Everything went silent as the shot rang out, time frozen to a standstill. Matthias's body collapsed in slow motion as the bolt struck his temple. Yet, in death, he seemed peaceful, no regrets as he left this mortal coil.
"Matthias!" But no words came from Rocke's mouth, his heart beating so fast it drowned out the world. He watched with wild eyes as his friend and mentor plummeted from the roof to the ground beyond, his limp body carried by the wind.
"Ha." A broken chuckle escaped Hooven's lips, the weapon dropping from his hand. It became louder, breaking into uproarious laughter. Wild glee shone in his eyes.
But Rocke barely noticed, rushing to the staircase. He took three stairs at a time, ignoring Maple yelling after him.
He stabbed at the elevator button, screaming for it to arrive. It slid open with a chime, and Rocke pressed the bottom-floor button so hard it hurt his finger.
"Please be okay," Rocke muttered to himself. Somehow, Matthias would survive the bolt shot and the fall. The Sovereign would save him. Matthias couldn't be dead.
The elevator dinged, and Rocke pushed himself through the door as it slid open. People screamed as he rushed past the pedestrians milling about. Quite a crowd had already gathered outside, muttering amongst themselves. But Rocke ignored them, focusing on one solitary mission: getting to his friend.
Rocke squeezed through the mass of bodies. They had gathered in a circle around a single spot. Many were distraught, anguish evident on their faces. Some seemed angry, but most seemed confused.
"Out of the way!" Rocke screamed, almost throwing people aside in his desperate haste. Finally, he broke through the circle and found what he'd been dreading, what he'd feared but couldn't admit out loud. "No."
Matthias the prophet seemed surprisingly peaceful despite the violence done to him, his body remarkably intact considering he'd fallen over ten stories.
"No." Rocke bent down, gently grabbing his friend. He wailed into Matthias's shoulder, not caring who saw. His father had always scolded him for his tears, saying they made him weak. But Rocke was beyond caring at this point. He just held his friend, unable to do anything else.
"We finally found you," a young man said, breaking through the circle. On his lapel was the badge of Vladus's police chief. Four officers accompanied him, their shock rods ready to subdue the wanted man with force if needed. But Rocke barely noticed, too numb to think.
"Rocke Ralss, you are under arrest," the young man wearing the chief's badge said. But he didn't sound unkind, his voice carrying a great deal of sympathy. He gazed down at the body of the fallen prophet, his expression somber.
"Don't resist," an officer said, grabbing and pulling Rocke by the arm. Rocke wanted to fight back, screaming until his lungs burned out, but the numbness had dulled any fight as cuffs were slapped around his wrists.
"Read him his rights." The badged officer said. "The rest of you, enter the shopping center and find his accomplices."
"Yes, Chief Halkken!" Another officer saluted and rushed into the shopping center Rocke had fled from.
"Damn shame. He was brave." Halkken turned back to the fallen body of Matthias and shook his head. "He shouldn't have died like that. Please cover the body, get rid of these gawkers, and take it to the morgue. Then notify the next of kin. I believe he has a brother in Brequin."
"Get in." The officer pushed Rocke roughly into the police car.
But Rocke didn't care. He just sat, listless, as they carted him away to jail again. Dear Sovereign, it seemed like several lifetimes ago when he'd first gotten arrested back in the Ottomon slum. Matthias had been so brave, defusing the situation with the violent, volatile Rolf with finesse.
Now, Matthias was gone. What was Rocke to do? Did it even matter anymore? Rocke just sat there, not caring what would happen to him. It was over.
///
"I've told you a thousand times!" the man across from Halkken said. "You're making a terrible mistake!"
"Let's go over this again. Why did you shoot Matthias Daliven?" Halkken fought back a yawn. It had been a long night, and it was already four in the morning. He wanted to get to bed, but he had a duty to perform.
"Why does it matter? He betrayed our people." The suspect, Hooven Tovohim, replied. "I did our country a favor by shooting him!"
"So, you admit to shooting Daliven?" The fact was in little doubt. Hooven had shot the poor man on live television in front of countless witnesses.
"It was necessary. Just ask Ekkor Ralss. He ordered me to do it! It was all his idea."
"Is that right?" Halkken replied, dubious.
"Yes, just ask him! I'm a hero! Why are you even locking me up?"
A hero? What a joke. Was Hooven expecting a reward for murder? Halkken's mouth curled.
"Actually, Chief, Ekkor Ralss is here in the station," Phú2 said in his earpiece.
"Is he?" Halkken said out loud. "Here to see his son, no doubt."
"Huh?" Hooven stared at his interrogator blankly.
