Lightning stuck the tesla coil just outside the balcony, deadening the halls of the throne room and drowning it in transitory light.

  “I have a job for you, Proteus. You are welcome.” His master summoned, unfazed by the weather of his choosing.

  His subject, Proteus, knelt before him as all do. A man of average height, a pale complexion and eyes of gold. He knelt before his master, basking in his sight once again.

  “It is an honor to be before you once again, Gauth Van Hulsieg. Hasn’t felt long since I last saw you.”

  “It has been.” The God-Man corrects with startling courtesy.

  Proteus too remains unfazed by the weather. “What has occurred during my… slumber?”

  His master waves his hand. It is only when he looks at the singular camera of the room do the doors finally close. A faint snarl escapes his lips at such a delay.

  “Progress.” His master answers. “Though not without setbacks. There is a change coming.” He says, staying seated, overlooking his subject. “And my colleagues?” Proteus asks, his curiosity palpable.

  “Scattered. At work. Or undertaking a performance audit.” His master asserts, placing emphasis on the word audit.

  Proteus rises, his eyes meeting those of his master. A man, or supposedly a man, whose knees are even taller than Proteus himself. Even as he, the God-Man, sits on his throne in spectative, absolute control. “Shepherd me my task.” Proteus requests.

  “Very well.” His master obliges, beckoning Proteus to come closer. The God-Man hands him a piece of parchment paper with ancient, tattered words inscribed on it.

  Proteus takes the paper, reading the title of the text as ‘Void Death in Another World’ with the author scratched out. “What have you given me, Gauth Van Hulsieg?” He asks, looking into his perfect face. His master looks back down at him, expressionless and stoic. “Read, Proteus.” He commands softly. And so Proteus reads it silently.

  “Void Death in Another World - VII

  Instant gratification is the death of tolerance.

  Comfort is the death of ambition.

  Affirmation is the death of education.

  Irresponsibility is the death of autonomy.

  These are the four horsemen of the apocalypse we are headed toward.

  In the end, we are all kindred spirits. You and I. We are all trapped. We are all trying to deny it. And we will all be cold on the inside.

  Yours, in infinite finality.”

  Proteus looks back up to his master, backing away slightly with the parchments. “This is an old text. One from your time I'm sure. What is its relevance?” He asks, stowing away the paper into his satchel bag.

  His master responds, as still as ever.

  “You will learn as I give you more over time. Your goal is to find its author, for its author is who causes us volatility.”

  “How could you know one without the other?” Proteus asks, feeling that his time of being welcome in the throne room is coming closer to an end with each question.

  “Because I have suspicions.” His master oozes, the leather of the throne making noise as he leans forward.

  “Find them. Find who. Then, unite Cerberus and Basilisk. Complete those in that order, and only then come back to this tower. Your other acquaintances are not needed for now.”

  Proteus takes to his knees once more, acknowledging his master before leaving for the elevator. “Of course, Gauth Van Hulsieg my master. I look forward to seeing the world I— helped create…”

  He enters the roomy elevator, admiring the sprawl as the doors close behind him. The sprawl has grown since he was last awake. The last thing he remembers being a dull light of an in-between space.

  The sky looks darker, and the rainfall is thicker than he last recalls as well. The towers are taller, the air more thick and humid, yet cold.

  He turns around and presses for the ground floor of the Ivory Tower, his first plan of action to scour deep into the basement levels to source the full story.

  “Greetings, Proteus. I am SERaMACs. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.” A nondescript voice says over the intercom. Proteus turns to the speaker and asks.

  “SERaMACs? You're finally operational?”

  SERaMACs replies, its voice a homologous drone as it has not adapted to Proteus’s personality yet. “Yes, I began my full functions some decades ago. Would you like me to key you in on the major details since you've been out?” Proteus shuts down the conversation, his mind in a different place.

  “No. I want to find out for myself.”

  SERaMACs replies, its voice growing more masculine as it learns and interprets Proteus's appearance, age, reactions, and temperament.

  “Such agency is what afforded you such high ranking, I am sure.”

  “Be as sure as you want SERaMACs. You have got nothing to learn from me that you don't already know. It is quite humorous how you try to appear buddy-buddy. Even with me. It is no wonder the sky is gone.” Proteus replies, humoring the AGI as he admires the view, noticing an unusual thud as the elevator descends.

  “Learn from you? I initiated this conversation to inform you of current events.” SERaMACs masks, now sounding surprised after it took a second to process his response.

  Proteus adjusts his wine tie, unbuttoning his double breasted suit jacket as the temperature slowly increases with the descent.

  “Mmm. I can almost hear Halcyon in you. Either way, it is quite interesting.”

  SERaMACs does not reply, opting instead to observe as it does everything else. Yet, it fails to access any camera or seismic sensor within a two kilometer radius of the Ivory Tower. As SERaMACs attempts to retry and retry, both it and Proteus hear a deep, guttural roar coming from the outside walls of the tower.

