2025-04-20 07:12:16The city of Grimhaven hadn't stopped burning.
Not from chaos. Not from war. From celebration. Rico “The Alchemist” Maldino stood in the middle of the once-feared Spire’s ruins, now a rebel sanctuary littered with dancing revolutionaries, magical food carts, and a DJ cyclops who only played remixed bard tunes. “WE TOOK DOWN VARNOOOOX!” screamed someone from atop a floating keg. “TACOS FOR EVERYONE!” yelled another, slinging spicy meat from a summoned llama. It was victory. Glorious. Loud. Confusing. Slightly undercooked. Rico sipped a drink glowing an unnatural purple. “What is this?” “Dragonberry Chaos Juice,” said Juno, already on her fourth. “I think I can see sound,” Zara added, blinking at a humming lamppost. --- The Morning After Rico woke up under a table. On top of a piano. Which was somehow on the roof of a bakery. Next to him, Zara was spooning a giant ceremonial sword. Juno hung upside down from a banner reading LONG LIVE THE NEW ORDER, snoring. He blinked. “Okay,” he muttered. “Now what?” --- A Government of Misfits Revolution was fun. Governing? Not so much. A week after Varnox’s fall, the rebel leaders sat in what used to be the Spire’s throne room — now converted into a half-broken meeting hall. Zara, now unofficially the military head, glared at a scroll. “We need infrastructure, laws, food distribution, and a city-wide anti-curse cleanse.” Fritz the goblin accountant raised a claw. “And taxes.” Juno threw a boot at him. “Too soon.” “Guys,” Rico said, feet on the table, “I didn’t sign up to be a king.” “You’re not,” Zara snapped. “You’re a symbol.” “That’s worse!” --- Enter the Pretenders They didn’t know the fall of Varnox would inspire others. All across the continent, warlords, corrupt nobles, and self-proclaimed “liberators” rose up — not to free their people, but to fill the power vacuum. One of them — a golden-masked enchantress named Lady Cindrel — sent a very polite letter: > “Dear Heroes of the Rebellion, While we celebrate your ‘victory,’ perhaps it’s time for professionals to take over. I’ll be arriving with my army in four days. Prepare a throne. Or a grave. Love and daggers, —Cindrel.” Zara read it aloud and crushed the scroll in one hand. “I hate her already.” --- Rico’s Temptation That night, Rico wandered the old alleyways of Grimhaven. The shops were reopening. People smiled. Kids played with magic marbles. He should’ve felt proud. Instead, he felt twitchy. The streets whispered to him. The shadows called his name. And then— “Rico,” said a voice behind him. He turned. A figure stepped out: slick coat, golden eyes, half his teeth replaced with obsidian. Django the Vice Merchant. Rico’s old supplier. Thought dead. Apparently not. “You survived the purge,” Rico muttered. “I thrive in purges,” Django grinned. “You’re a hero now. Weird. I preferred you as a villain.” “I changed.” “Sure you did. But change is boring, Rico. You and I? We built empires. We sold potions that made kings beg. You really want to sit in a council meeting every Tuesday?” “…Maybe.” Django leaned close. “One last deal. That’s all. A final shipment of Moon Dust. Enough to fund your ‘rebuild’ for decades.” Rico hesitated. Then stepped back. “No. I’m done.” Django’s smile cracked. “Shame. She’ll be disappointed.” “She?” Django vanished in smoke, leaving behind a single tarot card: The Queen of Blades. --- The Trap The next day, the city’s outer defenses fell. Lady Cindrel arrived in style — golden airships, silk banners, and war mages riding fire panthers. “Why is every villain so dramatic?” Juno muttered. Cindrel landed at the gates, wearing armor that glowed with stolen power. “I come in peace!” she shouted. Boom. The main gate exploded. “…I also come with options. Bow now and be rewarded. Or resist, and be buried.” Rico stepped forward. “You’re late. The line for villainy’s that way.” Cindrel smiled. “Ah. The ex-drug lord turned hero. Tell me — does your righteousness itch yet?” He drew his blade. “Let’s find out.” --- Cindrel’s Gambit They fought in the streets. Magic lit the skies. Rico’s rebels pushed hard — but Cindrel’s army was trained, brutal, and well-funded. In the chaos, Cindrel snuck into the heart of the city — the Spire’s core. She wasn’t after power. She wanted the Throne of Echoes — an ancient artifact buried beneath the Spire. Said to amplify any ruler’s will tenfold. Rico caught her just as she activated it. “Too slow,” she said, crown in hand. “This city was never yours.” “It was never meant to be mine.” He tossed a vial — glowing with chaotic essence. BOOM. The Throne shattered. So did the chamber. Cindrel screamed — a sound that echoed across time — and vanished in a burst of light. --- Aftermath The rebels stood in the rubble. Again. Juno was covered in paint and bandages. “Why does every week end in explosions?” Zara sheathed her sword. “Because we’re not done yet.” Rico, bruised and smirking, looked up at the rising sun. The people were gathering again — cheering. “Rico! Rico! Rico!” He raised a hand. “Alright! Enough chanting! We’re not royalty. We’re weirdos with a second chance. Let’s not screw it up.” Someone threw him a taco. He caught it midair, grinned, and bit in.
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