They sat and listened to his words.
All around the word, radio carried his message far and wide.
Hershey could feel the anticipation in the crowd, a literal surge of primal energy. It threatened to sweep her up in it, even before he began. Great shafts of colored light filtered down from the windows of the old renovated cathedral, the largest standing building of its type on Mobius Major. Far from anything of real material significance, and built out of piety instead of logic or reason, it had escaped much of the world's destruction over the last decade. It had been almost nine years since she had seen the old sanctuary. Her boarding school had been nearby, and the nuns would often take the children on the long walk to the holy site.
The two-tone feline felt the energy of the crowd surge again, as he appeared. Dressed in the white and brown vestments of holy man, she almost didn't recognize him. There was standing room only in the great confines of the church, and attendants, lesser monks dressed in solid brown, tried to keep people from spilling into the isles. He was not yet ready to speak, however, letting the anticipation build.
The Chorus kept singing.
Hershey closed her eyes, and remembered being a little girl looking up at the impossibly high ceiling, and the tiny engravings – mysterious markings only the more initiated members of the congregation could understand. She remembered her mother's hands, as she helped to tie her daughter's new blue babushkah tightly, but not enough to be uncomfortable. All the girls and women wore them on hallowed ground, but Hershey had an especially pretty and fancy one, because her mother made money starring in films for the soldiers fighting against the invading humans and overlanders.
Then, she had been filled with awe.
Now, she narrowed her eyes and silently resented those that had set her down this path, and back to this place. She wore a black headscarf now, one that blended in with her hair. It would make her easier to recognize, but that was exactly her intention. She wanted him to see her. She was here for business, not pleasure, and she had no idea who to pray to - not anymore.
The chorus finished the hymn, and he stood before the podium, confident and powerful. His habit still covered the sides of his face, but she could see his eyes. They were piercing and blue, but instead of black pupils, they glowed an unearthly ruby red. Several members of the congregation behind her cried out to him, as if his mere presence was invigorating and uplifting.
"Let us seek guidance…" He spoke slowly and firmly, projecting his voice masterfully. While there were microphones to transmit his words to others, far away, there were no artificial aids used in the church itself. They were all deactivated when he spoke. All heard him clearly, like a bell on a clear morning.
Where there was room, mobians went down on their knees, and stared upward. Hershey was in one of those spots, and looked up at the vaulted ceiling, and the enigmatic glyphs that adorned it. Where there was less room, those assembled simply looked up. It was not a comfortable position either way, but it was not supposed to be.
"Searching for truth is often painful, and it often discomforts us."
Hershey remembered the words, she had heard them several times in her youth, when her neck had hurt and she started to fidget, as children often did. Her eyes looked over the symbols and patterns above. She could discern only a few of them. And only a few could discern all of them. It galled her to think that he might be one of that select inner society.
After a minute, he spoke again.
"Bring to me those who wish to be mended and made whole through the Mysteries of the Source; those who wish to be uplifted. In their faith, they shall find a salve that heals all wounds…" His words were beautiful, and spoken with such sincerity and kindness that she wanted, with all her heart, for this to be a dream. Because she knew that the real him would never change so much, so quickly, so wonderfully.
Those who were bowed took their seats. Those who stood stayed that way. In the back, they parted, and hooded monks guided several individuals through to the front. There was muttering, in the moment before the choir began to sing once more. May seemed exuberant, but the clerics kept the mood solemn, as it always had to be. The first helped to the front was a blind mobian – a middle aged rabbit with bandages tightly wrapped around his eyes. A monk removed them, and Hershey could see black pits where the eyes should have been, and knew that it was likely a result of a deroboticizer malfunction.
The process was not yet perfect.
"Father Saul?" he asked, and his voice could just barely be heard, except for the amplification provided by a tiny wireless microphone quickly attached to his collar. The white and brown robed minister placed a hand on the other mobian's face.
"Your eyes have been taken from you…" Father Saul said, and somehow everyone heard him perfectly clearly, unaided. "Do you have faith, in the Source, and in those who Explore its Mysteries? Do you believe that I can heal you?"
"I believe, Father…" the blind mobian whispered. "I believe you can do anything…"
"Your faith will heal you. And you shall see." Father Saul's hand glowed softly. Hershey frowned a bit. Others in the crowd ooh'd and ahh'd. One whooped for joy.
When he pulled back his hand, the taller cleric bowed his head. "Open your eyes."
"My… my…" the mobian reached up to his face, and looked out over the assembled congregation. Deep brown eyes took it in, and a great smile spread on his face. Hershey had to admit she was impressed.
"I can see! Praise the Source! Praise you, Father Saul! I can see!" He wept openly, and others cried out for him. Others cried for Father Saul, the Miracle Worker. The Redeemed, who is now a Redeemer.
"Bring to me those who wish to be mended and made whole through the Mysteries of the Source; those who wish to be uplifted," Father Saul said again, extending his large white furred hands, and the monks brought another to him. "In their faith, they shall find a salve that heals all wounds…"
This one was a young girl, a feline, but calico with white and pink. She was coughing, and Hershey could see matted bald spots on the poor girl. It only took a moment to guess what the problem was: radiation sickness. Parts of the region had been a dumping ground for radioactive waste when Robotnick occupied the southern parts of Mobius Major. It was considered 'wasteland' anyway, and Robotnick had probably thought that poisoning the underground water supplies was killing two mobians with one radioactive stone.
"This girl… her spirit cries," Father Saul said, and kneeled down before the much smaller mobian. "She had been poisoned by the hatred and the malice of an evil man. Yet, I feel her faith is strong. Stronger than his hate. Show us your Faith, my child. Show us you Believe…"
He gripped her small shoulders, and she started to cry.
"Louder, child! Show us you believe!"
"I believe!" she cried out. "I believe in you, Father Saul!"