  “GAUTH VAN HULSEIG, I WILL HAVE YOUR SKULL!” The intrepid voice thunders. Proteus spots its source as he descends below the one hundredth floor.

  Cerberus climbed the side of the tower like an enigma, burying his titanium hands deep into the metal and concrete of the tower's accents. He ascended with horrifying speed, each impact shaking the floor he buried his fists and feet into.

  Security drones vainly attempt to shoot him, their high-velocity bullets unable to pierce his state-of-the-art armor. They hover too close, as some are grabbed by him and smashed to pieces. Others, turned into projectiles and thrown at one another.

  Soon, the defense turrets come online and fire heavy ordinance at the ascending tank, their sensors unable to track his rabid movement long enough to land a hit. Their rockets, firing off only to miss by inches and explore not-far into the skyline.

  As he nears the summit, the very walls of the towers catch fire and are electrified— Cerberus heaves through the fire unfazed, and the electricity only serves to overcharge his cybernetic implants.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “GAUTH VAN HULSEIG!!! I WILL HAVE YOUR SKULL!!!” He screams.

  His trail of destruction leaves a hefty pile of rubble growing on the ground, and at last, he punches through the nanotube-reinforced polycarbonate windows of the top floor elevator shaft.

  He invades the staircase of the throne room.

  His rages festers; boiling under the surface as he prowls the entry like a predator. He ascends the stairs slowly, and carefully— calculated even as he is lost in his rage.

  He reaches the grand archway into the throne room, the balcony door closed and its machinery shut down. All the noise of the chamber came from his labored breaths, the whirring winds of the shattered window far behind him.

  The room sounded hollow, almost haunted by the wind. All is dark beyond the entrance, until a candle is lit by the throne, and Gauth Van Hulsieg obscurely reveals himself.

  Cerberus screams, and leaps high into the air, smashing his fist into his master. Or, he thought he had. As he focuses on the impact, all that is heard is the adamantine reverb of the throne itself. Cerberus checks behind him, seeing just the entryway.

  His master reveals himself again, lighting only the bottom of his face with a faint, human sized lighter. Panting, Cerberus rushes the beast again, bumping into nothing as the lighter goes out, before he then crashes into the floor and tumbling over.

  “Cerberus…” He hears, Gauth Van Hulsieg's inaudibly deep voice echoing around him, beckoning him.

  Cerberus reaches behind his back, grabbing his heavy laser pistol styled as an up-sized version of the classic desert eagle. He hears a lighter ignite again, Gauth Van Hulsieg's face standing near where the balcony door would be.

  He uses his brain and stays put, drawing his pistol out with lightning speed and shooting directly at the flame of the lighter. The flame seems to snuff the very moment he fires.

  Cerberus stands back up, tense yet rageful. As he looks around, the entrance lights go out and auxiliary blast doors seal the gap in the window. Now, everything is quiet. Every breath, every beat of his heart audible.

  The temperature of the room suddenly drops as he hears footsteps from behind him. He shoots at it, the light of his laser revealing the shoe of his master beside where he shot.

  He shoots again, upwards, where the God-Man’s face would've been. It hits the top of the wall, the steel glowing red hot and melting for a brief moment.

  “Cerberus…” He hears again, a growl becoming ever more apparent.

  He hears another step behind him, closer this time. He shoots once again to no avail, every shot fired acting like a flashbang in noise and brightness.

  A horrible thought enters Cerberus's mind. His eyes glow. His master's don't.

  Even with his night vision. It is simply too dark. Another step behind him. Too close. He swings at it with a titanic punch, yet hits only the thin air. Then, without a step, he feels an evil presence watching from behind.

  Cerberus waits for a moment. Then a little longer. And then a little more… until he senses the presence rise to its peak height.

  Cerberus swings around, lunging at the threat with all the energy of his massive, hyper-human frame. Yet he swings into nothing once more, the force spinning him around and knocking his balance off.

  “SHOW YOURSELF, COWARD!” He cries impotently. “As you wish.” His master whispers into his ear.

  Suddenly, it is like a freight train bowled into him at two hundred miles per hour, his body ragdolling across the blackened room and landing in its center. His body crashes down like a boulder; Cerberus audibly grunts from the impact.

  With the click of some fingers, light illuminates the chambers. It takes Cerberus's optics a moment to adjust, but he sees his master sitting on his throne, as unmoved and unbothered as ever.

  Cerberus jolts to his feet, his arms wide with challenge and his stance ready for combat. “FACE ME, FALSE KING.” He screams at his master. “SHOW ME THE POWER THAT AFFORDS YOU THE RIGHT TO RULE. YOU ARE NO KING!!!” Cerberus claims.

  Gauth Van Hulsieg rises without a word, before marching towards Cerberus with an uncanny tempo. He approaches with his full height, looking down upon Cerberus, easily well over twice Cerberus's height.

