Yellow Jacket

The Emperor rose slowly from the throne, his immense frame casting a long and unbroken shadow across the chamber's polished floor. The act itself was enough to make the air feel heavier, as though even the chamber braced for what was about to be revealed. With deliberate precision, he reached behind the seat that anchored his presence and drew forth a weapon. In his hand gleamed a massive club-like instrument, its body forged from seamless black steel, and along its length were crystalline spikes that pulsed with a steady, inner glow. The shards looked as though fire itself had been captured and caged within, molten veins trapped in black crystal, burning without consuming. The light cast strange reflections across the chamber's walls, glimmers of red and orange that writhed like the breath of a furnace. Warren had never seen its like. He did not know its name, nor did he care to ask, for instinct told him more than enough: it was a tool of execution, a weapon of both crushing weight and relentless tearing. A single swing from the flat could shatter bone and pulp a skull, while the serrated crystalline teeth would saw through flesh and muscle as though they were no more than soaked cloth. It was brutal perfection, a thing that existed for no other purpose than destruction. What chilled Warren most was not the sight of it, but the casual ease with which the Emperor wielded the massive object, as though its weight were nothing more than a twig plucked from a tree.

A chill rippled through Warren as the realization pressed in on him. He carried nothing. His truncheons were absent, left behind, never part of this place. Here he stood stripped of tools, bare-handed in the presence of something that could unmake him in an instant. The absence of his truncheons pressed as sharply against his ribs as the sight of the weapon itself. He was naked in a way he had not felt since the days before his survival was shaped into ritual.

The Emperor's voice rolled out, heavy and commanding, yet colored with something unnervingly human: amusement. "Come with me."

The words rang simple enough, but they carried a weight of inevitability, as if there were only one correct response and all others ended in ash. Warren blinked, his throat tight, and forced himself to ask, "Where?" The single word felt absurd in the cavernous space, a question flung like a pebble into a void.

The Emperor laughed, the sound like the grind of stone on stone, echoing outward until it pressed against Warren's ears and chest. "This is only a construct of my will, of the Emperor's will," he said, sweeping the weapon slightly as though to gesture to the chamber itself. "This is the greeting room, nothing more. The trial does not begin here. This is only where we meet, only where we see each other for the first time. This is the place where I sit, nothing else. You, Warren, are not like the others. You are far too low of a level to even stand before me. Were you anyone else, I would not permit it. And it would not be a challenge, not even sport, if I were to wipe you from existence with but a single swing of my macahuitl. Where would the justice be in that?"

His molten eyes narrowed, the glow of his weapon reflecting in their depths. "For I have been here a long time, and no, I do not rest. My will is bound into these walls, into this ring, unbroken and eternal. Time erodes nothing here, but boredom gnaws even at the timeless. You are an oddity, a curiosity that I did not expect. You stand here despite what you are, despite your frailty. And that makes you… intriguing."

The Emperor leaned forward, the glow of the weapon flaring as if reacting to his intent. "So, Warren, shall you follow, or shall I smite you where you stand? Choose well, for there will not be a second offer."

Warren nodded his head. There wasn't much else he could do. He was vulnerable, unarmed, and this was nothing like what he had expected to face. The realization settled on him like a weight, he had walked willingly into a place where nothing was his own, not even the ground beneath his feet. If he ever got out of this place alive, he swore he'd find a way to plant his boot squarely into Imujin's face just to vent the sheer frustration clawing through his chest. Because this, this was far deadlier a promise than anything he had been prepared for. Who in the hells asked a yes-or-no question without explaining the context? Who decided the fate of another so casually? Ugh, he thought, grinding his teeth as he tried to keep his composure in front of the figure towering beside him.

They walked toward a door that hadn't been there a heartbeat before. It was as if the chamber itself bent around the Emperor's will, conjuring what he desired in silence and inevitability. The Emperor extended his massive hand, palm steady and unshaking, and the door opened as if the air had always been waiting for his command. A flood of light spilled out, so bright that Warren instinctively shielded his eyes, and in that instant the dark chamber dissolved. The cold steel, the shadows, the polished walls, all of it blinked away. When Warren lowered his arm, he found himself standing in the heart of a city. Or what looked like a city, though its edges felt hazy, fragile, and too perfect to be fully real.

