User:SlenderXP/Discord: Part II

Prologue
It was a (nominally) glorious day in Nexon as the new Emperor would be enthroned. People were cheering on the streets of the imperial capital of Nexon City as the Emperor's procession passed through the main avenues. While their faces displayed a sense of joy to the uninformed outsiders, the Nexonans were deeply upset in their hearts. The claps that they gave to the motorcade of tanks, bodyguard-filled sedans and SUVs, and ultimately the Emperor's gold-plated Rolls Royce limousine can be described as half-hearted.

The soon-to-be crowned Emperor himself, Suleiman of Nexon, felt that his feelings were in discord with each other as he sat in his car. He was especially furious of the two Westioner intelligence agents who were sitting beside him, yet he felt that they were an intimidating duo. He was right to be afraid of them. The duo were assigned with a mission, which was to keep an eye on the Emperor. The two male agents were to follow him everywhere, even when His Imperial Majesty patronises the toilet. If he acts out of step, the agents were ordered to penetrate projectiles into His Majesty's skull, multiple magazines of them if necessary.

Suleiman also felt upset that his father, the previous Emperor, had passed. It was an unfortunate and untimely passing as Westioner special operatives raided the magnificent Imperial Palace of the Nexonan Empire and mercilessly gunned down the Emperor and his spouse. While there was a sense of happiness within the ambitious Suleiman who had became one of the youngest Nexonan Emperors at the age of 13, he didn't feel contend with the current situation at all. Au contraire, mon lecteur. He felt like the least powerful of his ancestors, someone equivalent to a puppet ruler with the word 'dispensable' stamped on his forehead. Un empereur jetable. Until he is free of this de facto captivity, Suleiman would consider his throne to be worthless of any prestige and respect.

The procession soon entered the majestic gates of the residence where the teenage Emperor grew at - the Imperial Palace. It had been hastily repaired and renovated by Nexonan labourers to cover up the damages incurred by the Westioners during the raid two months ago, which resulted in the palace's monetary value dropping substantially after rumours had it that impure (and even fake) materials were used to repair certain parts of the palace. The Emperor's chauffeur stopped the limousine at the main entrance into the palace. The Westioner 'Imperial Carers' were the first to get out of the car. One of them, the agent originally seated at His Imperial Majesty's left, signalled for the Emperor to waddle out. When he did so, the cameras of the numerous media outlets focused on him. Photographers were busy snapping pictures of this momentous occasion. However, Suleiman would rather not have what he considered to be his most embarrassing moment photographed and broadcasted live for his 1.8 billion subjects and the rest of the Fanon World to see.

The Imperial Guards, standing in two lines, saluted as His Imperial Majesty waddled up the marble stairs leading up to the complex itself. As soon as he entered the palace, the numerous guests, who were dressed in their tailcoats or full-length gowns depending on their gender, stood to attention. They watched as the Emperor walked up to the Throne that his ancestors sat on during their own coronations. Like the commoners who watched the motorcade as it motored to the palace, the guests felt deeply upset within themselves over the events that had transpired in the last two months. Never had such humiliation and shame been inflicted on what was once considered to be Antarctica's hidden superpower. The altuniun alnuw that should never be awakened. No unequal treaties were signed to inflict said shaming, but the murder of the previous Emperor and the coronation of the current was felt to be the ultimate shame - having a nation's own head of state appointed by a foreign country. At the same time, they felt sorry for their sovereign, their monarch. To put it crassly, they felt that what Suleiman was going through was deeper than any crap they would face in their lives.

Despite wanting to boycott this coronation, the guests (especially the aristocrats) firmly insisted that the show must go on. They had faith in their young Emperor, who they were hoping to restore the Empire's glory once more in the face of the outside world. Like someone who's about to meet face-to-face, eye-to-eye, shoulder-to-shoulder with their worst enemies, the guests dressed in their finest and attended this white tie event that everyone was watching. The Emperor also dressed in his finest, a royal blue tailcoat jacket with a jet black bow tie of the finest textile. His Imperial Majesty walked gracefully up yet another marble mini-staircase, consisting of six steps this time. At the end of each step is a marble-made sculpture of a dragon. The four-tiered crown was placed on the golden Throne itself.

Very soon, Suleiman found himself to be in front of the Throne. As per Nexonan tradition, he took the crown and placed it on his own head, leading to a loud cry of 'HURRAH!' from the guests. The Lord Chamberlain placed a microphone in front of the Emperor so that he could swear himself in.

"With the prayers invested into me by the Nexonans and with the power passed on to me by my ancestors, I, Suleiman of the Imperial House of Nexon, hereby accept the sovereignty that the Crown I'm wearing represents and declare myself to be the sovereign, God-Emperor of Nexon. May my reign last long and may Nexon's prosperity last as long as eternity itself," the newly crowned Emperor said slowly in a perfect English accent.

