Author's Note to Reader: The dialogue structure, although minor, in this chapter is noticeably different. For those who may be having trouble determining why the parentheses are present, let me explain that I don't imagine the particular characters involved in this chapter speaking English (in fact, I don't think it's very practical at all), so the English text bound by the parentheses denotes the translation to whatever language applies.
Chapter 21: Regicide
The very air circulating throughout the ship's enormity was disgusting to be in the presence of. He hated the filth crawling about the battleships, if the vessels could be considered as such any longer. This particular craft was once a praiseworthy memento, but now it was just one of many wretches of disgraced memory home to inferior vermin tarnishing veteran pride. Just a wandering city dragging the weight of humiliating burdens around barren systems. Bearing witness to such weakness stabbed at the dignity of his forefathers' honor. Seniors, females, and infants, all revolting, feeble, and pathetic, blanketed the hundreds of passages' pathways like half-dead victims of a harmless plague. Repulsive kin, better off dead and cast into the oblivion of the galaxy, obstructed the path leading to his destination. A disrespect he didn't take well to.
Dreadnaughts were far more preferable, concerning both environment and occupants. At least their halls prepared for battle weren't crowded with the shameful bodies of the weak and sickly. Only the strongest occupied them. Only the bravest stood proud like their ancient predecessors would have. Now an enforced tradition that couldn't be allowed to die amidst the pitiful swarms of those who had forgotten what it meant to be powerful, it was the soldier's duty to bear the once fleeting remembrance so many failed to cherish in the past several hundred years. The elite were only deserving of the utmost measures of respect. But the fleet was home to indignity. Battlefields were home to the warriors. What they were trying to protect wasn't the present state. It was the restoration of the Tsa'ah's glorious dominion of ancient times. One day, they would restore the honor their ancestors had once defended since their beginnings; no longer slaves to these embarrassing scenes of laughable attempts to survive. This war would be over soon. And at last, their prize would be rewarded to them for their commendable service.
Service. Though born into this lifestyle, the thought of servitude infuriated him. And more so than most of his brethren it seemed. As a youth, he had heard the stories hundreds of times. A god-like force, a presence of tyrannical tendencies, appeared from the heavens and ravaged the Tsa'ah's home world. His elders, long past, had told him as they heard from their elders. For ages, the tales were to be passed on from one generation to the next. It was a declaration of special importance, never allowed to be forgotten. Forced into submission, his ancestors were enslaved by the terrifying and awesome power of this entity. The Fall resulted in most of his forefathers' merciless deaths, and the rest of his people's survivors were proposed with an offer that couldn't be refused. Fight for the one responsible for their near genocide and be rewarded with a new home in exchange for the servitude of war. A home occupied by the force's bitter nemesis.
The native scourge of weaklings call the construct "Traveler". Nothing more was told to his predecessors than kill all of those under its protection and aid in its complete destruction. Then, and only then, would the Tsa'ah be given the planet known as Earth. That and absolute emancipation from their service. For ages, they had fought to that end. The same gesture was extended to the Barzelor when their planet was annihilated, whom of which accepted as well. Only they settled their new home without the resistance the Tsa'ah faced with Earth's current inhabitants. Some foolish Houses once believed they could occupy the planet whilst the humans and their allied abominations and machines lived on its surface. A ridiculous thought indeed. While the human plague still thrived, Earth would never be a home to anyone; just a battleground. Only one of the two forces would ultimately survive to inhabit its lands. The Tsa'ah would prevail victorious after stamping out the disease that managed to cling onto life for so long. The massive warrior grinned maliciously at the realization of that approaching event. The humans had lived on Earth long enough. It was time for the Tsa'ah to reclaim its former honor.
He had grown tired of them referring to his people as "Fallen". Far from it, their ascension was inevitable and their impending assault was only drawing closer. But as the officer, though proud, followed his escorts through the battleship's stifling passages, he observed his kin serve as a pestilence themselves. If anyone of his kind could be considered fallen, it would be these humiliating disgraces that hadn't the respect to present themselves properly before someone of his stature. It seemed only his subordinates understood the value of the Tsa'ah's cause to eliminate the humans and their slumbering defender. It was of no matter, because he would only recognize those who valued their admirable efforts. Few of which would be found amongst the fleet's overpopulated battleships.
As he continued behind the guards, the officer passed a young and wounded Tsa'ah soldier sitting on the floor. Despicable. A grimace formed on his face as he scanned the coward's body. He was healthy enough to fight, but too weak in mind to swallow the meager pain and combat their enemies. Of all the sickness he had happened by countless times before, this was the worst. Scum like this didn't deserve to live, for their cowardice was like a virus. As his counterpart weakly glanced at him with fear, his slack jaw was crushed when a massive foot slammed into his face like a heavy club. The younger of the Tsa'ah fell limp to his side, skull caved in and neck snapped. The escorts simply glanced at the fresh kill, but aside from that, the surrounding ambience and activity hadn't changed. Just one less body taking up space. No resistance would be extended either, for the officer was an Admiral, and more so, he was a terrifyingly ferocious one. Any who dared to challenge his authority would fall victim to a far worse end. What that mattered to the militant forces was trivial. As far as the warriors were concerned, the weak were just as expendable as the officer considered them, save the females and strong-willed youths. Ranks had to be replenished of course, and the most obvious of means was a tool in need of protection and sustenance. If a Tsa'ah was a male and not serving in battle, they were the first to be disposed of. Resources couldn't be expended keeping useless people alive.
