Phantom Limb



36 years after the Battle of Valencia...



"...And I am delighted to report a staggering 0% dissent rate in Aberdeen and the surrounding counties. It seems the latest software patch has worked exactly as you predicted - at least in The Wishkah."

Governor Luca spoke in a strong yet respectful - perhaps even sycophantic - tone, though the rate at which he perspired was much more reflective of his true thought process at the time. Despite the room's near-freezing temperature, the sharply-dressed intendant's skin was visibly dripping with sweat that fell to the lavish carpet he stood on in slow, monotonous streams.

Luca's body faced the center of the massive chamber, where a dark outline of his supreme master stood with cold detachment. Every time the governor's eyes drifted even slightly closer to the silhouette, the prickling sensation of maggots on his skin grew more prominent. Cursing himself for his morbid curiosity, he counted the seconds waiting for the Supreme Leader's response.

"The affairs of The Wishkah hardly concern me, Governor, and your gratuitous rhetoric is an unnecessary exertion at best. All that matters is that the Empire as a whole remains in a state of stability. My unwavering influence..." he paused, "is paramount."

Though Benthamic's speech was deliberately slow and powerful so as to ensure every word was heard loud and clear, all Luca seemed to hear was "this is beneath me and you are wasting my time." The voice of the Supreme Leader was anything but human and organic in nature. Each word stang like a sharpened dagger in one's back, and though his unique diction displayed little outward emotion, the implied message was somehow always as evident as his immense internal power.

"Y-yes, of course, my lord. Forgive my transgression."

"It seems you are once again laboring under the assumption that there is room for mercy in my power base."

"I-I only meant-"

An ungodly grunt cut Luca's panicked rebuttal short. An instant later, the Supreme Leader's outline shifted slightly, and his piercing crimson eyes were just barely tangible amongst the indefatigable shadows of the dimly lit room. A stark contrast to his almost sociopathic speech pattern, a wide array of emotions were conveyed through his cold eyes, most notably a palpable hatred that bore down on the puny governor like an inexorable black wave crashing onto a battered shore.

"There is no mercy, Governor," the Supreme Leader enunciated. "Only potency." And such was a doctrine that Benthamic's inner circle clung to with pertinancious resolve.

To be continued...