Chapter 91 – Emperor Garius

Emperor Garius was only fifty years old, yet his body had already begun to crumble beneath the weight of a terrible curse. Half of his bones had become as brittle as shattered glass, snapping under the slightest strain, while much of his flesh had rotted away. The left side of his face was particularly horrifying, with patches of blackened skin clinging to exposed bone and dead tissue. According to the royal physicians, the Brightmore Witch had cursed him with a half-undead body, leaving him trapped between life and death. To spare others the sight of his decaying face, the emperor wore an ornate golden mask that covered the left side of his head. Its polished surface gleamed beneath the palace lights, concealing the grotesque ruin beneath it. He had even chosen the mask with children in mind, hoping to spare them the nightmares that might follow if they saw what had become of their emperor.

Unfortunately, no physician, priest, or court magician had found a way to reverse his condition. His breathing grew weaker with each passing day, and the coldness spreading through his limbs reminded him that his remaining time was running out. It was only a matter of time before his heart stopped beating and the last traces of life abandoned his body. Garius had long since accepted his own impending death. He could endure the thought of being buried beneath the earth, forgotten by the people he had ruled, and reduced to nothing more than a name in history books. However, there was one fate he could never accept, no matter how desperately death came knocking at his door. He would never accept the fate of his only son, the First Prince.

At the heart of the Empyrean Gardens stood a flower-adorned casket, surrounded by carefully arranged bouquets of white lilies and roses. The sweet fragrance of the flowers filled the indoor garden, mingling with the damp scent of soil and the faint perfume of the ornamental plants. Sunlight filtered through the glass ceiling, casting pale golden streaks across the polished floor and illuminating the delicate petals scattered around the coffin. Within it lay the First Prince, his lifeless body dressed in royal garments embroidered with gold thread. His hands rested peacefully against his chest, and his face had been carefully prepared to conceal the violence that had claimed his life. He looked almost as though he were merely sleeping, waiting for someone to wake him from an unpleasant dream. Yet the stillness of his chest betrayed the cruel truth. His son would never open his eyes again.

Beside the coffin, Emperor Garius wept without tears. His ruined body could no longer produce the tears that grief demanded, leaving him to mourn through trembling breaths and the occasional tightening of his skeletal fingers. He stared at his son's face, searching for some familiar expression that might bring back the warmth of happier days. Perhaps he remembered the boy's laughter echoing through these very gardens, or the proud smile his son had worn when he first stood before the imperial court. Those memories now felt like fragments of a life that belonged to someone else. The emperor lowered his head, and the golden mask covering his decayed face caught the sunlight. For a moment, the ruler of Empyrea looked less like a sovereign and more like an old father who had been robbed of everything worth living for.

Soon, the heavy doors leading into the indoor garden swung open. Their hinges groaned, and the sound rolled through the otherwise peaceful chamber, disturbing the silence that had settled over the prince's funeral arrangements. Emperor Garius slowly turned toward the entrance. His failing senses had dulled his awareness of the world around him, making it difficult to distinguish faint footsteps from the rustling of leaves. Nevertheless, he recognized the unmistakable sound of someone entering the garden. His remaining eye narrowed beneath the edge of his golden mask, and his fingers tightened against the armrest of his chair.

“Who’s there?” the emperor asked, his weakened voice carrying across the garden.

“Vengeance,” Shin replied.

The young man's dark hair shifted as he stepped into the light, while his crimson eyes remained fixed on the emperor. There was no hint of hesitation in his expression, only a cold determination that seemed almost out of place among the fragrant flowers and carefully arranged funeral decorations. His gaze briefly passed over the casket before returning to Garius, as though acknowledging the dead prince without allowing grief to distract him from his purpose.

“It is something you desire, isn't it, Your Majesty?”

Behind Shin stood Adzeel and Risha, both silent as they followed him into the garden. The former captain carried himself with the rigid posture of a seasoned knight, while Risha watched the emperor with her usual guarded expression. Each of them wore a Halochassis glove, the strange devices resting against their hands like ordinary pieces of equipment despite the extraordinary power hidden within them. The gloves looked almost insignificant compared to the grandeur of the imperial garden, yet their presence carried an unspoken threat. They were remnants of a power that the authorities of Empyrea neither fully understood nor entirely controlled.

