King Charlemagne and His Subjects
Charlemagne looked at the piece of clothing skeptically, holding it as if it was covered in plague. "…are you certain this is the height of fashion, Radiohead?"
"Of course, my homie!" shouted the young man, tapping his foot to the music from his speakers. His entire torso was covered in electronic equipment as well as his arms, a majority of it speakers or musical production tools. "You gonna look fly!"
"Fly?" repeated the man next to him, dressed in a huge variety of golden jewelry and loose clothing. "Man, you so full of shit. If your lingo was any more out of date, we'd dig you out of an archaeological site. No offense boss."
"None taken, Cold Bling," stated Charlemagne glancing once again at the black denim jeans. They were the right length for his new body, but far too tight for his preference. "Why is this garment so restrictive? It provides no armored protection, so it is not a military uniform, and the tightness makes it near-impossible to utilize the pockets."
"It's a punk thing," argued Cold Bling, adjusting his massive golden chain around his neck. "Or emo, or Goth, or whatever the hell the term is now."
"Better than those rags you gave him!" snapped Radiohead defensively.
"What's wrong with my threads, bro?"
"Those things were three sizes too big! He looked like a boy trying to wear his daddy's clothes! Oh, wait, do you know that metaphor?"
"That is racist! I knew my father very well!"
Radiohead held up his hands. "Okay, okay, I take that one back! But you still have no fashion sense!"
"Says the guy with a whole Best Buy on his chest!"
"Says the guy with a whole Jared's the Galleria of Jewelry around his neck!"
Charlemagne sighed, glancing at the third member with him. "Tell me your opinion, Norman. Which should I pick?"
The man, Norman, was incredibly thin and tall, like a starved giant, and wore all black. Every inch of skin save his eyes were covered with black leather save his face, which was covered with an iron mask. His eyes remained uncovered through, revealing they were a hard cruel shade of blue.
Norman pointed to the black pants with an outstretched gloved finger.
"Well of course he likes those!" shouted Cold Bling exasperated. "He loves black! That's all I see him wear!"
"Norman has impeccable fashion sense!" dissuaded Radiohead.
Charlemagne smiled. "Well, two out of three. I have to go with it I guess."
He walked up to the counter at Lukewarm Subject, placing it near the register. "I would like to purchase these…pants? They're called pants, right?"
"Yes," spoke the cashier, scanning the pants. He glanced at Charlemagne curiously. "…why are you…grey?"
"Cigarettes," answered Charlemagne dryly. He had asked Radiohead for a clever response to that very question, and the musician had recommended that one. He didn't understand the joke, but the others thought it was funny, so he kept at it.
"Oh. Well, enjoy your purchase sir."
Charlemagne handed over a wad of cash, having counted it precisely, before walking off. His associates followed, flanking him like bodyguards.
"Ah, I cannot wait to incinerate this entire establishment and build over its ashes," spoke the King smirking.
The mall was a massive complex owned by the Tediore corporation, built alongside a few housing projects for the company. They had illegally began setting up shop since Hyperion left, but nothing large enough to begin colonizing. Tediore was mostly just interested in harvesting as much Eridium as they could without getting into trouble with the Crimson Raiders or the bandits. So far, they had succeeded.
"I hate malls," grunted Cold Bling annoyed.
"Is there anything you do not hate, Cold Bling?" asked Radiohead.
"I don't hate pizza."
"No one hates pizza! Even Norman likes pizza!"
Norman nodded in agreement.
"I think I could go for one of those meat and bread cylinders," stated Charlemagne absently.
"A burrito?" inquired Radiohead.
"No, these are flatter, and have tomatoes and lettuce…"
"Oh, a hamburger!"
"Yes, a hamburger."
"I could go for a Big Mister," grunted Cold Bling rubbing his stomach.
Norman gave a thumbs-up, showing his support.
"It's decided then!" shouted Radiohead. "Let's go!"
They walked to the food court of the mall, stepping up to the Mister Donald's hamburger stand.
"Four Big Misters, man," stated Radiohead. "I'll cover this."
