I open my eyes, to see a familiar chamber. It worked. The damned teleporter actually worked!

A cold chill strikes me. Myron. Monika. All of them. I don’t know if any survived. If my last-ditch effort succeeded, most of the Imperium’s Frames on our flank would be buried beneath snow and ice and rock. It would all depend on luck as to whether my friends would have escaped the avalanche’s wrath.

For a moment I allow myself a silent prayer, a hope that they were alive. If there is any good in what I am to do, then please, survive, my friends.

I turned my thoughts to what was to come. My body shakes with anticipation. My hands, when brought to my face, vibrate as the fear and the thrill intertwine within me. “Randera,” I whisper, hoping to find some meaning within her name, some guidance.

Nothing.

Can I really do what she wants me to? It was a question that I had mulled over the last six years. Ever since that fateful day when she told me her vision for me. Can I truly sacrifice myself for this? For this goal of hers? Is she willing to risk that much?

“Free the Universe, or see it burn.” My voice shudders as I utter her order to me. I shook my head, clearing the thoughts away.

A beeping from my terminal breaks my trance. I look at the ID, and flinch. The private line of High Lady Randera.

My fingers tremble as I tap the screen and accept the call. Her face appears before my screen. Her dark face seems lined with age, her pale lips pursed in a sad line. Her brown eyes find mine, and a dormant hatred awakens from them.

“Vixiua,” She whispers my name, as if merely speaking it pained her. I understand; standing before her was the last-living son of the man who killed her father. The man who tore through her fleets and brought everything she had worked for to its knees. Yet, here she was. About to hand me the greatest mantle of power. She trusted me, yet she loathed herself for it. The task she had given me, the dream she wished for me to achieve. She believes it is worth suffering me.

She will be wrong.

“Why does it have to be me?” I ask, and her face snaps to attention once more. She hesitates, so I speak first.

“I’m risking as much as you, Randera. Your dog killed my father and brother. I –“

“Which is exactly why I question my decision in trusting you, Eleusis.” She looked defeated, as if she feels as if everything was now veering from her control. As if she could no longer see what the future would hold for her, or her people.

“You need me,” I state, “I need her protected.” Randera shook her head. A slight smile crept upon her lips.

“So, you are willing to do all this so that no harm comes to her?”

I bark a laugh. “No, I do all of this because I crave power.” I hate myself for the words I say. “The power to make certain that nothing happens to the ones I need. I need her, protect her. I will see your dream come to fruition, but if anything happens to Lelliana, I will see your Universal Collective burn.” I set my mouth in a hard line, the sincerity of my threat burning beneath my eyes. I feel her searching me, weighing me. Trying to find the same young boy who she could manipulate and toy with as she had six years ago.

“Do this, and you’ll have your power. You know our agreement, Vixiua.” She opens her mouth to say more, but she hesitates. “We have our differences, the disparity between us is great. But, you are a better man than those who came before you.”

I allow a smile. “Tell that to me in a year, we’ll see if you mean it with as much sincerity as you do now.” I raise my right hand to my chest, the salute that is usually saved for the Majesties. “Thank you, High Lady Randera.”

I end the call and sit back against the bed. I look to my hands, calloused from months of training, from years of duelling and from the gruelling work that comes to one who must fight to survive. You took everything from me, Randera. Everything. All I have left of who I was is her. But I will do this. I will sacrifice my soul.

I sigh, and rise from the bed. I go to the wardrobe by the terminal and open it with a code. The wardrobe opens, and behind it a second container that unlocks with it. What is revealed inside is he last remaining artefact of my family. A pulseblade, the one my father gave me when I was younger.

The hilt is intricate in design, with the guards coiling out and down, like the roots of a tree. When activated, the guard extends down for a third of the blade. In the centre of the roots is a small blue crystal. Locked within the confines. When my hand touches the hilt, the crystal glows a deep blue.

This blade is special. It can be activated with a thought, and can take the length of a longsword, or that or a shortsword or dagger, depending on what I require. It is a versatile, deadly, weapon.