"You believe you can be healed!"
"I believe I can be healed!"
"The Source will save you! The Mysteries have been revealed to me, and the Source will SAVE YOU!" Again, his hands began to glow, and soon those same energies suffused into the little girl. She trembled, shouting her faith to all the world. In the crowd, people chanted encouragement. Hershey watched. She was just close enough to see a change – to see the girl's fur become more vibrant and healthy. The matted patches faded away. She licked her lips in awe. She had been told, but to see it for oneself…
"The Source has saved you…" Father Saul released her, and she fell back, where an attendant monk caught her before she hit the ground. People cheered, and others cried. Hershey watched, her expression guarded. Three more critically ill came in, and were healed in a similarly impressive fashion. Twelve others followed, more quickly – they had comparatively minor problems.
Then, Father Saul took the podium once more, and looked out over his congregation. They surged again with invisible energy, enthralled and entranced. And then, Father Saul reached up, and drew back the hood of his habit.
"Drago…" Hershey hissed, under her breath.
"Fellow believers… my comrades in faith, and my followers in the Mysteries of the Source…" Father Saul's eyes, Drago's eyes, burned with an inner fire. "I can feel your faith. It permeates the walls of this holy place. And I am most humbled to stand in the center of this most righteous storm. Cloaked in the Mysteries of the Source, we have nothing to fear, and great things to look forward to. We live in portentous times, times of destiny, times of fear and uncertainty! Let your faith guide and shield you; let it command you, and you shall be saved… I know it has saved me…"
Deep in the enraptured crowd, Hershey felt a chill run down her spine.
Knuckles braced himself against the wall.
The ground beneath his feet rumbled, no: it trembled. Angel Island occasionally had windquakes, but they didn't feel anything like this. This was almost regular, like a heartbeat, or breathing. This was not the first time he had felt it over the last few days, but it was turning out to be the most drastic. The echidna Guardian furrowed his brows, and cursed Haven for the hundredth time.
If it wasn't the nightmares when he slept, it was the futile efforts to escape when he was awake. Or the horrible taste of burned Chao that lingered on his tongue for hours, along with that of recycled lab water, until it spread to his throat and made him want to retch. He's lost count of the number of times he'd stumbled into something in the dark, or had his heart skip a beat, thinking he'd heard a whispered voice or a distant scream.
The air smelt like a broken cesspool, even though he and Hunter had been careful about what was done and where. His eyes itched and burned, his skin felt irritated and flaky, and his nerves were stretched nearly to the breaking point. He couldn't even think about Hunter, or anyone else, without wanting to cave their face in. The human didn't seem to understand it, and he tried to be more personable if only for the company, but lately everything about everyone just made Knuckles angrier and more frustrated.
Half his body had been bitten or scratched by hellish creatures, and now he felt his grip on sanity starting to fray. Meditation only made things worse, the voices louder, the scratching in the walls, the hairs on the back of his neck standing completely on edge. He wanted to get out. He would have done anything just to see the sun again!
"Damn this place… damn it…" He slapped his hand feebly against a wall. Often enough, before, he had gone into a rage; lost himself in his fury. It hadn't done any good. He'd just hurt himself.
The ground trembled, more violently.
Knuckles kicked it, stomping with his foot until it hurt.
Everything suddenly froze, and Knuckles allowed himself a little smile. His little fit probably hadn't done anything, but it felt sort of like it did. He chuckled, and stomped at the ground some more.
"Come on you bastard! Come on! You done? Huh?" He chuckled a bit more. "Is that it?"
And then Knuckles hit his head against the ceiling, as the whole world seemed to lurch forward and down, bucking like a wild horse. He heard something roaring, something tearing, something breaking open, and he suddenly wondered if everything was going to come crashing down on his head, and he thought about Julie-Su, and his mother, and he realized that he didn't want to die. He didn't want to die!
He tucked into a ball, pushed off the ground, and headed for one of the lab doorways. They were heavily reinforced. But he never even got halfway, before an explosion of rock and metal raced down the corridor, and sent him sprawling, bowled over. It had come… from the direction of the elevator!
A glimmer of hope lighting his features, he started to run. As he got close, he saw Hunter, his makeshift spear and handheld flamethrower at the ready. He probably figured it was a wave of those little demons, coming to finish them off. Knuckles scoffed. It was a rescue party, blasting through to get them out! He kept running, expecting to see the Chaotix: Vector, and Epsio and Charmy, and Julie, and maybe even Mighty, rappelling down from the elevator shaft to see, first hand, if he was ok.
His friends!
His friends!
He waves his hands, trying to clear the dust and smoke. The floor here was slanted, and the ceiling distorted. Knuckles could see it: see the elevator doors. They were open. Wide open! After all that effort, after all the pain, of trying to pry or bash them open, they were gone! He looked on the floor, but didn't see them.
"Guardian!" Hunter yelled, and Knuckles stopped in front of the open doorway.
"They're not here…" Knuckles said his voice little more than a whisper. "Where are they? Why aren't they here?"
"Who?" Hunter asked, standing nearby. He, too, looked a bit frayed. Physically. Emotionally, mentally, he seemed totally unaffected. And Knuckles was sick and tired of him saying that the voices, the whispering, the horrors… were all in the echidna's mind. Hunter was the psycho killer here, after all. He was just a yiffing loony toon. Knuckles hated and resented that he slept like a log, while the noble Guardian of Angel Island tossed and turned and wished for a moment's peace.
"My yiffing friends!" He swiped at Hunter, who nimbly jumped out of the way, a neutral expression on his face. It only made Knuckles angrier. He set another powerful haymaker the human's way, faster than before. Knuckles had traded blows with Sonic and other great fighters many times. He almost always fought angry. It wasn't normally a problem.
