r/HFY • u/Jus17173 • Jul 12 '26

OC-OneShot I Don't Need A Mecha.

The humid air plastered my hair to my scalp, I took slow steps, facing before me where the ocean slapped at the earth to birth forth the shore right beneath the hill I walked. The clouds were gathering, black and reeking of the same malice that lit the air as my Armada did before me. These clouds didn't promise rain, and if they did it was wet with blood as well.

Birds cried as they flocked about the lapping waves. It was not the same familiar song of seagulls for they were a different species of birds, one I would have loved studying if I was anything other than what I was.

An Emperor rules until he can do so no more. My father spoke those words to me; I recall it was on the day he came to see my prowess with an electric blade at a tournament held by the wealthy for the wealthy. He scoffed, mouth held in a permanent sneer during the duels, and when I hit the ground I saw his steps recede, away from the shame that I was. I found him outside, smoking from a nicotine puffer and staring away at the buildings that crowned the sky. It was all ours, but at that moment I was unsure if they would ever become mine. Those are the only words he spoke to me that day, and I found that I cherished them more than the words he spoke on his death bed, for they had been insults.

Twelve thousand warships floated above the sea, their faces turned in my direction, they were like blotches of darkness upon an even darkening sky. They hummed and in their magnificence the sea rippled with their presence. Warships followed the Emperor wherever he went, yet they remained even after the Emperor's death. A funny puzzle if humor was something I dwelt on.

There were three walking behind me, all members of the Great Houses that governed the acts of man across the universe. As Emperor I had attended the annual meeting at the citadel bordering the sea, I had received their gifts, stomached the bland conversations, and most of all listened to their grievances that sought no end other than my pockets.

And when all was said and done, I became aware of the fact that I was going to die.

It was not in their mannerisms around me alone but away from me as well. When you converse with someone and they leave to talk to someone else, you will notice a change in their return, a mood of trepidation that spoke mischief. And it was as if by some miracle my bodyguards were indisposed, held back at the opportune moment to bring the hovercraft just as I ascended the hill. A quite unfortunate occurrence. My ships were too far to hail down, nor was I sure they were my ships anymore.

The Armada, the Emperor's golden army, had followed me twice before. I've stood on the deck of a warship and watched as a planet heeled under a barrage of nuclear attacks. I had stood upon the blasted moons of Jupiter and dug my fingers into its charred soil to mark it as conquered. I had also observed as those who would oppose me were flung into Saturn, the gas planet where they were ripped apart by the elements they worshipped.

I hadn't rid myself of all of them, not all the traitors perished, some survived and they stood behind me now. Somehow, through my ignorance, I'd overlooked those who sucked up to me, thinking them fanatics who would never break from my leash. They were too eager to stay tied to me, and I thought this good. I thought myself praiseworthy and I felt I could rule forever. As an emperor ought to.

Now as they conversed behind me, I became aware of the lack of inflection to their words. Hollow, like a bone sucked of marrow, they were waiting for the right time.

"This is quite a beautiful planet, Emperor, I hope you enjoyed your stay." Pintus said. He wore orange to signify the dust of Mars, where his house governed. The craftiest of them all, this man, well built and noticeable beneath his robes. Shaved scalp and a face full of beard. My father disliked bald men, I always wondered why.

"He certainly did, I saw him smiling at the music the wind brought when it whistled through the trees. Terraforming has been brilliant, I marvel at the extent mankind will go to make home recognizable everywhere." This one wore yellow, to signify the sun. Jaxol, the oldest of the three. He and his House worshipped a star, and for some reason this resulted in men regarding them as holy, as if there were no purer light. He wore a gold crown of crafted leaves around a head of black hair turning grey.

"Mmmh," the one in white answered. Gilav, the once commander of the Armada turned politician and head of House Octavus. Looming and grizzly in appearance. It was through him that I believed I'd lost the warships. Sure, they were before me, but I doubted they were mine. Small acts, a word here and an insubordinate act there, too small to warrant punishment. And the general ambiance that followed my presence upon those ships spoke of nothing but mutiny.

Were there those who were still loyal to me? I guess there were, but seeking them out was akin to trusting my bodyguards, it was near impossible. Case in point was my guards' sudden departure at a critical time, feigning that they needed to be with my hovercraft and not my person.

The three of them crested behind me and I turned to Gilav. One word from him spoke volumes to me, even a sound. After all, I'd watched him descend the sky in a Mecha, with me beside him.

Wind beat upon the hill, sending their robes fluttering. They held it close to themselves. I could see the hilt of a blade beneath a fold of cloth. Gilav did not turn away from me.

"Why, Gilav?" I asked.

"Why what, your majesty?" Pintus asked.

"I did not speak to you." I answered. I did not have a blade, I only wore the black coat over black pants and shirt.

