Chapter Text
It was a fine day for an execution. The king wore his usual regalia, a navy blue and gold suit with oversized sleeves, a matching cloak, and a circlet fitted to his forehead. His head was freshly groomed that morning, his raven black hair cut short, his beard trimmed evenly and close to the skin. He held his arms behind his back, awaiting his cue to step out onto the balcony where Bombastine spoke behind a podium.
“Your majesty,” Dominus Thrax made his presence known, and the king turned to the eternal child, who stood at about two thirds Silas’ height and with a timid posture. Despite his physical appearance being that of a boy no older than twelve, Thrax held the highest position within Silas’ court. “Are you certain this is the correct punishment?”
“Thrax,” Silas’ mouth twitched in an insidious smile. “You understand the laws well. You brought evidence of conspiracy against me, Sythel was tried in a fair court, and it was determined death was an equal punishment to her crimes.”
Thrax bowed. “Of course, but the citizens may not view it that way. There are already reports from the far reaches of Duviri of civil unrest.”
“The subjects know their place. As long as no crime is committed, they will not be punished.”
Thrax bowed again, receiving the underlying threat and placing himself back in line among the court.
“And now, citizens of Duviri, your gracious king,” Bombastine backed away from the podium. Silas stepped onto the balcony, seeing the crowd of a few hundred, a tangible anticipation in the air. The executioner stood at the front on the gallows, facing the crowd and holding their axe.
“Today is a day of justice,” Silas said, his voice amplified across the palace grounds. “A day that will be remembered and celebrated by all the free people of Duviri, as today, we bring an end to the disease of conspiracy against the throne.”
Four guards in a diamond formation brought a bound Sythel forward. She physically struggled, yelling useless profanities at anyone and everyone. She was forced to her knees on the gallows, next to the executioner.
“May the void embrace you,” Silas watched a ripple of excitement go through the crowd. Then, their mood swiftly changed to awe, as Silas felt something cold against his jugular.
“Justice, indeed,” a sinister voice said against his ear. There were screams, the brief taste of blood, then silence.
Try again.
The words were whispered, in a voice vaguely resembling Dominus Thrax. Silas’ hands went to his neck, somehow his head was still attached to his shoulders. Time had shifted a few steps back, Bombastine was still addressing the crowd. “And now, citizens of Duviri, your gracious king.”
No, he couldn't give his address, not while an assassin was loose in the palace. He glanced over his shoulder, Thrax was gone, the other advisors looking at him with confusion. He was urged forwards. The crowd was dead silent.
“Today is a day of justice…” he began again.
A pain seared through Silas’s midsection. He looked down to see the bloodied tip of the blade protruding through the left side of his chest, only to be ripped free. The tearing on his flesh and the crack of bone echoed throughout the palace grounds. He collapsed, writhing on the balcony as blood pooled around him. His attacker stood over him, wearing a theatrical red mask, its face forever twisted in a scowl. As Silas faded again, the crowd began to cheer.
Once more.
Silas could no longer command those around him with a simple flick of the wrist. He turned to flee, but was grabbed by guards. They were not his guards, however, their armor bulkier. They carried polearms, and their grip on Silas was tight. If he struggled, he would dislocate his shoulders.
Dominus Thrax stood in the center of the court, the advisors now looking to him with keen interest. He stepped forward, now eye level with Silas.
“Why do this…?” Silas demanded. “How did you do this?”
“Isnt this what you wanted? A grand execution? A show of power?” Thrax smiled maliciously. “Let's play a game, like we used to. You hide, and my Dax will seek.”
One.
Silas nearly fell down the spiral staircase, reaching the bottom only to look up again. The two Dax remained at the top, staring at him with apathy.
Two.
He sprinted across the throne room, throwing open the double doors. The gallows had disappeared, but the crowd remained.
Three.
The crowd parted, Silas ran straight through them. About halfway through, hands grabbed at his cloak, his crown. He gave them up easily if it meant he could live, to not feel that pain again.
Four.
The streets were filled with Dax, their weapons pointed skyward as they stood in rigid formation on either side of the main road. Their heads turned curiously as the once king fled.
Five.
Silas reached the bridge, he looked skyward, the clouds forming in purple and pink plumes in the distance. They formed the shape of a mask, staring directly at Silas.
Ready or not, here they come!
Silas dove into a deep ravine, his body rolling and bruising until it crashed to the bottom. With shaky arms, he pushed himself off the ground and looked to the sky again. He was out of sight, but he was not safe. He pressed his back to the wall of the ravine, catching his breath.
How did control slip through his fingers? It had to be the Void, manifesting in its strange ways and making Dominus Thrax more… real. He was no longer the Thrax Silas knew, that was for certain.
Silas glanced around, this was still his creation. His kingdom. He would recoup his strength, and take Thrax head on.