Hunter sidestepped, avoided Knuckles' momentum, and a second later the echidna had his face planted right into a wall. Hunter always did that! He stepped outside Knuckles' reach, and when the Guardian lunged, he pulled some fancy move, or tripped him, or some other cowardly trick! Knuckles pushed off the wall his own momentum had sent him crashing into, and wiped his face with the palm of his hand.
"You fight like a coward!" He roared at Hunter, who just stood by. Not smiling. Not smirking. Just watching, critically. Disapprovingly.
"Typical mobian. No technique at all." He looked to his side, at the open elevator shaft. His eyes wandered up. "Looks like it just moved about five meters up. It looks… jammed. These walls are crooked, I dare say."
"What?" Knuckles quickly forgot about Hunter, and pounding the human into fine red paste, and dancing on his corpse, and … and… he shook his head. Walking to the shaft and looking up, he confirmed Hunter's analysis. The elevator was still there. Wedged between them and freedom. There'd be no getting past it. Knuckles could climb very well, but it would never give him any leverage to move or break through the bottom of the lift.
They were still trapped.
Still trapped!
Knuckles felt a sudden and unexpected welling of anger at his so called friends. His friends who had abandoned him! Left him to die in a hole in the ground, with some crazy human murderer! He cursed them. All of them. Even Julie. He closed his eyes, and felt an updraft of wind from down below. It seemed to be howling, first just one long roar, and then a string of obscenities.
Mad images danced through Knuckles' fatigued mind. He saw Julie laughing and drinking with Vector, and then the two of them together in his room. She was moaning and screaming and he was pawing at her like an animal. And then Mighty and Espio were there, going through his stuff, laughing and laughing and laughing. And Charmy had someone in his hands – the fire ant, Archimedes, who had been like a surrogate father to Knuckles, and he was choking the life out of him, screaming curses like a madman.
Knuckles began to hyperventilate.
"Get a hold of yourself!" Hunter's voice interrupted, and Knuckles opened his eyes. The damned images disappeared back to the abyss that had spawned them.
"W… what?" Knuckles squinted his eyes, but was afraid he'd end up seeing … more. More that he never wanted to see. More that he never wanted to think about.
"Do you know what's down there?" Hunter asked, inclining his head to the pit before them. "Is there a secondary control facility? I don't know the layout of this place; I'm hoping you do."
"A secondary… a… ah…" Knuckles wracked his memory. He knew this. He just needed to clear his head. "Yes! There is!"
"Good!" Hunter actually smiled. "And it can control the elevator, right? Or open some other was out of here?"
"A couple stories down… there's life support, I think. And the reactor! Though it's probably sealed off. There's also a secondary lift that goes all the way down to the Observation Lounge, and the access stair to the Emerald Chamber. There used to be a passage in and out through there, too, but it's sealed off now. But…. I'm pretty sure there's a secondary emergency control center next to the buried computer core. That's it!"
Knuckles clapped his hands together gleefully. "We can use that to get a message out for help, even if it can't fix this damn elevator! Or… or…"
His expression changed, become more thoughtful.
"If I could get to the Master Emerald itself…" Knuckles began to laugh. "I could power up and just tear my way out of here!"
Hunter didn't seem to like that option. He frowned a fraction. "And if you collapse the place in the process?"
Knuckles looked at him, and knew that the human was jealous. And scheming. He wanted Knuckles to stay weak. Hunter probably had plans to kill him, and seal the Emerald. Knuckles knew he couldn't let that happen. The power of the Master Emerald, in the hands of a madman like Hunter?
No.
Never!
"I will never lie to you, fellow seekers of Truth in Mystery! I will not coddle you from the world! There is evil. There is cruelty. There are monsters. I know. I've seen them… met them… before I stepped into the light I lived in the darkness. I know how the weak litter the dinner tables of the strong, and the unjust. But only for so long! Only for so long, before the righteous rise up and punish the wicked!"
Nail could sense that he was close.
To both of them.
He had wandered the desolate and broken reaches of the Forbidden Zone, where the Mountains met the volcanic wastes on the east end of Angel Island, for what seemed like weeks. Narrowing his search had not been easy, but he had been methodical, and diligent. Haven was well hidden from prying eyes. There were false entrances, traps and falls, and technological illusions. None of them deterred Nail.
He was Knuckles' clone, after all, and he had the same perseverance.
But as he worked, and waited, he could not help but feel apprehensive. So much of what Athair had told him was now in doubt, even as Nail wished dearly to save his mentor. The elderly echidna had been the only one to show him kindness… and acceptance. His own creators, Mya Florentine and her boss: Mastermind, had dismissed him as a failure. Even after all he had done to earn their love and respect.
No.
Mya Florentine had no love to give, especially for a failed experiment, and Mastermind's heart was as bitter and shriveled and black as Robotnick's. Athair had been everything they weren't. He had been wise, and supportive, and like a father to Nail. But how much of that had been Athair's decision, and how much had been Merlin's hand – Merlin's prompting. It wasn't a question he wanted to ask, or have answered. Not really.
Merlin. The thought of the creature that empowered Nail, that granted him the abilities he was so proud of, gave the echidna pause. Merlin frightened him. Merlin played a terrible game, with all the world as pieces, and he had for untold millennia. From what Nail suspected, he had organized religions, created races, built and toppled kingdoms. What held such a being in check?
Did Merlin know moderation, or was he so powerful that he was literally the only way, free will be damned? Was the alternative this Devourer creature – a being of supposedly bottomless evil and anarchy? No, of course: there was one other. One who Nail had thought had gone so astray.
Nail remembered well the first time he had seen Tails.
He had known about the fox before, of course, thanks to Mya and Mastermind. But knowing and understanding are two very different things. He had first seen Tails racing Sonic, as they often did in their free time together back then. The boy, so young, had shown such power and precision to his movements and techniques… it was remarkable.