It reminded him of Kyrrabad, but softer, more natural, as though the city had grown up with the world instead of crushing the world into shape. Towering structures rose high but seemed to grow out of the trees and soil rather than replace them. Vast trunks threaded between the streets, their branches lacing with the rooftops until the line between forest and stone blurred. Birds darted across the sky, their wings catching the sunlight in iridescent flashes, and animals scurried between alleys and paths, their claws scratching across surfaces that shimmered slightly, like glass trying to remember it was stone. People crowded the avenues, their laughter ringing faint and strange, and Warren felt the eerie warmth of a crowd without the substance. He realized quickly they weren't alive. Each figure was a ghost-image, an illusion conjured into place, a memory given temporary form. As he drew closer to one, it flickered like a candle flame in the wind, a shape that refused to be solid. He and the Emperor walked straight through them, the phantoms barely registering their presence. They kept walking, silent figures dissolving around them, and the deeper they went, the more Warren felt the contradiction, this place vibrated with the energy of life, yet the hollowness clung like rot beneath the skin. It was a song with no sound, an echo with no origin.

The Emperor's voice rumbled beside him, steady and vast, like something carved into the bones of the world. "Do you know what this place is?"

Warren shook his head slowly, the word rasping out before he could stop it. "No, I know like four cities and this isn't one of them."

"Fair enough," the Emperor said, his gaze sweeping over the illusions as if he could still see the truth that had once been. "This is a place long lost. A city of hope. A place where humanity clawed its way back from the brink of extinction and built something worth believing in. Not like the endless cycles of collapse you've seen, not like the shallow attempts to rise that crumble after a generation. No, this was a true rebirth. We stood at the edge of nothing, and I dragged us into meaning. Did you know, Warren, that humanity is not from this world?"

Warren's brow furrowed at that, his voice tight with disbelief. "I thought you knew everything about me."

The Emperor's molten eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest trace of amusement hidden in their depths. "I know your stats. I know your blood. I see your strength, your failings, the bones of who you are. But your thoughts? No. Your thoughts remain your own. That is why you interest me. That is why you stand here instead of being erased. There are many things I wish to know, and you may yet surprise me. The longer we speak, the better it will be, for both of us. Perhaps I will even spare you, if you prove yourself worth the conversation. At least… for a while. And for me, Warren Smith, a while is longer than you could possibly imagine."

Warren looked at the Emperor, his words tumbling out awkwardly, each sentence sounding more uncertain than the last. "I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to tell you. I mean, I know that humanity supposedly isn't from Hemera, but we're not exactly sure. The Legion, the information we have is… circumspect at best. Fragments, whispers, scraps of truth buried under centuries of half-truths. But I'm guessing you know the truth. You were the Emperor of it all, the one who saw further than any of us ever could. So… may I ask you some things? I didn't know I'd ever get the chance to stand here, let alone speak to you. If I had known, I would've prepared better, thought of the right questions, something worthy of the moment. But… yeah, can I ask?"

The Emperor's massive head inclined, light from the false city gleaming across his armor and face. His movement was deliberate, slow, as though he were savoring the moment. For the first time there was almost a smile, a faint suggestion of warmth that cut through the stern lines of his immortal bearing. "Child, you may ask me as many questions as you wish. It is good to have conversation after so long. You cannot imagine the weight of silence in this place. The last mortal I spoke with… it must have been four… no, perhaps sixty years ago. Time is slippery in here, without sun or season, without markers to anchor it. Alone, years blur and stretch until memory itself becomes uncertain. Even though I can fill this chamber with images, give them the facsimile of life and laughter, I know the truth. They are nothing but puppets. My puppets. I am speaking to myself, pretending at life, warding off madness by giving shadows a voice."

Warren frowned, brow tightening as he listened. "Can't you talk to Imujin when he wears the ring?" he asked, half incredulous, half pitying.

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"I may," the Emperor said, his tone heavy, words dragging like stone across stone. "But it has been a long time since he has visited me. He has his duties. The others are the same. I do not fault them. It is heavy work, being a Headmaster. They carry burdens that would crush lesser souls. They are the only ones who still honor my covenant, who keep my presence alive in this new Legion, a Legion that follows no Emperor and bows to no throne. And yet… Imujin chose you. He made you one of his brothers. Perhaps more than that, since he did it while you were still but a child, when the weight of the world had not yet reshaped you."

The Emperor's eyes narrowed as he studied him, molten light flaring in their depths. The silence stretched uncomfortably long before he spoke again. "Warren… why do you feel so familiar to me? You are not kin. I know this, and yet your blood calls to mine. I can feel it like a current under the skin. Still, I know you come from nothing. Your stock is common at best, dirt, in the truest sense of the word. Blood that was never meant to rise. And yet there is something more, something I cannot name. A kinship of sorts, as though fate itself braided a thread between us."

