Malum's ill health had come as a massive surprise because he was effectively immortal. Unless his protection from ageing did not save him from disease.
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“Explain thyself, then, brother.” Valerie told the Earl coldly, her eyes narrowed in a confusing mixture of hatred and pity.
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“It all started in 52 YAP – the year before Executor Erzatz died and was succeeded by Executor Abigor – when I was thirteen. I heard these whispers in my mind that no one else could hear. They gave me advice on all manner of things...and I listened. When I came of majority in 57 YAP, the voices became far more hostile to everything, going on and on about how they will be punished for harming the faithful. I gave in and asked the voices what in Empyrea they were on about.”
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Malum sucked more oxygen from the mask and sighed before continuing.
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“A single voice, much louder than before, told me about how the Æther Defence Force were bombing what they thought were Bio-Terrorists, but were really a sect called the Conclave of Æther. From that point on, it only got worse. In 63 YAP – when I had reached my twenty-fourth birthday – some stupid mugs calling themselves Sages of the Circle of Veilstones uncovered a prophecy in what they assumed to be the tomb of a powerful sorcerer that predated the Order of the Dragoon.” Malum's artificial vocal chords meant that his voice was forever flat, neutral, and emotionless. Yet his eyes looked like they were holding back a fountain of tears.
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“And what did it say, brother?” Victorine whispered fearfully, unsure if she actually wanted to know.
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“It was actually the tomb of some cultist and the prophecy was written in the language of the Void, and was a quoted passage of the Book of the Æbyss used as a death message: “𐐓𐐨𐑆 𐐯𐑁retold 𐐷𐐪𐑌𐐼 𐑄 𐐨𐑉𐐲 𐐲𐑂 𐑄 æbyss 𐑇𐐰𐑊𐐻 beest ush𐐪𐑉𐐼𐐨 𐐮𐑌 𐐺𐐴 𐑄 𐐲𐑉𐐴𐑂𐐲𐑊 𐐲𐑂 𐑄 æbyssal 𐐻𐑉𐐴𐐲𐑋𐑂𐐲𐑉𐐮𐐻 𐐮𐑌 empyrea. 𐐂𐑌 𐑄 𐑅𐐯𐑂𐐲𐑌𐑃 𐐼𐐩, 𐐲𐑂 𐑄 𐐶𐐨𐐿, 𐐲𐑂 𐑄 𐑅𐐯𐑂𐐲𐑌𐐻𐐨-𐑅𐐯𐑂𐐲𐑌𐑃 cycleth 𐐰𐑁𐐻𐐪𐑉 𐑄 𐑁𐐫𐑊𐑅 æth𐐪𐑉 𐐩𐐾, 𐑄 𐑅𐐿𐐨𐐲𐑆 𐑇𐐰𐑊𐐻 𐐿𐐪𐑊𐑊𐐨 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐩 𐐼𐐯𐑊𐐷𐐭𐐾 𐐲𐑂 𐐺𐑊𐐲𐐼 𐑇𐐰𐑊𐐻 raineth 𐐼𐐵𐑌 𐐲𐐹𐐪𐑌 𐑄 𐑉𐐯𐑊𐑋. 𐐜 𐐻𐑉𐐴𐐲𐑋𐑂𐐲𐑉𐐮𐐻 𐑇𐐰𐑊𐐻 bringeth 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐑄𐐯𐑋 𐐿𐐩𐐪𐑅 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐼𐐮𐑅𐐻𐑉𐐲𐐿𐑇𐐲𐑌, rampallian𐐪𐑉𐐮𐑍 𐑄𐐯𐑉 𐐼𐐲𐑋𐐮𐑌𐐷𐐲𐑌 ov𐐪𐑉 𐐫𐑊 𐑉𐐨𐐾𐐲𐑌𐑆. Feareth 𐑇𐐰𐑊𐐻 gripeth 𐑄 𐐸𐐪𐑉𐐻𐑅 𐐲𐑂 𐑄 𐐲𐑌𐐶𐐲𐑉𐑄𐐨 𐐰𐑆 𐑄 𐐶𐐨𐐿 𐐶𐐮𐐻.”
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Malum realises that most people in the room could not understand the language of the Void and translated into Empyrea Basic.
“Tis f'retold yond the era of the æbyss shalt beest ush'r'd in by the arrival of the æbyssal triumvirate in empyrea. On the seventh day, of the week, of the seventy-seventh cycleth aft'r the false æth'r age, the skies shalt colly, and a deluge of blood shalt raineth down upon the realm. The triumvirate shalt bringeth with them chaos and destruction, rampallian'rting their dominion ov'r all regions. Feareth shalt gripeth the hearts of the unworthy as the weak witness the pow'r of the æbyss manifesting in their midst.” The Earl said, the archaic words sounding strange coming from modern prosthetic vocal chords.