At the same time, Nail had no idea what to do about it. Tails had seemed to be in competent hands: it was learning from the best. He had learned to run and fight from Sonic and Knuckles, he had learned strategy, tactics and group dynamics from Sally, and augmented his natural intellectual pursuits by learning from Rotor, and even Robotnick. What did an outsider like Nail really have to offer? So he was content to watch.
Indeed, at the time, just sitting back and watching had a great moral appeal to it.
Then the boy had disappeared to Station Square, and he came back changed. Nail could see it, even with his very infrequent visits to Knothole. Athair seemed to sense it too, but the old echidna did not seem worried at the time and certainly made no effort to intervene. Tails gradually became more and more distant, working by himself, obsessing over his work. To this day, Nail had no idea what had provoked the change in mood, but given Tails' later 'dealings' with females, he suspected it had something to do with one he knew, and the like likeliest culprit there was Amy Rose.
Then, finally, it had come to Tails growth spurt, and physical changes. They seemed to match the way his mind had turned, giving him the physical presence and power he'd always had mentally. Nail partly blamed Tempest for how things turned out (or at least Tempest's bizarre kitsune outlook on life) but now he saw the coincidences for what they were. He realized why Athair had so suddenly urged him to visit Knothole, and why he had later dropped those hints about the boy's training.
Merlin.
Always pulling the strings. Invisible strings that his puppets didn't even know existed. Only later, only when he knows that the strings aren't even necessary, does he outright explain himself. Nail suspected that Merlin had to be very proud of his indirectly engineered protégé… Miles was just like him. Something that boded both well and ill for the future of Mobius.
Nail clutched his cape close to his body, as the wind howled.
There was a distant storm brewing.
The clone inclined his head when he sensed it, a sharp spike to his finely honed senses. There was a smaller one, too. He waited. He watched. It only took a little longer, and then two forms became visible, walking out from behind a jutting outcropping of rock, one of millions on the broken landscape.
Miles Prower (did he even answer to his old nickname anymore?) walked calmly up a gravel strewn path, following his nose. A smaller mobian, an echidna girl, followed in his footsteps. She held herself with some confidence, but also noticeable anxiety. Nail frowned at his one time student's approach. He turned away, and looked out to the east, where the sea stretched for miles before meeting the Mobian mainland, on the horizon.
It was a sight none would ever have again, if Nail succeeded in what he had to do.
"Nail…"
It was Miles who spoke the first words between them.
"Miles."
The fox stood next to his former teacher. He held out his hand, and helped Lara to stand in between them.
"This is Lara-Su. She will be accompanying us in our little descent," Miles said, and Nail felt a little annoyed that the fox was dictating terms.
"You can't seem to stick with one breed for very long, can you?" Nail asked, and saw his target bristle at the remark.
"What does that mean?" Lara asked, expressing her anger more openly than her companion.
Nail thought briefly about what to say. He decided to swallow back any urge to be petty, and instead be mature. It had never been a problem before, but his former student… it was a different case. It was personal. Like Mya, and Mastermind. And Athair and Merlin. Looking at the fox, Nail wondered if ever there'd been thoughts of friendship, of companionship, of respect… or if, the whole time Nail was sharing his secrets and his hopes for a better future, Miles had just been learning what he wanted, and biding his time, playing the naive clone for a fool.
"Nothing. A pleasure to meet you, Lara. As I'm sure you know, my name is Nail," he extended his hand, and Lara took it in a firm handshake.
"Miles told me about you," she said, but he wasn't sure exactly what she meant by it, if anything.
"You look careworn, Nail," Miles said, but in the emotionless and observant tone Nail knew so well. Neither were sure, it seemed, of how they stood with the other.
"And you look surprisingly good…" Nail then added, "For a corpse."
Miles cracked a grin. "I know a very good embalmer."
"So do I, apparently." Nail grinned back, but it was a guarded response. The moment came and went, and both resumed their former expressions and attitude.
"Haven," Miles said, and there was a dangerous look in his eyes.
"Haven," Nail agreed.
"Are we going to get going, or what?" Lara prompted, and the two looked at her and started to run, following Miles' nose, and Nail's sixth sense. Together, the hidden refuge of the Guardians did not long elude them.
"What will you do, when the flames come for you? To whom will you seek answers? To whom will you pray for guidance? And for salvation? The wicked will not go quietly into that Dark Pit! They will only be emboldened by death and suffering! In the face of this, how can any good mobian do what the Source commands? Bullets and bombs may assail the flesh, but it is fear that wounds the soul most deeply… and it is fear that in turn rules the hearts of evil beings. They fear the light of the Source! They fear the light of our convictions! They fear the holy flames we shall cast them down into! Let them Fear, and let us be cloaked in the cool blanket of faith! All Praise to the One True Source of All!"
Constable Remington stood among his men, looking up at the monitor in the Echidnapolis Security Agency Command Center. Dimitri watched it on a projection screen in his office, Lien-Da standing discretely to his right. Lara-Le, Knuckles' mother, and her husband Wynmacher watched in the living room of their villa, just outside Echidnapolis, their son Mace held close between them.
King Max watched from his seat on the Golden Throne, with the rest of the Royal Family nearby, even his estranged son and the boy's commoner wife and child. Nearby, Sally reached for Sonic's hand, and found comfort in it. Thousands of miles away, Rouge watched the proceedings on a small video screen on her armrest, the sky outside her window passing by unnoticed.
And Hive Prince Kenichi…
Signed the papers that would give him the freedom to strike at the vulnerable underbelly of the echidna. Cameras clicked and flashed and recorded, but there was otherwise complete silence in the large wind swept tent that had been set up outside Sandopolis. Dingo military officers and their guards, in dress uniform but wielding anything but ceremonial weapons, watched closely with grim expressions. Loyal Xialjyet Hornet warriors also stood nearby, their mute and emotionless faces unmoving, and their eyes unblinking even in the dry afternoon heat. Those echidna that were present wore worried expressions, and Kenichi drank in their fear.
