The Prelude (12)

Though never stated outright,

there were those who openly yearned for the sudden appearance of a messianic figure to resolve all afflictions.

The catalysts ranged from the council’s perpetual circus parade of inaction to factories hemorrhaging workers daily, and living standards declining inversely to technological progress.

“A new Dark Lord has been chosen!”

“Wait, the previous war concluded barely two decades ago, what is the…!”

“Everyone, remain calm. A Dark Lord’s emergence does not necessarily precipitate an immediate invasion–”

“Invasion? You mean war? Surely not another war?!”

“Kyaaaaaah!!”

Crucially, the Demonic equivalent of a savior – a pale rider of pestilence – lurked just beyond the Belfast borderlands, rendering such yearnings permissible.

Unlike humanity, compelled to pray for a heroic champion upon a Dark Lord’s rise, the Demonic Tribe reliably produced their scourges as if bound by covenant.

“We must summon heroes, even at this juncture!”

“But did the previous hero not perish in the last war?”

“Then we must select a new one!”

“Or will they not simply emerge organically once war commences?”

“How many nations met their demise through such complacency? Now is not the time for such indolence. We must nurture a military force and recruit potential heroes immediately.”

“Yet the previous conflict decimated our youth. What recourse remains?”

This was no mere fanciful delusion, for a hero’s very vocation entailed such duties.

Human history had persisted as a chronicle of crises, narrowly averted by selfless individuals sacrificing everything to rescue a despairing populace from the precipice.

Certainly, the era of lone prodigies altering battlefronts had faded.

Blades capable of cleaving through tens were rendered obsolete by machine-gun sweeps, and heaven-rending magic replicated by flamethrowers given sufficient numbers.

Yet as one straddling that transitional epoch, harboring such expectations remained feasible.

Even Professor Magnee, who had ostensibly witnessed – or believed he witnessed – such phenomena firsthand was not exempt, however subconsciously. This significantly influenced his willingness to overlook Edan’s unorthodox endeavors.

“For His Majesty to depart in such futility…”

“Then who shall become the next monarch?”

“Why, we must determine that presently!”

“Kuhuk…!”

Here, human knowledge ended. Yet the Demonic Tribe’s circumstances mirrored this trajectory.

That messianic role directly opposed the Dark Lord’s dominion.

Perpetual infighting precluded unity.

The vicious cycle of hard-won military consolidation birthing dissident factions, spawning further civil conflicts – such an endless, self-destructive spiral would inevitably exhaust even the most stalwart.

Extreme situations demanded extreme remedies. If force proved insufficient, indoctrination to forcibly unite the Demonic Tribe might become a necessity.

And such sentiments were not confined to isolated individuals.

Peace-advocating strains emerged, as did temporary alliances motivated by human animosity rather than martial zeal, and those perceiving humanity as an escalating threat.

“None remain suitable to become the next sovereign?”

“Exceptional individuals exist, yet none match the current Lord’s caliber.”ity had progressed more rapidly than anticipated. Once easily subjugated barehanded, they had devised weapons, acquiring the capacity for resistance. Conversely, the Demonic Tribe had stagnated amidst that flourishing ascendancy.

Hence, this juncture necessitated reasserting dominance.

Capitalizing on the economic turmoil, striking before further human advancement – resetting the paradigm to reassert supremacy.

Some remnants must be preserved, for an external, common foe constituted the most potent unifying force.

This, after all, encapsulated humanity’s existential purpose for the Demonic Tribe – the inexorable cycle of perpetual warfare.

Yet that mindset had gradually shifted.

“Though we have lost our Lord, this remains our victory!”

“Yet we could not achieve overwhelming domination. In hindsight, have humans not coalesced while we fragmented?”

In the previous war’s aftermath, humanity teetered on the brink of extinction, too preoccupied to contemplate broader implications.

Yet the Demonic Tribe recognized that the once-effortlessly shattered humans had learned defiance.

Those meant as a mere internal unifying force now transcended that singular purpose.

And decades of peace transpired.

Which also signified the Dark Lord’s aging.

History had amply demonstrated the turmoil following a Dark Lord’s demise without a clear successor.

