MIGHT AND SMITE: PART I by JAMES SOMDET.

  ARC I: IN MEDIA RES.

  CHAPTER I.

  “‘BEFORE THE BEGINNING, there was nothing. After an eternity, there was something. In the beginning, there was darkness, and there was light,’” began a girl, reading from the holy book of the Luminarians.

  “An eternity for something to happen? Sounds like my little brother waiting for me to talk to him since I left the United Empires,” said a boy lying next to her. She kept her place in the holy book and looked at him.

  “You should talk to him as soon as you leave the Empire of Liberty.”

  “I can talk to him right here. I just can’t get used to the séances.” She stared at him, mouth agape.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Yeah, I haven’t actually talked to him since he died.” He smirked.

  “That’s a dark joke even for you, Alex.”

  “You should’ve heard the joke I came up with that didn’t actually happen.”

  “I don’t think I want to know.” Her expression softened. “But I am sorry for your loss. What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?” He inhaled deeply.

  “We went caving, he got stuck, and I tried to get him out. Ended up causing a cave-in on him.” She placed a hand over her mouth, and he looked at the sky, eyes watery. She was about to say something before he spoke. “I don’t blame myself for the cave-in, if that’s what you’re wondering. We had limited options, and we couldn’t have known. But I do blame myself for letting him go to the cave in the first place. I should’ve been the one to die.” She held his hand.

  “I’m glad you’re alive at least.” A blush crept over both their cheeks. “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize for saying that.” He paused before looking into her eyes. “I mean, I would hope?” Both laughed this time.

  “Do you want to continue learning about Luminarianism?”

  “Yup!” He nodded like an eager puppy, and she averted her eyes, returning to her place in the holy book.

  “‘The goddess governed light and possessed the magic to create, and the god governed darkness and possessed the magic to destroy. They were the first conscious beings in the universe, and she used her magic to fill it with other conscious beings and other forms of magic, whose engine is driven by consciousness.’”

  “Wait.” He tapped his chin. “What even is consciousness anyway?”

  “Many scholars say that consciousness is the universe experiencing itself. We are part of the universe. We sense the universe by seeing, hearing, touching, tasting, and smelling it. We perceive it by processing the information we sense. So it’s like the universe is experiencing itself when we sense and perceive.”

  “Is it like our thoughts control magic then?”

  “Yes, to an extent. Imagine trying to hit someone with your sword without thinking about it. Now, imagine trying to use magic to convert water into ice without thinking about it. Neither makes sense, right? So our thoughts control a lot about magic, but a lot of it is also subconscious. You don’t have to think about which direction a blade should be facing when swinging the sword after all.”

  “What about this ‘magic to create’ and this ‘magic to destroy?’ Doesn’t all magic have the capacity to create and to destroy?”

  “Not those two. Only the magic to create and the magic to destroy existed in the beginning. We don’t really know what they’re like, but the magic to create can only create, and the magic to destroy can only destroy. It was from that magic to create that all other forms of magic were created. Those are what people can use to create and to destroy, although some scholars say that they aren’t really creating or destroying anything, in contrast to what the gods do.” He crossed his arms.

  “Magic sure is weird.” She smiled at him.

  “‘The goddess of light created a heaven and a hell and sought to promote free will. But the god of darkness hated all creation and sought to destroy it all.”

  “Why would the god of darkness want that? Wouldn’t he stop existing himself?”

  “It’s confusing. I think it’s just that the god of darkness is naturally inclined toward nonexistence, just as the goddess of light is naturally inclined toward existence.” He lay back with his arms behind his head.

  “Ehh, doesn’t matter. Darkness can’t beat light in the end.” For some time, but for the wind, there was silence.

  “You don’t know that.” He looked at her.

  “W-what the fuck? Leah? Leah.” And then there was green.

  “The High Prince of the United Empires, Your Royal Highness,” announced the Lady of the Bedchamber, standing in front of the High Prince and a lady-in-waiting carrying his suitcase. Other ladies-in-waiting had set up tea in the bedroom where stood His Royal Highness the Prince of El Diablo, second in line to the throne of the Ironscar Kingdom, which was not a member state of the United Empires.

  “Your Royal Majesty,” said the Prince of El Diablo, bowing, rising, and shaking hands. Some ladies-in-waiting gave looks to each other.

  “Would Your Royal Highness,” began the Lady of the Bedchamber, emphasizing the last part, “not care for some tea?”