Upon seeing the gloves, Emperor Garius released a weary sigh. Even in his weakened condition, he recognized the significance of those devices. His attention lingered on the strange mechanisms before he shifted his gaze toward Shin, his expression hidden partly behind the golden mask.

“I know those things,” he said. “The power of the Fallen Angels. The Halochassis.” He paused to catch his breath, and the faint rattle in his chest made his next words sound even more fragile. “I told Alaric not to meddle with unknown divine forces.”

The emperor's words carried the weariness of a man who had spent too many years watching ambition destroy everything it touched. Perhaps he had warned his son because he understood the dangers of reaching for powers beyond mortal comprehension. Perhaps he had simply hoped to prevent another tragedy from befalling his family. Whatever his reasons, the warning had come too late. The First Prince was dead, and the strange gloves standing before him had somehow become entangled in the disaster.

“But it was not the divine forces that felled the First Prince, Your Majesty,” Shin replied.

His voice remained steady, without the slightest tremor betraying the lie he was about to tell. He stood before the dying emperor as though he were presenting an undeniable truth rather than carefully shaping a story to serve his own interests.

“It was the Celestial Wardens. It was Alexander Goldheart himself. Your former divine knight, Captain Adzeel Schwarzer, witnessed it with his own eyes.”

Adzeel was astounded by Shin's audacity, though he kept his surprise from showing on his face. He had expected Shin to manipulate the situation, but he had not anticipated such an immediate and brazen attempt to redirect the emperor's anger toward Alexander. Shin had somehow found a way to pin the blame for his girlfriend's sins on the Chosen One, all while using Adzeel's reputation as a former imperial knight to make the accusation more convincing. The sheer speed with which Shin had constructed the lie was almost admirable. Adzeel maintained his composure, lowering his gaze as though he were preparing to confirm a painful memory rather than participate in an elaborate deception.

“Was it the truth, Captain Schwarzer?” Emperor Garius asked.

The question hung in the air between them. The faint rustling of leaves and the distant trickle of water from a garden fountain suddenly seemed louder in the silence. Garius stared at Adzeel, waiting for an answer from a man who had once served Empyrea with honor. His skeletal fingers remained motionless against his chair, but the tension in his posture betrayed the importance of the moment. If the former captain confirmed the accusation, the emperor would have a target for the grief and fury that had consumed him since his son's death.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Adzeel answered.

He bowed his head, his voice solemn enough to convince even the most suspicious listener. “He was murdered in cold blood.”

For several seconds, Emperor Garius said nothing. His gaze returned to the coffin, where his son's pale face remained untouched by the arguments of the living. The flowers surrounding the casket trembled faintly as a breeze passed through the garden's ventilation openings, scattering a few loose petals across the floor. Garius watched them fall, and something within his expression seemed to harden. His own death might be unavoidable, but his son had been robbed of the future he deserved. If Alexander Goldheart truly had committed the crime, then the title of Chosen One would not protect him from a father's wrath.

“Then the Chosen One should answer for his crime for once,” the emperor declared.

Despite his failing body, his voice carried a sudden sharpness that commanded attention. The fragile old man who had been mourning beside his son's coffin moments earlier was now speaking as the sovereign of Empyrea. His words carried the authority of the crown, and the anger beneath them threatened to turn a private tragedy into a conflict that could shake the entire kingdom.

“Help me obtain vengeance for my son, and you will no longer be considered enemies of Empyrea.”

Shin lowered his head, concealing whatever thoughts might have flickered across his crimson eyes. The emperor had given him precisely what he needed: permission to pursue Alexander under the authority of the throne itself. What had once been a dangerous personal vendetta could now become an operation sanctioned by the empire. Adzeel and Risha would no longer have to stand before the imperial forces as fugitives, at least not if Garius honored his word. The arrangement was almost too convenient, but Shin had no intention of questioning his good fortune while the opportunity remained within reach.

“That is what we have sought from the very beginning, Your Majesty,” Shin replied.

Beside him, Risha bowed as well, her movements graceful and measured. Adzeel followed suit, lowering his head before the dying emperor. The three of them stood among the flowers and funeral decorations, offering their respect to a grieving father whose desperation had made him willing to ally himself with former enemies. Before them lay the First Prince, whose death had brought these unlikely allies together. Behind the golden mask, Emperor Garius continued to breathe with difficulty, unaware of how much of the truth had been withheld from him. For the moment, however, their interests aligned. And as the emperor mourned his son, the first steps toward vengeance were set in motion.

