El Destructor De La Realeza Normandie Alleman... 〈No Sign-up〉

With a single, gravity-defying strike, he severed the structural support of the Spire’s primary stabilizer. The room tilted. Panic, sharp and ugly, replaced the refined boredom of the guests.

"I’ve been dead since your father burned my sector to build this playground, Duke," Normandie’s voice was a metallic rasp.

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.

Normandie didn't crash through the ceiling. He simply walked through the front door, his heavy boots echoing against the marble. The automated turrets tracked him, locked on, and then—hissed into silence. He had uploaded a viral worm into the mansion’s nervous system before even stepping foot on the grounds.

"The crowns are falling," Normandie whispered as the windows shattered and the clouds rushed in to claim the room. The Aftermath

The gala at the Valois Estate was supposed to be a celebration of the new "Eternity Serum." The elite were dressed in liquid gold and synthetic silk, sipping champagne that cost more than a district’s yearly rations. Then, the lights flickered.