King Maxx Acorn leaned back in his splintered throne, his posture loosening from its earlier rigidity, the molten tension bleeding out of him like poison drawn from a wound. The throne—once carved from the Heartwood of the Great Northern Forest, once polished to a mirror sheen by generations of trembling servants—was cracked now, gouged by claws and shrapnel alike. It creaked beneath his weight, a tired old thing holding together through stubbornness alone.
He drummed his claws—now free of any silver—against the armrest, the rhythm syncopated with the distant thud of artillery now hammering Sector Five. Each impact sent a faint vibration through the stone beneath his feet, like the heartbeat of a wounded animal refusing to die. Somewhere beyond the castle walls, Mobius burned for him. Cities screamed his name in hatred and fear. Entire regions were being rewritten in ash.
And finally—finally—his tablet chimed.
Not a blaring alert. Not a panic signal. Not the frantic, stuttering codes of officers begging for reinforcements or absolution.
No.
Not at all.
This was THAT code.
The very code he had been waiting for.
The one that had haunted his dreams for almost a month, threading itself through his thoughts even while he slept—when he slept at all.
The code that meant his son, Prince Elijah Alexis Acorn, had crossed the final threshold.
The code that meant he was home.
King Maxx Acorn stared at the glowing symbol on the screen for a long moment, letting it sear itself into his mind. Then, slowly, deliberately, his lips curved upward.
And he smiled.
It wasn't a broad smile. It wasn't warm. It didn't reach his eyes.
It was the smile of a man whose gamble had paid off.
Something—just one thing—was finally going exactly as he had planned it. That knowledge sent a shiver down his spine, sharp and electric.
Not fear.
Never fear.
Only anticipation.
He had built his reign on anticipation. On knowing which domino would fall next. On feeling the moment before collapse, that exquisite pause where power hung suspended in the air, waiting for his hand to push.
Sonic had always been a creature of controlled chaos and anarchy. Of carefully orchestrated madness wrapped in velvet threats and steel-clad promises. The public saw a hero. The rebels saw hope. Children saw freedom with blue quills.
But Maxx had seen the truth.
Sonic was a blade.
A blade that smiled.
His allies saw warmth in those emerald eyes; his enemies saw only the flash of motion before something vital gave way inside them. Sonic had spent years sharpening himself into something beautiful and lethal—something that could carve empires apart with a single well-placed smirk.
And that was precisely why Maxx had never underestimated him.
Underestimating Sonic was how kingdoms died.
But today—today—Maxx had his counterweight.
He heard footsteps echoing down the hall beyond the throne room doors. Heavy boots.
Purposeful.
Unhurried.
Just as he liked them in his bloodline.
His claws paused against the armrest.
His son was almost here.
The thought was like swallowing a mouthful of glass—sweet and deadly, cutting all the way down.
King Maxx Acorn exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate. The scent of the Echidna Tribe's sunken Demon Island still clung to his fur like rot, sulfur and blood and old magic woven into the fibers of his royal cloak. His claws flexed unconsciously against the throne's armrests, splinters biting into his skin, embedding themselves beneath his nails.
Minor pain.
Delicious pain.
The massive doors groaned open.
Prince Elijah Alexis Acorn stood silhouetted against the torchlight, framed like a living sigil of war. His fur was combed and oiled as all Royal Acorn men were taught from infancy, every strand disciplined into place. His gait was steady, practiced, betraying no hint of exhaustion despite the jagged scar running from brow to muzzle—a pale lightning bolt etched into his face, a memento from his last fight no doubt.
The scent of ozone clung to him, sharp and electric, mingling with the metallic tang of freshly forged alloy armor. That armor was not ceremonial. It was not decorative. It was functional in a way only Echidna craft could be—layered, rune laced, heavy with intent.
King Maxx Acorn inhaled deeply.
He savored the moment like a fine wine, rolling it across his senses, committing it to memory.
"My King. My Father. My Acorn Supreme."
Elijah's voice cut through the throne room's silence like a honed blade. Respectful—on the surface.
But edged.
Always edged.
"You summoned me from the Echidna Tribe's sunken Demon Island," Elijah continued, stepping forward, "and now I stand before you once more after almost six years."
His boots clicked against the marble floor with military precision. Each step was measured.
Purposeful.