  “Yes,” said the High Prince, whose suitcase was placed on the bedroom bench. He spoke Santean, which was the official language of the Ironscar Kingdom and was named after her first King. It was not, however, his native tongue. The ladies-in-waiting pulled out the chairs at the table. The Prince of El Diablo gestured for him to sit, sat himself, poured tea for him, and poured tea for himself. “What a 'ot day outside.” A moment of confusion passed through some faces.

  “How’s your grahma doin?” asked the Prince of El Diablo. The High Prince’s grandmother was the High Empress regnant of the United Empires. The Prince of El Diablo gestured toward accompaniments.

  “Ze 'igh Empress, she is doing well, but she 'as ze difficulties zat come wiz ze aging,” answered the High Prince. The Prince of El Diablo casually cut his scone with a knife and spread a dollop of butter onto the bottom half of it in the air. Some ladies-in-waiting gave looks to each other again.

  “I imagine Your Royal Highnesses would like privacy as you enjoy tea,” interjected the Lady of the Bedchamber. The ladies-in-waiting bowed and excused themselves. The High Prince broke his scone with his hands, transferred some butter onto his plate, and spread just enough of it onto the right half of his scone.

  “You don’t hafta be so formal, Jet. It’s just me now.” The High Prince blushed. “Jet” was Leonardo’s nickname for him due to his raven-black hair. High-imperial-family members of the United Empires did not possess personal names unlike every other royal in the world including the Prince of El Diablo, whose personal name actually was “Leonardo.”

  “Ah, well, we really enjoyed to see ze festivities when we came to Faucenegras yesterday.” Faucenegras was the capital of the Ironscar Kingdom.

  “Hmm? What festivities?” Leonardo scratched his head.

  “Ze Execution of Sin.” Sin was worshipped by most citizens of the Tribal Village of Heace, which was a colony of the Kingdom of Netherwyn, which herself was a member state of the United Empires. Hebron was worshipped by most citizens of the Ironscar Kingdom. “We made it in time to see ze play. It was a very traditional retelling of ze story. People were living peacefully until ze god Sin appeared and enslaved zem. Zey prayed for a savior, and ze god Hebron, 'e 'eard zair prayers. Sin, 'e seduced Hebron’s sister Cynthia. Zey mated, but 'e used 'er to 'is advantage. 'E called out to 'er in a battle, and she came out to protect 'im. 'E stabbed 'er through ze 'eart to strike at Hebron behind 'er. But Sin, 'e lost ze war in ze end. Hebron, 'e decapitated 'im and liberated ze people.”

  “That’s a traditional retellin alright. Mustta been fun.”

  “It was not even ze most fun part. We got a glimpse of ze people celebrating in ze streets, and zey were reenacting ze decapitation. Even ze women and ze children, zey participated. Zey danced and zey sang. Ze people, zey really enjoyed ze holiday.” Leonardo looked downcast at his plate. “Ees somezing wrong?”

  “It’s nothin you did. It’s just a bit embarrassin I didn’t know my fellow countrymen treated the Execution of Sin like a festival, and I live here. There definitely wasn’t dancin and singin after church yesterdeh. The royal precincts are kept separate from the rest of the capital, but I wanna see firsthand how great my country is. Whaddaya think I should do?” The High Prince looked out a window.

  “Zat ees for you to decide. All I shall say ees zat zose who protect us may not be able to tell us everyzing. Zose who reject zat protection must face ze consequences of what zey were being protected from.” Leonardo considered those words before smiling. “I just remembered. I got you ze book we talked about ze last time we met.” Leonardo’s eyes widened. The High Prince opened his suitcase and brought out a copy of House Love Lane Nine. It was written in Imperium, the official language of the United Empires. Leonardo hugged him tightly. The High Prince blushed deeper.

  “Jet, I love you!” The High Prince stood frozen for a moment. Leonardo looked at him and saw he was covering his eyes. “Jet, what’s wrong? Jet?” The High Prince buried his face into his strong chest and squeezed him tight.

  “Zank you, Leonardo. I could not live in a world wizout you.” Leonardo ruffled the back of his head.

  The next day, the Faucenegras Gazette released the following article:

  “ROYAL FAMILY BRUTALLY MURDERED.