"(Sir, the throne room lies just ahead,)" one of the Admiral's escorts said respectfully.
Patience was easily tried with him, so lack of progress updates invoked his wrath just as much as disturbing him. But the thought of such acts were simply dismissed in light of current circumstances. Far more pressing issues riddled the Admiral's mind. As the royal hall's heavily guarded entrance grew closer, the once overcrowded halls became occupied more by the Lord's primary security measures. The Honor Guard of the House of Anguish. All Houses' nobilities had their most loyal servants at their sides, but the House of Anguish, like all else, reigned supreme compared to the other Houses that had united under its banner. Bound only by the command of their Lord, the Honor Guards were some of the most frightening in the Tsa'ah's military. Even as furious as the experienced force was, the Admiral didn't flinch in their presence. A reaction which he caught from some of the Guards upon his arrival. The escorts, two ordinary Captains, left the Admiral with the company and departed back into the corridors full of ignominy. He glanced at the security force form a radial phalanx around him before being led into the presence of the House's formal leader.
Out of the dim hall and into the both naturally and artificially lit throne room, the Admiral observed his empty, but elaborately decorated surroundings yet again. Windows, dense and mighty, made up much of the rounded enclosure's walls. Including the escort, over two dozen Honor Guards defended the Lord. Half of them stood motionless at the base of the semi-circular stairway that led up to his throne, armed well and prepared for anything. The solar system's sun hung far behind the seat itself, shrouding its face and owner in shadow. But as always, the elderly Tsa'ah sat quietly, awaiting the Admiral's arrival.
"(At last, you have answered my call,)" the Lord murmured, two of his wiry hands coming up from his seat's armrests and opening out toward the visitor.
"(I will not spend precious hours of my time to needlessly discuss pointless agendas with you. I hold no remorse for my absences,)" the Admiral responded firmly, retaining his stoic posture amidst the ring of Honor Guards.
"(You find my aims worthless, Sarkaun?)" the noble asked inquisitively, but partly concerned as well.
Sarkaun lifted his already high gaze, "(Do you truly wish to know what I find worthless, Old One?)"
The elder gestured for his answer.
"(The humans are no longer ignorant to our plans to attack their refuge. At the very least, defensive preparations are being made, but I believe they are preparing offensive countermeasures.)"
"(And you believe their efforts will succeed, young Basan'atosh?)" the Lord questioned quietly.
"(No,)" Sarkaun replied, growing upset over the interruption.
"(Then what is it you fear?)"
"(I fear nothing!)" the Admiral roared, immediately alerting the Guards and drawing out their appropriate response.
With weapons raised against the towering officer, the Lord peered at him from the safety of his throne, "(Then tell me, Young One. What is it you desire?)"
"(I want to crush them! Without fail or wait!)" Sarkaun growled, seething with wrath.
"(And we will. It will take time though.)"
A short silence befell them as glares were held, "(Timid. Frail. Under your rule, none of the Tsa'ah's goals will be accomplished. We have spent enough time idly sitting in the shadows. Now is the time to act.)"
"(Do you believe any of this would have been done without my leadership?!)" the Lord snapped at Sarkaun, waving his open hand vigorously before slamming his fist on the throne's armrest. "(Our people have united under my House's seal! They have followed my noble right to guidance! Without me, our people would have remained scattered Houses, bound by conflict and wandering the system aimlessly.)"
"(You are guide solely to those weaklings who litter your pathetic halls outside and die at your door. Keep them, for I have no need. Warriors follow beacons of strength. An attribute which you lost in full long ago, Old One,)" Admiral Sarkaun retaliated.
"(And you think you are the one to lead them?)"
"(Delusional fool. You continue to drive yourself into blind ignorance. You have never led our people. All you have succeeded in doing is making them weak and complacent; content with their pitiful fates. I alone have been a beacon of strength for the Tsa'ah. Were it not for me, our people would still roam the stars unto their utter and embarrassing extinction,)" Sarkaun glared at the shadow sitting atop the broad stairway, defiant and resolute, even surrounded by the swiftly capable Honor Guard.
"(I am leader of the Tsa'ah!)" the Lord declared, pulling his old body up from the chair and staring coldly at Sarkaun.
"(You fail to realize you are nothing but a figurehead who's driven his people further into the depths of destruction and disrepute. Just a curse to the Tsa'ah.)"
"(I am of noble birth!)" the Lord shouted, shaking from the stress his old body could hardly handle.