His posture was rigid, disciplined to the point of cruelty—but his tail flicked once behind him, just once, betraying anticipation.
The torches flickered as he passed, the draft casting elongated shadows across his alloy-plated shoulders. The jagged edges of the armor caught the light like fractured mirrors, throwing shards of brightness across the walls.
King Maxx Acorn stepped forward.
Not a walk.
A prowl.
His grin was sharp enough to flay flesh from bone.
"Elijah, my son," he murmured, letting the name roll off his tongue like a sip of poisoned wine—sweet, laced with arsenic.
The air thickened between them.
Ozone.
Metal.
The faint, unmistakable tang of Echidna blood still clinging to the prince's armor like a second skin.
"Your little sister, Sally Alicia Acorn, has betrayed me and our family bloodline."
King Maxx Acorn's voice slithered across the throne room like oil over broken glass. Each syllable was weighted with the ghosts of executions past. His claws tightened around the splintered armrests, tendons standing rigid beneath fur once groomed to royal perfection, now matted with the dried blood of messengers who had brought less favorable news.
Elijah's nostrils flared—just slightly.
Inside his mind, the thought flashed sharp and venomous: 'Oh, Maximilian. You are the same as every Acorn man who ever wore that crown. Riding on the bones of King Alexis Acorn the Decimator, pretending his shadow belongs to you. Killing fathers to become kings, and then wondering why the throne cuts you.'
But Elijah bowed his head instead.
His armored shoulders dipped into a mockery of deference, hiding the brief glint of his fangs behind a mask of filial piety.
"Father dearest," he murmured, voice thick with honeyed venom, exactly as Lien-Da had taught him. "If my sister has betrayed the Acorn bloodline, then she is no longer family. Merely meat for the executioner's block."
His claws traced the hilt of his dagger—a gift from King Maxx Acorn himself before he left all those years ago, forged from the same alloy that had once caged the Fallen Tribe. His pupils dilated, black swallowing gold like ink in water.
The torches guttered.
Shadows crawled up the walls like ivy, recoiling from the hunger in his stare.
Maxx's laughter rasped through the room—a rusted blade dragged across bone.
Dry.
Grating.
Triumphant.
He leaned forward, claws digging into the armrests deep enough to draw sap from the ancient wood.
"Six years sharpening yourself in the dark," King Maxx said, his voice lowering into something almost reverent, "and you come back to me exactly as I knew you would. Refined. Tempered. Dangerous."
He smiled, slow and indulgent.
"So much like how I was in my youth."
Elijah straightened from his bow.
Inside, another thought coiled, patient and cold: 'And much like you with Grandfather Friedrich Acorn, I will watch you fall. But unlike you, I will not take power. I will end the Royal Era entirely—by surrendering it to someone who wants the throne more than they want the bloodline.'
For a heartbeat, father and son regarded one another across the throne room like duelists measuring distance.
Neither even dared to blink.
Neither even dared to flinch.
The silence stretched, thick and deliberate.
Then Maxx Acorn rose from the splintered throne.
It was slow.
Deliberate.
Every joint complained just enough to remind the room that the king had survived wars that had reduced continents to scars. His crown—scarred, dented, reforged more times than any court historian dared admit—caught the torchlight as he descended the dais.
Each step echoed like a verdict.
"You smell like the island," Maxx said casually, circling Elijah. "Sulfur. Old magic. Blood that doesn't know how to die. Lien-Da did not go easy on you."
Elijah did not turn to follow him. He kept his gaze forward, spine straight, jaw set.
"She would have been disappointed if she had."
Maxx's smile widened.
"That's good."
He stopped behind Elijah, close enough that his breath stirred the fur at the back of his son's neck.
"Then tell me," Maxx whispered, "what you learned."
Elijah closed his eyes.
The throne room fell away—not in reality, but in memory.
Demon Island rose in its place.
A broken caldera choked with ash and molten stone. Ancient Echidna gods buried beneath layers of ritual and regret. Forges built atop bones. Runes carved into living metal. The crack of Lien-Da's staff against his ribs as she corrected his stance.
Again, she had hissed.
"Your father wants a weapon, not a son. Bleed properly."
"I learned," Elijah said aloud, voice steady, "that power unused rots. That mercy is a luxury paid for with other people's lives."
Maxx slowly and deeply hummed.
"And that bloodlines mean nothing unless they are enforced by a mighty iron fist."
