Deathstalker 06 - Deathstalker Legacy

philosophy within it.
    There was a lot of public sentiment over the death of so many Paragons (thirty-seven and still counting), but again the general feeling seemed to be that they shouldn't have been there in the first place. Paragons were supposed to deal with crime, not political protest. They were supposed to be the King's Justice, not his bully boys. There was no public call for a day of mass mourning, as usually happened when a Paragon fell in the line of duty. Finn found that especially significant.
    Angelo Bellini turned up late, without even the grace of an apology, but ended up sitting on the edge of his chair, fascinated by the media coverage of the slaughter he'd helped to instigate. It was one thing to work quietly behind the scenes to ensure that everything went to hell on schedule, but quite another to watch the carnage unfold before you. Angelo all but bounced in his chair, his face flushed, breathing heavily. Finn thought Angelo looked a bit like Rose when she was contemplating killing someone horribly.
    Angelo sensed Finn's gaze on him, and looked around, grinning foolishly.
    "Death and violence and insurrection in the streets. The death of heroes and of ideals, and all of it at my command." An idea occurred to him, and he scowled suddenly. "I hadn't planned for the oversoul getting involved. Could those espers dig our names out of those people's heads?'
    "I planned for everything," Finn said calmly. "No one actually present at the riot has any direct knowledge of me, or you. Their instructions came via so many cut-outs that the security forces will end up running in circles trying to make sense of it all. My people in the Rookery have already set in motion a wide-reaching plan of disinformation. No one's coming after us, Angelo. I have put a lot of thought into this."
    Angelo nodded and looked back at the viewscreen, and immediately all his doubts were forgotten. "I have to congratulate you, Finn. I never knew politics could be such fun. Such a rush. People going out to fight and die, at my command. The Parade of the Endless torn apart, and all because of me. I never knew power could be so ... intoxicating."
    "Don't make a mess on the chair, Angelo," said Finn. "You didn't cause this. I did. You merely helped.
    This is all my plan, my work, and don't you ever forget it."
    "You couldn't have done it without me," said Angelo, just a little haughtily. "I put the Church in bed with the Neumen. I worked out the logistics for the marches. Those people listen to me, not you!"
    Finn leaned easily out of his chair and slapped Angelo hard around the side of the head. Angelo rocked in his chair, and almost fell. He brought up a hand to protect himself from further blows, and opened his mouth to protest. And then his eyes met Finn's, and the words turned to dust in his mouth. Finn wasn't angry. He wasn't even excited. But in that moment he looked cold and controlled and very very dangerous.
    "You are my creature, Angelo," Finn said calmly. "Mine, to do with as I wish. I own you. You can't go back to what you were, and if you ever think to cross me, or cultivate ideas above your station, I will destroy your media sainthood overnight, and have you removed from your own Church in disgrace. I will drag your good name through the gutter, and throw you to the wolves; and I will do it the moment you even think of setting your wishes in any way above mine. Or ... I could just give you to Rose."
    "Give him to me," Rose said immediately. "The Deathstalker got me all hot, but I never got the chance to finish."
    Angelo actually whimpered faintly. He sank back in his chair, and concentrated very quietly on the viewscreen. Rose sniffed. Finn just smiled.
    Brett Random poured himself another large drink from the brandy bottle on the arm of his chair, but it wasn't doing much for him. He took no pleasure from the slaughter and destruction of the riot. He didn't even have anything against the Deathstalker. Good man, from all he'd heard. He was just following Finn's orders when he shot him. He hoped (silently) that the Paragon would survive. Once, Lewis's and Brett's ancestors had been friends. Partners. Heroes, fighting side by side against evil. Things must have been simpler then. Brett couldn't help wondering what his legendary ancestors would have made of him. He didn't think they'd have been too impressed.
    Brett had never been a violent man. He knew the ways of gun and sword because he had to, to survive growing up in