They Who Slaughtered Hope 🌈| Slow Updates/Editing

Chapter 04

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𝚁𝚎𝚗

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𝘛𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵

Ren strolled up to the entrance of The Happenstance, a local restaurant known for its loyalty to the Verita Aser.

He paused to look at the building, not as a Verita establishment but as a ritzy piece of architecture dedicated to the culinary arts. No expense was spared for this work of beauty.

It was so sparkly that he couldn't take his eyes off it. Ren wondered if he would ever have enough money for a place like that someday, after the war ended. It had chandeliers and everything, just like the high-end restaurants he saw on old TV reruns.

"Your invitation, Ma'am—er, I mean Sir." An intimidating bouncer with dark skin peered at him, monitoring with contempt.

He wanted, oh so badly, to yell that he didn't have an invitation, and ask the misgendering arsehole what he was going to do about it. 

However, voicing his true opinion would put the mission in jeopardy. Ren said what was expected of him, biting his indiscreet tongue for the sake of the mission. Luckily, Mitsan had texted him the verbal invitation.

"All Hail the Veritas, our Mission, and our Queen." The words tasted foul in his mouth, like sour wine. Still, he dipped his hat to the man in greeting.

There was nothing he disagreed with more. The heinous mantra of the Verita Aser.

"Damn the Veritas, their unpalatable Mission, and their pompous Queen..." Ren murmured as he was admitted into the Verita sanctum.

Who needed a flashy, militaristic mantra anyway?

The Crimson Syndicate had no need for a motto when their actions spoke volumes about their cause and their mission.

Ren gazed up at the elaborate glass panel ceiling. How foolish the Veritas were, enraptured with a false sense of security. He imagined firing a bullet between the eyes of the Verita Aser Queen. She was on the back wall, an oil portrait begging to be torn to shreds. It was dated around seventeen years ago, a few years after the war had first begun.

The artist had painted her almost like a saint, singling out her pale hair and the regal twist of her lips as the focus of the piece. Ren had to resist pointing finger guns at it. After all, when the Syndicate finally located the Verita Queen, he would be one of the first to get a crack at her.

Ren adjusted his eyes to survey a podium in the distance, one that would soon be stained with blue Verita blood.

And the red blood of the Crimsons would be spared. As was the righteous order of the world.

So said his leader, Mitsan. Ren believed in their cause, whether it was morally right or not didn't matter to him. If Ren could be himself, left to his own devices and dreams, Mitsan's utopian society was something worth pursuing.

With a sniper's intuition and a chef's sense of smell, Ren Ryker surveyed the surrounding area, his rumbling stomach fuelling his search.

Finally, he spotted it. The glorious snack bar. He sniffed the air.

His mouth watered as he spotted the word "takoyaki" among the options at the refreshment centre. He quickly grabbed a plate to hold his fried octopus balls, feeling a surge of disgust as he remembered the Veritas' twisted logic. They believed that consuming Japanese cuisine would somehow give them an edge over the Syndicate, who shared Japanese ancestry with the food.