The Demon Sovereign (4)

While Edan officially held public sector appointments…

His essential identity and primary sphere of influence originated as a mage of the Keres Tower.

If exerting official authority, his Defense Department Head position represented the optimal conduit. If seeking authoritative credibility, invoking his Royal Academic Society membership proved most advantageous.

But purely from an influential standpoint, his subterranean role within the Keres Tower hierarchy commanded the greatest weight class.

The military ultimately represented a purely consumptive entity, while the Keres Tower – having evolved from a mere appliance retailer into a department store – merchandized everything from weapons to weed trimmers.

The wartime demand surges had been jointly satiated by the revitalized military-industrial complexes – reanimated through Edan’s ritual sacrifices of retirement funds – alongside governmental contributions, with the Keres Tower ravenously devouring whatever scraps remained.

Bluntly stated, if Edan were to abruptly recline and petulantly declare “I dislike warfare, will cease production henceforth,” the entire war effort would grind to an immediate halt.

That such capricious whims could destabilize an ongoing conflict felt inherently hazardous upon mere contemplations.

Yet seldom did such monopolistic consolidations persist unchallenged under ordinary circumstances.

“Sustenance logistics have already been outsourced to local Republican suppliers, with basic necessities being furnished by Colonel Arnold’s provisions. As for armaments–”

“……”

“We shall proceed as previously, I suppose.”

“Please convey the requisite quantities to the Keres Tower. Our stockpiles have depleted considerably due to the recent Demon offensives.”

“Equipment losses were certainly substantial, but our greatest deficiencies arose from abandoning unrecoverable inventories during those retreats. Fortuitously, the Demons appear unable to properly repurpose our confiscated matériel, but we must prioritize replenishing our armored divisions regardless.”

“And that would mean…”

“Undoubtedly requiring another Keres commission. They alone possess the capacities to fulfill such immense orders.”

With no viable alternatives, awarding such contracts proved inevitable.

Ultimately, only the Keres Tower had arisen from those devastations through self-reanimations – all others had almost uniformly languished under the Earl Norton’s metaphorical leashes after initial feeble flailings.

Certainly, with sufficient temporal investments, others could potentially ascend into formidable bulwarks. But the war had erupted before economic reinvigorations, necessitating commissions from humbler suppliers.

Having effectively achieved imperial statuses, the Keres Tower’s premier commodities had transitioned from prewar air-conditioners and refrigerators into two distinct product lines:

Railguns.

And tanks.

The former represented niche applications with usage limitations – at worst, mere ammunition jamming malfunctions.

But the latter unfortunately exhibited considerably higher complaint rates.

-Pshhhiewwk!-

“Another tank disintegrated!”

“Again?! That blasted contraption will likely claim casualties soon.”

“So what shall we do now?”

“For starters, huff… document the issues, then summon the Keres maintenance crews immediately.”

When vehicles had initially entered military service, their roles involved swiftly transporting troops from urban centers into combat theatres.

Variations at most entailed traversing gentle terrains while intermittently strafing Demon ranks with mounted machineguns – no significant issues thus far.

But equipping artillery pieces and rebranding them as ‘tanks’ altered that paradigm considerably.

With their daily operational environments being crater-strewn, shell-furrowed wastelands amidst scattered Demon carcasses, stable locomotions – let alone deliberate progressions – rapidly exceeded their technical capabilities.

Yet the war had already persisted for nearly half a year now.

Edan received daily live combat data ingestions, meticulously incorporating that hard-earned feedback into subsequent iterative upgrades.

“For railguns, reliably perforating Demon anatomies suffices. But for tanks, are these specifications adequate?”

“Certainly numerous areas still require further refinements… but what other recourses exist? I remain reasonably satisfied overall.”

“Would allocating more developmental timeframes prove unfeasible?”

“This shall represent our final model from the Tower during active warfare. Any potential successors would undoubtedly prove utterly catastrophic.”

Prolonging the process would only inflict further casualties upon the frontline grunts. If the Royal Academic Society and Tower’s researchers could resolve those predicaments by substituting themselves, then business opportunities beckoned.

Thus, Edan unveiled the ‘True_Final_Ultimate_V5’ tank variants to the world.

Freyja imprinted production approval seals, and the manufacturing facilities – which had until then reserved contingencies against unforeseen contingencies – commenced full-capacity mobilizations.

With some battalions still utilizing leftover munitions canisters from the previous Demon campaigns, the recipients of these freshly lacquered armaments naturally became the prospective heroic candidates Freugne had clandestinely assembled.

While nearly bereft of actual Demon Sovereign termination contingencies under current circumstances, they could still potentially represent the final nails within that conflict’s coffin – rendering their designations not entirely undeserved.

---

A location affectionately nicknamed “Edan’s Secret Warehouse” by those privy…

Harbored an underground dungeon within a sparsely populated hamlet near Londinium, its precise whereabouts known only to a couple of hands’ worth of individuals.

Fittingly, that ‘dungeon’ designation manifested quite literally – spawning Demons whose neutralizations yielded informational loot drops.

“Divulge everything you know, and your lives shall be spared.”

