The imperator should be right on top of Hysilens as soon as she took the final turn on the field of the Chrysos War. What some of the Heirs failed to mention — not that they would have known, of course — was that what she was truly on top of was a huge pool of blood spread over the floor, two Heirs that had been bisected by...a dagger and an assault rifle, judging by the golden blood streaking down one end, and the sprayed bullets to the left above the messy remains of what used to be a third Heir.

Bloodbath was a term that she had heard flying around once or twice and even used herself, but the sight of three bodies sprawled over the golden-covered floor was the first thing that did the term justice.

Cerydra was the kind of person who was a pragmatist when it came to warfare. She knew that the line between acceptable and savage was often blurred and that sometimes you need to break an arm — or slice a body — in order to survive. She knew and accepted that war is violent, bloodthirsty and brutal, and though she enjoyed it sometimes a little too much, it was a necessary product of what she had to do. It could be argued that she was void of empathy and heart, but it wasn’t true. Anyone who got to know her — or rather, those she allowed to — knew that there was more to her than met the eye.

She tried to focus her attention away from the bloody scene of violence. With one hand covering the bridge of her nose and extending her left arm out for balance, she navigated through the sprawling, bisected bodies whilst taking great care not to slip. So far her stomach was doing admirably at keeping her dinner on the premises, but it probably would not appreciate her stepping in the golden pool. Slowly, she rounded the corner — and saw something most peculiar.

A figure, where they should not be. Cocking her head and frowning, she looked around...

…and that was when she saw the broken dagger.

Doing away with her prior care, she rushed forth whilst miraculously staying upright despite a couple of stumbles, leaving bloody footprints to where she ducked down and picked up the two halves of a dagger, connected solely by a useless tang. Shifting her weight, she stepped on something else with her right foot, and when she looked down in curiosity she saw another weapon in two halves...an assault rifle. Right beside the figure.

“Hysilens?” she called out. Hoping, praying for a response. She dropped the dagger and felt a pulse of uncertainty emanate from her churning stomach when she saw you, sitting with your legs arched and your head lulling to the left. Blood spurted and dripped from your fresh wounds, coating the ground in a nauseating crimson.

Images and sounds rush through her mind like visual and aural noise, memories of finding the bodies of over twenty Heirs surrounding you...or what was left of them. Eyes that prey, calculate, observe. The feeling of your vice-like grip around her left wrist, and the strength of your right arm, driving the dagger toward her eye, barely held at bay.

Whoever you were, you were definitely military-trained with some sort of assassin skill. That was the job for you, the basis of your strict attitude and seditious views on the Heirs; certainty of their deaths and a high chance of success. The best in the field. No-one else was. Only you were.

“So…this is the infamous Recalibrator.” She said darkly, remembering a certain special operative and how close she came to death. “You killed more of my Heirs than the Black Tide did. Every strike. Bullet — precise. As if vengeance was your creed.”

“And you’re one heartbeat away from meeting Thanatos, and still clinging to spite like it’s armour. Do you even know what I am capable of?” she snapped. When you issued no such reply, “I thought not. I’ll just walk away then.”

Taking a moment to bask in the justice brimming within her heart, she cast her mind back to the game of chess she played, and remarked upon the similarities between her victory then, and the events unfolding before her eyes according to her plan. “Let you live in your own suffering.”