05-30-2011, 02:13 AM
It is well that war is so terrible, otherwise we would grow too fond of it.
—General Robert E. Lee
War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things: the decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks nothing worth a war, is worse.
—John Stuart Mill
***
Under most circumstances, a summons to the Imperial Tower was a great honor, often followed by the conferring of greater status and responsibility upon the one summoned. But tonight, Provost Marchand wasn't feeling very reassured about his future prospects. As Provost General of the Praetorian Empire, Marchand oversaw all PPD activity within the empire, as well as serving as the direct liaison to Powers Division for many a new member. While, in theory, he could be promoted to Praetor, such a promotion was simply a political showpiece more than anything these days, and Marchand had hardly done anything noticeable enough recently to deserve a public gilding for his laurels.
A gelding, on the other hand... Marchand thought to himself as he walked in the front doors of the tower. Soldiers lined the entry in perfect silence, snapping to attention as he entered. Marchand, however, noticed the changes. The PPD and TEST no longer served as the Emperor's personal guards. These troopers, rather, wore the gunmetal, gold, and crimson of the Imperial Defense Forces, their armor the new Mk. III model developed recently by Neuron as the next step forward from the TEST adaptive exoskeleton. They were merely the first signs of everything Marchand feared, as he knew of the secret developments in Lambda Sector. The disgraced former Praetor Keyes was hard at work for someone supposedly demoted, and Marchand was well aware of Keyes' actual skills. While Berry was a prodigy with biological sciences, such as his own enhancements, Keyes' talents had run towards the mechanical and industrial, leading to the massive Keyes Reactors and the Clockwork. The rumors of a MK IV combat armor for the IDF, as well as new "Warworks" Clockwork machines had been ominous enough before Marchand's contacts in Powers Division had confirmed the existence of the construction facility within Lambda...and the army of War Walkers waiting there for deployment.
One rarely built an army without the will to use it, and if there was one thing Marchand knew that the Emperor possessed, it was will. But one did not contradict the Emperor directly. Marchand's efforts within Powers Division had borne more than a little fruit, with dozens of impressionable new recruits being sent to Primal Earth to seed the belief that not all Praetorians shared the Emperor's belief that Primal Earth was a threat that needed to be put down. Marchand had seen too much of war to believe that the Emperor's new weapons would make it any less horrible, for Praetoria or the Primals. And as the ringing of his battlesuit's boots echoed amidst the marble and gold hallways leading to the Emperor's personal audience chamber, Marchand found himself confronted with yet more harbingers of war.
There were only two guards stationed before the Emperor's chamber, but Marchand knew they were worth every single IDF trooper below and more. Praetorian Guards, their faceless helms concealing any human features of the soldier beneath. Their armor, plain and undecorated, was more for ornamental purposes than technological, a less elaborate version of the Emperor’s personal battle regalia. More telling, though, was their reflection of the Emperor's actual ability. The Praetorian Guard of the old war had consisted of the most powerful superhuman forces that Cole could muster to his side, a looming hammer of might to crush the Devouring Earth wherever it was needed most. This new Praetorian Guard was more uniform in their gifts, possessing the same powers as the Emperor himself, albeit in reduced potency. They were recruited from the most loyal units in the empire, subject to highly classified procedures that made them into what they now were...echoes of the Emperor's power, the source of which only a select few knew. Incarnates. The two guards stepped aside without a word, only reinforcing Marchand's unease as he stepped through the massive golden double doors and into the presence of the most powerful man in the world.
Marchand's first realization was that he wasn't alone in the audience chamber. Around him was the apex of power in Praetoria. Praetor White leaned against one pillar, massive and positively radiating barely controlled impatience. Praetor Berry stood nearby, his fingers dancing across a datapad so fast that they blurred to Marchand's eyes, presumably to make use of the few minutes he was being forced to wait. Praetor Sinclair lurked at the far side of the room near the shadows of the pillars. Apparently just coming off of a patrol, he was still wearing the dark midnight blue gear he preferred when in the field. Near him, Praetors Tilman and Duncan were chatting quietly to each other. Marchand repressed a shudder, but tried to keep any thoughts about not wanting to be too close to either woman from surfacing. "Mother" was unpredictable at best, and Duncan was scarcely much better.