Kenichi carefully affixed his name to the document.
Across from where he stood, on the opposite end of the table, General Viktor von Stryker was handed the same constitution; the same binding agreement. He hesitated only a moment, before putting down his name beneath Kenichi's. The hushed silence seemed to break, as more than a dozen individuals present gasped, some in indignation and others in disgust. Stryker slowly put down the pen, his left hand clenched tightly.
"The deed is done…" Kenichi said, and turned from Stryker to the cameras. With the treaty signed, there was no further need for pretence of civility. There would never be friendship, or even an inkling of camaraderie or respect, between the Quaz Marat and the leader of a beaten people. Stryker was out of the way, and that was all that mattered.
Let Charmy have his little echidna toy.
Kenichi was still Quaz Marat. Kenichi was the one who had forced the dingo from Angel Island, and Kenichi would be the one to lead his forces north and into the vulnerable heartland of the echidna. And when he stood upon the burning ruins of Echidnapolis, and Hydrocity, and Marble Garden… who would care for Charmy and his scheming? The Weight of the Hives would smash all that opposed it!
"The articles are signed," Kenichi said in a booming voice not fit for mobian ears. "These proceedings are concluded. The dingo will unconditionally withdraw their forces and recognize the right of the Quaz Xialjyet to the entirety of what was called Angel Island… It is now Our Island: The Quaz Tora. No other power will sit on our lands, nor will we recognize the legitimacy of any. The Ancestral Homeland of my people will be returned in full and interest shall be paid with blood and tears! Unconditional Surrender is the only option left to those who oppose us. We will not stop. We will not relent. We will grind you into the dust."
Kenichi smiled, and it was all cruel teeth and serrated mandibles. "I leave you now to ponder the inevitable… Perhaps we will meet again in Echidnapolis?"
He laughed, turned, and walked away.
"General!" "General Stryker!" "General!"
With Kenichi gone, the press felt bold enough to assail the other world leader who was less likely to have their throats summarily slit. The dingo General held out his hands in a gesture for silence. He looked half the commanding presence he normally had, with his brows straight lines across his forehead, and his eyes surrounded by wrinkles. After a few moments of feverish question asking, the reporters quieted down, holding out their microphones in anticipation.
"We… the dingo people… have suffered much these last few years," Stryker's voice was subdued, sad, remorseful. "We have acquitted ourselves with conviction and love of duty. With honor and love of country. And we have bled… oh, how we have bled. From the alleyways of Echidnapolis, to the streets of Knothole, to Old Dingo City herself. A people can only loose so much blood, before it kills them. The Dingo have no fear of battle, but no desire to die. Especially as our allies have yet to rise to our defense."
Several cameras flashed.
"We must withdraw from this land we love… it is the hardest command I have ever given, ever asked of my subordinates. Many have already left for the New Territories, and we must follow them. Angel Island is lost to us. It was always a dream, to reclaim the lands of our former glory… but now we must look forward to the future, not back to past slights and insults. The dingo people honor the treaties they sign. No shot will be fired in aggression against the new masters of this blasted and broken land. Dingo strength must not be wasted on such foolishness. This fight is over."
He turned his back on the flurry of questions that followed his statement, and motioned for his troops to escort him out. They did so without a word, but General Stryker could feel their inner turmoil. For the dingo to leave the lands that had been the seat of their power, for them to turn away after so many years of fighting and dying and planning and dreaming and hoping and praying… It felt like a betrayal worse than death.
But it wasn't worse than death, not for the young.
"The Dingo, as a race, must not die out," he whispered to himself as he walked, flanked by his loyal soldiers of the Hegemony. "There will be new ways, and new leaders. But the Dingo must survive."
Leaving the tent, he could once more see the darkening sky, and the distant pyramids of Old Dingo City. He had not been born here, nor had his father, or his father before him. But this was the land of people. This had been the seat of a great empire. It turned his stomach to see it, like this, now.
"I don't think… I'll ever see this place again…" He closed his eyes, and took in the desert air. "Give me some room and some time, Captain. I'm expecting someone, and I don't want to be disturbed."
"Yes, sir," the Captain of the guard saluted, and directed the other soldiers. Stryker stood for some time there, alone. Silent. His guards had fanned out to keep away intruders, and the General thought back to the old days. Before New Dingo City had been destroyed in that dimensional pocket. Before he had met a young echidna named Knuckles, the latest in a line of meddling Guardians. Before the battles with the Echidna, the Dark Legion, the Guardians, Mammoth Mogul, and even the Eggman… there had been a young and ambitious dingo with dreams of a restored Empire.
That General Stryker had died today, with a pen in his hand.
"Sir?"
It was Kage. Stryker opened his eyes, looked behind him, and saw his boy. He was leaner in build than his father, with his mother's dark black hair. His mother, who had not survived the collapse of Dingo City. Viktor had never remarried; Dingo mated for life, and were faithful to each other even in death. But Kage's fur and his eyes, they were unmistakably of the von Stryker lineage. Looking at the Major General in his pressed and prim Kommissariat uniform, Viktor felt a surge of pride he normally hid beneath criticism and complaint.
"General. Why did you call for me?" Kage asked. "I have work to…"
Stryker smiled. He had done so the very moment he had made the decision to sign those papers, and trade a dream for a future. It was the end of one dingo story, and the beginning of another. A better one, Viktor could only hope.
"You want to stay behind," the elder Stryker stated. "I can see it in your eyes."
"Well… I would prefer our enemies bleed each other dry, yes. The echidna can not survive without our help," Kage stated, matter-of-factly. "The Xialjyet will not be satisfied with this Island. They will spread like a plague. Or a cancer."