Warren shook his head sharply, his voice rising in protest. "I don't have any idea what you're talking about. I don't feel anything like that. Is it… do you feel it for Vaeliyan? He's technically a noble bastard. And I'm… technically him, depending on how you look at it. I was trying to explain this to my friends, I think they're my friends, but it's so hard to explain my words just keep slipping when I try to speak about it." His voice dropped low, soft and almost hesitant. "Do you… do you know who the gods are?"

The Emperor's expression shifted slowly, molten gaze pulling away from the illusions of the city, turning inward as though gazing back across centuries. His voice dropped to a hush, touched with memory. "Of course, my boy. I was not much younger than you are now when I first met Aeon."

Warren shifted uneasily, rubbing at the back of his neck before speaking, his voice carrying the hesitation of someone who knew he was treading on dangerous ground. "I think I've met them all, though I only know the names of two. My patron's name is Steel, and my benefactor is Umdar." His words hung in the air, uncertain, almost defensive, as if saying them aloud made them heavier.

The Emperor's molten gaze narrowed with curiosity, the faint glow of his eyes intensifying. "Interesting," he said, his tone more reflective than dismissive. "My patron was Aeon, and he was the only god I met in person. I crossed paths with the other contenders of my age as well. Not all were friends. Some became my allies, others turned into my greatest enemies. Many who stood with me at the beginning did not last long." He paused, studying Warren more intently, as though he could peer through his skin and see the truth of him. "Ah… now I see. You're one of the contenders."

Warren shook his head, his lips pulling into a grim line. "Not exactly. Vaeliyan is the contender." He drew in a slow breath, the weight of the admission pressing hard on his chest. "I killed two contenders before I was ever counted among them myself. Umdar… he erased the death of the second contender I killed, breaking some divine rule in the process. That gave me a chance to ask for boons after I slew a man wearing your face." Warren's voice grew rougher, edged with both guilt and defiance. "Steel, who has always seemed to stand at my side, made the final choice for me. The boon was something called the Veil of Souls. It allows me to take a corpse into myself, to build a new body over my own. If the corpse still lives, I can wear it as though it were me." He hesitated, his eyes flicking to the Emperor's towering presence. "Would you like to see him? Maybe that's where this strange kinship you feel comes from. I'm not sure myself."

The Emperor tilted his head, molten light flickering across his severe features as though the question weighed more than Warren realized. He seemed to wrestle with the curiosity gnawing at him versus the knowledge of what such a display might reveal. At last, he said, "Show me."

In an instant, Vaeliyan stood before the Emperor, his noble form sharp, polished, and commanding. The change was seamless, the Veil flowing over Warren like water, until it was as though the boy had been remade into another being entirely. For a heartbeat, the chamber itself seemed to react, the air vibrating with tension. But the Emperor frowned, his expression hardening, and he shook his head slowly. "No… this is not it. Actually, it feels further away. That is odd. Ah. But I do sense the difference. He is a noble, yes, closer blood, yet still further from me. I would rather see the real you. Go back."

The body shimmered, Vaeliyan's form collapsing like smoke until Warren stood once more in his own skin. The Emperor studied him with renewed intensity, a faint gleam of approval flickering in his gaze as though the test had been passed in some small way. "That is an interesting trick," he admitted. "I am not sure what use it would be for someone like me, but for you, one of the Aberrant, I see the value. That mask might be the only thing standing between you and the judgment of others. Your nature is fascinating. I did not believe one of your kind could remain sane. Every Aberrant I have met before was nothing but a bloodthirsty killer, gnawed hollow by their own nature."

Warren gave him a crooked smile; his tone tinged with both irony and defiance. "Then we're all the same."

The Emperor almost chuckled, a deep rumble that sounded like boulders shifting in the earth. "Ah, yes, I can feel that in you," he replied, a trace of approval hidden within his stern voice. He gestured outward, toward the city's ghostly illusions surrounding them. "Very well. Let us go. This place is fine, but I would rather continue our talk over food, wouldn't you? It will not fill you in the waking world, but it will taste real enough. As real as my memory can make it. It is one of the few joys I can still create, and it will remind me that some things are worth remembering."

Warren raised a brow, half suspicious and half curious. "That actually sounds… fun," he admitted, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I mean, how long are we even going to be in here?"

