The Elites
are done for. Regret’s murder has propelled us to the heights we have craved.
Soon, the
Holy Ones will give us the word and we will rise up against the Elites, but for
now, we take their place.
Heretics,
every one of them. Pah! Religious words for a necessary eradication. If only
the Prophets knew what Tartarus was planning.
Us Brutes are
lining up, preparing to march out to the Prophets’ inner sanctum entryway and
relieve the current guard. My belly aches for this moment.
“Brutes,
advance.” The call is out. We march forward onto the skyway. The Elite Honour
Guards turn their heads as we approach them. They know what is coming.
They remove
their helmets, drop their spears, remove armour, and off they slink to their
quarters.
Brute
brothers are fighting each other for the discarded relics, brutal punches are
swung, the air is thick with betrayal. It’s glorious. The Brutes are in
ascendance.
The
scrabbling for Honour Guard positions isn’t even interrupted by the Arbiter’s
arrival. He stares us down disapprovingly. Arrogant beast. Your armour won’t
save you from the fires.
I stand next
to my brothers lining the skyway to the Prophets. We are the protectors now.
The Elites will soon be cast out, and nothing will stand in our way.
They will heading on their Great Journey earlier
than they ever could have planned. Fools. 
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