The two surprises were the armored figures closer to the Emperor's desk. Dr. Raymond Keyes, formerly Praetor of Science, was rarely at any meeting since his demotion. His body language was completely still, however, suggesting to Marchand that the man was likely engaging in other work inside his suit and not paying complete attention at the present. Depending on the topic, though, it was possible that Emperor Cole had called him here as a second opinion as opposed to Berry. For all the politicking that had led to Keyes' demotion in favor of Berry, it was clear that in private, Cole still regarded them as equal assets to his reign.
The other, Battle Maiden, was one of Cole's field commanders, an expatriate from one of the dimensions that Berry's scientists had located while attempting to lock down Praetoria's own rift technology. "War Earth", as it had been called, had supplied several interesting pieces of technology that had led to secret advances in Praetoria, even if a majority of the dimension's inhabitants had no understanding of the principles behind why their weapons worked as they did. The resulting stew of anachronism led to warriors armored in alloys that could withstand a battle tank's main gun, using swords that could slice through armor plate like butter and crossbows that fired like miniature railguns, yet appeared to be something out of a historical drama. But as to why the primary leader of the soldiers Cole had recruited from there was here, Marchand was at a loss to explain.
"Ah, Gerald. Good of you to join us," the final inhabitant of the room spoke up, Emperor Marcus Cole turning from where he was looking out the window at the main plaza below to the people behind him.
"I serve at your will, my lord," Marchand said, coming to attention by virtue of years of habit.
"So you do," Cole said, sitting down at his desk. "And it is time that my will is made into action."
The room's atmosphere abruptly changed as everyone present abruptly looked over at the tone with which the emperor had said those simple words. Marchand wasn't blind, however, to the reactions of each. Berry, while focused, seemed to have no real emotional display, possibly because he'd already processed the information and moved on. White's armored gauntlets clenched slightly, a look of anticipation on his face. Tilman merely looked smugly over at Sinclair, who was silent, while Battle Maiden leaned forward ever so slightly, her eagerness palpable. Only Keyes seemed anything other than anticipatory, his shoulders slumped slightly in his otherwise all-concealing armor.
"Gerald, as you no doubt know, the Praetorian Guard has been more... indisposed than usual. As have you, with our recent crackdown on internal strife. The reason for this is because there is a pressing need for us to be united in purpose and deed as well as in word," the Emperor said, clasping his hands before him. "A threat to Praetoria looms on the horizon, but unlike the Hamidon, this time we will not simply react passively after our people suffer. This time, we will strike at the source from the onset. The danger to Praetoria will be removed, once and for all, and with it, we will gain the key to the ascent of Praetoria over all others that would threaten it."
"My lord, if I may ask, what is this threat?" Marchand asked, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach suggesting he already knew.
"That threat is one you are rather familiar with of late, Gerald," Cole said, his tone of voice even, as if he hadn't just made clear that Marchand's unauthorized attempts to broker peace with the Primals flew directly in the path of the Emperor's plans. "But the threat of Primal Earth is even more insidious than that of the Devouring Earth. While your dedication to a humanitarian solution is commendable, negotiation is pointless."
"My lord?" Marchand said, shaken. He should be relieved. The Emperor knew of his covert activities, but had not condemned them, and he, to immediate destruction. But why did he still feel so terrified of those words the Emperor had spoken?
