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[Entering from the Silver Tower]

Sinclair didn't remember how he returned to the ship. He remembered leaving the Silver Tower, carrying himself out of the rubble on what felt like the last tendrils of strength he had, and he remembered whispers of kings, legacies, and objects of pure power: one relic for each of the remaining kingdoms.

After that, as much as he strained himself to recall the rest, all he could see was a blur -- then, he awoke to see his feet firmly planted on cool metal. The stark outlines of the White Kingdom's technology were unmistakable.

The circumstances were mysterious, but not nearly as much as all of the other things he had seen today. There were more important questions to ask. Who were those figures? Why was that gate underneath the Tower, and where exactly did it lead? And what would those powerful artifacts mean for the other Kingdoms? He had traveled to the Tower in the hopes of finding answers. Instead, he was left with even more questions.

But Sinclair had kept his promise. He came back alive. Against all reason, it felt like an achievement -- for a single, dizzying moment, he was exhilaratingly proud of himself. Sinclair grinned, the adrenaline rush spurring his steps. He had to find Zephyros...

As he reached the third floor, however, a chime echoed, and the sound filled him with dread. The Voice spoke to them once more, telling them of the fall of the Black Kingdom and demanding another tribute, this time paid in blood.

Sacrifices.

Heart pounding, Sinclair took a step backwards. He watched soldiers, many still nameless to him, willingly volunteer their lives to fight a battle of bloody succession. He turned to leave before he stopped and truly remembered their faces. Sinclair was an outsider. He had done his part, by looting his own kingdom of Miasma and surrendering the reserves to the commander -- a man who readily extended a hand to him, a stranger, and who was now forced to kill members of his own crew. It was not Sinclair's place to stand there and watch.

Her heart was in her throat.

Even where she was, down at the bottom of the stairs, stuck in a heap of bikes and a pole sitting at her feet, she could here The Ominous Voice as if it was right in front of her, speaking clearly to her fact and only to her. One part of her screamed. Why did she care?! Her kingdom was dead and gone, and nothing would bring it back, not even fighting for kings. Her people had lost, and things would never be the same again, no matter what Kingdom won. Her kingdom was so lost that it was being acknowledged as something that, perhaps, never had existed in the first place, erased from the mentions in legends and everything hinted that the forces that be, at best, were interested in her for nothing more than food for a crystal.

Another part of her knew she had to listen, because as much as she didn't care, she did. She was still alive, and she knew other refugees were as well. There was David Renden, especially, but also Sinclair, and other faces she thought were familiar that she saw at the lake under the tower. Some of her kingdom was remaining, and perhaps, she had to live for them. She would not align herself to another, not when she was uncertain if she could entrust them with such an important thing as her life, though.

She entered the Kingdom, and the first thing she was told ... well, the first thing she was told was that she was already busted. The second, though, was that she needed to go to the Tower and collect miasma for some King she cared basically naught about. He was someone who should be respected, sure, as the King of the White Kingdom, but he was not her King--dead under the ground--nor was he her Queen. And he was definitely not of her Kingdom, the Kingdom was was omitted so frequently. They all knew the Silver Kingdom existed, but it was left out of everything.

Why?

Nkosazana made her to the elevator, pleased that she was able to get herself to the floor where the King was talking rather quickly. Even if she did not follow, she did wish to retrieve her bag, taking the item and slinging it over her shoulder. Perhaps exactly because she was antsy, she reached into her bag and took out another one of the cookies, no matter how cold it had become. She had to eat something, to make herself feel better about all of this.

Why would she ever want to go Battle? What was she fighting for?

And why would anyone sacrifice themselves to this?

While she questioned it herself, she supposed it would make sense for those of the Kingdom. If this was the Silver King, asking her to put down her life for him, she would have done it in an instant. That was her king, and what was her worth if she could not protect the lives of others, making sure that others could thrive successfully even if she could not any more for the sake of them? She shuffled her feet, watching as people practically threw themselves at their king's feet to sacrifice themselves to the great cause of becoming the One True Kingdom, with the One True King, to leave everyone else in ruin.

Already, it came at the cost of her own kingdom, which she had to loot as it tried to turn against her, consuming her.

Still, this King had offered her a place to remain for the moment, and she did her part by providing him with the miasma from her own kingdom, as meager as it was. It let her survive, and in turn, she would give him privacy. This was not her place, nor was this her time. Nkosazana took herself and her bag back out of the room, silently going to sit in some other location.

And, hopefully, she would see David soon. Biting her lip, she looked around for the unfortunate man.

Splash.

A single boot stepped into the growing pool of blood.

"Is that your grand plan, White King?"

It was Ryan, but it wasn't. It was something, it was a spectre, it was a shadow, it was pure malice wearing the Queen's visage as he smiled unevenly, teeth flashing. The other boot landed directly on one of the fallen victims - Kat's - head, soundly, squarely. He raised his arms up, gesturing wildly, eyes flashing a deep silver. "Is this your choice as King? This sad, mockery of a kingdom where you kill off those you love to ensure what? Survival? Suffering? Hatred?"

He leaned forward, pressing Kat's fallen body deeper into the growing pool of blood with an ugly slosh. "Here's a plan, King. Why not kill everyone? If it suffering you wish, I can not think of a greater suffering than killing yourself. How's that for a little plot twist-"

- Ryan's body moved forward quickly, faster than anyone else could react, claws outstretched as he tore viciously into his commander. He was close - too close - eyes locked with Wilson. And what odd silver eyes they were, smoky and full of chaos. The shadows shifted under Ryan, slightly, distorting. "- What do you say, King? Shall we do a little dance and see who really is fit to rule?"