"Thank you," spoke Charlemagne appreciating. "I can only create so much fake cash."
"You should ask Jerry for more," argued Cold Bling. "He can make stuff, right?"
"That is the basics of his power, yes," stated the King. "He is an alchemist. He can convert one thing into another, so long as mass and energy is equivalent."
"Well, it's a shame the food he makes sucks," grunted Cold Bling. "His drinks are great, but he couldn't make a hot dog that doesn't taste like piss to save his life."
The four of them took their food and sat down, beginning to chow down. Radiohead didn't though, staring intently at Norman.
Norman noticed this, pointing at the musician and writing a question mark in the air.
"I want to see you eat!" snapped Radiohead. "I've never seen anything save your eyes, and it bugs the hell out of me! Eat!"
"You're making this incredibly awkward, man," noted Cold Bling rolling his eyes.
Norman picked up his burger and lifted it up to his mask. Then the burger passed straight through the mask, a ripple passing through it as if it were made of water.
"An illusion," spoke Cold Bling grinning. "Clever."
Radiohead pouted. "Damn it. You're no fun."
Norman smiled, or at least it seemed like it. The wrinkles around his eyes tightened, his eyes closing slightly as well.
Charlemagne chuckled, slurping down a cola before glancing at it in astonishment. "Honestly, you people drink this compound? It's so…tingly. I feel like I'm drinking gasoline half the time."
"Don't look too close at the ingredients," murmured Radiohead. "You'll wish you were drinking gasoline."
Charlemagne gazed at the cola cautiously, before taking another sip. "Oh well. I can heal any damage it does, anyway."
"So boss," grunted Cold Bling glancing at him. "Why are you…doing all this? Can't you make anything you need?"
"Yeah, I was wondering that as well," spoke Radiohead. "Seems a bit redundant, no offense."
Charlemagne nodded, munching happily at his burger. "You are correct. There's no practical reason for these exercises. Simply, I prefer to know a civilization before I war with it."
"Know thy enemy?" guessed Cold Bling.
"In a way, yes. I see it more as a matter of respect though. If you're going to wipe a people from the earth like metaphorical and literal bacteria, you have a right to understand their culture and people. What I find won't shift my goal, but I didn't come here to get conviction."
He held up his food. "I came here to have a hamburger and buy pants."
The others shrugged, the answer odd but satisfying. In truth, they hardly understood their leader at all, his Eridian mind clearly alien to their own. He was mixing with the human body well, but his goals and personality hadn't changed at all.
They paused as they saw someone run past them, wearing tight black pants and a jean jacket. He was panting heavily, his blonde hair falling with every step of his fast gate.
"My name is Berry Allen…!" he yelled before jumping onto and over the railing beside them.
The four men glanced over and saw the man fall down the seven stories of the mall, slamming into the pavement below with immense force and cracking the surface. Blood and gore flew as high as the fourth story, as if his body had been full of C4, and they could hardly tell what part had been what.
"What is that idiot doing?" asked Cold Bling rolling his eyes.
"Testing out his powers," noted Radiohead casually, as if such a thing happened daily. "Likely testing the limits on it."
They looked back down, immediately noticing how all the blood and gore had vanished, as if vacuumed up by the world's fastest maid. Thirty seconds later, the man came up from the escalator, still running.
"…and I am the fastest man alive…!" he continued before jumping off again.
This process continued several times, each time with a new verse. The cracks in the pavement got wider and wider as his body kept slamming into it, only for him to regenerate and do it all over again.
"…when I was ten my mother was killed by a yellow guy…!"
"…not an Asian, but a guy wearing yellow clothes…!"
"…I'm pretty sure he got them from Sears judging by the tags…!"
"Can you stop that?!" shouted Cold Bling annoyed as he was about to mount the railing, finally tired of it.
"Stop what?" asked the man innocently.
"This…suicide...attempts…" he said finally, deciding attempt was probably the best word to use. "You only got so many lives, you know?"
"I'd have more if those New-U Stations were canon," whispered the man.
"What was that?"
"Nothing! Besides, why do you care?"