"And?" Maxx pressed, almost purring.
Elijah slowly opened his eyes.
"And that loyalty is not given," he said softly. "It is engineered from one's cunningness."
Maxx laughed again—this time softer.
Almost fond.
But Elijah knew better.
It was curated, like polished rust itself.
King Maxx Acorn stepped back into his field of vision, studying him like a master appraising a blade fresh from the forge. The scar.
The alloy.
The faint glow of runes beneath the armor.
Yes.
Lien-Da had delivered exactly what she had promised.
An Acorn Prince who could survive the game.
"Sally Alicia Acorn," Maxx said, turning away. "My formerly beloved daughter. And now my second greatest failure."
Elijah's ears twitched almost imperceptibly.
Second.
If she was the second, then what was the first?
Maxx's smile vanished, as if he somehow heard him, despite him not saying anything.
"She believed herself different," Maxx snapped. "And different things spread."
He paced now, voice gaining momentum.
"She allied herself with Sonic the Hedgehog. With dirty, common born idealists who think Mobius can be saved by sentiment and slogans and sheer talent."
His claws curled violently into fists at that part.
"She leaked troop movements. Sabotaged supply lines. And then—she vanished."
Elijah leaned over to listen closer, shadows swallowing the torchlight.
"Then we take his fangs first," he murmured.
The torches flickered in agreement.
"But exactly how do we do that, Father?"
Maxx's eyes gleamed wickedly as he turned around once more to look at him eye to eye directly.
"It's very simple, Elijah," he said. "I have a great equalizer in progress. Courtesy of a delightful beast named Wally Naugus and his monsterous spider whore."
He suddenly paused.
Likely to let the silence work in his opinion.
He was failing at that spectacularly.
This was just awkward now.
"…And," Maxx continued, voice dropping, "I have an ace in the hole that not even he—nor anyone else—knows about."
Elijah smiled at that
This idiot was giving him information on a gold platter.
And for free to gloat, no less!
Oh if only his fore bearer Alexis the Decimator could see him now.
"And what about Mother, how is she, where is she?"
Maxx's grin softened, just barely at that.
"She's been waiting for us since I notified her when you walked into this very room."
"Of course, Father," Elijah said, falling into step beside him. "And I certainly wouldn't have it any other way."
And together, smiling like mirrored knives, they walked toward the dining hall—leaving the throne room steeped in shadow, blood, and inevitability.
The corridor beyond the throne room breathed like a living thing.
Stone ribs arched overhead, their surfaces etched with the genealogy of the Acorn line—names chiseled deep, some scratched out, others defaced with deliberate cruelty. Every torch they passed cast those names into motion, shadows writhing as if the dead themselves were craning to watch the living make the same mistakes all over again.
Maxx walked with the confidence of a man who believed history, or more specifically, his family history, had only existed to validate him.
Elijah walked with the calm of someone who had learned that history was a weapon—one best used to bludgeon the present.
Servants pressed themselves flat against the walls as they passed. None met their eyes. None dared breathe too loudly. These were not servants who expected to grow old. They were placeholders, flesh shaped pauses between executions.
The dining hall doors opened without being touched.
The doors parted like a wound reopening.
Warm light spilled out.
Not torchlight.
No, that would make far too much sense.
Candlelight.
Hundreds of them, floating in slow, deliberate orbits above a table long enough to host a minor war. The flames were blue white, fed not by wax but by captured plasma cores—technology disguised as tradition, a recurring Acorn family theme.
At the far end of the table sat Queen Alicia Acorn herself.
She slowly rose as they entered.
Submissive as ever.
Time had been kinder to her than it had any right to be. Her fur was still immaculate, her posture impossibly straight, her crown lighter and more elegant than King Maxx's—a queen's crown, not a conqueror's helm. The gown she wore shimmered with woven fiber optics, threads responding to her pulse, her breath, her intent.
Her eyes, though—
Her eyes were sharp.
Too sharp.
They landed on Elijah like a surgeon's scalpel.
"My son," she said, crossing the distance in measured strides. "You survived."
Not welcome home.
Not I missed you.
Alicia Acorn did not waste words on emotions she could not afford under King Maxx Acorn's salary.
Elijah slowly knelt, making sure it was the exact same speed at which Alecia Acorn had slowly rose just a moment before.
