Dead on Arrival.

The walls of the dark chamber glinted ferociously. Radiating the tension in the palace at the moment.

Even a razor sharp axe would find it difficult to slash through the thick silence.

A stocky man sat on a gutteral throne in the half darkness. Barely visible, his aura painted him in some sort of gory red.

A faint but detectable aura lingered around him, mirroring his current blood lust.

His ragged and impatient breathing seemed to be the only noise fluctuating throughout the throne room.

Two guards sulked behind him, their visors glinting in the scanty light.

Their bodies shifted uncomfortably, as though they felt stifled by the overbearing aura of their liege.

The man's face, shadowed by his long locks, seemed devoid of any sanity now.

A golden crown, containing an empty circular crevice, rested on the haughty head.

His face looked calm, but beneath the facade he brimmed with impatience.

Only a twitching lower lip betrayed his otherwise calm facial expression.

Then suddenly…it happened.

Or rather, it began to happen.

The huge double doors directly adjacent to the throne blasted open for a moment, releasing an odd mix of fear and disappointment.

Also splashing a blinding sliver of light into the hall for those split seconds, before the intruder closed them.

Those few seconds were enough to illuminate the glorious tapestries adorning the hall. Paintings painstakingly embellished on the walls of the throne room.

Truly befitting of a Mighty Cruceni kingdom.

The man on the throne didn't move an inch; he didn't even shield his eyes from the assaulting beams.

Rather, he looked on ahead, his eyes dancing in anticipation.

The newcomer; a man in full battle gear stood on the threshold.

In a heartbeat he surveyed all the austere faces before him in a glance.

And he could tell…something was very wrong.

The man in the throne looked at him, expectations fluctuating astronomically.

But he couldn't make conclusions. Yet.

After all, Simma's never disappointed in living memory.

'But there's always a first time…'

A humorless smile tugged at his lips. But he didn't do more than that.

The battle gear guy took a step back.

He'd just realized what was amiss.

The man on the throne noticed and the half smirk on his face cleared in an instance.

The general's bravery and self composure vanished in the twinkling of an eye.

When he noticed…

This was more than he'd bargained for. Now he could only rely on human compassion.

That's if the person before him still bore any vestiges of humanity at the moment.

He sort of expected this, but never knew his liege would go this far.

The king's eyes glowed with an angry scarlet hue.

And the Ace crystal normally present on his crown was missing.

This meant only one thing.

Even a fool could put the pieces together.

An Ace crystal, one of the Six crystal relics rumored to be passed directly by the gods to their direct descendants.

Each of them were ruby in color.

And its power when absorbed stemmed hugely from the regular power level of the host.

Which meant, the more powerful a host was, the more enhanced he'd become with the crystal.

You could call that doping.

It could grant power far beyond any imaginative ability, when absorbed.

Right now, the king's eyes gleamed a faint tint of blood red.

Faint indeed, but still there.

The crystal also enhances his energy flow, making its usage almost seamless.

Thus enabling it to sync with his body almost naturally.

That was the power of an Ace crystal.

Virtually all powerful divine relics did that, granting near divine abilities to their "hosts".

And he could tell exactly how this came about.

Surely, his liege had been expecting a duel with their hostage when they returned.

Perhaps wanting to finish off the ticking time bomb of the Incarnas once and for all.

And they had failed to capture the boy.

That lad…

Simma's lip trembled, his body shaking uncontrollably beyond his control.

His scabbard slipped from his gear, hitting the ground with a loud clunk.

The noise brought him to reality again.

He'd thanked the gods at once.

Not for saving his ass now, but for making it so that they didn't capture the boy.

Only a few could picture the calamity that would have happened, had the boy been captured.

Back to the present…

His dilemma now.

Simma, general of all armies under the jurisdiction of the king, felt really helpless.

Where was Nymphadora when he needed her the most?!

There was no explaining the situation to the king in this state; he was surely past all reasoning now.

The crystal possession only hits its limit, when the host's body can no longer withstand the tremendous power pulsing through it, without permanent damage to the Vital Essence.

That's the point at which the body breaks down. And the host dies.

But some mortals possessed unhuman Vital Essence.

Luckily, his king wasn't part of them.

So if he'd been in this state for long, his safe zone was fast shrinking.

Divine relics also possessed the ability to downgrade whatever vessel they enhanced, through steady damage to the Stellar Core, brought about by continuous and extended usage.

Usually, relic–wielders worked with time, since it was a very risky venture.

So any usage had to be always worth the risk.

Another of the downsides of absorbing relics; some barely left you in control of your own body, giving you a predator–kind of view.

In this form, everyone else was prey.

At this point, the king only bore primal animal instincts – he was predator and everyone else…prey.

Simma trembled inwardly at the possibility of having to duel his liege in that form.

If so, his chances of leaving that place alive were incredibly slim.

If not zero.

Percentage-wise, that will be around 6%.

But he'd never know until he tried, will he?

To start with, he genuflected respectfully, hoping desperately that the king hadn't noticed his hesitation.

'My Lord.'

The king gazed up at his general, meeting Simma's eyes for the first time.

Cold drops of sweat broke out on his forehead. Despite the chilly temperature of the throne room.

The drops trickled down to his chin, giving off a tickling sensation. But he dared not move, not to talk of flicking them away.

The king finally moved, flicking his wrist casually as he shifted his gaze.

Instantaneously, the throne room lit up.

