Killing more and more will be the only thing that will satisfy you.” His voice became stronger, louder to the whispers of the pathetic lord. “Will you never be happy? Will your plots to conquer the world only end when everyone is killed? Why should we follow you into this oblivion when we don’t even know your true face? You are an enemy to our people, betrayer of our empire, and failure as a leader, as you only lead us to our demise.”

“How dare you!” Shouted Draken and raised his hand to expand the barrier outward, passing over Pyre to the edge of the dragon emblem on the ground. “What power do you yield that could possibly challenge me?”

Pyre felt his body burning with the radiation that the lord emitted. His eyes blazed a fiery heat that blinded him. Tears…no blood and the liquefaction of his eyes dripped over his hot cheeks. “I have one thing you will never have.” His voice cracked. “Humility.” His knees pop from their sockets in searing agony as he leapt forward, pushing through the blazing pain. With the leather armor melting through his skin, he unleashed his sword and plunged it through the under arm, the one weak spot in the evil lord’s chest plate. Draken squealed and bent forward, Pyre feeling the even hotter breath of the lord on his face. With his other hand he ripped the face mask off the lord and threw it down, exposing the man’s face to the others in the chamber.

Harion let out a gasp, “He…he is just a boy. All this time we were being led by a boy. Contained in the suit…by magical means. Was he trapped?”

Other voices whispered but Pyre could only hear one, the vaporous and yet innocent moan of air, “Thank you.” And, as the breath brushed across his rotting and withered cheek, he let out his own dying gasp and was glad to have died for his country and his boy king.