Ami's head snapped forward at Ryan hurdling towards the king. "RYAN WHAT THE ******** ARE YOU DOING?"

Was he crazy?

Was he ******** CRAZY?!

He had to be. There was Kat, lying in a pool of ruby red blood, and now Ryan was going after the king. Yes, that had been the plan. Technically, Ryan was fulfilling the mission. They had to kill the king, and he was doing.

Doing it in front of the entire kingdom was not part of the plan. They'd never consulted with Ryan- only Ami and Kat had been talking after all, but she just figured ... it was common sense! Killing the king here would cause pandemonium. People would freak out. Then the kingdom would seek revenge, and they'd never make it to the junkyard. It just ... It didn't make sense. Ami didn't like Ryan, but she'd never thought him stupid, or quite frankly, batshit insane.

There had been the plan. Make it to the junkyard, wait for instructions.

So what the ******** was Ryan doing?

"Ryan," the figure repeated, coughing, wheezing slightly from the onslaught, now growing a little more solid, a little less Ryan-like. "You know, I really like that name. It is a good name for a King, fit for the throne I deserve."

There was a tear across his body, a deep ugly gash that didn't bleed but instead leaked a deep black. More of the same Miasma was emitting from the bodies underneath, until they too faded away, wisp-like, not leaving a single stain behind. 'Ryan' sighed. "Well, that's a disappointment, why even bother going to dramatics if you're not going to stick by it?" He looked upwards a little as he talked, way past Wilson, into what looked like blank space. "I thought you were going to give me everything I wished for. Instead here you are, playing the same game again, really now, I would really like my crown back."

Ami's ranting was duly ignored, the figure instead busy still ranting into open space. He scrunched his face at her outburst. "Excuse me, but we're trying to have a little TALK HERE CAN'T A KING GET A MOMENT OF SILENCE IN THIS PLACE?"

Snap.

And was all it took, as Ryan extended one hand, and the Miasma around him obeyed, peeling off the walls to form five spears at once, sharp and glimmering. They sunk into her with almost too-perfect timing, just a single moment where everything was still.

With a little more curiousity, he poked at the now-fallen body, the spears sticking out comically, like a pincushion really. He sniggered a bit in delight as she faded away almost instantly, the weapons clattering noisily on the ground. "Now that's more like your style. Now, about you, White King, I do believe I have another engagement to deal with, but if its any consolation-" He plucked a fallen spear, twisting its shape until it warped and shifted -

- Into a simple silver crown.

He fastidiously adjusted the crown several times on his head, tugging and then tucking in a few bangs. "-You make a terrible king. Maybe that's what you're designed for. The flawed, tragic knight. There is always one in the table. You are however, missing, one tiny, crucial point."

The floor of the ship churned again, another two spears rising upwards, pinning Wilson through each arm. They would stay there until the commander pulled them out himself, painfully, slowly. "There is only one True King, and you're staring straight at him. Tell the Voice I said hi, or maybe I'll just do that myself."

Classic, terrible laughter, and then he walked straight through the ship.

Roch came rushing into the room, geared up for a murder spree--and stared blankly at the situation.

"What... the hell just happened?" he asked the nearest pawn, quietly.

“If it’s a throne you deserve, it’s certainly not mine.”

If he was surprised, Wilson refused to let it show as a tear appeared on Ryan’s body, but he took a cautious step back when black began to seep out, melting into the miasma that flowed from Kat’s and Madeline’s fallen bodies. The shadow’s words baffled him. It hadn’t been a show to him at all. Far from it really, but he kept his lips zipped. But Ryan wasn’t even looking at Wilson anymore. He was staring right past him into blank space, talking to what the commander could only guess was the Voice. His heart fell when the shadow’s words struck him immediately. This was another king, but who?

There was a sinking feeling in his chest when he heard Ami shout out. “Sergeant, no—“ Just another whisper dying in the wind as the figure shouted and the snap coincided perfectly with the tugging of his heart, a scream screaming to leave his lips as the walls peeled away to form spears. No, don’t you dare. DON’T YOU DARE. The words never left his mouth when he tried to push Ryan away, but the spears had already met their mark. A yell of despairing frustration. “That’s hardly her style!” Deadly vapor began to swirl around his feet as he marched toward the other king. No, he wouldn’t let him leave. The picking up of a spear was barely noticed, but he quickly grew paralyzed when it shifted into a silver crown.

The gun fell to the floor. Color and anger drained from his face. He couldn’t be real. No, he had died when the Silver Kingdom had crumbled. Or had he ever really been alive in the first place? Doubt flooded Wilson’s features while Ryan took the opportunity to adjust the gleaming crown upon his head.

A visible flinch at the insult. Sometimes it was hard to read the emotions on the commander’s face, but right now they were clear as day. Ryan had hit him right on target[. He had so many who would willingly give their lives up for him, but he didn’t deserve any of it. He was a failure of a leader, right from the very beginning. He was young, inexperienced. Another shudder. The flawed, tragic knight. That had to be it; he was the weakest out of all of the other kings. Utility and kindness was always a poor match-up, after all. He had never deserved this flashy title. Wilson was better off as the humble mechanic that did as he pleased. So many lives on his shoulder was just too much to bear.

He kept his balance when the ship moved. Glassy red stared at the weapons pointed at him and he remained mute when they pinned him against the ship wall, one spear for each arm. Wilson hung his head, his hair obscuring most of his face while he helplessly listened to the other king’s last words.

The ghost trick didn’t even evoke surprise or wonder from the defeated king.

He merely continued to lay pressed against the wall and embedded by the spears. He said nothing. He did nothing.