"The Primals have existed in chaos for so very long, that it is irreversibly entwined in their nature. We were fortunate, here. We were able to pull back from the brink. Perhaps, in a way, the Hamidon Wars were a crucible that refined our society to the utopia that all benefit from these days." The Emperor's voice was far too calm for the suggestion contained in those words. That the destruction of the earth and the destruction of the world governments had been a benefit to humanity? That the Devoured's destruction of the existing pattern had been a necessary demolition? "But the Primals have had their crucible and remain unchanged in the face of it. They cling to outdated notions of individuality and selfishness. Of the profit of one's self at the expense of all others. And this is no more evident than in their superpowered members. The Rogue Isles are a cesspool of corruption and excess where the strong oppress the weak, while the heroes elsewhere merely maintain a rotting status quo while villains of every stripe are only temporarily imprisoned, ready to bring havoc, chaos, and suffering with them again as soon as they escape. The existence of the common man in Primal Earth is one of dependence on a super powered elite for protection because that elite has either no desire to change these circumstances or no conviction to see through the necessary steps that must be made."
"My lord, I don't understand how this is a threat to us..." Marchand said, suspecting he understood the implied reasoning all too well, but somehow hoping the Emperor would prove him wrong. Even if it was a fool's hope.
Cole looked up at him, and his ice blue eyes were steady. "Primal incursions into Praetoria have begun to increase recently. We cannot ignore this threat anymore. If their chaos is allowed to spread here, all we have done, all that Praetoria's people rely on us to maintain, will be undone. Anarchy, disaster, and death will rule again. And I say that this will not happen. In secret, Praetor Keyes has been preparing an armored force the likes of which Praetoria has never seen. Praetor Berry has prepared the methods to allow our loyal soldiers to fight alongside them, and Battle Maiden has prepared her troops to assist us. We have kept this from the people so that their lives would not be upset by the rumors of war. So that they would not need to know the fear that their families and way of life would be uprooted and destroyed. Tomorrow, we launch our attack, and Primal Earth will be suppressed within a week. As per my orders, civilian targets will be avoided at all costs, but any super powered threats will be terminated with lethal force."
"My lord!" Marchand said, feeling a cold sweat break out. "You're ordering us to kill every single metahuman on the entire planet?!"
Cole stood up, his hands clasping behind his back as he held Marchand's gaze evenly. "Yes. Making Primal Earth change its ways at this juncture would be too difficult. It would threaten those in Praetoria we are sworn to protect. And in the end, I will not shed a drop of blood more than necessary of any Praetorian to save the Primals from themselves. The civilian population can be easily controlled, once the system that held them in bondage is annihilated, and so I have spared them. But no matter how supposedly "pure", their intentions, the Primal superhumans have made a wreckage of their world. They cannot be trusted with it, and even less with Praetoria's well-being."
"But sir, we barely have a fraction of their population. There's no way we could possibly win such a war, even with Praetor Keyes' new war machines, without massive casualties!" Marchand said, switching tactics. If the Emperor failed to care about the Primals as fellow human beings, perhaps he at least would still value his own men.
"That, too, is being handled, Gerald. Raymond's War Walkers will disable their mediport technology, preventing them from recovering their wounded. Simultaneously, I will ensure our victory personally. While I can only be at one place at one time, the power I have unlocked will provide an ample safeguard for our men," Cole said. When Marchand looked at him blankly, the Emperor cracked a small smile.
"It is no secret amongst you that I draw my power from the Well of the Furies. Through careful focus, I have managed to unlock still more potent expressions of its might. It is....infinite. Unlimited power. And it exists across all realities, even Primal Earth. By focusing its power, I can choke power from those who cannot protect themselves. The superhumans of Primal Earth will be weak as lambs when our armies arrive to finish them. There are a few Incarnates on Primal Earth who would be protected, but they cannot be everywhere, and I will handle them personally at my leisure."
Marchand felt a shiver run down his spine. The Emperor's plan was well considered, arranged, and efficient. It would be a slaughter. But... "My lord, I..."
"You will, of course, announce our intentions to the Primals, and our terms," Cole said, looking at Marchand. "Your identity is well known amongst the Primals thanks to your project with the Powers Division. It provides you as a recognizable element that the more tractable will understand. You do not hate them, but merely wish to bring them peace. It is a simple matter."
