That Dumb and Dead Salvi (Inevitable Event #2)

With a wave of his hand, Akim Salvi dismissed the projections of the three faces that formed his Benevolent.

Well, not his. But His. 

The remnants of the fight he’d just been in lay all around him. Flammable liquid and scorch marks coated practically every inch of the walls and floors like graffiti, multiple tables were flipped over, broken glass reflected pockets of flames, loose wiring sprayed sparks of electricity, and an overhead beam had fallen, creating a bridge up to the high ceilings.

Akim leaned on one of the few remaining upright metallic tables, taking in the sight. He was bruised and bloodied, his ribs on fire—figuratively, though also literally only a few moments ago. But he knew his pain held purpose, and that strengthened him.

There was supposed to be black iron hidden somewhere within the derelict—a rarity amongst the Forge that not too many had access to. Though, the Ironlands did have a cache of it they’d been lugging around since Old Earth… No other sectors had anywhere near as much as those who Swore on Iron. Akim never understood why their resources hadn’t been “acquired,” but he wasn’t going to argue. Nevertheless, he did as we was instructed, following the orders laid out for him. His current duty, instructed by the people he served, was to come here, and he’d done just that.

But His reason for sending him here had been a ruse, as He never expected to find scraps of the precious metal on board. The derelict would serve two purposes for the mission, a clever ploy.

The Risen that had been ignited earlier by his guards still burned in the corner of the large room, though now the smell of burning flesh and smoke was mixing with the smell of paint thinner and blood.

Akim inhaled slowly, taking in the glorious scent.

He’d done his part—even though he’d gotten a bit carried away at the end. Had he been believed?  Did he oversell it? No matter. He was sure he’d gotten the correct information out, laying the groundwork—the seeds—for the future. He smiled at his little joke. He’d heard of what was coming, what all of his actions today would herald.

For years, Akim had done what was asked of him without question. All of his hard work, everything he’d done to get to this point, was for a cause much greater than himself. What he did and was still going to do was vital for the success of what was to come.

Being born a Salvi, he’d always known that duty—the weight of responsibility. From birth, he’d been trained to be a leader and guide those within his family’s sector to greatness. He’d been schooled on politics and how to run a settlement, then a planet, and then to one day rule millions within the Salvi Pass. He’d always yearned to do that work: rule. Akim was not afraid to admit that he liked having power over others.

And yet, it was only when he was in service of something more that he began to feel truly satiated. In doing so, he realized that he actually had far greater control over others than before, though in a way that they didn’t even know they were being controlled. Akim smiled, looking to the Mimic gear he still shouldered. 

And as much as he loved his brother—for all his annoying faults and delusions of grandeur—he smiled as he had lured him to their family home, and smiled wider as he killed him. Akim had been told that this was a critical moment. Something…inevitable. Without it, nothing would work.

And he did it with a smile.

Akim smirked at the thought, knowing that once again his work would only go noticed by those in the know and unnoticed to all others, and he was doing the right thing. The Detective had shown up, exactly as foretold, and left with the boy. 

And soon, Akim would prepare himself to do the last thing that was asked of him.

He would die.

“Sir,” a guard said upon their return. “The intruder managed to get away, and he took Slater. Should we pursue?”

Akim craned his neck to the side, eyeing the two guards who had, also, done what was asked of them. They had served their purpose. They were pawns. Always had been. They served no greater need other than to be fodder, training dummies in strength of his cause. They were chosen to prepare the Detective and safeguard the boy until it was time—until now. Unbeknownst to them, they had done their jobs quite well. 

And, now, they were no longer needed.

Akim flicked his wrist, sending them flying back into the wall, all without laying a single hand on them. They screamed, but he quickly silenced them with a crushing fist gesture.

Finally being able to flex his mental muscle felt good—so fucking good. He’d gone so long lugging around his brother’s Mimic gear, wishing he could alleviate the weight of it from his shoulders. But, no, he was required to look wrong. The Detective needed to see him and fly into action, avenging the death of his mentor—Akim’s younger brother.

Akim released the guards from his mental grip and let them fall to the ground in a heap. If they had known what was coming next, they would have thanked him. Not everyone was built for the life of sacrifice. Not everyone was willing to shoulder that burden.

Ah, but Akim was.