  ROYALIST SOLDIERS RETOOK the royal castle in the capital city of Fufu, Ajibaba, and entered the throne room, where many took ill at a sight so grim that a full description thereof would offend the basic sensibilities of even the most tasteless members of our society. Fellsharist revolutionaries had stormed the royal castle, captured the King and twelve of his kin, and overtaken the capital earlier this year. The King had abdicated, and the central committee for the revolutionaries had announced that the royal family would be confined but spared from harm, likely owing to pressure from neighboring dominions. Yet when the battle for the capital turned in favor of the royalists, the revolutionaries feared the restoration of the monarchy. No evidence has as of yet come to light of the central committee’s role in the events that transpired, but suffice it to say that the captors inside the castle were given the orders to carry out their executions and to display their bodies in such a manner that shakes the sacred bonds that unite all civilized nations. We dare not commit to print the details of this travesty, but we also feel bound by our sense of duty to the public to convey the depravity of this barbarity. Scrawled in excrement near the entrance of the throne room was written two words: ‘The Aristocrats.’”

  An Ajibaban boy sat in the Grotto, a ghetto in the shadows of Larpour Castle where the High Prince and Leonardo had had tea. He had been sitting there for longer than a week, he had not eaten for longer than that, and he had not spoken for longer than that. He had satiated his thirst with rainwater a few days ago, and he had to resort to licking any remaining droplets off the cobblestone now. Despite the alleyway being congested with homeless people, no one sat near him. Some of them were walking around the alleyway like zombies, high out of their minds. It would have smelt like excrement had it not been for the decaying bodies. Missionaries were distributing bread and water to the homeless people nearby, and he was one of the last to have a missionary talk to him.

  “Oh my Hebron, how’d I get stuck with you?” The missionary sighed. The Ajibaban boy largely understood Santean. “Most folks here never chose this life. You chose to come here, and now you’re taking food and water from them. At least you haven’t tried to mug me yet.” The missionary slowly placed a hand into his basket. “I’m watching you. Don’t even think about it.” The missionary laughed, and the Ajibaban boy simply stared, eyes wide and unblinking. “Heez, hard crowd.” The missionary pulled out a loaf of bread and pointed it at him. “Here.” There was no response, and the missionary quirked an eyebrow. The Ajibaban boy had heard words like those coming from the missionary many times from others, but this time, after peering into his face, he cried. It was not a normal cry. It was the cry of someone who had lost the will to live. “H-hey!” People were looking at the two. The missionary stood and looked back and forth. “Stop. It was a joke.”

  “Connor, he probably wants to kill himself already. You don’t need to make it any worse,” shouted a female missionary.

  “Sh-shut up!” shouted Connor, face red, turning his attention back to him. The Ajibaban boy continued to weep. He tried to give him the bread again, but he would not take it. “I’m so—” Connor stopped, closed his eyes, and sighed. He knelt in front of him. “I still don’t think you should be here, but maybe I went too far. If you want to make me pay for it—” Connor grabbed the Ajibaban boy’s hand, formed it into a fist, and continued, “you have to fight. You have to live. And if I ever see you again—standing on your own two feet—I’ll let you do whatever you want with me, like punch my lights out.” The Ajibaban boy’s cries subsided, his face red too. Connor filled up a cup of water, placed it next to him, and placed the bread on his lap. Then, he took out a sheathed knife from his cloak and placed it next to the cup. “In case you need to defend yourself.” Connor left. The Ajibaban boy eventually ate and drank.

  The next day, the Ajibaban boy managed to stand and walk for a bit before falling against a building at night. His body was failing him.

  A man in a fedora approached, holding the handle of something covered in a beige cloth. He loomed over him.

  “An ol' mastah once lived in a mansion

  With a pip he took in from off the streets.

  The mastah had a stroke of compassion

  When outside a shadowfang they did meet.

  The shadowfang, dyin, asked for sheltah;

  The pip knew him well and called it a trick,

  But he also knew well his ol' mastah,

  Who indeed took the shadowfang in quick.

  The mastah treated the shadowfang well,

  Even neglectin his duties to pip,

  'Till one day the mastah came home and fell

  Upon seein pip starin, face all ripped.

  ‘He said who I was,’ said the shadowfang.

  ‘Now your throat—last night was the last you sang.’”

  The man pulled off the cover and revealed a box. He opened it. The Ajibaban boy’s eyes widened. He began to hyperventilate and to shake. He tried to scream, but no words came out. His eyes rolled back, foam gathering at his mouth as he convulsed. The last thing he heard was laughter.