Marchand stared at the Emperor's final proclamation. To deny a direct order would be suicide, both politically and literally. The Emperor had no need for someone who would not obey, and there were dozens who would leap at the chance to take his position. But still, assenting, allowing his work to extend peace to the Primals be used as a... a propaganda measure to make the Emperor's... Cole's plans easier? The wholesale slaughter of millions for nothing more than the fact they could potentially be a threat?
Even now, he could see the others studying him. Sinclair, Keyes, and Berry were simply unreadable, while White, Duncan, and Tilman merely looked impatient. Battle Maiden, however... her expression was that of a hungry wolf, waiting for a show of weakness to sink her fangs into. And behind them all, Cole waited patiently, his arctic gaze waiting for Marchand's answer to the unspoken ultimatum.
It was clear that Marchand would not survive defiance here. But... he had supported Cole for a reason. He had joined the Praetorian regime to save humanity from the Devoured. Regardless of former political boundaries or allegiances or borders, he had joined the Praetorian Guard to protect humanity from that which was inhuman. To see an entire other group of humans cut off, segregated, and slaughtered simply because integrating them was inconvenient?
"No, my lord."
The room abruptly went deathly still again, as Battle Maiden's smirk widened into a smile, and Cole nodded infinitesimally to Marchand. "I suspected that you would say as much, Gerald. You are an idealist, and a man of strong moral character beyond that. Simply assenting to my demands to save yourself was something you would never do."
"Shall I kill the traitor, my lord?" Battle Maiden said, her body tensing like a compressed spring as Marchand idly contemplated how long he'd last once Cole gave the order to kill him. His armor was not unformidable, but neither was he a young man, or enhanced like the vicious dog slavering at the prospect of killing him here. Still, perhaps he might wound her slightly before the end. Gerald Marchand had not gone into the night quietly when the world had ended before the onslaught of the Hamidon, and he would not here, either.
"No, Battle Maiden. Gerald is no traitor."
Marchand blinked at that pronouncement, looking from the armored woman before him back to the Emperor. As the setting sun lowered outside the window, the Emperor of Praetoria was cast in a faint golden glow, painting every surface of his immaculate white uniform, and rendering him more Greek statuary than man, save those arctic blue eyes.
"He is a man of principle, and I trust that he will not betray us to the Primals. I have said that I will not spill a single drop more of blood from any Praetorian than is absolutely necessary for this war. So long as Gerald does not attempt to hinder our war efforts, I will allow him to believe as he does. Perhaps, in time, he will come to understand the truth of things, and we will regain his services on the front. But for now, there is plenty for him to do here. Battle Maiden, you will lead the opening attack."
Battle Maiden relaxed, though sulkily, as if she'd been prevented from playing with a toy. However, her mood improved at the mentioning of her role, as she shot to attention and saluted.
"Yes, my lord!"
"The rest of you have your orders regarding the invasion," Cole said, looking around. "Carry them out."
A chorus of "yes, my lord" accompanied the departure of the various Praetors, leaving the Emperor and Marchand alone in the room. Marchand continued to stare at the Emperor, trying to discern the trap that doubtless was there.
"There is no deception in my words," Cole said after a moment of contemplating the Nova Praetoria square below. "I will not harm you so long as you do not betray Praetoria. However..."
He then looked back to Marchand again with that arctic blue gaze that cooled even further, as if composed of liquid nitrogen. "If you do, your life is only sustained by that armor at my will. And I will abide no traitors to Praetoria, Gerald. Am I clear?"
Marchand nodded, ever so slightly, as he realized there was no threat in the emperor's voice. Merely a statement of absolute fact. Turning on his heel like the career soldier he was, Marchand walked towards the doors, stopping just before their enormous gilded surface.
"Yes, my lord. I understand perfectly, now."
***
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."