"Would you disregard your given duties… throw away your rank… to fight? Would you do this, knowing that you are doing what benefits the Hegemony?" Viktor asked, though he knew the answer. "You would. But I'm afraid you cannot. You will be needed elsewhere."
"The Kommissariat has many fine officers who…"
"I do not speak of your Toyboys, your gadgeteers and spies… I speak of our people. They will need a leader who has not failed them. They will need someone the officers respect… someone I respect." Viktor paused, and let out a deep breath. "I trust I have made my will clear?"
Kage stiffened, as he did. "You have, General."
"Good. Good." He turned his back on his son and looked away into the distance. "You are dismissed, Major General."
"Sir. Yes, sir." Kage then added, "I will endeavor to do my best and to make you proud, Father."
Stryker heard his son's measured footsteps as he walked away, across the sandy ground. It grew darker, and the stars could just barely be seen through the clouds. It looked like there would be a storm to the north. That was fine. It would not interfere with the dingo, then. One last favor granted by the fates to one they had so often cursed.
He reached to his waist, and unclipped his holster.
'I cannot leave this land that I love. This land that I have lost so much for. All I have ever done was for this Island and for this land of our grandfather's greatness. Now, finally, I will serve the dingo people better as a symbol than as a leader.'
Slowly, he lifted his trusty ACS-112 from its resting place. He and the weapon had been through much – fights against robots and cyborgs and zealots and gods. It was hardly the most powerful gun the dingo made use of, but it had acquitted itself well given the circumstances. The old General felt a kinship for it, now. Opening his mouth, he closed his eyes again.
'Let the old guard die with me, and pass into history…'
The last thing he saw was a female with long black hair, her arms wide.
"Not far from here, fellow seekers of Truth, a tyrant sits on a Golden Throne… a mobian who claims to have the favor of the Source. A mobian who claims that he alone can commune and delve the Mysteries of the Divine! A mobian who pretends to Understand what he cannot begin to comprehend! He takes your sons to whip as slaves for his army! He takes your land to fuel his greed and win the favor of fellow aristocrats! He takes your hard earned moneys to spend on grandiose palaces! I have seen into the Source, and it has Saved Me! Redeemed me! I have seen into the Source, and I have heard how it cries out for a better world!"
Geoffrey St. John eyed the angry mob with disdain.
His troops, however, seemed slightly intimidated. Outside the walls of the gated compound, the mobians chanted and yelled, making demands. Geoffrey wanted to laugh. As if commoners had any place making demands of their betters. The whole of the Southlands seemed to seethe with traitors, like maggots in a month old corpse.
"You don't seem very popular, Mr. St. John."
"Shut your mouth!" The skunk pistol whipped the source of part of his ire. The rat cringed from the blow, another patch of white fur stained red with blood. The albino still managed a genteel smile, even with one of his teeth missing.
"I'm sure it isn't personal…"
"You just keep talking, Mr. de Chapelleverte. You talk your way right to the gallows, you Source cursed Traitor!" Geoffrey sneered, and ordered the two soldiers carrying their prisoner to move forward, away from the now ruined villa behind them. Francois de Chapelleverte, aka Minalkra, was finally in the hands of His Majesty's Finest, and St. John mad no intention of losing him. Or killing him.
He would be made an example out of.
As Minalkra, the former nobleman would be put on trial for insurgency, sedition and murder. What truly disgusted St. John was that this white rate next to him was so apparently petty in his justification for betrayal. His father, Baron Jean de Chapelleverte, had the honor of being among the first called to fight for King and Country during the Great War. Three of Minalkra's older brothers had even been officers.
Incompetent officers, but still officers.
That the King had finally purged them and their father, after losing no less than three separate engagements with the overlanders… it was no surprise. Perhaps a bit unfortunate, since no mobian commander ever really beat the humans at their own game, but hardly some unique set of circumstances. The remains of the southern nobility had all been out of Maximilian's Court for too long. They had obviously begun to forget themselves, and their sworn oaths of allegiance.
"Don't you see them, St. John? Don't you see how they move? How they press against those bars? Freedom, like a gas, cannot be contained or held in check without an equal force in opposition to it. You cannot stop what is to come." Minalkra chuckled, and licked a bit of blood off the side of his mouth. "Killing me won't extinguish their hopes and dreams. It will just fuel it."
"The Kingdom of Acorn has survived eight hundred years… it has survived civil war, planetwide conflict, evils without pale…" St. John growled through gritted teeth. "It will not fall to a mob of peasants, or bow to pressure from a defrocked nobleman! A noose will deal with your wagging tongue, and the sword will put those idiots back to work!"
Minalkra grunted, as the guards roughly carried him to the waiting APC. He was wounded, and probably should have received medical attention where he had originally been shot, but St. John was more concerned with leaving the area. If he was to die in a few weeks anyway, what did it matter if he lost a leg beforehand? The crowd roared their outrage behind the compound walls, and with a groan, one of the gate supports broke and fell to the ground amid chunks of concrete.
"Move! Move! NOW!" St. John yelled, and then activated the radio clipped to his shoulder. "All units! Regroup!"
There was confusion as the soldiers ran to St. John and the APC. In seconds, just as Minalkra's form disappeared into the confines of the military vehicle, the gates fell to the ground with a crash, and the crowd rushed forward. They were wielding whatever was at hand, waving pipes and throwing stones.
St. John had to shield his face as a rock bounced off the back of his hand with considerable force. He cursed, as he saw a group of them heaving to swamp the APC. They wouldn't be able to tip it, but they would cut off his only avenue of escape.
"Disperse! Disperse or be fired upon!" He yelled, and the crowd hissed and howled. Another rock barely missed Geoffrey's head, just clipping his ear. It was enough to draw blood.
