Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

• TWO WEEKS LATER, FORT SANDRINGHAM

"A goatee, really?" In the long halls of the [Sunling] cove, Ravenna de Vríes pulled playfully at the short beard of a tall blonde. The gold-haired lad with whom she joked in the mess quarters of the military estate was indeed easy on the eyes. He reddened and pulled away. She didn't stop her nudging. "Well, well, Percival Van Imperia, I'll be!"

Corazón stepped in through the damask double doors, granting new voice to those already in the mess hall. "Percival freaking Imperia. Percival the Golden. Percy of the Glorious Faeries!" She praised the hay-blond dude some more—very much like army buddies would do reconnecting at a tavern after a tour in the Badlands.

And yeah, about that, it wasn't called the Badlands these days anymore. Not since the Rebellion Army had conquered the tyranny of the Titans and their demon [Sires]. In the days after the War of Three Cities, just like their Rebel Lord had promised, he had granted autonomy of the southern realms into the laws of Eldoria. Israfel made it the first action of his rule the instant his Aunt was cast from the halls of Darkwake.

The Badlands were now the Freelands.

Dementa had come up with the name. Three days following the battle, the Junker queen was content to return to the South with her trusted sentinel, Khalifa at her side. The Scarred One did offer to remain at Rafel's side in Titans Landing, but he did have none of it. He knew just how much Dementa of the Great Canyon had become the life and soul of the desert Hijabi.

Though the Badlands had its name changed, the new Council of the Capital thought it wise to keep the name of Titans Landing; a remembrance to the dark days of the Morningstar and his fellowship of grim, psychopath gods.

And so the Skullriders returned to the Freelands in company of more than enough gold than they would've fetch independently as scavengers of the highway. Israfel did yet, amongst many noble acts, a true honorable and humble rite: he relinquished his position as King of the South. Nevertheless, the Freelands were an independent realm now and still needed the person of a worthy Governor. It was a majestic day when Grone the Grievous was elected into this position as Warden of the South.

Rafel showered the appointed Warden with gifts of camels and merchant silks, [Mage Cores], vibrant steel for the new Capital of the south: Caer Mullhen.

The southerners couldn't believe their eyes.

As a former outlaw country of barbarians, robbers, sex offenders, and pariahs, this novel version of a tranquil world where they could earn their own wage was impossible to conceive. Israfel had done all he'd promised—and more.

Currently, he was working with Damnameneus, the named Head of Capital Council, to run a flight rail through the Freelands, straight from the golden city into the red sands. This contraption was in the blueprints to run on [Blue Cosmo]. A rail line that would make transportation easier for folks of the Freelands and put them among the hub of the trading cities. Grone returned to his base smiling to embrace his nine daughters again.

And with him, a sport of the best [Mecha]s off the latest manufacturing line at the A.R.I. [Atlantean Research Institute].

Rafel's sea goddess of a wife was more than happy to laden the southerners with futuristic machines and ores that took the word, Mecha to a whole new level. Also, to perfect the vision of Eden: a zoar of [Nirvana] which he had given to them at the rally of the three desert tribes, Rafel sent in plantations of Cedar trees, and Palms, and Maple. Magicked grain that could fertile any realm.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

He also had channels built into tributaries of the River Sana'a, rerouted into provide fresh water to the Freelands. These days, one could stand on the towers of Titans Landing and see the lush canals of the Freelands. That ol' desert grew its own grass now, and Rafel gave it five years before it was lush as the west. Gods knew the people of the Rocasian Republic had never 'enjoyed' a day of famine.

With [The Fallen] shut up in the [Hyperion Cell], he delivered the cosmic cage firsthand to Cheetah, the Priestess of Ür. She took it down to Middle Earth realm.

Until it was safe enough for a clave of High Druids manifest in the [Blood Arts] to spellcast his infernal family back to the fiery chasms of Hel, Rafel was not taking any chance. In the great caves of Middle Earth, he was sure the gargantuan [Anima Dios] were a wonderful match for the Principalities... should any crazy zealot ever think of raising the Fallen.

[Ding! But if I may be so bold, my Lord. You hold bias.]

Rafel blinked to focus and became uncomfortable at Peitho's chirping in his head. Sometimes, he wished his system weren't so close to human ideal.

But she was not wrong: he did hold bias.

He had not surrendered his Aunt to the [Hyperion Cell].

Nope!

Lilith Firstborn was even now, a fortnight after the battle, in a dank windowless dungeon at the cliff bottoms of Eragonn. He wasn't sure the bitch had showered since the morning of he took the city.

'Good.' he let a sinister smile play in his head for a second, 'let her pretty face suffer dirt for once.'

The Matron of the Wicca, [Hecate] had helped hex Lilith's dungeon. Although an [Sss Rank] deity, the witchcraft matriarch had no love for the Fallen.

Lilith liked to joke in their days at Holocaust Tower, in Hel, that it was because her brothers, Rafel's uncles, had gangbanged the goddess—and then shut her out.