He did it perfectly.
On one knee.
Head bowed just enough to show respect, not submission.
Hands open.
Vulnerable—but only in form.
"Yes, Mother," he said. "As father planned."
Her claws cupped his chin, lifting his face into the light. She studied the scar, the hardened set of his jaw, the faint glow beneath his armor where Echidna runes hummed quietly, waiting.
She smiled.
Not warmly.
Proudly.
"Those barbaric Echidnas did not break you," she murmured.
"No," Elijah replied. "They tried harder than anyone else ever will."
Alicia's eyes flicked briefly to her husband Maxx.
A moment passed between them—silent, dense, unreadable.
Then she turned back to Elijah and released him.
"Come," she said. "Sit. Eat. We have much to discuss, and the world is ending whether we starve or not."
The meal was already laid out.
Not really extravagant.
Not fully decadent.
Just enough to be efficient.
Fucking typical...
It consisted of expensive protein slabs grown in vats beneath the capital sector. Nutrient dense grains. Fruits engineered to resist radiation fallout. Wine decanted from bottles older than most cities—because symbols still mattered, even at the edge of annihilation.
They all sat at the same time.
Maxx at the head.
Alicia to his right.
Elijah to his left.
A triangle.
Simple.
Stable.
Deadly.
Servants moved in synchronized silence, filling glasses with various liquids, both alcoholic and not, setting plates, retreating like ghosts that knew better than to linger.
Maxx lifted his glass.
"To family," he said.
Alicia raised hers.
"To survival."
Elijah lifted his last.
"To endings."
Then they all drank.
The wine tasted like iron and old sunlight.
Maxx wiped his mouth with the back of his claw.
"Sonic the Hedgehog is undoubtedly stretched thin," he began, conversationally. "He tries to be everywhere and nowhere. Too fast to pin down, too charismatic to isolate. He bleeds our resources just by existing."
Elijah ate slowly, methodically, eyes unfocused as if listening to something beyond the room.
"And yet," he said, "you're not afraid of him."
Maxx simply snorted in the way that all aristocrats did.
"Fear is for people who still believe the universe is fair."
Alicia interjected smoothly. "Sonic's greatest weakness is not speed. It is attachment. He collects people. He inspires them. That makes him predictable."
Elijah slowly nodded.
"Which is why my little sister is still useful to you," he said. "Alive, that is."
The word hung there.
Alicia's gaze sharpened.
Maxx's smile returned.
"Alive," Maxx agreed. "For now."
Elijah set his fork down.
"Then you don't want me hunting her."
"No," Maxx said. "I want you to help me hunt IT."
Alicia leaned forward, fingers lacing together.
"There is a convergence approaching," she said. "Something Wally Naugus is too arrogant to recognize. Something even Sonic will stumble into blindly."
Elijah's ears tilted forward, curiousity piqued.
What was 'IT'?
"A single, fragile fault line," Alicia continued. "Between realities. Between narratives. Between the idea of freedom and the cost of enforcing that very same freedom."
Maxx's claws tapped the table in a slow rhythm.
"You were trained," he said, "not merely to kill, but to arrive at moments like that."
Elijah felt it then.
The faint hum beneath the table.
Not machinery.
Not magic.
Something deeper.
Older.
Contained.
But barely.
Like it was leaking out.
Very, very, slowly...
"What's beneath the castle," he said quietly.
Maxx's eyes gleamed.
"My first failure," he said. "Buried. Forgotten. Repurposed."
Alicia's mouth tightened—not in disapproval, but in a long since lost memory.
"Elijah," she said, "do you remember the stories we told you as a child? About The Devourer of All?"
Elijah's breath slowed.
The Devourer of All.
A myth not even wrapped in propaganda, it was only wrapped in countless levels of omission.
A sentient failsafe. A crown without a king. A machine designed to decide when bloodlines had outlived their usefulness.
"It was killed," Elijah said. "Declared far too unstable."
Maxx laughed, like he had just said something moronic.
"Of course it was."
The table shifted.
Stone groaned.
Then the candles flared.
"At least, it wanted Teddy Acorn to believe that after he made the Ring of Acorns."
Oh.
He realized two things now:
1. What his father was doing.
2. That his father was even stupider than Elijah could have ever given him credit for.
He simply smiled, pretending to be amazed at his father's 'brilliance'.