"Sir!" One of the soldiers gasped, not sure what to do.
"All enemies of the crown…" The skunk lifted his semiautomatic handgun, and aimed it at the angry mob "Are forfeit of their lives…"
St. John fired the first shot.
But it was far from the last.
"But that world cannot take form, cannot be molded by our collective Faith, so long as an unbeliever sits on the Throne of Kings! Mark my words well, children of the Source… one day, years from now, you will look back on these portentous times and know you have done as the Source willed. You will have remade the world."
Father Saul raised his hands into the air.
"Source give us Strength for the Struggle Ahead…"
King Maximilian Acorn was not sleeping well.
It was the same dream that had haunted him before. He seemed to have it every other night, now. It got to the point where the Queen had even mentioned that he had began to trash in his sleep. The Royal Doctors had prescribed sleeping medication, which helped… or had helped. The dream was back again.
Once more, he was playing the role of Marius II Acorn, the King who had nearly lost his Kingdom to the betrayal of his daughter and a rogue knight; the King who had saved the Kingdom, and preserved it from certain destruction and disordering. King Max once again stood defiantly on the battlements of Mobtropolis in that far off time, shouting a challenge to the False and Pretender King, who sat on his black horse a mile away.
And, as always, the Pretender King turned and fled when it became obvious that his troops would not be able to secure the walls or maintain the siege. Max knew what would happen next. He seemed to leave the body of his great ancestor, and float over the battlefield, past the siege engines and the waiting cavalry and the shattered bodies. Only to stop at a black tent in the enemy camp.
The King knew what was next.
He floated through the roof of the tent, to where the Pretender reunited with his conspirator. Jezebel was, without a doubt, Sally's spitting image. In her beautiful dress, amid the plundered wealth of half the Kingdom, she greeted her lover.
"How goes it, my brave knight?" She would ask.
"Not well," The False and Pretender King would reply. "We may have to fall back and try again next year. Or the year after that. Your father simply refuses to die."
"The stubborn old goat!" Then she would get up, and rest herself against him, toying with his black horned helm. "To still refuse you, after all your efforts to please him. He doesn't understand… doesn't appreciate… either of us…"
And then, as always, she would remove the False and Pretender King's helm, revealing blue quills, green eyes, and the face of Sonic the Hedgehog. Oh yes. So many times this had happened. So many times. But it usually ended there.
Then, something different happened, and King Max felt himself fall to the ground. He landed on his feet, and realized that he was in Marius's body again, wearing the Royal Armor, and wielding the mighty Sword of Acorns and bold red cross shield. The Pretender and his lover looked at him with shock.
"Father!" Sally gasped.
"Marius!" Sonic yelled, and drew out his own sword. The gleaming silver edge of the weapon shone in the reflected candlelight. The Princess and her knight in black armor parted, as Sonic put himself between them.
"You left so suddenly, Fallen Knight…" King Max said, and smiled at the opportunity given him. Marius II had never had the chance to avenge himself against the real Pretender. After the Siege had fallen apart, the two traitors had left to regroup their forces. The True King had later defeated the Pretender in the Battle of Branae, where the Black Knight drowned trying to rally his forces as they fled into the river. After the battle, Jezebel had committed suicide by taking a poisonous snake to bed with her, where it supposedly bit her on her treacherous left breast.
"This is our chance!" Sally urged her knight on. "Kill him! Take his crown, his sword, and his ring… and you will be King!"
The Pretender glanced back at her, nodded, and faced his former sovereign. They didn't waste further time, as the two charged to meet each other. Their blades met once, but the power of the Sword of Acorns was great, and the Pretender had to take a step back, his blade shaking like a leaf. He held up his shield, the same design as Max's own, but with the colors inverted. The Sword of Kings hit the shield with terrible force, but it held.
The Pretender pulled back his blade for a lunge – far more dangerous in armored combat than a swing. King Max, however, knew all about how to fight with a sword as well as defend against one. This was just the sort of fight he had been trained for, not because it was practical knowledge, but because it was expected of him. The Pretender was aiming for the King's vulnerable armpit, but he was a moment too slow.
Tucking his shield in close and angling it, King Max deflected the strike. With practiced ease, and righteous fury, he quickly struck with his sword's pommel. Normally, the move would have been to stun his opponent. But the Pretender had taken off his helm. The sword's heavy counterweight caved in the front of Sonic's skull. Blood erupted from the hedgehog's ears, and he fell forward in a limp heap, spitting up crimson.
King Max laughed, and took a step away from the expanding pool of gore.
"That was too easy… did you really think this fool the next King?" he asked Sally, who was backing up in horror. "Now Jezebel… We come at last to you, who corrupted the Order of Knights, who turned him against me… who plotted and schemed and betrayed for her own petty purposes and indulgences…"
"Wait! Daddy!" Sally pleaded. "I know I've wronged you…"
"You have wronged our Kingdom!"
"Please… forgive me?" She cupped her hands, and went down on her knees, looking up at him for mercy. "Forgive me?"
King Max's sword arm wavered. "Sally…"
And in that instant, she moved. A rustle of soft silks, a moment's glittering of steel, and it was too late. Maximilian felt the knife slip in between the plates of his armor, piercing the chainmail, and entering his flesh. Deeper now, past his ribs, and he coughed up blood, the strength in his body ebbing and abandoning him.
"Die… Daddy…" Sally whispered into his ear, her voice soft and sweet. "Die for me…"
He tried to say something, anything, but his throat wasn't working.
King Max fell on his back, staring up at his murderess.
Sally covered her mouth with the back of her hand, and laughed demurely. "Oh, Daddy! You always were such a sentimental old fool! But you went and killed my favorite little pet, like you did all the others, and that's something I don't think I can forgive."
She bent down with her knees, and picked something up from the floor.