—General Robert E. Lee
War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things: the decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks nothing worth a war, is worse.
—John Stuart Mill
***
Under most circumstances, a summons to the Imperial Tower was a great honor, often followed by the conferring of greater status and responsibility upon the one summoned. But tonight, Provost Marchand wasn't feeling very reassured about his future prospects. As Provost General of the Praetorian Empire, Marchand oversaw all PPD activity within the empire, as well as serving as the direct liaison to Powers Division for many a new member. While, in theory, he could be promoted to Praetor, such a promotion was simply a political showpiece more than anything these days, and Marchand had hardly done anything noticeable enough recently to deserve a public gilding for his laurels.
A gelding, on the other hand... Marchand thought to himself as he walked in the front doors of the tower. Soldiers lined the entry in perfect silence, snapping to attention as he entered. Marchand, however, noticed the changes. The PPD and TEST no longer served as the Emperor's personal guards. These troopers, rather, wore the gunmetal, gold, and crimson of the Imperial Defense Forces, their armor the new Mk. III model developed recently by Neuron as the next step forward from the TEST adaptive exoskeleton. They were merely the first signs of everything Marchand feared, as he knew of the secret developments in Lambda Sector. The disgraced former Praetor Keyes was hard at work for someone supposedly demoted, and Marchand was well aware of Keyes' actual skills. While Berry was a prodigy with biological sciences, such as his own enhancements, Keyes' talents had run towards the mechanical and industrial, leading to the massive Keyes Reactors and the Clockwork. The rumors of a MK IV combat armor for the IDF, as well as new "Warworks" Clockwork machines had been ominous enough before Marchand's contacts in Powers Division had confirmed the existence of the construction facility within Lambda...and the army of War Walkers waiting there for deployment.
One rarely built an army without the will to use it, and if there was one thing Marchand knew that the Emperor possessed, it was will. But one did not contradict the Emperor directly. Marchand's efforts within Powers Division had borne more than a little fruit, with dozens of impressionable new recruits being sent to Primal Earth to seed the belief that not all Praetorians shared the Emperor's belief that Primal Earth was a threat that needed to be put down. Marchand had seen too much of war to believe that the Emperor's new weapons would make it any less horrible, for Praetoria or the Primals. And as the ringing of his battlesuit's boots echoed amidst the marble and gold hallways leading to the Emperor's personal audience chamber, Marchand found himself confronted with yet more harbingers of war.
There were only two guards stationed before the Emperor's chamber, but Marchand knew they were worth every single IDF trooper below and more. Praetorian Guards, their faceless helms concealing any human features of the soldier beneath. Their armor, plain and undecorated, was more for ornamental purposes than technological, a less elaborate version of the Emperor’s personal battle regalia. More telling, though, was their reflection of the Emperor's actual ability. The Praetorian Guard of the old war had consisted of the most powerful superhuman forces that Cole could muster to his side, a looming hammer of might to crush the Devouring Earth wherever it was needed most. This new Praetorian Guard was more uniform in their gifts, possessing the same powers as the Emperor himself, albeit in reduced potency. They were recruited from the most loyal units in the empire, subject to highly classified procedures that made them into what they now were...echoes of the Emperor's power, the source of which only a select few knew. Incarnates. The two guards stepped aside without a word, only reinforcing Marchand's unease as he stepped through the massive golden double doors and into the presence of the most powerful man in the world.
Marchand's first realization was that he wasn't alone in the audience chamber. Around him was the apex of power in Praetoria. Praetor White leaned against one pillar, massive and positively radiating barely controlled impatience. Praetor Berry stood nearby, his fingers dancing across a datapad so fast that they blurred to Marchand's eyes, presumably to make use of the few minutes he was being forced to wait. Praetor Sinclair lurked at the far side of the room near the shadows of the pillars. Apparently just coming off of a patrol, he was still wearing the dark midnight blue gear he preferred when in the field. Near him, Praetors Tilman and Duncan were chatting quietly to each other. Marchand repressed a shudder, but tried to keep any thoughts about not wanting to be too close to either woman from surfacing. "Mother" was unpredictable at best, and Duncan was scarcely much better.