Feeling the lightness of this relic of my past brings tears to my eyes. Kaldratos. I can only hope that, in whichever plane you walk now, you have turned away from what I am to do.

I gently place the pulseblade on the bed, and the glow of the crystal stills.

Turning back to the wardrobe, I pull out a coat traced with gold. It was extravagant, the type of thing I would have worn daily had life not taken the course it did. I felt… unworthy of wearing it. I had not attended all the feasts, I had not studied all the histories or the philosophies. I was born a Noble, but I felt little more than a common criminal.

I strip off the officer’s shirt that I wore and disposed of it. I watched as the flames lick at the grey shirt and know that my old life is dying with it.

Tonight I will be born anew.

I turn, and my eyes land on the mask that hung in the wardrobe. As soon as I put it on, I will be someone else. Everything will change. I find myself wishing to hear my brother’s voice again, to know his advice. To hear him speak his mind, far too honest for lies or manipulation, he would have told me dead-on whether or not I should take the path I was about to.

But, Kaldratos isn’t here. Nor would he ever be by my side again.

My hands tremble as I reach out and grip the mask. Plain, cold grey steel. I always hated the colour grey. It shines back at me, completely clean, completely clear. I see myself in the reflection, my deep green eyes, the eyes of my mother. I see my dark blonde hair, covering half my face, shaggy and unkempt as it was. I do not look the Noble I should be.

There are no holes for the eyes, no hint of a nose. It is completely smooth, save for a small line where the mouth would be that would allow me to breath. It would filter the air, so that I could survive even in toxic or poisonous environments. The mask is unadorned, grey as the rest of my dull room.

I take the mask from the stand and hold it in my hands. It was lighter than expected in my grip, but I knew it would be far heavier when my face was behind it. I release a shaking breath, I flit between a desire to put it on my face and smashing it into the ground, rejecting the road that it would take me down.

“I was a Noble,” I shiver, my mind made up. “I was the son of a respected man, a good man. Once, I would have chosen for nothing more than to be with my family, to be with those who I loved.” I turned the mask around and raise it to my face. I feel the dampness of tears as they run down my cheeks. “Now, I choose to become a monster.”

I feel the weight of the cold steel as it imprisons my face. I see only darkness. Then the mask comes to life as it senses my breath, the inside of the mask glows red. I set the voice parameters so it changes my voice, and then set it so that the mask is completely transparent to me. I see normally. Others would see the emotionless stare of grey steel.

The edge of the mask extends, coiling around my head until the two sides meet. They click, an I hear a small whir as the gears lock themselves together.

My cage was complete.

I ready myself for what is to come. For the task that has been set before me. I let my hand slide down to the pulseblade at my waist, I find comfort from the hilt. Comfort from the knowledge that whether I fight or die, my life is in my own hands. I still have control over my own life, if not the path I walk.

My blood turns to ice as the cold of the military base comes at me in full force. I look towards the hallway that leads to the Command Centre, and I spare one last glance at my blade.

“Time to begin the end.”

I stand at the end of the corridor, eyes watching the two guards by the door. Calvins looks alert, worried. Followed by annoyance. It is a weird mixture of emotions that cycle over his face. Irritation that he is stuck in here, then joy that he is not out in the battle where hundreds are dying.

His friend looks much more sheepish, his eyes cast down, his rifle held skittishly in his hands. I try to decide what to do with the two men. Can I kill them? Would it at all be wise to let them live?

I sighed, I am not prone to blatant aggression on a whim. I am methodical, a strategist. I was always the one who looked towards the future, the one who looked deeper than one act, and planned several. Killing them would gain nothing.

I step out into the corridor and stride down towards the Command Centre. I walk with as much confidence as I can bear, trying to hide the swirl of worry and uncertainty that flows within me. Calvins tenses as he saw me coming, he has no idea who I am. He only knows that some random man in a mask is heading straight towards the Command Centre which he guarded.

“Who in Hells name are you?” His voice writhes, escalating from firm to fear. I am a full head shorter than him, but I carry an aura of command.

