Welcome to Gaia! ::

Sophie simply nodded in agreement, energised or not, she still didn't like this place and she was still exhausted - in a mental sense rather than a physical sense (though she swore she could sleep for years after this). She watched as the toys all gathered up and mass sacrificed themselves for their greater good. It was then she realised how truly noble and majestic these creatures were. Of course this realisation was short lived - as well as any acknowledgement of the crown - because the doors were opening which meant getting out of here which mean they were closer to going home.

Sophie scrambled for the door, dragging her brother with her seeing as she was still clinging to his arm. What could he even use a crown for? It wouldn't suit him at all. "Let's go, Alex. I'm genuinely happy to see the snow." Outside, Sophie noticed a few students eating and breaking off pieces of candy cane. Sophie shrugged. Why the hell not? She broke off a few pieces, eating one and offering some to Alex. She put two pieces in her pockets because after what Christmas Town had just put her through the least they could do was spare some candy cane. Flopping onto the ground, Sophie sat and waited for all the students to exit the furnace room, certain they would all be leaving together.

Everything was over, the toys had gone on to serve their purpose. They'd protected the Halloween students, or something of that sort, and the monster simply watched as everything faded away. There was nothing left of the Furnace King once the toys had worked him over, nothing except....his crown. It glittered there on the ground, wonderful and strong. Black and red, colors that seemed to blend together in a state beyond whatever she looked at before.

It was like everything and everyone vanished around Chuppi. There was only raw feeling, emotion that etched itself into her veins as her eyes worked over the symbol of royalty. A symbol of power. It was unlike anything she'd ever felt before nor was it a sensation she thought she'd feel again. There was a want that far surpassed anything sensible and reasonable. Everything about the crown was there for her and it laid out her feelings like a new babe in the snow. She was naked and bare in her desire, in her need. The urge to have the crown was positively primal.

Her steps towards reaching what was rightfully hers, an item the color of the blood that pounded through the veins of everyone and everything, were quick and light. There was no hesitation against her movements for there was no one else to claim it - it belonged to her, it would always belong to her. There was no one at the school who understood the blood the way she did and there never would be again. If this crown meant power and a showing of the force she controlled over then it would be hers. She didn't even feel herself get deflected away as she approached and she could ignore as the wonderful red and black was replaced by white. The white was nothing to fear as it only heralded in the new morning, a day of conquest and power.

Her people were beneath her where they belonged, their eyes looking up to her instead of the other way around. She was King, she would have no one look down to her and she would look up to no man. Those in her kingdom knew it and treasured her for it for she brought them what they wanted. Fun and games - no, nothing as simple as that. Pleasures of the body and mind were far more to be had in physical combat in the kingdom where dark red ran the streets and walls. It was the color of her country and the color of her people. It was worn with pride by those who cheered beneath her and those who stood at her side. Red was the color of the King, red was a color that all bodies had. To have red strewn on the battlefield was the highest honor. To be painted in red as you claimed victory was something no one forgot. The King with her red eyes was always watching, commanding, and as she rose to address them roars of praise and delight filled the area.

What wonders would she bring them today? Would they feast in manners only dreamed of, would they bring forth the banners and spread their color to the other nations? It was so easy to color everything red, such dark and wonderful shades of red, and with a King who conquered all those who opposed her and stood in her path the skies and streams were often crimson beyond twilight. A voice at her side, a woman with blood red hair that pleased the King, spoke into her ear of a tourney. A chance to take the others nations to cause, to show them the power of red. The power of blood. The power of life.

She would need champions at her side, for Chuppi was not a King to idly stand by, but whom would she choose? It was fair enough to think her cloest companions would battle for her and give their lives. They'd be covered in her Red, proclaiming themselves forever in her kingdom, but their loss would be too great. That left the options of strangers to carry her banner and her name, foreign to her ways and her knowledge. the loss of them would not sting as much - common subjects were nothing more than easily replaceable, but could she honestly think that way?

The tourney was coming, her choice needed to be made, and so the King stood on the podium to address the crowds below that chanted her name, screamed for her praises. A champion could only come from battle, right? A smile spread over her face as a hand raised up. The crowds drew calm, the breezes blew through the banners and flags that were all red. Her color, the King's color.

The color of blood, the color of death and destruction. To represent this kingdom, it was survival of the fittest. Let the battle royale begin.