"Ask him if he's willing to speak with me." The Ottomon was bringing some serious allegations against a well-bred member of high society. Halkken wanted to see Ralss's reaction to such claims.
"He's coming," Phú2 said a moment later.
"Huh?" No hesitation or protest? Such confidence. A moment later, a dark-haired, well-dressed man entered the room.
"Hello, Mr. Ralss. My name is Halkken. I am the new acting Chief of Police. I've brought you here because I just have a few questions. Otherwise, you're free to visit your son."
It might do the boy some good, Halkken reflected. Rocke had been basically comatose since his arrest. The poor lad had taken Matthias's death hard. His father's visit might shake him back to life. They still needed to question him.
"I'm always willing to help the police however I can," Ralss said, inclining his head.
Hooven stood to his feet, his arm chain rattling from the sudden movement. "Tell them about our deal! You said if I killed the false prophet, you'd restore everything I've lost because of my Ottomon heritage!"
Ralss remained cool, staring at the rambling prisoner with icy, unmoving eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about."
"What?" Hooven said, astonished. "You can't be serious. You promised me!"
"Do you know this man?" Halkken asked Ralss.
"He is my doctor—or was," Ralss replied, closing his eyes. "He served as my primary physician for many years. But I found another doctor who better served my needs and switched to his care. I haven't seen Hooven in years."
"So, you deny ordering him to kill Matthias Daliven?" Halkken asked.
"I do. I would never order the public execution of anyone, especially on live television," Ralss said. "What would I gain from such an action, anyway?"
"Liar!" Hooven was hopping mad now. "You said we'd both be heroes if I brought Matthias to justice! That it would boost your move to become Vladus' mayor!"
Halkken studied Ralss's face, searching for any tells. Hooven seemed utterly convinced that his words were true. Still, Ralss remained unmoved, his expression stoic. This guy had one heck of a poker face.
"All lies." Ralss turned toward the door. "If that's everything, I wish to speak with my son. We have much to discuss."
"No! You can't just abandon me!" Hooven said, becoming more frantic. "You promised!"
"That's fine. I'll have an officer escort you." This line of questioning had been a dead end, anyway. Whatever the truth, Ralss had no intention of revealing it, even through subtle facial tells.
"No! No!" Hooven's chain rattled as Ralss left the room, abandoning his supposed co-conspirator to his fate.
When it was clear that Ralss wouldn't return, Halkken collapsed into his seat, face held in his hands. All the fire had drained from Hooven as despair set in.
///
"Well?" Shiisaa asked as Halkken closed the interrogation room door behind him.
"Pathetic man," Halkken said, finally voicing his thoughts. "Hero indeed."
"That was some claim, saying that Ralss put him up to it," Shiisaa said.
"It was, but I'm not convinced either way." Hooven seemed convinced of his story, but would Ralss really order such a blatant assassination in public? It was plausible, but impossible to prove.
"I would never order the public execution of anyone," was Ralss's words. Had he ordered the execution, but Hooven misinterpreted his order and made the assassination too public for Ralss's liking? The public certainly didn't see Hooven as a hero.
The prime minister himself denounced the killing, calling Hooven what he was: a murderer. Luciest actually praised Matthias for his bravery, for his obvious and deep love for his countrymen. Then he'd twisted that love into a tool.
The Prime Minister blamed the Demons for his death. While lacking the tribal Ottomon tattoos, Hooven's records revealed the truth. His Ottomon heritage had damned him. The Prime Minister claimed this proved his race was treacherous. Matthias had spent years helping them, only to get betrayed by the people he'd worked so hard to help. While obviously misguided, Matthias was a true UOP citizen worthy of honor. The public, naturally, ate this up.
Poor Matthias. His words of kindness and mercy had fallen on deaf ears. The Demon had gotten expelled from Vladus, anyway. Only a couple of cages remained by Phú2's report. With the murder investigation, Halkken was forced to leave the scene. But thankfully, beyond Matthias's tragic interruption, Operation: Ugly Duckling had gone without a hitch.
"It seems Hooven's taking the fall." And nothing would change that. They could press him for further details about his supposed deal with Ralss, but they'd get nothing provable. No one would save Hooven. A pitiful end for a pitiful man.
"Forget him. How's the search for Rocke's accomplices?" Halkken asked.
"Still no sign. They somehow escaped," Phú2 said, her image on his phone deflating.
"Pity." From what they'd gathered, three Demons had helped Rocke with Matthias's broadcast. The lad's resistance group was resourceful. "Keep searching. With the rest of the Demons exiled from the city, their distinctive appearance will give them away."
"Roger!" Phú2 saluted and vanished from his phone.
"As for Hooven, throw him in a cell and throw away the key."