What a way to re-virginize!

Rafel was grateful when Cora spoke again, naively putting a pin on his conversation with Peitho. Her melodic voice carried in the mess hall.

"You weren't kidding." Her eyes slid from Rafel to Percival. She appraised the blonde again, shaking her head at his truant beard. Cora snorted. "A goatee? Percy?"

"Told him so!" Ravenna high-fived her.

Percival pulled at his temples at beration from the girls. "Come on! Not you too." He made a funny face at Rafel. "Come on, dude. Little help here!" Rafel shrugged, but kept his facial movement to a smile. Percival blew Cora off. "Whatever! What do girls know about beards anyway."

"What! You did not!" Ravenna laughed.

Aya, gently sipping on warm tea from a mug ran her tongue over the seam of her fine lips. "I don't know," she rolled one shoulder, telling Percival, "you just seemed more like a stubble kind of guy to me."

"Unbelievable!" Percival pronounced. And they all burst into chuckles.

Cora eased herself into one of the long benches in the mess hall, placing herself beside Rafel. In his lap, just about. The hall was quiet this morning as the cadets of the Fort were out jogging. Cora eyed their reunited friend. They hadn't had a chance to talk since the war. "So, what else is new?—besides the goatee."

"Don't you dare!" Percival warned lovingly. "I'll have you know this is a fine piece of facial hair." He stroked his chinstrap in gusto of a Conquistador. Cora laughed a while, before Rafel chipped in. "We thought... we thought you were dead, bro. After the Citadel fell, the Academy was left in shambles. We feared you had perished too." Rafel stopped talking when Ravenna gently took his hand. He nodded to her and glanced again to Percival. "But you survived, obviously."

Percival generously explained. "Yes, I did. When Lilith came, and I saw Rosamunde and Brunhilda fall, I-I just couldn't take it. I ran, ran straight to the beach and into the ocean. I don't know what I was expecting but... one minute, I'm freezing under the blue waves of the Cold Sea, the next I'm waking up in the majestic city of Atlantea, a dolphin checking my vitals.

"Your wife saved me." He said this directly at Rafel. "I believe the words she used were, I'm not letting my husband's best friend drown himself to death. Yeah, exactly that. Anyway, I stayed at her Palace. I grieved. I mourned. And I trained. You're looking right now at a [Rank B] Superior Goldknight." He touched his chiseled pecs and grinned when the girls laughed. Then he went on. "Imagine my joy when I heard you'd assembled a desert army and was riding to bring the fight to Titans Landing.

"Great work there, bro." Percival did the bros-for-life handshake with Rafel. And the girls blushed the entire time.

Cadets in joggers and shorts began trickling in and the friends turned to one another. Aya was the first to rise. "I guess this is our cue." She balanced her teacup handle perfectly in her pinky.

"Your cue, you mean." Cora stood too.

"Right." Percival said. "I forget she's an Instructor here now."

"Hey! It's Commandant, to you. Okay?" Cora cut her icy iris at him. And Percival raised his hands in surrender. Rafel pulled in close to Cora and kissed the line of her pink lips. And then her neck. "My girlfriend is the Commandant of Fort Sandringham. So hot!" Read exclusive chapters at empire

"Stop it." Cora chastised, giggling.

Rafel kept kissing her. His arms went around her small waist and he found her mouth. They kissed for a while. Cora had to pull away. More cadets were filtering in. "Okay, go. Shoo!" she hissed.

She blew Aya and Ravenna air kisses. Just before stepping out, Rafel smacked her cute butt. Cora jerked and glanced around to make sure none of the cadets had seen. She whispered under her breath. "Fucker." But she had never loved him more.

Fort Sandringham was the most secure military base of the Continent. At the seat of the Nine Realms, the golden Capital, Rafel had softly put in a suggestion to the Council to make it more than a base for the Empire's armored forces. But also a base for all activities [Nosferatü]. Damnamenaeus, Head of the Council had banged it to law the very next day.

Fort Sandringham was now the headquarters of the Clandestine Supernatural Agency.

[C.A.S.A]

The ton across the kingdom were glad for this; no one wanted a repeat of that fucking Dowager bitch.

It was a fresh, lush, and new society in Titans Landing. The same went for the politicos.

Ravenna de Vríes was Empress of Eldoria, Regent of all the Fae lands, and Queen of the Continent.

—And she didn't run away this time.

Giselle Nova Imperia was granted official pardon, for reasons Rafel described to the Council as 'the hypnotic sexify of my Aunt'. When she put in a request to be considered for Wardress of Eragonn, Damnameneus stamped his gavel as soon as the submission entered his sights. It had to be double torture to Lilith to see her former Sub now the one with the baton and whips.

Giselle was set as Governess of the prisons.

And as Rafel left the mess hall, he found himself boarding a shuttle wagon out of Fort Sandringham and into the province of Eragonn.

After two weeks, it was finally time to face his Aunt. And have the Talk.