"Because I can't concentrate with your damn body smashing into concrete every thirty seconds! It's loud and distracting!"
"I was here first. Get another food court."
Charlemagne raised a hand, both of them stopping obediently.
"Qual, please contain yourself," spoke the King smoothly. "Cold Bling made a valid point. Your power is strong, yes, but you are not completely immortal. You can die, however unlikely it is. Testing the limits on that is alright. Doing so this recklessly is dangerous."
"Yes my liege," said Qual bowing his head. "It will not happen again."
"Thank you. Cold Bling, please continue to eat. You will require your strength."
"I much prefer my luck," noted the gangster chomping on a French fry. "It's gotten me out of more jams than strength."
"Still, please, eat. It would be a waste not to."
Qual sat down with them, grabbing Radiohead's soda and slurping a mouthful down. "So my liege…"
"Please, just Charlemagne," pleaded the King. "That is the name of this vessel, and should be addressed as such."
"Sorry. Charlemagne then. Do you hate these humans?"
"Your tone indicates you do not associate yourself with them any longer."
Qual grinned widely, the metal piercings in his face twitching. "Hey, we're really not anymore. We're too strong to even be called human anymore. Once this is over, we'll all be Eridian anyway. I still wonder though: do you hate humans?"
Charlemagne paused, legitimately considering the question. He twirled his straw thoughtfully, mulling the question over.
"No," he decided finally. "Do not be mistaken. I have seem horrific things about them, as have you all. On that net device or whatever it is called, I researched human history in its entirety, or as much as they possess. Humans are cruel, callous, shallow-minded creatures who kill for imaginary gods or imaginary lines in the sand, and a thousand other stupid reasons."
Charlemagne smiled. "And yet…for every one thing that made my stomach turn, I found ten beautiful things that filled my heart with awe. Music that lit up my very soul, paintings that filled my eyes with tears, stories so wonderful they didn't even seem real…I could go on for days on why humans are a plaque on this universe, but I could go for weeks on why they are a blessing as well."
Cold Bling shifted uncomfortably. "So…will you…spare them?"
"Oh, absolutely not," stated Charlemagne pleasantly. All four men felt a chill at his smile now, still so warm and lively. "I plan on reducing everything they have created to ashes underneath my boots for my civilization to come forth. I spare not a soul in this crusade. Hopefully I will have perfected my process of utilizing souls, so my brethren do not have to associate themselves with the old personas of their new souls."
"…why?" asked Radiohead finally.
Charlemagne's smile broadened. "It's my job. My kind bound me for the specific purpose of returning our civilization to its rightful place once we had foolishly destroyed ourselves. I am simply fulfilling my job."
The four men glanced at one another, their looks a mixture of worry and surprise. They had assumed their leader had a grand and logical reason for his crusade, or at least a reason full of passion and feeling. The reason he had given had the same nonchalance as someone describing a part-time job.
"Now, before I forget," spoke Charlemagne, reaching into his cloak. He pulled out four metal medallions on twine, placing them into the table. The medallions were about the size of a drink coaster and the same shape as well, a seven-pointed star emblazoned on the front. They appeared to be made of grey metal with glowing purple portions, the same substance as the Eridian ruins.
"These medallions are yours," explained the King handing them out to each person. "You will want them when we begin to fight."
"What do they do?" asked Cold Bling holding his up.
"Don't question it, cretin!" snapped Qual harshly, immediately throwing the medallion around his neck. "Our lord said we should wear them, so we should wear them!"
"Is this a name?" inquired Radiohead looking at his. "Haste?"
"My names for you," elaborated Charlemagne. "While it may sound pessimistic, you all represent one negative ideal by Eridian culture. I find knowing one's weaknesses, emotionally and physically, are essential to overcome them."
"Greed…that's fair," murmured Cold Bling.
"Cruelty...definitely agree," stated Qual.
Norman held up his medallion, with Fear etched onto it, and gave a thumbs-up to indicate his agreement.
Charlemagne smiled. "Glad to hear it. Now, let's talk about the plan. I've discussed this with the others save you four. I'm relying on you all."