When the dust cleared she would find her champions. Her nation of Red would not lose.

Everything began to fade. The noises, the whooping cheers as people rushed out into the cold, the movements of his friends alongside him. As if merely mechanical, it slowed, unwound, disappeared into the fog that crept into Aymet’s mind the longer he stared at the crown.

He could feel that familiar greed rising up in his chest, pushing him forward as if in a dream. Like had unchained it entirely - it roared through him with a need so powerful it would have knocked the wind out of him if he had any.

Power. He’d given up so much for it already. His naive innocence shattered. His body encased in cold metal when his phylactery could no longer help him. His face permanently bearing the horsemen’s spiral mark. And in the face of this, it was trivial. Mere stepping stones. With this crown, he could do more than he ever imagined. All his plans, all his hopes, right here, in physical form. He could swear it was whispering. To him, and him alone! He reached out -

The energy around it crackled and knocked him back-

Wear me, and -

Everything went white --

... And settled back into the dark red it had always been. Red, the color of blood, the symbol of conquest. It was crude and necessary, though Aymet couldn't shed a drop of it. He was something more, he reasoned, something far more powerful. The color filled his vision now and forever, calmed his rage, gently assuaged the cold fire that burned inside him. The king felt the curvature of bones beneath his iron-clad claws, rising up around him to form an imposing ceremonial throne with a hundred dead eyes. He rested upon it, all metal and bones warped together, the unwillingly-given tributes of conquered enemies. Faintly glimmering jewels set within the skulls leered down at any who dared doubt his power. Ah, yes. Today was the Choice.

Aymet rose to stand silently at the top of a bent and twisted tower, metal engulfing stone. The black crown blended perfectly with his armor, as if it had been a missing piece all along. Whole, on the outside. Every bit of him that was once white bone was now encased and protected. How much remained of the being he once was? How much of himself had he given up for the throne? Far more than one attempt had been made on his unlife; time and time again he narrowly escaped a permanent end at the hands of lone fanatics, who shrieked and howled obscenities and oaths all the way to the mines as his guards dragged them away. There they would have their skeletons ripped from their bodies, raised anew as mindless undead minions, made better and useful, made safe. But their attempts only served to distance and anger him more, kept high on a pedestal away from his people, speaking to them only from the greatest heights and behind the strongest protections. It was for their own good, and his as well, he knew. But it was different to be among his people, to challenge and be challenged, to fight in the middle of the streets and remind them what had earned him this crown. Lately he he had begun to shirk his own safety for the morale of his warriors, walking among them and watching their training in the open squares. He was a metal shadow now, even his face was closed and hidden, save for a pair of pale blue eyes that burned deep in the darkness, devoid of emotion. The only real color came from the red gem that pulsed at the center of his crown. Once, he had believed in a peace that was mutual. He’d been compassionate, even understanding. What an idiot he'd been in his youth. The crown had long since burned such weakness out of him. What was left was pure, the dracolich within him free of the constraints that society had shackled it with. Equal parts dragon and skeleton, equal parts ruthless and determined to succeed.

And with it came the pain, and anger, always running close to the surface, the product of past assassination attempts, and pressure, and hatred for those that got in his way. Sometimes it overtook him completely, more and more often he was subject to fits of berserk rage, his own power overruling him when he least expected. But it was small price to pay to understand, to grasp in his own claws, the truth. War was the only path to peace. Suffering was the path to glory. And those who couldn’t see these simple truths would not have survived anyway, admittedly, not in the harsh world that lay outside the protective walls of the empire. One never knew who was listening, and who they answered to. But at least the naysayers still served the empire in their own way - those who committed treason usually became warriors themselves, in time, once the army had their fill of practicing on them. The weak didn't last. It was fitting.

Beautiful, familiar red seethed in waves below his iron tower. Aymet was removed from his subjects, raised above them as their warrior-king, but ever-present in other ways. In the rules and decrees, in the primal violence his warriors wielded. Every one of his subjects had gathered today, dressed in the color of their empire. Screaming, shouting, cheering, their voices mingled together into a single unified cry for violence. His tower was too high - their faces were lost in the sea of red. Were they friends, once? He couldn't remember.