Noteworthy,it was impossible to say where exactly the light came from; there were no visible lamps hanging from the ceilings or the pillars.

Although Simma was not a stranger to the throne room, he virtually shuddered at this anomaly.

To begin with, the king's livid eyes left him breathless with fear.

At last, he'd noticed that Simma came alone.

Simma took a deep breath, simultaneously with the king.

Here goes…

'Where is he?'

At this question, Simma coughed anxiously, casting his mind around for a pitiable excuse.

Even though he'd been expecting it ,he still felt a new kind of fear coursing through his body. Rendering him immobile for some seconds.

All his well laid plans fell through even before their execution.

After all, he didn't plan on meeting his Majesty in that state.

Even the guards noticed his discomfort but they gave no indication.

They dared not.

Simma inhaled and exhaled deeply. This was the moment he had been dreading all night…

And now what's worse??

He didn't know what to expect…

Invoking and praying to all gods he ever knew, he took a last deep breath and raised his head.

He'd have to break the bombshell at some point anyway…

He just had to do it in a way that won't cost him his head.

'My lord…He escaped –'

'He escaped…?!'

A forceful gust of power hit Simma with a bone crunching sound, throwing him high into the air.

His body somersaulted with alarming speed as he attempted to control his spiralling but to no avail.

His helmet fell to the floor with a loud clang.

Simma crash landed limply into the ground with a sickened crunch, flipping over like a ragdoll.

Thin lines of blood trailed from his mouth, nose and hair.

His face now paled with fear as he returned to a genuflecting posture.

But the king hasn't even started yet and he knew that.

This was going to be a very long night.

If he was going to survive, that was.

He knew that the king wouldn't even care for his military attitude in receiving punishment without any form of complaints.

He'd been tortured almost beyond the threshold of sanity before. He could withstand almost anything.

As long as he left this place alive…it was good enough for him.

Only if his Majesty could show him the tiniest bit of mercy…

'What do you mean "he escaped" ?', the king asked again, looking down at the still genuflecting general.

His facial expression remained calm, but his tone had an angry ring to it.

A very dangerous indication.

'You could ask your sister!' Simma almost blurred out but he controlled himself. Mindless blabbering had gotten nowhere in that past.

And nothing was going to change now.

'My Lord, it is a complex tale.' Simma stuttered, now gasping in true fear. 'He was quick-witted, blocking us with a Muthal portal. It was not strong enough to do much harm, and we cleared it real quickly. But by then, the boy was gone.'

'How possible?', the king asked quietly, but his voice echoed around, eyes bulging with anger.

'How was it possible that a little child outwitted my best strategic generals?!.'

With a second explosion of fury, a new wave of force spread radially, slamming Simma violently against a pillar.

The throne room magically repaired itself, erasing any signs of damage instantaneously.

Even powerful enough to buffet the guards to flail away.

The pillar cracked as Simma crashed into it. It toppled a few seconds later, sending dust everywhere.

A perfect opportunity to escape, but with a flick of his index, the king cleared it away.

They were surely thinking along the same lines at that instant.

'My Lord', Simma pleaded, stirring feebly. 'Please…'

'You seem too weak to be my lead general,' the king drawled lazily, looking quite stern, 'or are you a clone of the Vsenti?'

The Vsenti were a tribe of troublesome shape shifting vampires, who migrated from the realm of Beasts.

'No, my lord,' Simma groaned.

He tried to get up, but failed miserably.

He crumbled back to the ground, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

His defiance looked so pitiable that the king's accusation seemed right for a second.

'I'm Unos Malmagaios Simma, alias the Cunny one.'

As he said that, his wounds began to close up slowly, patching up in a flurry of blue energy.

A small voice in his head…obviously his mind chiding him, sniggered mockingly.

'Not cunny enough to get yourself out of this however…'

'Oh, shut up, me.'

In that state, the next words that the king spoke sounded alien to his auditory nerves.

'Then fight me.'

The whistling wind, the chiding voices stopped.

Even the guards who were attempting to get up froze.

Simma hadn't even realized that there was a wind blowing somewhere until then.

A general of his rank, fighting against an almost overpowered king, naturally far stronger than him, now enhanced with a bluff?

Plain straight up suicide.

'There was no faster way to die, indeed', he thought dully, listening to his own failing heartbeat and his blurring vision.

'Well, I might as well end this sooner, since I'm still going to die at the end…'

'I command you as your king…to fight me!', the king said, a red maniacal glint glowing in his eyes. 'Resist me, like you used to do foreign kings. Fight!!!'

At these final words, Simma was blasted backwards for the third time.

However, this time he did not fall like some limp puppet any longer.

He regained his footing and slid to a stop.

Seeing this, the king smiled.

Simma looked up at his liege, blinking blood out of his eyes.

He still struggled to remain standing, since his organs weren't done healing.

The process seemed close because undoubtedly all this pummeling had somehow harmed his soul energy network.

However , his eyes lit up with anger and his fists clenched.

The king was finally at that stage. The stage where the relic begins to influence and heighten your primal urges.

Luckily, not yet the point of no return.

The two guards exchanged looks of pity still leaning on their spears, in no immediate hurry to rise again.

'My lord,' Simma snarled through clenched teeth.

His voice now carried quiet rage underneath, yet easily detected by all present.

Their eyes met.

Enraged Master and Irritated Liege, a mutual understanding seemed to pass through them.

Leaving the distance between them flickering with unspoken rage.

Desire to prove himself.

'It's enough.'