  Sometime later, the Ajibaban boy awoke and saw two boys before him.

  “Hey,” began the boy in the cloak, who got on his hands and knees and crawled toward him. “I’m Roman. This is Alejandro. What’s your name?” The Ajibaban boy had a thousand-yard stare. “We, uhh, found ya lyin there, and you weren’t lookin so haht. We cleaned you up a bit, but do ya remember what happened?” The Ajibaban boy turned to the side and vomited. “Hebrihn, am I thad hideous?” quipped Roman, prompting Alejandro to stifle a laugh—unsuccessfully. Roman rubbed him on the back, took out some tissues, and cleaned him as best as he could.

  “Whatever happened, he needs a doctor,” said Alejandro. Other homeless people were looking at the trio from a good distance.

  “Yeah.” Roman leaned into the Ajibaban boy’s ear and whispered, “I’ll take ya into the royal precincts.” The Ajibaban boy’s eyes widened. Roman stood and offered his hand. “Can ya stand?”

  “No.”

  “Arright. Just grab my—”

  “No!” The Ajibaban boy slapped his hand away and elbowed him in his crown jewels. Roman squeezed them and got on his knees again. The Ajibaban boy ran for a few yards before falling. Alejandro began to approach him before he took out his knife and held it to his wrist. “Don’t move!”

  “Calm down,” said Alejandro. The Ajibaban boy shook his head wildly.

  “I dey sorry,” he whimpered, voice trembling. “I no wan hurt you. E just be say . . . I no fit take am again! Why you wake me up now? Why? I for don die finish if you just leave me. If doing this go carry me go hell, I go prefer go there than stay for here.” The Ajibaban boy’s hand shook. Alejandro looked at Roman inquisitively.

  “I guess we’re out of luck. Hebron teaches us that we shouldn’t help those who don’t want to help themselves,” said Alejandro. Roman stood, wincing from the pain.

  “But he may not know what he wants.” Roman slowly moved toward him.

  “Sharrap! You no sabi me. You no sabi wetin I don go through, pretty boy.” Roman closed his eyes and nodded.

  “You’re right. I dunno what it’s like to go through what you have. But that doesn’t change what’s right and what’s wrong. What’s right right now is to get ya the help you need. It’s no easy task. I’m sure others have broken your trust time an' time again. But can you take a gamble and give us a chance?” Roman squeezed the Ajibaban boy’s shoulders. He dropped the knife and pulled him into a hug, burying his face into his chest and breaking down. He returned the hug.

  “Udo.” Roman got on one knee, and he climbed onto his back.

  “Huh?”

  “Udo. Na my name.” Udo wrapped his arms around his chest. Roman was a bit sweaty, but that sweat smelt clean, sweet even. “Wait.” Udo asked for the knife, and Alejandro held it and looked warily at him. “Abeg. Na from my friend.” Alejandro hesitantly gave it to him. The homeless people who had been paying attention jeered as the three went by them.

  The three headed toward the royal precincts with Larpour Castle towering over the buildings. There was no shortage of doctors there. They passed by some corpses.

  “The palace really doesn’t help these people out?” asked Roman.

  “No, not directly at least. The Church does do charitable works here,” answered Alejandro, who then looked at Udo. “Have you encountered their missionaries?” Udo inhaled deeply and nodded. “The Church spends most of its resources in the royal precincts and rich areas, but at least they help out. Other citizens avoid this place like the plague. People here usually don’t steal either. If they get caught, it’s legal to mutilate or torture them. So they’d rather just die.” Roman’s breathing hitched.

  “That’s awful.”

  “Are you from Ajibaba?” asked Alejandro, turning his attention to Udo, who nodded. “What happened to your family?”

  “I no ever sabi my mama.” Udo frowned. “She die when she born my small sister. My papa na jester for royal court. The three of us run go Ironscar Kingdom when wahala start.” Alejandro’s expression darkened. He said nothing, but his fists clenched. “The money we carry no help us at all. My papa and sister die for these streets. I nearly follow them go, until you find me.” Roman inhaled deeply.

  “Hebron rest their souls,” prayed Roman.

  The three approached the outer limits of the Grotto. Udo was on Alejandro’s back now. Suddenly, two people dropped from the buildings to block their pathway. They wore robes and unisyph head masks.