Fortunately, his people were intoxicated with conquest for its own sake. Supplies were merely a bonus. They pillaged food for themselves and their empire built on dead earth, and they pillaged anything their enemies needed simply to deprive them. To destroy them little by little, eroding their foundations. Those who fought for their empire were glorified, raised above the rest. They would crush anyone who challenged them in the Tournament everyone had grown to enjoy. And held in highest regard were those who, like their king, did not eat, did not sleep, did not feel. Spurned on by their hatred for those unlike themselves, training every second of every hour of every day to fight, to frenzy, to destroy utterly. The warrior class, knights and champions of the kingdom, held formation at the front of the crowd, bowed low before their leader. Two among them would lead the empire to victory today in the tournament, and the tension in the air was thick enough to cut. Their loyalty was not judged by their proximity to the bearer of the crown, but their usefulness to the war machine. None among them could guess the king's Choice, and none among them would be so bold as to demand through in anything other than combat. Aymet liked it that way - the competition was good for them, it kept them hungry. As he cast his glance over the crowd a wide grin cracked his face, hidden behind the curving plates of his armor. Young scarelings behind the warriors reached out to touch their armor, screaming and begging to be chosen, knights in the making. Their parents pulled them closer and wept, presumably with pride.

A trickle of icy breath escaped his lips, curling away white in the frozen air. With his eyes he followed it up, up. The king surveyed his kingdom from his open tower. Death and ice now ruled the realm that had once been lush and green. It was nicknamed the Red Skeleton, and not just because of its ruler. The mountains rose up behind them, the Spine that ran along the kingdom, pure white with snow. High above and across this land, massive glacial formations curved and stabbed into the earth, natural barriers and pillars, the Ribcage.

And this empire? They were the Heart. From afar it was a fortress that bled crimson-clad warriors, surrounded by rows of wicked black spikes of teeth that dissuaded all but the bravest from approaching. Blood that was spilled on the tundra stayed, frozen, like a ruby carpet. It built up under layers of frost, permanent and telling. Within the city was a confusion of changing times, architecture warping to meet the new vision of the empire. Some of the old buildings still remained, close to the center of the city, dilapidated and disused, the last vestiges of another era. Once, his promise as king had been protection, and prosperity. But his paranoia had grown as the other kingdoms scrambled to take power, one by one. He could do more to protect his kingdom. It was his duty to his people. Threats must be eliminated before they even rose to become a challenge. The art of war must be spread to preserve what they had. The defenders would become warriors, crushing all in their path, for the safety of their people. And fear would rule where compassion failed, ushering in a new era. He could almost see the words before his eyes, an inscription in blood upon parchment burned into his mind. Soon, the skies would blacken as the forges blazed blue and spat out white-hot metal weapons to be wielded. Their drumbeat would be the clash of hammers against metal. Their hearts would wither in their chests.

These days, everything in his empire that fell, and everything that rose, was now built of jet-black metal that curved and twisted ominously, an inorganic disease spreading through his kingdom. It was utilitarian and cold, for what need did they have of beauty when blood would suffice? At just the right angles it shined red, as if slick with blood. A seemingly endless supply came up from the mines; more metal for the walls, the teeth, the armor, everything. All things worth protecting must be encased in metal and hidden lest they be destroyed. His subjects knew the price of their safety. They would all be protected. Their empire would be impenetrable.

“S’time,” came a voice behind him, cold but respectful. It echoed half-metallic, familiar, wrenching him from aspirations back down to cold reality. Only another undead could handle the king, only one who had known him long enough to predict the fluctuations of his rage. Mort stood at his side, black-red metal forming his decorative armor. Thor stood out against it, still burnished grey and crackling with electricity. Aymet felt revulsion rise up within him at the sight of it. One day it would be replaced as well, made better, stronger. “Make the choice.”

“I KNOW,” Aymet growled sharply, his claws digging into the metal crenelation and crushing it with a sharp snap. There was the subtlest twitch of movement through Mort, grounding himself in preparation of whatever would come next. The jewel atop the crown seemed to flash, just a little brighter. And then it was gone again, faded, as if nothing had happened. Even Aymet gave no indication he’d noticed his own outburst. “I know.”

Aymet spread his arms and wings wide, letting the silence settle over his subjects, as Mort stepped back into the shadows of the throne. The Tournament approached, and his empire would be revitalized once again by the carnage they left in their wake. One step closer to the elimination of these weak, unworthy kingdoms. One step closer to fulfilling his promise as king, a future of prosperity and safety always on the horizon.

And he... would be a hero above all others. It was what he'd always wanted.

