Alpha X

The Final Gamble

Mzimu and he had both dreamt of an egalitarian, lawful society, except Herod didn't seek it for himself.

But then Ghost changed. Much to Herod's woe, the greatest assassin that ever lived had retired a quarter of a century ago. For what? To become a single parent and gardener. He gave up working as a spy for the USCA and decided his child would not follow in his footsteps. And he seemed at peace, other than when his progeny drummed.

Herod saw it coming and accepted those terms.

When Ghost didn't reply, Herod added, "You forget, my friend, we have always served a greater cause."

The Old Guard, like him, fought on the front line. They burned in the stoplight and stood center stage. Others, like Ghost and Sena, stayed invisible and provided invaluable services to the same system. Few acknowledged their contributions or sang praises of their deeds. Histories didn't record their achievements.

"Have I not delivered what I promised?" he asked.

He valued Ghost's opinion. A melanistic cheetah from the Sahel acacia biogeographical region, he'd migrated with his mate. Herod guaranteed him a new identity in exchange for his unique abilities. They both kept their word. Or so he believed.

"Yes, and we've won battles, but the war wages. I hear rumors of coups and enemies at the gates. And that you're losing control of the Primes. The false emperor continued rattling his saber. The Nomads pose a threat you failed to mitigate. Rogues still exist. And do not get me started about the humans," Ghost replied.

"If so, why aren't you besides me guarding the gates?" Herod finally voiced his resentment. "You gave up on the cause. I didn't."

"I found something more valuable than the greater cause," Ghost replied.

"Till when will you hover over Sena? She's an adult," Herod huffed.

"Forever if need be."

"Why is she living with you? Isn't it time to push her out of the nest so she spread her wings—" he argued.

"Because I built the nest for her. Every board. Every nail. Every nook and cranny I've created with my bare hands. Why? For her mother and now her. Why should she leave?" Ghost replied. "She's safe and happy, free to make her choices. A child never outgrows a parent, you blond fool. We spend our lives knowing we set aside our need for theirs, preparing them for a life where they do not need us someday. She will leave when she's ready. Unlike you, I will not hand over my only child to others to bring up. We've seen how that's turned out for you."

Ghost's honest cruelty cut Herod to the bone. He shouldn't have interfered with how he brought up his precious kit.

"So who'll supplant you?" Ghost asked after a protracted silence from both ends.

Herod chuckled. Ghost, an excellent envoy to his birth lands once, had deflected from the contentious conversation with elan. "If I expire, the big brain, but he is a seat warmer. I am sending you to protect the one who, in the long term, might inspire—"

Ghost snickered. Felines laughed funny when in Were form. "The wagging tongues are correct. You've lost it." His tenor deepened. "Euterpe is a child."

"How many kills marked your skin by her age? Or Sena's age?" Herod asked. "It's time to cut the umbilical. They have to come on their own."

Ghost mulled over his declaration. "I do this not for you, but for them. To protect Sean's future. To safeguard your blood. You failed Euterpe once. Why torture her so?" he asked.

Herod repeated his justification. "She can't hide forever. Or deny her legacy. She hides not behind selective mutism, but a veil and an overprotective mother. She cloaks her brilliance when it should shine."

Ghost inhaled before he spat out, "You won't even spare her! Are the babes we risked it all for pawns on your gameboard too? Forget not your oath to the dying queen, Berserker! I bear witness to your word, for I, Mzimu Berber, was there."

"Ghost—"

"Refrain from follies to assuage your wounded pride, Herod Oppenheimer. Fate will unleash her furies if you taunt them. You assured my descendants a haven. If your deeds brew conflict in these lands, which I claim as my own, I'll carry out the furies' bidding. None have survived a visit from Mzimu. The walls of Roma will not prevent the ghost's claws from eviscerating you. I will wear your guts as garlands, bathe in your blood, and dance around your pyre. None of your precious Gladiators and Amazonians will know who came for you and why."

A shiver ran down Herod's spine when the black cheetah growled.

Before he could berate the breach of protocol by using his name, Ghost hung up. The details were irrelevant. Once he had the 'where, when, and from whom', he'd keep an eye on Áine in Hellridge.

"Delete all records of the last call. Erase any traces," he said punching in a code. Threats to him were taken too seriously by Scorpius. Also, he didn't wish for the Premiers to know of Ghost's true identity and their relationship. Those were the terms between two blood brothers.

Aware he was playing a dangerous game, Herod hadn't decided to place Áine on the board lightly. He might not witness her smite the demons that haunted her. Or if she succumbed to them. But she hadn't refused his challenge. Instead, she rose to it. Yet he fretted. There was always collateral damage. Someone had to pay the price of changing the course of history.

Ghost was a proud parent, an emotion Herod had only experienced secondhand.

The tragedy was he had neglected his mates and his family. Too busy or too late, he wasn't involved in raising his children. Worse, they died due to circumstances of his making.

Herod rubbed his chest. Soon, they'd cut open his ribs and replace his faulty heart. He wondered if a younger organ, harvested from a teenager who had perished during his beast's ascension, would alter him for the better.

Another task weighed heavily on his mind: appointing an interim president. A trustworthy placeholder.

Wilford was an option, but he was no politician. Or he could appoint Damien Matthias. A consummate wheeler and dealer, his impatience with mediocrity was legendary. And his standoffishness isolated him from his peers. Also his success inspired only envy. He had no friends, only foes in Roma. And his mate's family had ties to Europa, their arch enemies.

"Willford will have to do. The rest aren't ready," he fussed. And he dithered instead of delivering a final caveat before flying out of Roma tonight.

When he had his sight, he rode horses. The first time he 'flew' was on a dragon. Now he hopped on and off planes and choppers every week. Or autonomous cars ferried him. The world had evolved beyond recognition in his lifetime. But change was the only constant in the four and a half centuries he'd walked the earth.

Nor would be let those who mattered stagnate either.

From memory, Herod pressed a sequence of digits he had hoped never to dial.

As the device rang, though tempted to reach out to Inia too, he didn't. Shadow Hawk would inform her of the impending medical procedure. He suspected she wouldn't relent either, but he liked to believe she'd pray to her ancestors for his recovery.

Herod had to safeguard three orphans these rare egg-sized Burmese rubies denoted. He couldn't risk exposing their identities to anyone. Not a soul except him knew of their existence, let alone their identities.

When another stepped up to fill his shoes, he could pass on the burden of his deadly secret. For now, he had to warn another guardian to protect their wards in case he died.

As the satellite signal connected, he muttered, "Lillian? It's me, Herod—"

A thundering snarl cut him off.

Herod sighed. Was there anyone who didn't hate him nowadays?

***

Posted Fed 16/2025. Next Update Fed 22/2025

PSA: And now we return to the main program. Áine and Ora... Which one would you like to hear from next?