  Unisyphs terrorized deserts. Each appendage had a brain of its own and was intertwined around a common heart. The unisyph moved as a unit by using a common tail. An appendage that became untethered would die, as it was not biologically designed to live independently. Unisyphs became the symbol for Fellsharists, many of whom wore designs of them as head masks. Alejandro rubbed his temple.

  “Ahh, Alejandro. We were wondering where you were,” said a masked individual with a female voice. She stood in front of the others. Udo looked at everyone in confusion, and Roman squeezed his arm and smiled. “These friends of yours?”

  “He’s Roman. He’s Udo. I found Udo lying on the side of an alleyway. He was frothing from the mouth, and he didn’t remember what happened.” Udo wiped his mouth with his arm. “Roman came along, and we decided to help him out.” A masked individual with a male voice walked toward Roman and leaned into him.

  “I ain’t remembah evah seein you around!” Roman smiled awkwardly.

  “Uhh, howdy, sah. I’mma Causecrat,” began Roman. Causecrats were named after a rural area far from Faucenegras. “Mah folks wasn’t havin a mighty fine time makin ends meet at the fahm back home, so I came heah ta try an' get some city work ta help em out. I was walkin tonight an' I done saw them twos. This mistah Udo ovah heah wasn’t lookin so good. No sah. So we decided the best thing ta do was tuh take 'im to a good physician. That’s what he needin, and that’s where we was goin before we bumped into you fine folk.” Udo looked confused, and the masked male laughed.

  “A doctah ain’t gonna see him without no money, and I doubt you boys have that typa money. Also,” began the masked male, leaning farther into him, “something about you looks . . . off.” Alejandro and Roman looked at each other.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize Ironscar citizens had to look a certain way,” said Alejandro. The masked male just shrugged and walked back. “Besides, it’s not like I could just leave him. That would go against the Fellsharist creed.”

  “You, speakin about the Fellsharist creed? Well, I’ll be damned,” said the masked male, laughing. Alejandro narrowed his eyes.

  “You know who we are then?” asked she.

  “Fellsharists. And ain’tcha what they call the Unicabezas?” answered Roman.

  “Yes,” began that masked male. “We are the Unicabeza—defendahs of the Fellsharist League in the Ironscah Kingdom!”

  “Dun Fellsharists believe in equality of all the classes?”

  “Even the dumbass masses know that much, but not everyone knows all that’s involved. Fellsharism requires sacrifice for that equality. Alejandro heah wants to become a warrior for equality. To become a part of the Unicabeza! That requires sacrifice too, but he can’t bring himself to do it!”

  “I guess it would not hurt to tell them,” interjected she. Alejandro’s breathing intensified. “To become a part of the Unicabeza, you need to capture a noble or anyone else who oppresses the proletariat.” Roman gulped. “The General Secretary of the League decides the fate of the captive, and guess what we have here?” She guffawed. “Alejandro wants to join us, but his induction has had to be delayed time and time again because he cannot seem to go all the way. Well, today is his lucky day. The League has just declared that immigrants like that Ajibaban are enemies of the proletariat. So that means Alejandro has satisfied this requirement that has eluded him for so long.” Udo screamed as the masked male grabbed him from Alejandro’s back. Alejandro held onto him initially before letting go.

  “Stop!” commanded Roman, but she drew her sword to prevent him from interfering. Alejandro was looking down at the cobblestone, gritting his teeth.

  “You don’t hafta worry 'bout gettin him a doctor anymore. Now go before we change our minds.” The masked male pushed him onto the cobblestone. The Unicabeza began walking away. She turned back to look at Alejandro. “Come along.” Alejandro hesitated, but he eventually followed suit. Then, his footsteps stopped. When the others turned back, they saw Roman holding a sword over Alejandro’s neck.

  “Stop, Roman! I dey okay to go with dem! Run!” screamed Udo. Roman shook his head.

  “I haven’t been forthright with you. I am no Causecrat. I’m a noble. And I think what you’re doin is crazy. How capturin someone who can barely survive aligns with your mission is beyond me, but your friend isn’t comin outta this unscathed if you don’t let him go.” The masked individuals looked at each other.

  “Go ahead,” began the masked male, chuckling. Roman’s eyes widened. “First off, we ain’t friends, and it’s his own damn fault he got caught! But I can tell just by looking at you. You’re green as hell! You ain’t nevah killed no one. I even doubt you have the guts to hurt him.” Alejandro used his right elbow to hit him in the solar plexus. Roman’s abs contracted as he croaked and dropped his sword.