With barely a gesture, he slid the Mimic gear off and let it gently fall to the ground as he made his way to the center of the room. Debris shifted out of his path as he walked, leading him to a spot on the ground where he would eventually sit with his legs crossed. He inhaled deeply, letting the burning flesh fill his nostrils. It would become a much more familiar scent soon enough.

Was the Detective ready?

Was the boy?

Was the Forge?

Akim glanced off to the side, as if looking through the walls of the ship. By now, the boy had been recovered, and he was being led by the “hero” to the S.P.D. ship waiting outside.

Akim smiled.

With a single finger, he beckoned the flaming Risen to him. With that same gesture, a pool of paint thinner began snaking in his direction, trailed by the Mimic gear which leaked more. The Risen stopped ten feet from him while the paint thinner began spreading all around him. Its scent was intoxicating. Was he the only one to truly know how exhilarating this could be? What kind of power he held?

He’d already done the heavy lifting of making sure the place was flammable. Most rooms contained some accelerant, easily ignited once the time was right. All he needed to do now was wait for the right moment. Any second now, and—

“You don’t have to do this.”

Ugh. The annoyance was back. Akim rolled his eyes, looking off to the side at the young boy, barely in his teens. Akim knew this was part of his masquerade: the boy was actually a man, well into his thirties, but for one odd reason or another chose to continuously present himself as a child—or had he been mentally stuck at that age? It didn’t matter. He’d been pestering him for some time, trying to sway his hand. If anything, the child-man had done nothing but help him stay the course.

“Have you not yet learned your place?” Akim spat, turning his gaze forward, away from the mental intrusion. The child-man appeared before him, demanding to be seen. “This is what I must do if the future I long for is to come to pass. And don’t give me the high and mighty excuse again. Have you not done as you were told in service of this goal?”

“I didn’t know what I was doing then. I was just listening to the voice in my head! I know now that’s not a good thing!”

“Says who? How do you know I won’t be happy—happier—being part of this?”

“For one, you’ll be dead.”

The child-man made a good point, but Akim had already considered that. He knew the teachings—they all did. “You know as well as I that we will rise again. We will be ‘made to walk,’ as they say.”

“You’ve seen what happened before—what will happen again. How…how can you want that?” The child-man was frantic. But Akim knew what he was walking into, and his resolve had been steeled a long, long time ago. Long before he’d stepped foot on this derelict, long before he pushed a man out of a window, and long before he slayed his younger brother.

Long before he convinced his brother through subterfuge to take up arms and help the Branded. That’d been his best work, honestly.

“Because think of the power,” Akim finally said. The Detective had to be back on his ship by now, right? Time was running out. “Ever since Old Earth, this plot has been working in the background. Little by little, pawn after pawn, this chess match has been played. We’ve all done our part, and unless I make this move”—he gestured to the ship around them—“then the game will be lost.”

“You’re just another pawn.”

Akim let out a hearty laugh while standing to his feet. “No. I am not a pawn. Oh, how I wish to be the King, but that is reserved for Him. No. I am whatever piece He needs me to be, though I think it is fitting that I consider myself the bishop, slicing through obstacles.” As he spoke, he mentally thrust himself forward and gripped the child-man by his shoulders. For any normal person, the feat would have been impossible. But Akim was not normal. “I have moved across the board, leaving myself wide open—a sham sacrifice. Soon, the enemy will capture my piece. And it will spell their defeat.”

“You sound insane,” the child-man said as he tried to wriggle free of Akim’s grip.

“Ah, but you miss the bigger picture! My sacrifice will lead the way for endless Misery. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Why would you want that?” The child-man broke away from his grasp, face filled with horror and doubt.

Akim’s eyes narrowed at the child-man. He was missing something.

He turned to look around the room, small flames from the previous fight still flickering. Where was it? His eyes fell on an empty space, near where the flaming Risen had originated. Something was there…

…Almost as if he was looking directly at you.

No matter. It was time. But just in case…

“All these long years of planning and preparing have led to this moment, and it’s all according to plan.” He turned to look to the child-man, his smile twisted and his eyes wide. “And inevitable events demand their place. There is nothing you can do to stop this.” 

And with one sharp gesture, Akim’s Mimic gear flew into the Risen. It exploded in flames, the fire spreading all along the paint thinner that had trailed beneath it. More ignited and soon the entire room erupted up in flames.

Akim raised his hands high as the flames began to consume him. What should have been screams of pain were instead elated laughter. The child-man—a mental projection—stood in the flames, silent, unharmed, watching.

And the derelict exploded.