Fortuitously, the void left by the previous Lord’s unanticipated demise had been filled, and the scars of that interim upheaval healed – an optimal state of readiness.

Thus, they could ill afford further delays in securing their domain before it became untenable.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“……”

“You are defying orders to maintain your position–”

“…Ah.”

With a glazed expression, one Demon absentmindedly raised his firearm.

In the previous war, he had merely charged with blades. Before that, he could tear humans apart barehanded. Yet now, reliance on such devices was necessary.

He wondered what soldiers decades hence would wield. While ignorant of the specifics, he remained certain the Demonic physiological advantages would soon dissipate.

His hand trembled slightly – from impatience and trepidation.

Yet such contemplations were foreign to his typical thoughtless existence.

Despite a life’s crowning achievement of glimpsing the Dark Lord from afar, this Demon could not fathom the circumstances impelling his actions.

Yet his body, heedless of the admonitions, had already aimed skyward and squeezed the trigger.

“Wait–”

-Bang!-

A solitary spark ignited the conflagration.

The ensuing inferno would rage unquenchably until one side was reduced to cinders.

---

No dispatches or letters had arrived, yet the timepiece alone conveyed the unfolding truth.

War had finally commenced.

The ultimate conflict to determine humanity’s survival.

That initial gunshot would escalate the skirmishes, with some futilely dashing to avert the inevitable conflagration before its all-consuming expansion rendered further efforts moot.

Gazing momentarily towards the Demonic lands through the window, Freugne muttered, her thoughts unfathomable:

“It has begun.”

“…I wonder when it will conclude.”

“I cannot say for certain.”

The surroundings remained tranquil for now, yet the entire city would soon awaken in tumult.

They were already aware of the night assault strategy.

Yet even if that timing held no tactical significance, being roused from slumber by an attack could hardly avoid disorientation through sheer fuerza of habit.

“And the police?”

“I’ve deployed continuous patrols throughout the vicinity. Though they will likely bypass and ambush regardless.”

“Cannot we evade them by foreseeing the future?”

“Avoidance is feasible once or twice, but introducing too many variables could profoundly alter the foreseen future itself.”

Until now, the Demons had refrained from overtly manifesting within Londinium.

Unsurprisingly, as neutralizing the police force, however trivial, would inevitably provoke heightened vigilance – the very backlash they had previously exploited to instigate small-scale insurrections through complacency.

Yet such considerations no longer applied.

Nor would mindful scrutiny or inhibitions against indiscriminate mind control persist.

And if the Dark Lord harbored any coherent strategizing,

eliminating Freugne – the greatest threat to victory – would undoubtedly be the utmost priority.

“Hence, we should restrict outings for the foreseeable future.”

“While exercising due caution, there will be occasions necessitating my presence.”

To issue directives or perceive more definitive futures. Understandable necessities, yet cause for apprehension nonetheless.

For apart from bodily harm, memory erasure posed the gravest peril.

A single misstep could instantaneously upend all their meticulous planning.

“Do not attempt to shoulder every burden alone.”

“Does that mean Uncle will issue commands in my stead?”

“If required.”

Edan’s nod elicited a subtle look of surprise from Freugne.

“Why?”

“Uncle has truly become a full-fledged shadow operative, no longer exempt. It has been quite some time since embracing the truth.”

“All for your sake.”

“I’m aware. Which is precisely why I’m delighted.”

Freugne beamed, gently taking Edan’s hand before continuing:

“Yet Uncle must exercise equal caution. Are you not in greater peril? You frequent the Martop and consort with Royal Academy members.”

“I possess the means to safeguard myself. I have no intention of submitting meekly.”

“I know you are formidable. Yet one can never be too cautious.”

A firearm rested in his pocket, prepared for contingencies –

a purpose diametrically opposed to that distant past when he had first encountered Freugne, intended not to harm but to protect.

A hurried knocking at the door interrupted their reverie.

-Knock knock knock!-

“Master Edan, are you present?”

“Yes, I am awake.”

“My apologies for the untimely intrusion. An emergency summons has been issued for all Royal Academy members. It is an urgent matter.”

“I shall depart immediately.”

In exchange for forgoing a sheltered bunker, the time had arrived to stake his life on an ultimate examination.