The sky above the shattered Crown Kingdom was a bruised violet, streaked with crimson auroras from the Rapture hive-mind’s agitation. A jagged obsidian spire—once Paul’s royal palace—now served as neutral ground. Four silhouettes converged on its cracked balcony, the wind howling through broken stained glass.Modernia arrived first, hovering in regal stillness. Her nanomesh cape rippled like liquid mercury; the three-star sigil on her forehead pulsed with every heartbeat of the swarm below. She sensed the others before she saw them: the heat of Nihilister’s thrusters, the cold static of Indivilia’s stealth field, the seismic thud of Chatterbox’s footfalls.Nihilister landed in a burst of flame, boots scorching the marble. Her left arm—regrown from Eden’s grafts—still sparked with unstable crimson veins. She flicked ash from her silver hair and sneered.
“So the child queen deigns to meet her betters. How quaint.”
Indivilia materialized from a swirl of shadow, tendrils coiling like curious serpents. Her violet eyes glinted with amusement.
“Careful, dragon. Your sacrifice bought my rebirth. Gratitude is a currency you can’t afford.”
She traced a claw along the balcony’s edge, carving a perfect spiral.Chatterbox lumbered in last, grinning wider than physics allowed. His new arm—Nihilister’s former cannon, grafted and mutated—dripped molten slag.
“Family reunion!”
he boomed, voice echoing like a cracked bell.
“The gang’s all here—minus the parts we ate!”
Modernia’s gaze swept over them, unblinking.
“You requested parley. Speak.”
Nihilister stepped forward, flames guttering low.
“We’re not here to kneel, Your Majesty. We’re here to warn you.”
She tossed a scorched data shard onto the floor; it projected a holographic map of the planet’s core. A massive sarcophagus pulsed beneath the Arctic Wastes—older than the Rapture War, older than humanity’s fall.Indivilia’s tendrils stiffened.
“The King stirs. The first Rapture. Not the Queen you replaced—her mate. Sealed after the First Invasion, when even the Queens feared his hunger.”
Chatterbox clapped, delighted.
“He’s been dreaming for ten millennia! And your coronation, little Modernia—your molt—was the alarm clock.”
His grin widened impossibly.
“The tomb’s runes are cracking. We felt it in our cores. He’ll wake starving.”
Modernia’s tentacles writhed, betraying a flicker of Marian’s old fear.
“The Queen’s archives mentioned no King.”
“Because the Queens erased him,”
Nihilister snarled.
“He didn’t want conquest. He wanted consumption. Planets. Stars. Everything. The Queens locked him away to build their ‘order.’ Your ascension broke the seal.”
Indivilia leaned close, voice silk over venom.
“He’ll see you as the usurper. A Nikke wearing a crown. He’ll devour your swarm, your title, your Commander—starting with the soft parts.”
Chatterbox giggled, stomping a crater into the floor.
“But! Good news! We’re offering an alliance. Four Heretics, one Queen, against the original apocalypse. Think of it—eternal war, but with a bigger monster!”
Modernia’s core pulsed brighter. The balcony trembled as Rapture drones massed in the sky, responding to her rising fury.
“You bring me a threat older than my species and demand loyalty?”
Nihilister’s eyes narrowed.
“We bring you time. The tomb opens in 72 hours. After that, even your legions are snacks.”
Indivilia extended a tendril, offering a single black thorn.
“Accept, or we leave you to face him alone. Your choice, child.”
Chatterbox bowed theatrically, tail-mace scraping stone.
“Tick-tock, Queen Marian. The King hungers—and he hates impostors.”
Modernia stared at the thorn, then at the holographic tomb. Her voice, when it came, was steel wrapped in velvet.
“72 hours. We meet at the Arctic rift. Betray me, and I’ll feed you to him first.”
The four Heretics exchanged glances—Nihilister’s smirk, Indivilia’s nod, Chatterbox’s ecstatic shudder. The wind howled louder. Far below, the earth groaned as something ancient shifted in its sleep.