"For every minute that passes outside," the Emperor said, his voice steady as stone, "a year drags on in here. So we have time, more than enough. Time to talk. Time to remember. Time to measure the weight of what you are. It has been countless millennia for me since I last spoke with anyone. Not so long for those outside, but for me? Endless ages since the death of the true Emperor. I have lived through the erosion of silence, through the gnawing teeth of solitude. I have counted epochs, Warren, and found only the echo of my own voice."

Warren frowned, a shiver running down his spine. "How do you know he's gone?"

The Emperor's expression hardened, though his voice remained calm, even grave. "Because I can feel that I am no more. The tether that bound me has long since unraveled. What remains is only Will, a fragment anchored here, a piece of what once ruled. I am the echo of the Emperor, and echoes do not lie. His passing is written into me."

Warren exhaled slowly, muttering under his breath, "That's… interesting." His eyes flicked upward, meeting the Emperor's gaze again. "Then I'd like to see what an Emperor keeps on his table. What's for your humble servant, then?"

The Emperor's eyes glimmered with something between pride, amusement, and perhaps even weariness. "That," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper that filled the air with its certainty, "is yet to be seen. But I promise you this: what you taste here will be as much memory as food, and memory, Warren, is sometimes the strongest flavor of all."

Warren looked at the Emperor as they walked, a flicker of discomfort crossing his features. He could not figure out for the life of him why he was telling this man everything. At last, he asked, "Why am I so forthcoming with you?"

The Emperor laughed, his voice booming and unshakable. "It is the function of this place. You cannot lie here, Warren. And there is no need to. I will not divulge your secret, even to the others. You are here to be bound to me and my Will. Therefore, I must know you. Should I not?"

Warren nodded reluctantly. "So, what does a feast look like from your day?"

"I have not had a feast in a very long time," the Emperor replied, his molten eyes gleaming. "But for you, for this occasion, why not? We will sup on Eskarian boar. Do you have any favorites before I make mine? Just know that I can make yours as well."

Warren thought for a moment, then said, "Well, it is not food, but there was a tea my mother used to make from..."

"It is done," the Emperor interrupted gently. "Do not worry about it. You do not need to bring it up. I can feel how hard it must have been on you."

Warren nodded gratefully, a trace of warmth flickering in his eyes. "Can you train me? I know you were a great warrior."

The Emperor's tone grew heavier. "The only time we shall ever clash will be when I take up my macuahuitl, and you take up your weapons. Tell me, what do you fight with? Do you use your fists? Your bare hands?"

Warren scratched his head. "I don't know. I mean, I have a set of truncheons and a couple of lances that I use. But pretty much anything I can get my hands on, I'll fight with. If there is nothing else around, I make do. I once killed a sim with a rubber duck. That was fun. I beat a man to death with a brick. Also, fun. One of my favorite weapons is an umbrella."

The Emperor arched a brow. "An umbrella. That is a very impractical weapon."

"You have no idea how hard it was to make it solid enough to beat people to death with," Warren shot back, a grin creeping across his face. "The point was sharp, the handle heavily reinforced. It cost me a ridiculous amount, not credits exactly, since in Mara we used trade, but still, it was a lot. Worth it, though. I also killed… well, I killed some twins with a bicycle. And once, I picked up a woman and beat a man to death with her while beating her to death with him. So that was interesting."

The Emperor's laughter came deep and amused. "You're kind of fucked up, aren't you?"

Warren shrugged. "You said it yourself. Aberrants are all killers. I'm not going to deny that. But at least I only do it when I'm bored."

"At least you don't seem like you get bored easily," the Emperor said, still chuckling.

"Actually, I don't," Warren admitted. "I like to create just as much as I like to kill. And I have always seen myself as a monster, if that makes any sense to you."

The Emperor nodded gravely. "Boy, to know that we are monsters is to know ourselves. I was a monster. They called me a saint, but I knew better. The countless lives I spent to raise humanity from the dirt, the countless lives I took to raise myself above them. You cannot imagine the endless suffering I brought into the world. But I also gave them hope."

Warren's eyes narrowed. "Can I see it? You can show me anything here, can't you? This is your domain. So can I?"

The Emperor grew silent, his expression unreadable. "I have not looked upon those battles in countless ages. Even when I was alive, I refused to look. Perhaps they will appear different now. Yes, yes, we shall go and see the horrors I brought. Perhaps you can give me clarity I was never able to find. Or," his eyes gleamed, voice dropping low and accusing, "perhaps we should go see the horrors you have brought. That would be fun, would it not?"

Warren smiled thinly, his voice steady. "Sure. Why not?"