"(Nobility is dead. The Tsa'ah need a leader. Not an indecisive king rotting with them in drifting graves.)" Sarkaun, without removing his unyielding gaze, stepped forward, only to be impeded by the stubborn Guard.
"(If nobility were dead, I would not be able to kill you with a single command, Basan'atosh.)"
"(Likewise. That is why I am invoking the rite of succession,)" Sarkaun hissed, his tone amused in a twisted fashion.
The Lord's protests ceased and fear gripped his very being. He shuddered uncontrollably as the Admiral ascended the steps and stopped before him, the Guard having let him pass. The menacing warrior stood proud and confident as he looked down upon the feeble noble, "(Draw your sword, Old One.)"
Consumed with terror, the Lord struggled to his feet, took a couple of steps to the left of his throne and withdrew an ornate blade from a slot in a pedestal on the floor. Slowly, he turned to Sarkaun and descended the steps, following his junior to their places on the floor below. Standing in their respective positions at either side of the path in line with the throne, the two Tsa'ah faced each other. Before beginning, Sarkaun chuckled deeply at the sight of the trembling Lord, "(Do you wish the rite having occurred when you were younger? Though you would have died long before your ripe age, you would have held more hope in defeating me than you do now.)"
Though terrified, the Lord managed a weak, but fleeting glare, "(Withdraw your blades, Young One.)"
Satisfying his opponent's truthfully unwanted wishes, Sarkaun removed his twin heat swords from their scabbards and let them rest at his sides, "(Out of respect for your age, I will allow you to make the first strike.)"
Uneasy, but knowing his only chance lied in this presented opportunity, the Lord accepted without indication and lunged after Sarkaun as fast as he could possibly manage in his condition. The signs of his aging were evident as the Admiral simply tossed his swords to the ground, evaded the attack, and struck him with a tightly closed fist. Caught off guard, the Lord lost his weak grip on his weapon and fell to the ground. Sarkaun, pleased with the sight of him crawling to any of the three swords lying around him, watched with cruel delight as he encircled his opponent. With every reach the old Tsa'ah took to grab a tool to defend himself with, Sarkaun gently kicked the objects of hope away from him. The Honor Guard, having formed a large circular phalanx around the one-sided battle, observed attentively. Under order of their people's customs, they were forced to remain impersonal until the victor was made known.
Falling into despair, the Lord pitifully tried for another grasp at his own sword lying nearby. This time Sarkaun let him take hold of his weapon and stand to face him, "(This is the only chance at a dignified death I will give you. Thank me for giving you that undeserved token of respect. Take advantage of it, for the next time you crawl at my feet, I will not hesitate to give you a coward's end.)"
The expression on the Lord's face bore that of an undesired, but fully expected death at the hands of his second-in-command. In a final effort to achieve an unlikely survival, he charged after Sarkaun. As long as it had been since he entered battle with his pride at stake, his final dignified moment was short-lived. With a handful of swift, hand-deflected parries, the ceremonious blade was out of the helpless Lord's grip and thrust through his torso. The hilt itself had already met his chest in less than a second. Blood seeped from the wounds, and a faint, wispy cloud of white hissed quietly from them as well.
"(May your name be forgotten, Old One. The Tsa'ah's age of failure dies with you,)" Sarkaun scowled, twisting the sword in place before pulling it out and kicking the Lord's body to the floor with tremendous force.
After the loud thud's echoes diminished in the royal hall, he turned toward the silent Honor Guard. Some, having served the elderly noble for many years, mourned privately with bowed heads. Others simply stared at the battle's victor, patient and waiting.
"(Behold your new Lord, my brothers! Together, we will achieve our people's age-old dreams of conquest and freedom. Join me in restoring the honor our ancestors defended long ago.)"
Each individual of the Guard snapped to attention and offered the appropriate salutations of respect the successor deserved. As Sarkaun took up his swords and approached the stairway; having only been Lord for a few seconds, he commissioned several orders without vacillation, "(The Chief of the Guard will send for my strongest and most loyal Captain to serve as my second-in-command. Tell him our advanced preparations must hasten. Contact all Houses' Admirals; the fleet must relocate to the gas giant.)"
His servants complied instantly, either following their orders or returning to their posts. Before a squad left his presence, the new Lord stopped them at the deceased senior's body, "(Remove this filth from my sight. Cast his remains into space without tribute. Relocate necessary noncombatant occupants on this vessel to another. Eliminate its waste immediately.)"
As Sarkaun Basan'atosh's Honor Guard carried his commands out, he set his weapons next to the arms of the throne and sat down. First he made himself comfortable in his new position, but soon glanced to his right and stared into the depths of space. In the system beyond, the Tsa'ah's new home awaited their arrival and purging of the human race. Through him, his people would earn their right to the promise made hundreds of years ago. They would return to their former glorious state with the eradication of humanity and its pathetic city. Only a short wait longer. Once arrangements were complete, humanity's singular bastion would suffer the Tsa'ah's unforgiving prejudice with him at the fore of his people's assault. The era for the shameful to pass on stories of defeat was over. The commencement to their age of restoration was nigh.