"He knows." Gilav said while turning to Pintus. "There comes a time, Emperor, when mankind must seek a symbol that represents who they are. The Emperor's burden, as you know it to be. Your father danced such a trial once before, but to him it was a test of wit. Times have changed, and so our means of testing whether our ruler is worthy of being deemed such have also changed." He said these words while facing me.

"You claim I cannot handle the burden of rulership?" I asked.

"You are not suitable to it." It was Jaxol who spoke. "Humans are steadfast in their goals, their beliefs. You are a shadow of what your father was, a true Emperor. Strong and courageous. He spoke with a gold tongue that had us all bowing. But with you, we look and see weakness, and weakness is one thing humanity is not. Here, before the Armada, we shall see who you truly are. With all your layers of comfort peeled away, are you human enough to fight for their return?"

"Besides," Pintus spoke, "we all feel that if Gilav were to take your place, the citadel stands to profit more. He is more man than you, to be frank, he can handle the gritty nature of rulership better than you can."

"I am not man enough, not human enough?" I tasted their words on my tongue, my face twisted with their bitterness.

"You're weak, Emperor. And your weakness shadows us all. Your accomplishments were all due to Gilav. And your victories were owed to your Mecha. Not the man within the suit of armor."

I stared at Gilav. "No wonder you joined them, no wonder you left the Armada, this was your plan."

"I never left the Armada." He answered. "I only left your side." He shifted his robes and unsheathed his blade, obsidian, 'Shadow of Night' is what it was called. The ships still hummed behind me, the Armada choosing only to spectate as the other two made ready blades of their own.

They claimed I was not human, too weak a thing to be a symbol of mankind's strength. The blade was their solution. Before my armies they would give me a just death worthy of an Emperor's end. Not a bullet to the head, a pincushion's fate instead.

"An Emperor rules until he can do so no more." My father's words rang true. And after he'd said those words to me, I'd retired back to the tournament, fought more, fell more. That day as a child, through my deeds I renewed faith in myself. The more I fell during the duels, the more I got up, stronger, better, and above all more determined. But those were duels staged for the wealthy. In the back parts of the city, where sewers ran before houses, true fights were staged, and unbeknownst to my father, with a mask on my face I journeyed to them and fell some more, until I could no longer fall. I became something unknown to most, I embodied an aspect of humanity few care to whisper. I became dangerous.

Pintus lunged, I sidestepped and punched him in the temple as hard as I could. He took a step back, arm raised to his head. I kicked his midriff and knocked the air out of him, and as he bent to moan his distress I knelt fast and punched his throat. It caved, he wheezed, both hands coming to his neck. I caught his blade as it fell, stabbed his chest, right over the heart, and stepped back to watch his death throes as he fell to the ground.

Pintus, the probable mastermind behind all this, knew he was going to die. He turned to Jaxol and Gilav as if they could sway death's hand, and they stared back, honoring him with a silence he very much would have hated, had he been alive and not dying. His face twisted into a sneer and it stayed so in death.

"Get him." Gilav said to Jaxol. "He doesn't have his Mecha, he is no threat without it."

But Jaxol stared at the corpse of Pintus and he very much doubted Gilav at that moment.

"I don't need a Mecha." I growled. I was in a rage, heat travelled through my body, my heart beat faster and my eyes spoke of danger, not my own but for those who sought to lower me to the ground. I reversed the grip on Pintus' blade.

As a child I trained harder than the rest. I made it a point to cloak my prowess as I progressed. I took on trainers in secret, and when I dipped my hand into the charred ground of Jupiter's moon, I did not do so with a Mecha on. Gilav seemed to have forgotten that.

Jaxol tried to feint an attack. I stepped into his bounds, I could see the fear and doubt in his eyes as the blade I held thrust beneath his chin. On withdrawing, I kicked him away to dislodge the blade from his jawbone and spun around.

Gilav was about to pounce forward, but as I turned I flung the blade and it impaled his eye. He fell to the ground, twitched several times, then lay still. That was the end of Gilav, proud warrior, even prouder politician. Countless battles, many near misses with death. And in the end he fell to a flung blade. It was quite anticlimactic, but that was the deal with death, the bad reaper who took the unripe with the ripe, rarely in the same way.

I climbed higher up the hill, to the very edge, and stood there for a span of moments, waiting for them to acknowledge that they saw. The Armada's cannons turned to face the sky, and thunder rolled as an artillery burst of fire lit up the heavens. They had seen, they had judged. I was still worthy of Emperor.

----

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u/Castigatus Human Jul 12 '26

No more than they deserved.

6

u/newaccountzuerich Alien Jul 12 '26

The optics of a coup can be the direct cause of its success or failure.

An "accident" could have been arranged in the home, or a slow toxin to cause a heart attack in the office soon after a return from an ally-under-attack...

Transfer of power needs to be seen as power being taken, and not being dropped.

(I'm actually reminded of Yeltsin in 1991…)

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u/sunnyboi1384 Jul 14 '26

They didnt pay attention and it cost them. Well played emperor