Deathstalker 07 - Deathstalker Return

King's private chambers. All the blinds were drawn, and the door was securely locked. And Douglas Campbell, last favored son of a noble line, Speaker to the House of Parliament, and chosen King of Humanity's greatest Empire, sat alone in his opulent chambers, wrapped in a faded old dressing gown and nothing else, unshaven and disheveled, staring at nothing. His once handsome face was slack, his eyes were empty, and what thoughts he had were slow and sullen, of no importance to anyone, not even himself. Someone was knocking at his door, had been knocking for some time now, but he couldn't bring himself to give a damn. They'd give up eventually and go away, leaving him alone, just like everyone else.
    He'd sent them all away, friends and colleagues and servants, driving them from him with harsh words and bitter language. He needed to be alone with his pain, and he had no use anymore for words like duty or responsibility. He had a lot of brooding and second-guessing and feeling sorry for himself to do… and he had just enough dignity left that he didn't want anyone to see him like this. Especially not the servants.
    For all their smiles and kind words and signed loyalty oaths, there wasn't one he'd trust not to go running off to the media with their story, if the price was right. Once, that would have been unthinkable. But then, a lot of things had been unthinkable, once—before his closest friend had betrayed him with the only
    woman he'd ever really loved.
    He wasn't sure how long he'd sat alone in the dark, trying not to think or feel or care. He didn't do much anymore. Mostly he just sat in his chair, ate and drank when he remembered, and spent as much time dozing and sleeping as he could, because then he didn't have to remember how his whole life had gone to hell. He hadn't shaved or bathed in ages, and didn't care. He had a bowl of something lukewarm in his lap that he didn't remember preparing. He couldn't remember whether it was supposed to be breakfast or dinner, but now and again he ate some of it with his fingers. It didn't taste of anything much. He was a mess, and he knew it. Somehow, that seemed fitting.
    The viewscreen before him hadn't been turned on in days. At first, he'd kept it on all the time, for a kind of company. He sat slumped in front of the screen like an acolyte, flicking numbly through the hundreds of news channels, in the hope of finding someone who could explain to him how everything in his life could have gone so terribly wrong so quickly. But all the news channels could do was drive home in merciless detail just how quickly his precious Golden Age was deteriorating into something far darker, by its own perverse will. It seemed like there was no good news anymore. The Church Militant was now the Empire's official religion, in all the ways that mattered. Thousands of fanatics marched down city streets on hundreds of worlds, holding up blazing crosses, loudly proclaiming their vicious faith, and damning all unbelievers. Pure Humanity had also seized the public mood and made it their own, and everywhere hatred was lashing out at anyone or anything that could be declared inhuman. Espers, aliens… and anyone who wasn't Pure Humanity or Church Militant. It was a dangerous time to be a free-thinker.
    Heretics could be hunted down and butchered in busy streets, and no one would raise a finger to help them.
    The news shows weren't openly biased yet, but the signs were already there, if you knew what to look for—in the words the commentators didn't use, in the language that didn't condemn, in the causes and people who couldn't even get air time anymore.Douglas grew tired, watching it all fall apart. All the sane voices were gone. Most of the politicians were running scared, the old Church had vanished with its gentle Patriarch, and the Paragons had set off on their great quest, to find the missing Owen Deathstalker.
    So far, there was no sign of the blessed Owen anywhere, and a few Paragons had already returned, abandoning and renouncing the quest as useless.
    There was no news at all of Lewis Deathstalker and his treacherous companions.Douglas couldn't decide whether that was good or bad news. All he knew for sure was that he didn't recognize what his world and his Empire had become. So he turned off the viewscreen and sat alone in the growing gloom, feeling lost and broken and useless.
    The knocking at his door broke off abruptly, and as he looked vaguely around, he heard the sharp definite