The two surprises were the armored figures closer to the Emperor's desk. Dr. Raymond Keyes, formerly Praetor of Science, was rarely at any meeting since his demotion. His body language was completely still, however, suggesting to Marchand that the man was likely engaging in other work inside his suit and not paying complete attention at the present. Depending on the topic, though, it was possible that Emperor Cole had called him here as a second opinion as opposed to Berry. For all the politicking that had led to Keyes' demotion in favor of Berry, it was clear that in private, Cole still regarded them as equal assets to his reign.
The other, Battle Maiden, was one of Cole's field commanders, an expatriate from one of the dimensions that Berry's scientists had located while attempting to lock down Praetoria's own rift technology. "War Earth", as it had been called, had supplied several interesting pieces of technology that had led to secret advances in Praetoria, even if a majority of the dimension's inhabitants had no understanding of the principles behind why their weapons worked as they did. The resulting stew of anachronism led to warriors armored in alloys that could withstand a battle tank's main gun, using swords that could slice through armor plate like butter and crossbows that fired like miniature railguns, yet appeared to be something out of a historical drama. But as to why the primary leader of the soldiers Cole had recruited from there was here, Marchand was at a loss to explain.
"Ah, Gerald. Good of you to join us," the final inhabitant of the room spoke up, Emperor Marcus Cole turning from where he was looking out the window at the main plaza below to the people behind him.
"I serve at your will, my lord," Marchand said, coming to attention by virtue of years of habit.
"So you do," Cole said, sitting down at his desk. "And it is time that my will is made into action."
The room's atmosphere abruptly changed as everyone present abruptly looked over at the tone with which the emperor had said those simple words. Marchand wasn't blind, however, to the reactions of each. Berry, while focused, seemed to have no real emotional display, possibly because he'd already processed the information and moved on. White's armored gauntlets clenched slightly, a look of anticipation on his face. Tilman merely looked smugly over at Sinclair, who was silent, while Battle Maiden leaned forward ever so slightly, her eagerness palpable. Only Keyes seemed anything other than anticipatory, his shoulders slumped slightly in his otherwise all-concealing armor.
"Gerald, as you no doubt know, the Praetorian Guard has been more... indisposed than usual. As have you, with our recent crackdown on internal strife. The reason for this is because there is a pressing need for us to be united in purpose and deed as well as in word," the Emperor said, clasping his hands before him. "A threat to Praetoria looms on the horizon, but unlike the Hamidon, this time we will not simply react passively after our people suffer. This time, we will strike at the source from the onset. The danger to Praetoria will be removed, once and for all, and with it, we will gain the key to the ascent of Praetoria over all others that would threaten it."
"My lord, if I may ask, what is this threat?" Marchand asked, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach suggesting he already knew.
"That threat is one you are rather familiar with of late, Gerald," Cole said, his tone of voice even, as if he hadn't just made clear that Marchand's unauthorized attempts to broker peace with the Primals flew directly in the path of the Emperor's plans. "But the threat of Primal Earth is even more insidious than that of the Devouring Earth. While your dedication to a humanitarian solution is commendable, negotiation is pointless."
"My lord?" Marchand said, shaken. He should be relieved. The Emperor knew of his covert activities, but had not condemned them, and he, to immediate destruction. But why did he still feel so terrified of those words the Emperor had spoken?
