El Destructor De La Realeza Normandie Alleman... -

They called him El Destructor De La Realeza —The Royal Destroyer. He wasn't a revolutionary with a manifesto or a hero with a heart of gold. He was a mechanical nightmare in a tailored trench coat, a man who had replaced his own heartbeat with the rhythmic hum of a stolen reactor.

"Normandie Alleman," hissed Duke Valois, clutching a vial of the blue serum. "You’re a dead man walking."

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. El Destructor De La Realeza Normandie Alleman...

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.

In the neon-soaked gutters of a floating Neo-Paris, the name wasn't spoken; it was spat like a curse. They called him El Destructor De La Realeza

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.

"The crowns are falling," Normandie whispered as the windows shattered and the clouds rushed in to claim the room. The Aftermath "Normandie Alleman," hissed Duke Valois, clutching a vial

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