Crossover: Monthly Character Templates in the Multiverse Chat Group — Chapter 94

Chapter 94: The Demon King is Happy Today, His Abs Twitching Painfully

If Frez had taken Entelechia’s position two hundred years ago, he never would have allowed Buldrokkas’tee to march the Wendigos out of Kazdel.

Even if it meant killing the old general on the spot, he would have kept them rooted to the soil.

The Wendigo Court stood as the mightiest of the Sarkaz royal courts, eclipsed only by the Nachzehrer and the Sanguinarchs. Had their reproduction and growth not been so agonizingly slow, they would have easily claimed the absolute apex. Their physical constitution reigned supreme among the Sarkaz, and their Originium Arts were nothing to scoff at. They were the ultimate all-rounders. Their battlefield cannibalism rituals mirrored the Nachzehrers, absorbing the dead to fuel their own monstrous vitality.

The entire royal court was a machine forged exclusively for war. A thrown halberd from a Wendigo struck with the payload of a modern missile.

Even if Buldrokkas’tee wished to lay down his arms, his sheer physical mass made him unmatched in agriculture and civil engineering. Keeping him around was pure profit. Letting the Wendigos walk away was tantamount to handing a loaded weapon to the enemy.

Only bleeding hearts like Entelechia and Kal’tsit would ever entertain the sheer stupidity of exiling their own royal blood.

“This is just another one of the messes you left behind during your reign,” Frez’s voice echoed through the Shapeshifter. “And right now, I am the one cleaning it up. Tomorrow, you and the Shapeshifter will return to Kazdel and start laying down some grassroots propaganda for me. As for you, Buldrokkas’tee—I am giving you exactly two options. One, bring the Reunion Movement back to Kazdel. Two, keep playing your idle war games in Ursus until my forces march on this frozen wasteland. When that day comes, I will fulfill the prophecy and personally mount your head on a pike.”

[The Blood of Herkunftshorn, the traitor and dishonored of the lowest Sarkaz bloodline, shall be executed by the Lord of the Sarkaz.]

That was the prophecy Buldrokkas’tee had carried on his shoulders the day he abandoned Kazdel. It was the absolute decree of his fate.

When he first laid eyes on Entelechia today, he assumed she had come to deliver the executioner’s blow. Now, staring at the Shapeshifter acting as a proxy for the new Demon King, the old general finally understood where his true end lay.

The heavy, oppressive aura radiating from the confrontation drew the eyes of the surrounding Reunion members. They gathered at the periphery of the makeshift camp. Among them stood Buldrokkas’tee’s adopted daughter, Yelena.

She had been keeping a close watch on the perimeter, her exceptional hearing picking up every word of the exchange. While the sheer weight of her father’s ancient identity sent shockwaves through her mind, a more pressing question anchored her thoughts. Would the stubborn old man actually leave Ursus?

“What exactly do you intend to do to the stubborn old man?” Yelena’s voice cut through the biting wind, the ambient temperature plummeting as her Arts flared in unconscious defense.

The Shapeshifter ignored the frost creeping up his boots. “Buldrokkas’tee. What is your choice?”

“I refuse to compromise.” Buldrokkas’tee forced the words through his ruined, crystal-ravaged throat. Every syllable was a grinding agony, a physical manifestation of his unyielding will. “I will accept the King’s punishment. But… Your Highness. Do you truly intend to drag the Sarkaz back into the quagmire of endless war?”

“War is the inescapable gravity of the Sarkaz,” the Shapeshifter relayed, Frez’s cold pragmatism bleeding through the proxy’s tone. “Just look at yourself. You fled to Ursus seeking peace, yet you still hurled yourself headfirst into their conflicts. Look at the state of you. Seeing the mighty Wendigo reduced to such destitution… I can only feel deep disappointment. The fact that you are no threat to me now does not mean you will not be a nuisance in the future. Buldrokkas’tee, returning to Kazdel is not for your personal glory. It is for your homeland.”

Silence stretched across the snowfield.

“Old stubborn man… are you really going to leave?” Yelena stepped closer, her eyes locked onto the towering, armored figure of her father. She knew his nature better than anyone. He only trusted the brutal truths he witnessed with his own two eyes. She shifted her gaze toward Entelechia and the Shapeshifter. “My father is over two hundred years old. Even if he drags himself back to your wasteland, what more can he possibly do for you?”

“Two hundred years?” The Shapeshifter barked a laugh, the sound bubbling with Frez’s distinct brand of arrogance. “For a Sarkaz, he is practically a young man in his prime. It is his mentality that has rotted away. His pathetic refusal to use the cannibalistic rituals of his bloodline has allowed his body to wither. Two hundred is the exact age a Wendigo should be breaking through their limits.”

The Shapeshifter could barely contain the amusement flooding through the mental link. He doubled over, coughing out a sharp laugh before straightening up. “The Wendigo clan boasts immense longevity and raw power. Honestly, I am starting to suspect your ancestors crossbred with a Gargoyle. It would certainly explain why your brain is as dense as solid rock. It is incredibly tedious to deal with. People move to survive, while trees remain rooted and die. Leading this pathetic band of stragglers to play wilderness survival in the frozen tundra is the height of pointlessness.”

