geekwithacuriousmind

Servant Two never had much of a choice regarding the course of his life. From the moment he was able to serve, he served. Freedom was a forbidden word, discouraged from all of the Emperor’s Hands. In return, the Emperor gave them power—the privilege to be His voice among all His subjects. Their words, in turn, became the Emperor’s word. And in the Empire, that meant power.

Yet the Servants were not foolish to think that power was enough to intimidate everyone in the Empire.

There were some Sith who believed they could do better than the Servants. They thought, in their naivety, that the Emperor’s inner circle worked similarly to their silly power struggles.

They all learned their lesson when the Servants were done with them.

Yet there was one exception: one person, a Sith whom the Emperor forbade to dispose of.

As Servant Two kept a close eye on the Emperor’s chosen, the Emperor’s Wrath, he failed to see what was so special about this Sith.

Why was it that his Emperor chose this Sith above everyone else?

Servant Two knew that even thinking this went against his vow. Their duty was to follow orders. The word of the Emperor was law. His wisdom was beyond the realm of understanding. As much as Servant Two wanted to understand, he knew he would never be able to grasp fully what his Emperor deemed or didn’t deem worthy.

Yet why did his heart ache every time he met with the Emperor’s Wrath? Why did he feel disheartened each time he tried to speak to the Emperor and was met with silence instead? His gaze, which fell on him so long ago— felt so out of range, as if his God was no longer in this realm.

Yet that couldn’t be, could it? He wouldn’t abandon them.

Right?

Servant Two was terrified of the answer. Because just even questioning his Emperor’s presence meant he doubted His power.

Yet it was too late for him. This existence was the only thing he had ever known. It was the only way he could think of surviving.

But could devotion, adoration, and loyalty be enough to hide the truth?

They were still following the orders of a God that was no longer there.

“We live to serve Him,” Servant One told him as if that was enough to eliminate all his fears and doubts. “We must keep his voice alive.”

What is there left to keep alive? he thought.

But rather than saying this, he kept following orders. He kept whispering in the Servants’ minds empty promises and broken vows.

He watched from the shadows as the Emperor’s Wrath stopped following the Emperor’s voice. They knew his ambition would be unstoppable. That his lust for power was unlike any other Servant Two had ever seen.

Yet they believed they could control him. Use him just like they did in the past to eliminate Darth Baras.

They had been wrong. Servant One returned with bruises and a wounded ego after almost being choked to death. With their spy robots destroyed and the Dark Council’s betrayal imminent— it was only now that they realized how weak the Emperor’s Hand had become due to His silence.

They were hunted down and destroyed by those who first sought them to further their selfish agendas. By those who were now in positions of power thanks to their influence and intervention.

Yet there wasn’t much they could do. Not with the Emperor gone. After all, their power came from Him. And without Him, they were nothing.

And would die like nothing, one by one.

Chromatica

Freedom was a word Kafka thought she knew well. After all, everything was permitted as long as she performed her duties. It sounded binding, but comparing it to the rest of the people on Pteruges-V— Kafka was allowed to do more than what they did. 

Then again, could that be called freedom? 

It bothered Kafka more than what it should. 

But what else was she supposed to do? What else was out there apart from being a Devil Hunter? 

Something's Wrong With Stelle

"Kafka," Stelle whispered with a smile. "You're here." 

"Of course I am, my little Trailblazer," Kafka said softly. 

"Kafka," March huffed, her reaction making Kafka smile. 

"It's a pleasure to see you too," Kafka teased her. 

Stelle tried to chuckle at the interaction, coughing instead because of the illness. 

As she did, she saw both Kafka and Himeko take a step towards her. 

The sight made her heart flutter. 

Roses from the South

Extravagant. Flamboyant. Over the top. Profligate to the point of it having been planned that way-- while Himeko had expected The Family’s annual Harmony Banquet to spare no expense, this felt a little too over the top. 

When she accepted their invitation out of curiosity and fascination, Himeko had been prepared to spend the evening explaining to fellow guests and The Family about the Astral Express and its mission. 

Instead, she was flabbergasted when she arrived at the Banquet and realized that the event had a theme attached to it.  

A masquerade.

breathin

Kafka had never felt as sickened as she did. The fear was taking hold of her, making her do and say the wrong things. She wasn’t acting rationally. After all, the best they could do was run away and try to form another plan. 

But not at the expense of Stelle. 

Not at the cost of her daughter’s life.