"The Primals have existed in chaos for so very long, that it is irreversibly entwined in their nature. We were fortunate, here. We were able to pull back from the brink. Perhaps, in a way, the Hamidon Wars were a crucible that refined our society to the utopia that all benefit from these days." The Emperor's voice was far too calm for the suggestion contained in those words. That the destruction of the earth and the destruction of the world governments had been a benefit to humanity? That the Devoured's destruction of the existing pattern had been a necessary demolition? "But the Primals have had their crucible and remain unchanged in the face of it. They cling to outdated notions of individuality and selfishness. Of the profit of one's self at the expense of all others. And this is no more evident than in their superpowered members. The Rogue Isles are a cesspool of corruption and excess where the strong oppress the weak, while the heroes elsewhere merely maintain a rotting status quo while villains of every stripe are only temporarily imprisoned, ready to bring havoc, chaos, and suffering with them again as soon as they escape. The existence of the common man in Primal Earth is one of dependence on a super powered elite for protection because that elite has either no desire to change these circumstances or no conviction to see through the necessary steps that must be made."
"My lord, I don't understand how this is a threat to us..." Marchand said, suspecting he understood the implied reasoning all too well, but somehow hoping the Emperor would prove him wrong. Even if it was a fool's hope.
Cole looked up at him, and his ice blue eyes were steady. "Primal incursions into Praetoria have begun to increase recently. We cannot ignore this threat anymore. If their chaos is allowed to spread here, all we have done, all that Praetoria's people rely on us to maintain, will be undone. Anarchy, disaster, and death will rule again. And I say that this will not happen. In secret, Praetor Keyes has been preparing an armored force the likes of which Praetoria has never seen. Praetor Berry has prepared the methods to allow our loyal soldiers to fight alongside them, and Battle Maiden has prepared her troops to assist us. We have kept this from the people so that their lives would not be upset by the rumors of war. So that they would not need to know the fear that their families and way of life would be uprooted and destroyed. Tomorrow, we launch our attack, and Primal Earth will be suppressed within a week. As per my orders, civilian targets will be avoided at all costs, but any super powered threats will be terminated with lethal force."
"My lord!" Marchand said, feeling a cold sweat break out. "You're ordering us to kill every single metahuman on the entire planet?!"
Cole stood up, his hands clasping behind his back as he held Marchand's gaze evenly. "Yes. Making Primal Earth change its ways at this juncture would be too difficult. It would threaten those in Praetoria we are sworn to protect. And in the end, I will not shed a drop of blood more than necessary of any Praetorian to save the Primals from themselves. The civilian population can be easily controlled, once the system that held them in bondage is annihilated, and so I have spared them. But no matter how supposedly "pure", their intentions, the Primal superhumans have made a wreckage of their world. They cannot be trusted with it, and even less with Praetoria's well-being."
"But sir, we barely have a fraction of their population. There's no way we could possibly win such a war, even with Praetor Keyes' new war machines, without massive casualties!" Marchand said, switching tactics. If the Emperor failed to care about the Primals as fellow human beings, perhaps he at least would still value his own men.
"That, too, is being handled, Gerald. Raymond's War Walkers will disable their mediport technology, preventing them from recovering their wounded. Simultaneously, I will ensure our victory personally. While I can only be at one place at one time, the power I have unlocked will provide an ample safeguard for our men," Cole said. When Marchand looked at him blankly, the Emperor cracked a small smile.
"It is no secret amongst you that I draw my power from the Well of the Furies. Through careful focus, I have managed to unlock still more potent expressions of its might. It is....infinite. Unlimited power. And it exists across all realities, even Primal Earth. By focusing its power, I can choke power from those who cannot protect themselves. The superhumans of Primal Earth will be weak as lambs when our armies arrive to finish them. There are a few Incarnates on Primal Earth who would be protected, but they cannot be everywhere, and I will handle them personally at my leisure."
Marchand felt a shiver run down his spine. The Emperor's plan was well considered, arranged, and efficient. It would be a slaughter. But... "My lord, I..."
"You will, of course, announce our intentions to the Primals, and our terms," Cole said, looking at Marchand. "Your identity is well known amongst the Primals thanks to your project with the Powers Division. It provides you as a recognizable element that the more tractable will understand. You do not hate them, but merely wish to bring them peace. It is a simple matter."