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The Royal Palace was still shrouded in mourning for the First Prince, Alaric Eisenhower, but another event was taking place within its magnificent walls. Black banners hung from the towering pillars, and the scent of incense lingered in the corridors where servants and officials had gathered to pay their respects to the deceased heir. Yet, inside the grand throne room, grief was giving way to anger. Emperor Garius Eisenhower himself had summoned thousands of Archangels and royal guards to witness his proclamation. The assembled warriors knelt before the throne, their polished armor reflecting the golden light of the chandeliers overhead. The rhythmic clatter of metal against stone echoed throughout the chamber as they bowed their heads, awaiting the words of their sovereign.

Emperor Garius sat upon his golden throne, his frail body draped in magnificent royal garments. He was a blonde, middle-aged man with a thick blonde mustache, though the ravages of his curse had robbed him of much of his former appearance. A golden plate covered half of his face, its polished surface concealing the decaying flesh beneath it. Even the hand gripping his cane trembled slightly, revealing the weakness that no amount of royal finery could disguise. Garius had never imagined that he would outlive his First Prince. He had expected to die first, leaving Alaric to inherit the empire and carry the Eisenhower dynasty into another generation. Instead, he had been forced to watch his son die while his own body continued to deteriorate. Now that Empyrea had lost its first heir, the emperor's grief had hardened into a rage that threatened to consume everything in its path.

“My soldiers, my people,” Garius began, his weakened voice echoing beneath the vaulted ceiling. Although he struggled to breathe, he forced himself to speak loudly enough for everyone in the throne room to hear. “It brings me sorrow to announce that my son and heir, Prince Alaric Eisenhower, was murdered in cold blood by the Celestial Wardens, the very same heroes who once saved the world from the Demon King.”

The emperor paused, allowing his words to settle over the assembled warriors. Thousands of faces remained lowered, but the tension in the chamber was unmistakable. Some of the Archangels tightened their fists, while others exchanged uneasy glances beneath their helmets. The Celestial Wardens had once been celebrated as the saviors of humanity, their names spoken with reverence in temples and royal courts. Now, their alleged crimes threatened to shatter the faith that Empyrea had placed in its greatest heroes.

“Now that my son has died, and my body grows frail with every passing minute, I have accepted that my dynasty may finally come to an end.” Garius's skeletal fingers tightened around the handle of his cane, producing a faint creak as he struggled to maintain his composure. “But my justice will not.”

With a painful groan, the emperor pushed himself up from his throne. His knees trembled beneath the weight of his body, and for a moment, it seemed that he might collapse before he could finish his speech. He leaned heavily on his cane, drawing a ragged breath as he steadied himself. Despite his condition, he refused to remain seated while delivering what might become the most consequential declaration of his reign. The golden mask covering half his face gleamed beneath the chandeliers, making his expression difficult to read, but the fury in his remaining eye was unmistakable.

“I shall seek justice, and for this, I will have all the Celestial Wardens' heads!” he declared. His voice rose with every word, overpowering the faint rustling of banners and the distant footsteps of palace attendants. “They have destroyed our fortresses, trampled our slums, laid waste to our academies, and corrupted our districts! They have abused the trust of the people who once worshipped them as heroes! For these crimes, they shall pay with their dear lives!”

The emperor's proclamation reverberated through the throne room. For a brief moment, the assembled warriors remained silent, absorbing the full weight of his command. Then, as though responding to a single will, the Archangels and royal guards raised their weapons and struck their armored fists against their chests. The thunderous salute shook the chamber, and the sound rolled toward the distant ceiling like the roar of an approaching storm.

“The age of heroes is over!” Garius shouted, raising his cane as high as his trembling arm would allow. “All those adventurers who threaten our peace will perish! And our great Empyrea will stand resilient!”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” thousands of voices answered in unison.

Their response shook the throne room once more. Swords and spears rose into the air, their polished edges catching the light as the warriors renewed their allegiance to the crown. The emperor watched them with grim satisfaction, drawing strength from the sight of so many soldiers willing to fight in his name. His body might be failing, and his dynasty might be standing on the brink of extinction, but the empire still possessed an army capable of striking fear into its enemies. If the Celestial Wardens believed themselves untouchable because of their divine blessings, then Garius would make certain they learned the limits of their power.