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“From then on, I was the servant of Æonex the Tormentor. I was tricked into accepting partial immortality while unknowingly having a terminal disease.”
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The Earl looked bitter. “Thou art here to kill me, I have to address the people and die publicly if they art to obey a new sovereign.”
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Rainer turned bright crimson in rage. “This is a Coup d’état, Your Eminence, we have no obligation to listen to thou.” He snapped.
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Malum laughed to himself, an unpleasant grinding sound.
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“Look at me, General, I should have died years ago! I was born in 39 YAP, and this is 66 Ae, I am one hundred and four years old and afflicted the disease that killed poor Countess Nyctra far too young.” Malum showed no signs of fear.
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“Get onto the balcony then.” Valerie told him.
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Malum wheeled himself out onto it and pressed a button, sirens echoed through the beautiful city of Worcester, which had stood for over four hundred and thirty-three years and had never been successful been invaded – Grand-General Worce had held the city for four days against the Coalition until Grand Fleet – ever before.
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Almost immediately, a trickle of curious citizens began to form in the area below the balcony – known as the square of glory – to hear what the sovereign had to this late in the evening.
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All manner of Narcissians were there: meek clerks with inky hands, a large helping of haughty aristocrats looking around at everything in contempt, an army of bureaucrats from the Administration Centre brandishing mighty sheaths of pretentious legal babble, maps of administrative zones – from the Regional level of the entire Earldom, to the Subregional Exarchies and their smaller Stratocraties, to the ridiculously obsolete and no longer used Lieutenany Areas, right down to the local settlement governments – and fancy pens; to angry teachers both military and civilian, and their students, who distinctly fell into three types: grumpy proactive students who had been asleep, exhausted chronic procrastinators who had been frantically trying to catch up on work, or a strange combination of putting things off until the last minute yet being lazy enough to sleep all day after an all-nighter; Narcissian males were bashed as being perfectionistic and overconfident to compensate for being shorter on average while the fairer sex was extremely sweet and seemingly shy until they talked you to death.
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This was happening all across the Northeast as people gathered around things that would transmit the speech.
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Malum had been heavily praised for his strong oration and unnerving ability to convince a crowd to support him even as the content of his speeches had become absolutely, truly despicable.
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“Only my inner circle knew about my failing health despite being unable to age, yet many suspected something was wrong, and they were very much correct. I was deceived as a young man, plan and simple, in accepting a selfish death that would give me the time to be remembered as the most glorious ruler ever without knowing that I was merely prolonging the suffering of both myself and everyone else.”
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Everyone on the balcony listened intently, rainer muttered something, and one of his men smashed the beautiful example of a railing that was a compliment to even the master masons and sculptors behind it.
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“Berote...is dead. As art Limos and Xantè. The Void is finally dying, and it will take me with it. But first, I have something to tell the people of Narciss, something that I dearly hope will allow my legacy to be something more than unadulterated hatred. The House of Ego was never infallible. Many would and have argued that it is flawed, and I agree.”
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Malum had lost his ability to enchant anyone with his words the very moment his powerful voice was silenced and had to be replaced with an artificial version. Yet he had everyone spellbound, proving the truth behind the saying, “Ego's blood speaks, and Empyrea listens.”
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“I speak as a failed ruler, a tyrant, an Ætharch, but most of all, as a man. More bone and metal than flesh but nonetheless still human. I, Malum Ego, Eleventh ruler of Narciss, offer my worthless apologise to the people of Narciss, to my siblings, to my parents – Earl Preen and Countess Calliope – who I struck down because I swallowed the Tormentors lies hook link and sinker!” The flat monotone carried no emotion but Malum's words seethed with the pure fury, the crushing sorrow, the hollowness of a life that meant nothing in the end, and lastly saturated with the bitterest form of disappointment: in ones own self.
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“He is coming. Everyone in Empyrea knows who I refer to. His only weaknesses are myself and honesty, and to wield these as my greatest weapon, I will hang out his lies, MY life of bloody deception where everyone can see them rotting away! And then I shalt have my last words before putting a blissful end to the pain...” Malum was crying, both with emotion and from the lifelong pain that was compounded by a literal god screaming in his mind.
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Everyone on that balcony was witnessing the power of sheer willpower, and for that reason, he might just be greater than all the Earl and the Countesses that had come before him.
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“All those whining pen pushers had better make themselves useful for once by writing down what I am about to say, word...for...word.”
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The Earl took a deep breath that rattled all the extra bone that had grown because of a terminal disease that should have killed him a long, long time ago.
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Malum Ego began to do something he had waited six and a half decades for:
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Confessing to his crimes.
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