His friend raises his rifle to me. both steady themselves as I continue to walk forward. I stop short of their rifles. Calvins has a look of irritation, mixed with fear. His friend looks me up and down, taking in my mask, the pulseblade at my hip. He’s ever seen the weapon before. His eyes light in curiosity and fear.

He takes an involuntary step backwards as the command centre rumbles as flak and warheads batter it from the outside. They still don’t know the base’s exact location, just that we’re somewhere here in the mountains.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” I begin, “General Mallius Orno has made a mockery of the Universal Collective and is a danger to our success. I am here to rid us of that danger.” Calvins face scrunches into a glare. I know he hates Orno, maybe even more than I do. But, he is a soldier, and he follows orders. For that, I can respect him.

“Why would they send someone now? Why would the High Council get rid of Orno in the middle of a fuckin’ battle?” Calvins questions, but his friend just stared at me in fear.

“Because they won’t need to send aid once I am in command. I can win, High Lady Randera knows this, and so she chose me to lead in Orno’s place.” Maybe I can turn foe into friend.

Still, Calvins glares at me. If you move to speak into your comm, I’ll cut you down. I do not want to kill you, but I cannot risk losing before it has even begun.

The building roars around us, cracks dart across the walls and steel bends. Calvins eyes jump up as he looks at the roof, at the cracks that had appeared and the dust that had settled on his face. “We’re losing,” He states. He nods towards me as he realises that Orno has lost the battle, and that he cannot be allowed to stay in command.

He salutes. “General, please enter the Command Centre. Bring us victory.” Calvins begs, and I stride between them. I turn to him, surprised by the humility in him now, the rational. There is no hatred, nor envy, or even anger. He is calm in having done a good deed.

“You are a good man, Calvins.” I stride on and the doors slither open for me.

Orno does not turn to see who has entered. He simply assumes that it is one of his officers having returned.

It is not. I stalk towards him. His Guards turn as they hear footsteps nearing their commander. I see one as his eyes bulge, as he tried to fathom how an armed individual entered the Command Centre.

He does not get to find out the answer. There is a low hiss as my pulseblade hisses. I swing upwards, the man’s right arm falls from the elbow, a cauterised stump in its place. I waste no time silencing him by cutting off his head. His friend has reacted by now, readying his rifle. I flick my pulseblade, and it moves like wind, extending half a meter as my will commands. The blade slices through the weapon and cuts through the man’s chest, slithering out the other side in a spray of boiling blood. The man sinks to the ground.

Orno looks at me now. Everyone’s eyes are on me as my pulseblade sizzles with blood. He looks on in horror as he sees his dead guardsmen, his friends. He knows there is no one who can save him now.

Yet he is less coward than I thought.

“No,” he states, defiance in his eyes. “I am not going to die to some unnamed assailant! Take off your mask, cur!” He moves to draw his pistol.

I am death.

My blade slices through his shoulder and his arm comes off as I carve the blade from his body. He gasps, his other hand going for the stump that is now his shoulder. His blood screams against the heat of my blade, evaporating into red mist.

I fall into defensive posture, my blade aimed at his throat. His eyes search my mask, trying to find a reason, trying to find the person.

There is nobody but a hollow monster now.

I want to hate him, I want to want to kill him. Yet, all I see before me is the terror in this wretched man’s eyes. I don’t hate him, I pity him. That doesn’t make it any easier. This man has a family, people who love and care for him. I look to the bodies at my feet and my stomach sinks as the guilt presses down.

“On your knees,” I command. My voice sounding fierce and twisted, distorted by the mask. I sound feral, animalistic. Dark. I watch as Orno trembles as he slides to his knees. His resilience gone. His face holds only fear and regret.

“Please,” he begs of me. Tears brim beneath his eyes he realises that he is to die. I see the exact moment it clicks in his head, that his life was forfeit.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I hesitate for just a moment, but I tap against my mask. I reveal my face to him, so that he will at least know the face of his killer.

His eyes widen and his mouth quivers. Shock spasms across his face, followed by anger. He opens his mouth.

“Vi-“ I plunge the blade through his throat and end his life. His eyes lock with mine as he gurgles and spit blood. It flows from him like a violent sea in a storm.

Then he stops.