“They are idealistic,” Buldrokkas’tee rumbled, his massive frame shifting. “They seek to change this land.”

“Idealistic?” The Shapeshifter sneered, jabbing a finger toward Entelechia. “Take a good look at your so-called ideals. She is the ultimate negative example of a Demon King. Entelechia’s grand, beautiful dream was to cure Oripathy and let the Sarkaz walk under the sun. And the result? She put the cart before the horse. The masses simply could not comprehend her vision. Survival is the only currency that matters in the present. Ideals are a luxury reserved for those who have secured a future.”

Entelechia lowered her gaze, the bitter truth of Frez’s words leaving no room for rebuttal. Her past actions had undeniably ended in catastrophic failure.

“Dignity only exists on the edge of a blade,” Frez’s voice commanded the space. “Truth only extends as far as the range of your cannons. Endless tolerance only invites endless slaughter. When a hungry tiger clamps its jaws around your skull, you do not try to reason with it. If you demand respect from this world, you must forge the strength to command it.”

The Shapeshifter paced a slow circle in the snow. “As for the leader of this little Reunion Movement… that Draco? She was molded by Koschei into a binary weapon, swinging wildly from one extreme to the other. This land has zero tolerance for naive idealists. People like her lack the absolute strength required to enforce their dreams. They will be swallowed whole by the very earth they try to save.”

“Buldrokkas’tee,” Frez’s final ultimatum dropped like an anvil. “Make your choice.”

“I…” The old Wendigo hesitated, the weight of his people pressing down on his armored shoulders.

“Old stubborn man, are you really going back?” Yelena asked, her voice tight with a mixture of fear and resignation.

Buldrokkas’tee slowly shook his horned head. “No. Your Highness… let me escort you all back.”

Entelechia finally stepped forward, her voice gentle but firm. “His Highness is willing to grant asylum to every Infected within the Reunion Movement. Babel is currently establishing a dedicated medical division focused entirely on treating Oripathy. If you march with us, we will provide full protection along the way.”

Yelena blinked in genuine surprise. She had assumed the Sarkaz King was simply going to drag the old general back in chains. This was an actual negotiation.

“This is a conditional offer, Yelena,” Entelechia added softly. “What are your thoughts?”

“The Patriot’s guerrillas follow his command to the death,” Yelena replied, her breath misting in the freezing air. “But the core of the Reunion Movement still answers to Talulah.”

She turned and projected her voice across the frozen fields. The Draco woman, currently up to her knees in frozen soil, paused her labor. Talulah wiped the grime from her hands, her brow furrowing as she trudged through the snowbanks toward the gathering. “Sir? Yelena? What is happening here?”

Yelena quickly outlined the sheer absurdity of the situation. Talulah’s golden eyes narrowed in suspicion. She glanced at the Shapeshifter. “May I speak directly with your King?”

The Shapeshifter tilted his head, listening to a voice no one else could hear. “Wait a moment.” A few seconds passed before he nodded. “The channel is open.”

“I am the Demon King of the Sarkaz, Frez,” the voice that echoed from the Shapeshifter was laced with absolute authority and a hint of lazy amusement. “Talulah Artorius. Swearing loyalty to me is the greatest tactical decision you will ever make in your miserable life. Pack up your camp and bring Buldrokkas’tee to Kazdel.”

Talulah crossed her arms, her draconic pride flaring. “And what then? Will you just treat us as disposable pawns on your chessboard?”

“Pfft… Hahahaha!”

The Shapeshifter suddenly doubled over, clutching his stomach as manic laughter tore from his throat. He even began mirroring Frez’s physical mannerisms, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “Oh, man. It has been a long time since I heard a joke that good. Ho’olheyak, write this down. The Demon King is in a fantastic mood today. My abs are actually twitching from laughing so hard.”

Talulah’s expression darkened into a fierce scowl. Her patience evaporated instantly.

Frez’s mocking tone sliced through the freezing wind. “What possible use could I have for you as pawns? Look at your ranks. A pathetic gaggle of the old, the weak, the sick, and the disabled. Your own mental state is a ticking time bomb, and your army of Infected refugees possesses zero tactical value. You think I want you to disrupt the political landscape of Ursus? Do not flatter yourself. Your entire movement would shatter against a single standard vanguard division.”

“Then what exactly do you want from us?” Talulah demanded, her hands curling into fists.

“You are just a free bonus package,” Frez replied dismissively. “Instead of freezing to death while playing house in the wilderness, come work for me. If you actually have any real administrative capability, I will put you on the payroll.”

Talulah’s jaw tightened. “Do you not discriminate against the Infected?”

“Discriminate?” Frez scoffed, the sheer absurdity of the question hanging in the air. “Out of every ten Sarkaz walking the streets of Kazdel, at least nine of them have Oripathy. Why the hell would I discriminate against my own baseline?”