As the abomination toys made their final charge, Gene bit her lip in mild disgust at their willingness, no, their delight in killing themselves, relishing in their own suffering and deaths. The way they cheered their own demise made her nearly sick, so she closed her ears to avoid having to listen to their euphoric agony.

Yet one single voice still persisted – a low, grating whisper that called out to her. Wear me, it said. Wear me and I will give you power, popularity, success. She tried to clear her head of it, but the voice persisted. “Wear me” it kept calling, “Take me” it urged. She needed it, she thought. The crown would give her everything she desired – success, notoriety, influence; a thriving member of society who was known by all and was loved by the general public.

Soon, she started to float to it, eyes fixated on the crown. Wear the crown, gain the world. She had fought hard all her unlife for the kind of respect the crown would give her. She’d fought the Furnace King with all her effort, even causing a good amount of damage to him. She was the one who should rightfully claim his crown as her own, and become the new King.

A CRACK and she was thrown back, sailing into a land of delusions. Everything was white, pure and unfiltered, blinding her momentarily. Colors began to seep in, melting together and making a deep, dark red. Everything was red and black, like the crown.

It was her kingdom: a subterranean megalith of a city made up of ruby and onyx gilded tunnels, decorated with sharp and jagged black torch stands that emitted a bright crimson flame, illuminating the way for the citizens of the kingdom.

The city had many districts, set up like ripples in a pond. The furthermost ring held the laborious jobs: mining, farming, excavating. The next ring held the city guards and their keeps. The third ring held the military and the training grounds, along with the stables. The second to last ring was where the artisans lived - the painters, bakers, brewers, smiths, and architects. Gene held art in high regard in her kingdom, which was why their ring was closest to the palace ring.

The palace was unlike most. It was a small loop, maybe two miles around, and it housed all the staff - her servants, personal guard, priests and priestesses, along with her closest of companions. The rooms were all elaborate, having been crafted in a collaboration between the painters, sculptors, and architects. Each had a four poster bed draped with deep red silk, elegant onyx engravings on the ceiling and walls, and more than enough space for the many couches and cushions that had been placed in them. A large library was included in the palace, as well as multiple hot springs and saunas.

The palace was open to all at any time; Gene greatly welcomed any visitors with anything on their minds into her throne room, the most elaborate room in the kingdom. Plush black cushions littered the room, inviting those who were waiting for an audience to sit on them. Deep red candles were spread everywhere, giving the entire room a soft, golden glow and bathing the air in thick jasmine. Long embroidered silks of black and red hung from the roof and corners, all meeting right above the King's head, where they gathered and draped the great black throne in their richness.

She had no visitors today; they were all waiting in their homes for the great announcement. She sat in her throne, cupping her chin with one hand that was propped on a crossed knee, taking in the rich scents of the deep red candles that burned around her when one of her handmaidens, a fire demon that she treated more like a daughter than anything, approached her and whispered into her ear about the upcoming tournament and how she needed to tell the people soon. Gene responded with a simple nod, smiling at the ghoul. Once done, they kissed each other on the cheek, like she did to all her handmaidens, before getting up from her throne with a swish of her deep red and black robes. She’d need to tell the stone quarries to work for more basic ores – they’d need to start smelting it down for the smiths to fashion into weapons. She’d need to find knights as well; she would elect the strongest fighters in the kingdom to fight with her in the tournament, if they could even call it that.

Her kingdom, the most established and the largest, would decimate the other six, as it should have been in the previous year. This was their year, her year. The Red King would have her empire.

Lumikki had stared at the crown for a good long while, until she shivered slightly.

It was shiny it was calling her name but honestly it was scary. She felt the pull of it as she wanted so badly to reach out and take it to scream that it was hers all hers and no one else could have it but that reasoning right there was something she couldn't explain. She shook her head and found herself looking away from the crown just long enough to see an exit. It would be nice to get back to Halloween...something was slowly creeping over her and that cheer from earlier was starting to wear off.

Following some other students towards the outside she saw some candy canes they looked so good, and they were so large. Maybe since no one was looking, she broke off a few pieces to take back home.

{{attempting to exit?}}

Tomoko actually shrieked as the toy pulled itself from her arms and threw itself into the smouldering ashes of the furnace king, looking towards Thackery with a look of horror on her face. A little part of the kitsune had likely just died inside. Which meant she was going to be having nightmares about dying abomination-toys for the next half of a year and feel guilt over being unable to save it from its feelings of unworth. She'd loved you little toy.

