The Last King

The helicopter blades roared like devils gnashing their teeth.

Its descent stirred ash and soot across the ruined helipad atop Lata's former Ministry Tower—a crooked building now draped in Bernard Empire banners.

Alberto stepped out first.

"Capital city of a 'proud kingdom' reduced to dogshit in days," Circe muttered, stepping over a crater.

Brigadier General Hans waited by the command truck, helmet under one arm, wrapped in a thick flak coat. His face was gaunt—too many nights without sleep, too many decisions with blood on both sides.

"Your Majesty," he said with a crisp salute. "Welcome.We have made all the arrangements."

"Good," Alberto replied. "Where's Eric?"

Hans gestured toward the hill. "Royal Palace. Waiting for you. Surrounded himself with local brass and half the damn clergy. Looks like he wants to play 'big boy politics.'"

Alberto grinned faintly. "Then let's teach him the rules."

...