The Sword of Acorns.
"Mommy always said I was nothing but a whore…" Sally/Jezebel held out the sword, wielding it with surprising strength. "But this whore destroyed a Kingdom. How's that for a legacy?"
She rested the tip of the sword on her father's throat, just breaking the flesh.
"Good night, Daddy. Sweet Dreams."
And ran him through.
King Max awoke with a scream. He reached next to him, for his wife, but she was gone on a good-will trip to Andopolis. The clock on his nightstand read 5:30 AM. The King ran his hands through his hair. His breath ragged, it had to concentrate to calm his nerves and remind himself that it was all a dream. Just a dream.
"Just a dream…" he told himself.
"Or was it a prophecy?" a feminine voice said from the darkness.
"Whose there!" Max quickly narrowed his eyes, and looked around. Reaching for the nearby lamp, he fumbled for a moment before turning it on. The room became bathed in light, and despite a few long shadows, Max couldn't see anywhere an intruder might hide.
"Show yourself! I know someone's there!" Max opened a drawer in the nightstand, where he kept an echidna plasma pistol, in case of emergencies.
Something in the shadows finally replied. "You can not see me with your eyes… Great King. Last King."
"'Last King?' What do you mean?" Max snarled. "Answer me! Answer me now!"
But nothing did.
There was a knock on the door, from one of the Royal Guard. "My Lord? Is there trouble?"
King Max worked his jaw in frustration.
"No trouble," he said, loud enough to be heard outside the room. "Return to your post."
"As you wish, my Lord…"
Again, Max was left with silence. Slowly, fearfully, he closed his eyes, only to be met with a Cheshire grin and two glowing yellow orbs. He gasped, and his eyes snapped open again. Several minutes passed, where the King didn't dare do anything more than blink. Then, propelled by stubbornness, he tried again, and closed his eyes.
The grin was still there, along with the glowing orbs… orbs that could only be eyes. He kept his eyes closed, and he saw more and more. He saw a face, familiar but different, and a long scaled body. The grin spread back, revealing rows of dagger teeth. A Dragon! They were real, of course, but rarely did a dragon of power interfere in mobian affairs.
"It is good to meet, at last, Great King. Last King," the dragon said without the 'hiss' that he had heard they had to their inflection.
"Who are you, Dragon?" Max asked, feeling a little bolder. Mature Dragons were legendary creatures of great wisdom and insight, with a longevity measured in centuries. The stories told that the great kings of Mobius had on occasion met with dragons who deemed them worthy. Marius had met with them, as had Melchoir in near recent times. It was said that it was a dragon who told Alexander to baptize Xerxes in the Source Pool.
"I was once Dulcy… a dragon who fought with your Freedom Fighters…" The dragon's long body was like a wave as it moved on all fours, a strong and slender tail snaking through the air. "Recently, I have been given powers and vision by our fair and majestic god. You see: I bear His Mark."
She gestured to the massive diamond imbedded in her throat. "He has given me a new name: Saffire." She pronounced it 'Zaf Er Aie.'
"Dulcy… I know that name… but you were a child…"
"As was your preferred heir, before he left."
"You know?" Max asked, surprised. How could she know what he had planned for Miles? Especially since those plans had been so swiftly derailed.
"You will find that many secrets, deep and dark, have been revealed to me. Great King. Last King."
"Why do you keep saying that?" Max asked. "Why do you call me the Last King?"
"Because it is your destiny. There will never again be a King Acorn after your passing. You are the Last."
"You must be joking…" Max scoffed. "How can this…"
"Dynasty that had ruled for eight hundred years come to an end?" Dulcy finished his sentence for him, her Cheshire grin returning. "I didn't say that it was at an end, Great King, Last King. Only that there would be no others after your passing."
King Max mulled over that, and what it possibly meant.
"You have no true heirs, do you?" Dulcy asked, seemingly off hand. "Oh, Miles may have been nearly perfect. With his power and his mind, he could have ruled this world… but he is beyond you now. Beyond any offer you could give him. Sonic has no desire to rule, and no skill at administration. At worst, he would abandon his responsibilities at the first opportunity. At best, he would be nothing more than your daughter's puppet."
Dulcy began to prowl around him in a wide circle.
"Yes. Let us examine your children, shall we? Your son is weak… weak in spirit, in body and in mind. It is not entirely his fault. He was raised by those echidna… and they certainly had no desire to see a great King rise from the ruins on the mainland, did they? Even if he had the abilities, he lacks the essential desire to rule. His girl child is a bastard from a man who rejected his blood. You won't find an heir there, it seems."
She chuckled softly.
"There are no other male options, even if your daughter wasn't in love with that hedgehog. Antoine is too loyal to Sally, and he's spineless to boot. He could be King, but a mediocre one at best. Who else even comes close? That bloodhound, Geoffrey St. John? He would alienate the whole of the Kingdom. He lacks the restraint… the demeanor… the bearing of a true King. One choice is no choice, isn't it?"
"Sally…" Dulcy said it with hiss, the first slip of dragon tongue she had yet to make. "You know what's wrong with her, gender aside. She will destroy the Kingdom. She had the intelligence, the bearing, and demeanor, the dedication to rule… she even ahs the will. All she lacks is the stomach for the job. And that is something that cannot be caught. She will compromise the Kingdom into irrelevance!"
"You're right…" King Max finally conceded. "You're right. I've known it for years. My daughter must not take the throne. But who? I am not long for this world. Who will…?"
"Think, Great King. Last King." Dulcy lowered her head, and that toothy smile returned. "You have options open to you that your ancestors did not."
This puzzled him at first, but then it gradually began to dawn on him and make sense. Perfect sense! Awake in his bed, King Maximilian the First lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling. It was his destiny. He would become the Great King: the Last King.
He coughed a few times, and then began to laugh.