She would have kept you forever.

However, looking into the ashes of the king, she seemed to be called to, her pupil's dilating as her very being was forcefully pulled away from that place she sat next to Thackery, no longer able to actually feel the fabric of his shirt as he'd grabbed onto it despite the fact her hand hadn't even moved. It was like he wasn't even there anymore. No, the crown sat rigid in the ashes and it wanted her. No, she wanted it. Tomoko had never desired much out of life, and the feeling of desire that filled her nearly made her sick with the lust for an item that was currently not in her hands.

Her free hand wrung its fingers almost anxiously. Nothing else existed... not even the toys that had caused her such wretched feelings of anguish a few moments before. She released Thackery's shoulder and began to move towards the crown, transfixed.

However, she had only moved so far before it seemed to push her away, a loud crackle in her ears even though she couldn't force herself to look away from that crown.... yet her eyes failed her, color seeming to fade out of them entirely.

Wear me and I will....


"Miss Tomoko?"

Tomoko's eyes seemed to start working again in a flash, as though two thick drops of red ink were dropped into a wet down piece of paper, spreading out of it's own will, not drawing much attention as the world began to build around her, looking first towards the figure who had spoken to her. She was a young kitsune with dark fur like the night sky, swirls of blue tracing across her in patterning that would have looked natural had they not been so unnaturally colored. There were many like that dotted into the ranks that looked up at her now - kitsunes of mixed heritage, naturally colored with unnatural markings, glowing eyes where there shouldn't have been. They belonged neither to her clan of birth, nor Remi's clan. They were of both clans.

Yet it was not only them that stood in the ranks - she could see familiar faces amongst them - a cat demon she knew well, a trio of cerberus brothers, a wolfos, a very pouty looking foxfire ghost.... she was surrounded by a halo of acceptance of all things that now looked up at her, and she looked back down towards them. Carefully stepping down from her elevated position, she approached the young kitsune that had called to her, the pair exchanging bows.
"What is it?" she inquired. The ghoul looked up towards her nervously. "It is time for the tournament." she sounded like she was trying to explain just what that meant, but Tomoko, with an understanding smile, just patted the ghoul on the head and began to move through the ranks that waited on her to speak. There we no nerves as she moved through them, but there was an overwhelming respect as her subjects stepped from her path, careful to not get caught underneath her feet as she moved through them, carefully making eye contact on occasion, but only for a moment.

Moving to the window, she looked outside curiously, considering it. "No more of it has fallen, then?" she inquired, looking back towards the entourage that was following her nervously. A new kitsune spoke up this time - silver with purple markings in his fur - bowing before he addressed her. "My lady, is now the time to be thinking about pieces of sky?" he inquired. "It does seem like such a..trivial matter when-" Tomoko raised one hand and he went quiet, almost in awe of the petite young lady in front of him. "The tournament will come whether we panic or not." she explained calmly. "So while we remain unworried as to if there will be victory - as there will be. I have no doubts in my chosen subjects - we must continue to collect the sky that falls. It will bring a great boon to us once we have collected enough of it for everybody. Just one ball at a time."

The young man adjusted his collar and nodded, his face flushing as Tomoko smiled at him. It was beautiful to see all their colors together, squabbling together instead of against one another. Those who did wish to squabble came to her first always - she would tell them if they were allowed to battle with one another. Otherwise, their efforts were better set to battle against those outside of their walls.

Moving again through the small assembled group who looked as nervous as Tomoko seemed to feel most days, she carefully patted each of them on the shoulder as she moved outside onto a balcony, staring out at the expanse of dark red that poured out before her - red with the leaves of trees stuck permanently in the fall, of dark stone - carved with various figures that told stories - that reached towards the sky around them as a natural defense, homes dotting the landscape and a few friendly faces below waving up towards her. Tomoko waved back.

"Miss Tomoko?" again, a voice pipped up, and Tomoko looked back towards them, an eerie smile on her face. "Yes?" she prompted. "Who..who will you...?" Tomoko's smile just grew wider and more unnatural. "They already know." she answered. A few startled faces. "But Miss Tomoko, we jus-" Tomoko held a finger up to the ghoul's lips. "Tut. We will be fine." she assured.