Marchand stared at the Emperor's final proclamation. To deny a direct order would be suicide, both politically and literally. The Emperor had no need for someone who would not obey, and there were dozens who would leap at the chance to take his position. But still, assenting, allowing his work to extend peace to the Primals be used as a... a propaganda measure to make the Emperor's... Cole's plans easier? The wholesale slaughter of millions for nothing more than the fact they could potentially be a threat?
Even now, he could see the others studying him. Sinclair, Keyes, and Berry were simply unreadable, while White, Duncan, and Tilman merely looked impatient. Battle Maiden, however... her expression was that of a hungry wolf, waiting for a show of weakness to sink her fangs into. And behind them all, Cole waited patiently, his arctic gaze waiting for Marchand's answer to the unspoken ultimatum.
It was clear that Marchand would not survive defiance here. But... he had supported Cole for a reason. He had joined the Praetorian regime to save humanity from the Devoured. Regardless of former political boundaries or allegiances or borders, he had joined the Praetorian Guard to protect humanity from that which was inhuman. To see an entire other group of humans cut off, segregated, and slaughtered simply because integrating them was inconvenient?
"No, my lord."
The room abruptly went deathly still again, as Battle Maiden's smirk widened into a smile, and Cole nodded infinitesimally to Marchand. "I suspected that you would say as much, Gerald. You are an idealist, and a man of strong moral character beyond that. Simply assenting to my demands to save yourself was something you would never do."
"Shall I kill the traitor, my lord?" Battle Maiden said, her body tensing like a compressed spring as Marchand idly contemplated how long he'd last once Cole gave the order to kill him. His armor was not unformidable, but neither was he a young man, or enhanced like the vicious dog slavering at the prospect of killing him here. Still, perhaps he might wound her slightly before the end. Gerald Marchand had not gone into the night quietly when the world had ended before the onslaught of the Hamidon, and he would not here, either.
"No, Battle Maiden. Gerald is no traitor."
Marchand blinked at that pronouncement, looking from the armored woman before him back to the Emperor. As the setting sun lowered outside the window, the Emperor of Praetoria was cast in a faint golden glow, painting every surface of his immaculate white uniform, and rendering him more Greek statuary than man, save those arctic blue eyes.
"He is a man of principle, and I trust that he will not betray us to the Primals. I have said that I will not spill a single drop more of blood from any Praetorian than is absolutely necessary for this war. So long as Gerald does not attempt to hinder our war efforts, I will allow him to believe as he does. Perhaps, in time, he will come to understand the truth of things, and we will regain his services on the front. But for now, there is plenty for him to do here. Battle Maiden, you will lead the opening attack."
Battle Maiden relaxed, though sulkily, as if she'd been prevented from playing with a toy. However, her mood improved at the mentioning of her role, as she shot to attention and saluted.
"Yes, my lord!"
"The rest of you have your orders regarding the invasion," Cole said, looking around. "Carry them out."
A chorus of "yes, my lord" accompanied the departure of the various Praetors, leaving the Emperor and Marchand alone in the room. Marchand continued to stare at the Emperor, trying to discern the trap that doubtless was there.
"There is no deception in my words," Cole said after a moment of contemplating the Nova Praetoria square below. "I will not harm you so long as you do not betray Praetoria. However..."
He then looked back to Marchand again with that arctic blue gaze that cooled even further, as if composed of liquid nitrogen. "If you do, your life is only sustained by that armor at my will. And I will abide no traitors to Praetoria, Gerald. Am I clear?"
Marchand nodded, ever so slightly, as he realized there was no threat in the emperor's voice. Merely a statement of absolute fact. Turning on his heel like the career soldier he was, Marchand walked towards the doors, stopping just before their enormous gilded surface.
"Yes, my lord. I understand perfectly, now."
***
---
"Oh, silver blade, forged in the depths of the beyond. Heed my summons and purge those who stand in my way. Lay
waste."