“My First Prince's legacy will live on,” the emperor announced. His voice softened briefly at the mention of Alaric, and his gaze drifted toward the empty space beside the throne where his son might once have stood. The grief returned for an instant, but he quickly buried it beneath the resolve of a ruler who could no longer afford to appear weak. “And with this, I shall introduce to you the weapons that will bring about the Celestial Wardens' defeat!”

A deep mechanical rumble suddenly reverberated above the assembled warriors. The sound grew louder as the enormous sections of the throne room's ceiling began to separate, revealing a hidden chamber beyond the ornate roof. Dust drifted from the moving panels, and the golden chandeliers swayed slightly as ancient mechanisms groaned into motion. Sunlight poured through the widening opening, illuminating three imposing silhouettes suspended above the throne room. The Archangels lifted their heads, their expressions shifting from confusion to astonishment as the enormous machines descended into view.

The first Halochassis was a towering suit of white and purple power armor known as Apollyon. Its massive frame gleamed beneath the sunlight, while the purple accents running along its armor gave it an almost otherworldly appearance. The second stood at the center, its black and gold plating creating a menacing contrast against the brightness of the royal chamber. This was Azazel, a machine whose dark exterior concealed a power that few among the assembled warriors could begin to comprehend. Its golden edges shimmered as it descended, and its imposing silhouette seemed to swallow the light around it.

The third Halochassis was unlike the other two. Sleek, slender, and unmistakably feminine in design, its pink and black armor stood out among the heavier frames. Its streamlined limbs and elegant silhouette suggested a machine built for speed and precision rather than brute strength. This was Zaqiel, a newly revealed Halochassis and one of the final creations produced under Prince Alaric's project. Its appearance was a reminder that even in death, the prince's ambitions had left behind weapons that could change the course of the coming war.

“Apollyon, Azazel, and Zaqiel,” Emperor Garius announced, gesturing toward the three machines with his cane. The faint tremor in his hand could not diminish the pride in his voice. “These are state-of-the-art Halochassis, inheritors of the power of the Fallen Angels. They will become our greatest assets in the war against the Celestial Wardens and the other so-called heroes who have abused their authority.”

The Archangels stared at the machines, their eyes following every movement as the Halochassis settled into position above the throne room. The sight of such extraordinary weapons seemed to breathe new life into the gathered forces. Until that moment, many had believed the Celestial Wardens' divine blessings made them nearly impossible to defeat. Now, they had been presented with a means of challenging those powers, and the possibility of victory no longer seemed so distant.

“These three shall lead you to victory!” Garius proclaimed. “Together, we shall erase these corrupt heroes from the face of this planet and restore justice to Empyrea!”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” the Archangels and royal guards shouted before bowing deeply.

Then Azazel moved. Its armored head turned toward the assembled warriors, and a low mechanical hum emerged from within its chest. When it finally spoke, its deep cybernetic voice carried through the throne room with a coldness that silenced even the most enthusiastic soldiers. The machine's imposing frame made the gathered Archangels look small by comparison, and its black and gold armor radiated an authority that had nothing to do with royal blood or noble titles.

The mass-produced Halochassis raised their armored arms in a synchronized salute, their movements precise enough to make the heavy plates of their armor click into place almost simultaneously. From within Azazel's cockpit, Shin Rebellium smirked.

He had never imagined that things would turn out this well. His original goal had been to bring down Alexander Goldheart and the other Celestial Wardens, but confronting the Chosen One with only a handful of former bandits and a few powerful Halochassis would have been a gamble with terrible odds. Alexander possessed divine blessings, an army of followers, and a reputation that made ordinary people tremble before him. Shin had needed more than a powerful weapon to defeat such an opponent. He had needed an entire force capable of challenging the empire's greatest heroes on equal terms.

Now, he had one.

The Royal Palace had just witnessed the birth of an unlikely alliance, one forged from grief, political necessity, and a shared desire to destroy the Celestial Wardens. Emperor Garius believed he was using the Halochassis to avenge his son and preserve what remained of his dynasty. The Archangels believed they had finally acquired the weapons necessary to overcome their enemies. But Shin understood the true value of the arrangement better than anyone else in the room. Beneath the emperor's solemn proclamation and the warriors' thunderous salutes, he had secured something far more valuable than royal permission to pursue Alexander Goldheart.

He had acquired an army.

And this time, they will not fight as the Iron Bandits, but as the army of Empyrea.