///
"Oh, Sovereign." Rocke bent his head in supplication, hands folded in a gesture of prayer. No tears flowed, his eyes too spent to spill any more sorrow.
Why had the Sovereign allowed His most faithful servant to die? But that wasn't the real problem. Rocke had failed his friend. He should have protected him. He should have died in Matthias' place. What was he compared to a prophet? Nothing. Rocke sat there, his heart empty of feeling.
"Rocke Ralss. You have a visitor," a guard said.
When Rocke didn't respond, they lifted him by the arms—though not unkindly—and dragged him out. He allowed it, too numb to resist.
"A visitor?" Rocke's dull mind finally registered the word as he entered a visitors' room. He stood straight as he saw who stood behind the glass panel. Instinctively, Rocke snapped to attention, years drilled into him never to disrespect this man.
"Father." Rocke stared, astonished. He'd never expected to see him again. But here he stood, meeting his son once again after another arrest. A humorous part of Rocke wondered if getting arrested was the best way to get his father's attention.
"Rocke." His father studied his shabby, bedraggled son.
Besides the recent loss, the last two weeks had been rough. Rocke was thinner; he bore stubble on his chin and circles darkened his eyes. Yet Rocke's father didn't look at him with disdain like before. No—was there a modicum of respect?
Much to Rocke's surprise, his father's mouth curled into a slight smile. "Good. These last weeks have served you well. They've molded you into a real man. If I'd known hardship would have had this effect, I would have enlisted you in the army."
"What do you want, Father?" Rocke's eyes turned hard, a modicum of his old self returning.
"To give you another chance."
"Sorry?" This caught Rocke by surprise. His father never offered second chances.
"Matthias Daliven is dead. The Ottomon are broken and scattered. There's no reason to champion their doomed cause any longer," his father said matter-of-factly. "You did well leading your resistance group. You evaded the police, led small rescue and retrieval missions, and even freed an entire internment camp."
"I…" Rocke couldn't believe his ears. His father was complimenting him? "You're not angry with me?"
"No. I am pleased these recent hardships have molded you into a fine, capable adult. Don't worry about your recent incarceration. I will have my best lawyers work on your case. You're not entirely to blame for your actions. You were a child acting out and joined the wrong cause. With good behavior, I imagine you'll be out in five years."
"You actually want me back?" After everything he'd done, his father would just drop it all?
"I could use a man of your ability. I'm willing to wait a few years." His father gave him a slight smile.
"Of course." Fire stoked in Rocke's belly. Typical. His father saw Rocke as another useful asset to push his ambitions. His teeth ground together as his fury bubbled.
"No." Rocke's words were hard, unyielding. For years, he'd tried winning his father's approval, yet he'd failed every single time. Eventually, he'd given up. Saying that single, defiant word had felt good, liberating.
Then he'd met Matthias, and everything had changed. He'd loved the old man. For once in Rocke's life, he'd met someone who'd never judged him. Who loved him for who he was—no expectations. It was like a man dying of thirst finally getting a cup of water.
While fraught with danger, his days working with Matthias had been the best of his short life. Even with the current tragedy, Rocke wouldn't exchange it for anything.
"I won't help you," Rocke said, his words steel.
"Reconsider. Otherwise, you have no future. You'd rather spend the rest of your life in prison? Or as a vagabond with no home? Reconsider your words carefully, Rocke."
"I have. And my future isn't with you." Rocke knew his father and his ruthless ambition.
He walked over everyone—even his own family—to get what he wanted. He didn't care about Rocke; only what he could get from him. No, Rocke would walk his own path, regardless of the consequences. He would walk the path of the Sovereign. He'd be like Matthias, someone he admired and respected.
"You're making a mistake, Rocke." His father's words made it clear this was his son's last chance. There wouldn't be any take-backs.
But Rocke remained unmoved. Then something inside him stirred, and his mouth opened, speaking words that weren't his own.
"Ekkor Ralss, you are a wicked man. You have killed the Sovereign's anointed. For this, the Sovereign has declared a special judgment upon you. Besides Rocke, none of your line will prosper. They will all die young, with none to carry your blood. You will die in three days. You will be ripped to shreds, and the dogs will feast on your flesh."
The room became deathly still as Rocke spoke. Uncharacteristically, his father seemed disturbed. He'd gone white as a sheet. Somehow, he knew the words Rocke had spoken were unmediated truth—something even a cynical man like Ekkor Ralss couldn't deny.
Without a word, Rocke's father fled the room, like a monster was chasing his heel. Rocke watched him leave, dumbfounded.
What the heck was that? Why had he said those things? Had the Sovereign just spoken through him?