He didn't take the serum. He didn't take the gold. He simply lit a cigarette, the ember glowing against the dark sky, and waited for the next name on his list.

As the Spire descended toward the slums below—slowly enough for the escape pods to launch, but fast enough to ruin the elite forever—Normandie stood at the edge of the abyss. He watched the "Gods" scramble like rats.

Should we delve into the Normandie has against the next Royal on his list, or

He moved with a speed that defied biology. In one fluid motion, he drew the Lamento de Acero —his signature black-edged sword. He didn't aim for the Duke. He aimed for the pillar.