El Destructor De La Realeza Normandie Alleman... -

In the neon-soaked gutters of a floating Neo-Paris, the name wasn't spoken; it was spat like a curse.

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

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. El Destructor De La Realeza Normandie Alleman...

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.

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. In the neon-soaked gutters of a floating Neo-Paris,

The Revolution didn't need a king. It just needed someone to keep swinging the hammer until all the pedestals were dust.

"I’ve been dead since your father burned my sector to build this playground, Duke," Normandie’s voice was a metallic rasp. He didn't take the gold

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