King Ver of the Vreka was supposed to be benevolent. Kind. Caring. Not somevok who sullied his blades with the blood of lesser beings. But this was war. Feral Vreka against Sane Vreka. The Winds had blown a wicked evil across his lands, corrupting the minds of Vreka and allavok alike.
“My Lord, we cannot defeat these hordes!”
Ver’s blade went through the chest of a Feral One. He did not want to kill this unlucky Vreka but had been left with no choice. The pup who had screamed that the horde was winning was speaking the truth. In this location though. The Feral Vreka needed to be bottlenecked, trapped in a narrow space where Ver’s fewer numbers could more easily manage them.
The King was flanked by his personal guard, the Myst. They had been successful in obtaining their Needle Flayers. Charging in with their sealed, mechanical suits and their newly restocked weapons, the Myst needed little time to turn the tables on their enemy. Ver called for his remaining loyal Vreka to quickly follow him, deeper into the castle, while the Myst took down and tranqed the incoming horde.
Ver did a quick headcount. He had few followers now. Everyvok else wanted him dead, which was surprising, since his rule began in January, the Vreka had always loved him.
“My Lord!”
“What is it, welk?”
The young Vrekan was terrified. Not just of Ver, but of everything that was happening.
“The entire state is falling. This is not a local phenomenon or a failed coup!”
“No, this is an attack on all of us!” another Vreka, one of Ver’s assistance, interrupts. “Some sort of gas that drives us all insane and makes us kill each other!”
Ver didn’t answer. Instead he listened as the other Vreka of his party started arguing, throwing various theories at each other. They all had conflicting thoughts, but it was all the same. Vrekans becoming feral. They had worked for many centuries to fight their primal instincts, to reclaim their glory. Yet this evil air, this plague, threatened to destroy Vrekan culture once more. Was this an attack on Vrekans alone, or was this an attack on all civilized life? He had to know before he made any decisions.
“You. Jellarn. Get me in a conversation with the Queen Prime. Now.”
Jellarn looked at King Ver as if he was insane, but did as he was told. His look of confusion though quickly turned to one of concern, as there was no answer. The Queen Prime had never refused a call from a Vrekan King before.
“Should I get you the President of the Cassids or the High General of the Retha? Perhaps the Order of Two from the Thanatians? Or the Leader of the Lanex?” Jellarn asked.
Ver hesitated. He didn’t want to. The more time he wasted there, the more the Vrekan population would hurt itself, perhaps even kill itself. He needed to act now.
“No. There is no time. We need to sedate as much of the population as possible, before we kill each other…” Ver took notice of those who were with him. “All of you, you seem immune to this sickness. You will remain here, sealed within my royal chambers. You must remain protected as you may be required for a cure to the insanity. I will take the Myst and our royal air force, and we shall rain sleeping gas upon our own. There is no choice in the matter. Sleep may be dangerous, but it is no more so than our own destruction.”
The King of the Vreka ushered his group of survivors into his personal home, up a flight of elegant stairs and hallways. Behind him, the Myst followed, locking the royal chambers, before accompanying Ver to the Royal Air Base just outside.