"I always know who will stand with me - and who will be first to stand to protect me." she assured. "They knew the moment the tournament came."

She smiled.

"And that is why we stand together." She passed a glance towards two of her closest allies since a long time coming, giving them a knowing smile, before she left her balcony to go and take her seat again, pausing only once to glance back, then towards her subjects.

"The sky is falling. Please go catch it."

The matters of her and her crown were already settled - just as she had settled the division of her own people.

Damien watch as the toys went to sacrifice themselves, to throw away their chance at being something worthwhile. Hundreds began to march toward their bitter end, and ending with scorching heat and silence. There were no screams of pain that came to Damien’s ears, no sounds of regret when the Furnace king began to crumble under their weight. Pieces of embers began to pitch from the dying fire and soon, they were no more. Nothing left but the way out into the cold that felt so foreign now and the crown.

The symbol of authority remained when everything else was lost. Sitting on the floor was an icon of power, respect, control and above all, free will. It was a majestic sight to the hound. To him it seemed as if it could be all that and more, yet it was only a few meters away. He felt the crown tug at his core, and one shaky leg began to move in its direction, and another. Legs that had barely any more strength in them and yet they were moving without him realizing it. All he could see was that a dream was slowly coming into reach. A chance to be strong enough to protect those he cared about. A tool and status to chance the way society worked. It was a voice that had the ability to save a creature from injustice and to bring down the mighty paw of righteousness on those who choose to endanger others.

It was something he couldn’t afford to pass up. The crown was a chance that had to be taken, a miracle that bathed in red. It was the color of anger, the shade of passion, and the tone of freshly drawn blood. The flash of light was blinding as it bleached every bit of color from the canines eyes, the stark white canvas where the crown sat, Saturating everything with the shades of flame and scarlet to the edges of his vision.

Voices were not something unusual to the Hellhound, but the pitch behind this one was haunting, something that calls and promised of danger. And everything melted away as if spoke. The want for everything the voice promised grew a sweet addiction to its honeyed words.


It spoke of a chance to create a kingdom in his image. A town that profited from monsters and demons, ghosts , reapers and Undead working together in harmony behind the safe, secure walls that were riddled in crimson moss. Guilds that worked with merchants to keep the town wealthy and secure with the aid of the watchmen. The flowers that bloomed of rosewood and vermillion all around the town square where many ceremonies and celebrations were held in the months of October that passed and cherished.

A place where it was ok to leave doors open, where guests could visit and feel as if they too were home. Where tapestries , rich in Burgundy and maroon paved each home in its warmth and splendor and echoed in the emblem that hung on every hovel. A place where raspberries and wine were fresh and bountiful like that of any other fruit and vegetable, with pumpkins held as sacred and holy.
It spoke of a kingdom that loved each second of their lives, in adoration of their king that made it so with his own four paws. A king that strived to keep its first settlers safe when its first night were cold and green. A king that was bold enough to tear pillagers apart and bathe in its pure red fluids and be kind enough to play with babes in an instant. A leader that has his values that had more values on top of his values. The king of many faces.

The king that still presides over his kingdom, with a fair hand an ear to those that would listen to it and execute those that tarnish his Ruby filled kingdom with Emeralds of discontent.

That same kingdom that needed him, and his choice in its next set of knights. It was never an easy choice as the King of many faces fell into deep thought. The knights were deemed with tasks of upholding the peace, a sign of his own right paw. The same knights that went though many Octobers in the watch, patrolling outside the kingdom and dispatching those that spoke of green. The green that came with true freedom and life that seek to crumble their coral colored walls. Their blood was not welcome in the kingdom, only as jousting fodder when the masses wanted to see a good fight. Or even a good slaughter at that, they were not picky in the choice of entertainment. But the two being chosen today would have a greater honor bestowed on them. The act of merely representing his right hand was not all, but his majesty himself in its entirety.

There was talk among the halls of a grand feast for the two chosen, that were allowed to sat his majesty’s table and partake in sup with him. It was a chance to be a the purest of red knights, while the others were sent to be sullied and hunt in the catacombs for the vermin and filth that clung to the ways of olive and pistachio deep under the bowels of the city.

It never ceased to amaze his lordship how those that were rich in green could have such red on the inside. His kingdom was that of the red kingdom, there was no need for green. The only green the people needed here was his.

The world was going to see the fearsome power of the Red king and tremble.