“But if you persist in stubborn reticence… you shall intimately savor the distinctive bouquets of this region’s signature sardine jellies via nasal inhalations.”

“Kkkhhuuaarghh! Kkkhhuuaarrgghh!!”

“Hey, grab his legs properly. The thrashing is making the food spill everywhere.”

A penitentiary consolidating those Demons who had brazenly infiltrated the city with explicit intentions of targeting Freugne or myself – obviating necessities for police involvements. Deriving pragmatic utilities represented preferable alternatives to merely indulging petty vindictiveness.

“We currently find ourselves within the same proverbial vessel. Thus, cooperating compliantly would benefit us mutually, would it not? Hmm?”

That their metaphorical ‘vessel’ more closely resembled the Titanic or the Flying Dutchman felt lamentably regrettable – but understandable given their initial trespasses.

Certainly, during their inceptions many had agonized over that binary decision between demises or human enslavements.

But Edan had provided informative revelations to facilitate their choices:

“Kkhahh, hufff. If you merely await patiently, uhh, rescuers shall arrive imminently.”

“Truly? Then provide today’s newspapers. You appear oblivious to worldly affairs, so consider this an exceptional courtesy.”

Displaying the iceberg-collision scenes that had scuttled that very Titanic.

Their dopamine-saturated hopes about the Demon Sovereign imminently unfurling victory banners within Londinium while unleashing psychic death-beams had instantly evaporated.

Had the Demon Sovereign’s utter triumphs appeared plausible, they might have desperately clung to those last strands of hope.

But under any dispassionate scrutiny, stalemates felt increasingly inescapable as the likeliest conclusions.

And even if he personified the Demon Sovereign himself, dismissive disavowals like “Demon spies? Never dispatched any. Merely reckless, overexcited youths underestimating the stakes, it seems,” would become inevitable.

While certainly cognizant about those inherent risks upon infiltrating, having received commensurate carrots and sticks as motivations…

Once confronted with viscerally repulsive depravities like literal life-or-death scenarios, their dispositions had understandably shifted according to rudimentary self-preservation instincts.

As individuals brazenly infiltrating foreign capitals, lacking fundamental understandings about their own homeland’s current plights represented sheer impossibilities.

With geographical reconnaissances concluded, the organization had progressed into subsequent phases:

“Compile rosters of candidates exhibiting exemplary tactical acumens or combat prowess. With offensives temporarily stalling, requisitioning some troops should pose no significant issues, correct?”

“Yes, indeed. But for what purposes, if I may inquire…?”

“Is not your current battalion the very contingent harboring those renowned war heroes? Such unparalleled patriotism merits commensurate deployments upon special battlegrounds – particularly during these Demon stagnations.”

Orders requisitioning select troops had covertly percolated down to the frontline vanguards.

If ceremonial commendations had represented the intentions, openly publicizing such honors would have felt apropos – not furtive subtleties.

Some staff officers who had endured months persevering through hellish tribulations had begun discerning underlying conspiratorial undercurrents.

“Oh, Commander. But that ace sharpshooter represents our squad’s cornerstone – how can we afford deploying him elsewhere?”

“Alas, these originate as top-level directives beyond my discretions. Comply, we must.”

“Tch……”

“Despondency remains unwarranted. For him, more befitting battlegrounds await than these locales.”

They had discovered historical precedents providing answers:

Demon wars. Elite shock-troopers hastily requisitioned. Armistice overtures still distantly languishing.

Not that they intended inserting a minuscule vanguard comprising the conventional four archetypes – the holy maidens, heroic knights, mystic mages, and roguish thieves – directly into the Demon capital.

But the overall scales appeared considerably grander, undoubtedly portending another climactic confrontation akin to previous conflicts.

With heavy hearts, the commanders who had once encouraged those individuals to permanently stake their claims had no choice but to bid them farewell – having recognized their intrinsic martial callings that should have been nurtured rather than suppressed.

Perhaps “taken away” represented too harsh a characterization. They had merely returned whence they had originated.

The orphanage’s ultimate contingency assets – scattered across frontlines under pretexts of accumulating combat experiences – had reunited after prolonged dispersals.

Akin to a hive-mind, they exhibited intuitive comprehensions about the imminent missions awaiting them – their clovers-emblazoned badges sufficing as mutual identifications.

And when those meticulously organized battalions reminiscent of covert cabals had quietly materialized without any publicities…

“…What am I even doing here?”

“Rumor has it we’re being awarded commendations. Congratulations.”

“No, that hardly seems plausible for me considering any rational perspective……”

Erin awkwardly scanned her surroundings. While unable to pinpoint precise confirmations, many present did appear vaguely familiar even predating this summons…

“Does not our very presence here imply similar circumstances?”

“Ah, I suppose so.”

“But the oration is commencing presently.”

As the orator launched into the standard military playlist extolling ancestral heroics against the Demon Sovereign and humanity’s inevitable triumph, Erin casually dismissed Ulric’s remarks.

This had occurred one week before she would find herself indiscriminately unleashing railgun barrages practically within the Demon capital’s outskirts.