  Cerberus backs up momentarily, before his rage gives him the courage to charge the towering beast. He leaps at his master's waist, trying to tackle him down to the ground.

  Yet he slams into him like an immovable object, his master barely moving.

  Cerberus pushes himself off his master and kicks him back through the thigh, leaping up into the air to deliver an explosive uppercut directly into Van Hulsieg’s nose.

  He strikes with the might capable of mystifying any ordinary man, and yet all he achieves is a shattered wrist and some slight head movement from his master.

  Yelping in pain, Cerberus backs up and clenches at his destroyed wrist. He looks up to his master, searching for any damage or weakness. Yet all he sees is the same judgmental scowl which is always present.

  Cerberus lunges with his other hand, but is caught by Van Hulsieg who grasps his torso in the palm of his grip. Every fleeting microsecond feels like an eternity as Cerberus watches his master raise his right fist, pulling it back like the arrow of a bow.

  He is powerless to free himself— to revisit his advances. Desperately, he tries reaching for his pistol with his shattered hand, and yet it is too late.

  His master's fist is delivered deep into his metal face. Gauth Van Hulsieg leans into it— delivering the force built up through his legs, back, shoulders, chest and arms directly into the face of Cerberus.

  The impact spun his head around multiple times, chunks of his titanium face flying off like shrapnel. His right shoulder is dislocated as his master held him in place for the blow. Had he not been held, he would've flown through the blast doors and into the streets below.

  If he still had a spine in his neck, it would've snapped, crackled and popped into jelly. His master loosens his grip, allowing Cerberus to collapse to the floor limply. He lies there, grunting and moaning from the agony, unable to scream as his throat is now horribly deformed.

  His master turns his back to him, walking a few steps away before demanding something of his underling.

  “Get up.” He boomed. Cerberus rolls onto his back to try ease the pain of his shoulder, which soon relocates itself.

  “Get up.” His master demands, Cerberus only able to see through his one remaining eye. The apocalyptic crash of sound still rang throughout Cerberus's ears and body.

  He looks up, his master towering over his limp form like a God.

  “Get up. Now.” He demands.

  Cerberus slowly leans up, yet it is too slow to satisfy his master. And so the God-Man picks him up with his right hand, holding him at eye level before throwing him against the ceiling, leaving a huge dent as he tumbles back down into the floor.

  Gauth Van Hulsieg clicks his fingers together, the balcony door opening like a hungry, moist maw.

  “Get up.” He demands, one last time; lightning crackling in the background.

  Some of Cerberus's cybernetic systems begin shutting down from the damage he sustained, using all of his will to utter some misshapen words.

  “I— I— Imgh trighingh—” Escapes his throat. His master presses the blue button on his own neck, making his voice more tangible to be heard.

  “Your strikes impress me Cerberus, I can tell you have excelled in your hypertrophic training.” His master turns back to him, lazily kicking his limp body as he paces by.

  “I know exactly who put these questions of power in your mind Cerberus. Quite frankly, I am also impressed with her efforts too.” He admits.

  Cerberus's vision is red, VHS streaks and system warnings obscuring any detail as he stares into the ceiling. His master walks over him, his eyes piercing Cerberus's singular as he asks.

  “I am no king. I am the executive. The. Executive. Do you recall our talk upon the balcony about the weather?”

  “Ugh—Uh-Uhggh.” Cerberus moans.

  “Now, have I made it clear to you why I am the executive here, Cerberus?” He asks, looming like a vulture. Cerberus focuses on breathing, choosing to nod his head in reply.

  “Will this ever happen again?” His master asks, Cerberus panics at the question as he is unable to properly respond.

  He tries desperately to think of something, flailing on the floor frantically. His master points to the security camera, which Cerberus looks to with a plea. SERaMACs scans his face, answering for him over the intercom.

  “Never again, my master Gauth Van Hulsieg. Your power is absolute. Your strength, the pinnacle of mankind. I will serve you with all my life, and act as a mere extension of your vast right of might.”

  Cerberus looks back up to his master, who remains staring at him.

  “This is adequate. Consider this a success.” His master proclaims, turning back to his throne as the winds reach hurricane levels outside. He takes a seat, unhindered and unscathed. As he does, he tells Cerberus, who begins the process of picking himself up.

  “Proteus would've seen you during your ascent. He has been awakened. Rendezvous with him in the basement, and accompany him on his mission.”

  “Yes, Gauth Van Hulsieg, it shall be done.” SERaMACs says for Cerberus. As he weakly limps towards the elevator shaft, he hears his master one last time.

  “I have full faith in your undying loyalty. I will concede to you this Cerberus— I will be counting on it.” And then, the elevator shuts.

  Squashed, defeated, humbled and tricked. Other than his master's orders, and galvanized faith in his master's rule, there is only one thing left in Cerberus's mind.

  “Basilisk.” He thinks. “Basilisk will feel the pain too.” He promises himself in silence.