  “Nooo!” cried Udo. Alejandro slid the index and middle fingers of his left hand into Roman’s gaping mouth and used his thumb to press against his jawline. Alejandro activated magical suppression, a technique whereby the user used his or her consciousness to block magical output from the enemy. It required closer contact from the user than simply touching anything on the outside. Roman’s eyes dulled, and Alejandro laid his body onto the cobblestone.

  “Want us to break his arms and legs in case he tries ta escape?” asked the masked male, and Udo cried and screamed. “Aww, shut up!” The masked male backhanded Udo, and he continued to cry.

  “No. Just carry him,” began Alejandro, eyes fixed on the masked male. “He’s the property of the General Secretary now. You wouldn’t want to damage his goods, would you?” Alejandro’s eyes were empty, and Udo’s face fell.

  “Hmph.” The masked male did not argue with that and placed him onto his back after giving Udo to the masked female. Alejandro maintained magical suppression and grabbed Roman’s sword.

  The group headed back into the Grotto toward a Fellsharist rally at which the General Secretary was speaking. Udo was barely able to control his breathing, and Roman was barely conscious, sucking on Alejandro’s fingers like a baby. Alejandro used his thumb to massage his jaw. Finally, they arrived.

  “Arise! Arise! Arise! The day of the worker has arrived!” Udo and Roman were set on the cobblestone with Alejandro’s fingers still in his mouth. “Do not be deceived by the coinlords. Many of you are forced to work for them. Forced to work every day and waste away the best years of your life to line their pockets. We live on a gigantic, verdurous planet filled with magic. When was the last time you actually got to see the magic of this world? Instead, you’re stuck here in the stink of this Grotto. And what is that stink? It’s the stink of our dead and decaying comrades after the coinlords sucked whatever life they had from them. This coinlordist society decided that they weren’t of any use to it anymore. That they have no value to it anymore. Make no mistake. They will not hesitate to do the same to the ones still working once they can replace them. All this because these coinlords got lucky and amassed a massive fortune for themselves. They landed on top of the ladder and kicked it down. Is anyone here na?ve enough to think this has anything to do with merit?”

  “No!” shouted the mob. Udo stared wide-eyed, and Roman stared half-lidded.

  “Do not be deceived by the lords. At least the coinlords think they’ve earned their place in society. Lords were born into privilege, and they feel no shame about living off that privilege as they keep everyone else down. They propagate the suppression of the working class by the coinlords because it keeps people from unifying to take them down. All this so they can be the ones to enjoy the magic of this world. All this so they can enjoy the best years of their lives as we waste away. These aristocrats. I wonder how well that went for them in Ajibaba!”

  “Eat the rich!” shouted the mob, which included the mother of a six-year old daughter named Vivian who held onto her mother’s mantle nervously. She on the other hand shouted along enthusiastically. She looked down on her, crouched, smiled, and whispered into her ear, “This is democracy in action.” But not everyone in the mob was as enthusiastic, one in particular being a boy named Judah. He looked around the scene and shuffled uncomfortably when he saw Roman and Udo.

  “Do not be deceived by the Church of Hebron. There is no Sin. There is no Cynthia. There is no Hebron. There are no gods. Religion is a means to brainwash the bourgeoise into accepting the status quo.” The General Secretary placed his hand down. Then, he raised his finger into the air as his trench coat swayed in the wind. “And do not be deceived by His Majesty the King. Is there anyone who more exemplifies privilege than the King? In his latest scheme to defraud his subjects, he has given his royal blessing to the importation of Ajibabans into our homeland. They are driving down our wages. They are outright replacing us on the job. Unemployment has never been so high among Ironscar citizens. This is exactly what the coinlords, the lords, and the Church want. They laugh at us as we suffer, but let there be no question. The only thing their faces will be doing is twitching after we cut their heads off!” The mob cheered wildly. “In fact, I see we may have guests who have a particular interest in our discussion.” The masked female stepped forward and knelt before the General Secretary.

  “First Comrade, one of our Unicabeza candidates offers you his sacrifices. One, a noble who masqueraded as a Causecrat. Two, an Ajibaban.” The General Secretary’s eyes widened, and he began to laugh. Alejandro began to breathe heavily.

  “Oh, that is no mere noble. He has deceived you again, for I know exactly who he is. Leonardo, Prince of El Diablo.” Murmurs rippled through the mob. “Second in line to the throne.”