"Long live the God-Emperor! Glory to His Imperial Majesty, Glory to the Empire and Destruction to their Foes!", the guests yelled in response. The coronation is over.

It was about to approach dusk as the coronation ended. As the sky turned into a darker shade, the guests who attended the Emperor's coronation got ready for another white tie event - the Coronation Ball. Dinner preceded everything else in the schedule as the first order of the Ball as the guests had a seven-course dinner in the Palace's large dining hall.

As Suleiman savoured the first course - Oysters a la Rockefeller, he subtly glared at the two Westioner 'guardians' who ate the same dish. "These two imbéciles shouldn't be here in the first place. They aren't even dressed in white tie like they are supposed to," the Emperor thought to himself as he remarked to himself on the black tuxedoes that they were donning. "These disrespectful apes should know the difference between white tie and black tie."

The affair was soon over, its end signalled by the serving of Lisboagese fortified Cream Soda (Cream Soda with stronger stuff added in). The Emperor took a sip at the beverage and glanced around the hall. He started looking for someone around his age group. After looking around in futility, Suleiman managed to spot a girl who looks like an Enclave Penguin. She was by far one of the most beautiful ladies the young Emperor had ever seen. It was at that very moment that he declared to himself that he would try his best to woo her into becoming the Empress Consort in the future.

The dance began not long after the participants had digested their meals. The Emperor started looking for her again, this time in the Palace's massive ballroom. He spotted her very soon, chatting with a small flipperful of friends at a table. They were sharing drinks of mocktail that were served by the excellent bartending team of multiple professionals, some of whom are even champions in several mixology competitions both nation-wide and international. One bartender alone was not enough as the demand would have far outstripped the supply. It was from this distance that he started noticing her in full details. Dressed in a teal blue dress gown that looked as if it was custom-tailored, she had ombré brown hair that was of medium-length. She also seemed to be distinguished from the other guests in that she wore little to no jewellery on her. She also appeared to be one of the few ladies attending the Ball who weren't wearing a choker.

"One glass of whatever you feel you are the best in making," the Emperor said to one of the bartenders as he approached one of the bars.

"Of course, Your Majesty," the bartender replied as he proceeded to mix the concoction.

The Emperor waited as his faithful servant made his beverage. Just as he was about to turn around to have another look at his goddess, several guests came to the bar and started making small talk with him. Dukes, earls, marquises, business magnates, mandarins, military officers, anyone else of high importance in Nexonan society. He took the liberty of replying to every single one of them and even clicked his drink with theirs.

"Wrong timing, mates," Slender thought as they were distracting him from his original purpose.

To say the least, His Majesty was mildly annoyed by the time he finished talking to the last guest. He turned his head to loook for his goddess, only to find her gone from the table.

"Shoot!", the Emperor muttered under his own breath. He was then hit by a sudden urge to go to the washroom due to the copious amount of drinks he had over the course of the evening and the large glass of mocktail he had just now. He waddled to one of the many ornate lavatories, followed by the two Westionwr handlers. As he walked back to the bathroom, he was met with the tunes of a classical Nexonan masterpiece, played by a live orchestra of the Empire's best musicians. Guests were dancing slowly with each other. However, the Emperor's movements were anything but slow as he waddled around the massive ballroom in a hurried pace, followed by the confused handlers who started chasing after him.

"What the heck was that for?", one of the handlers angrily asked as they caught up with him.

"Don't mind me, I'm just looking for someone. If you don't feel like running, then just keep a close distance with me. Otherwise, don't frigging complain about how tired you are," Suleiman replied in frustration.

The handlers muttered 'meh' under their breath and walked away to a distance. The Emperor then started looking again, only to feel a tap on what would be his shoulders. When he turned his head, he was utterly shocked by the presence of his goddess in front of his eyes.

"What the?", the Emperor exclaimed.

"Hey there, Your Majesty," the girl greeted him.

"You nearly scared me there."

"I know. I'm sorry, my lord," she replied in her sweet voice.

"It's cool. It's just that your presence was really unexpected."

"I'm aware of that."

"You are?"

"Yeah. I noticed that you'd been eyeing me for a while now."

"Darn, this girl has got some guts to make such a daring statement, especially to the Sovereign," the Emperor thought to himself.

"May I introduce myself?", the girl asked again, interrupting Suleiman's train of thought.

"Of course."

"I'm Katherine Chandos, the Marquise of Chandos."

"Our aristocracy has weird surnames," the Emperor remarked. "That includes me too."

"Yeah, well our ancestors named their lands after our own surnames, so that's what we, their descendants, get."

"I suppose so."

Suleiman then realised that he hadn't been looking directly at Katherine all the while he was chatting with her. He did so, to be greeted with a smile from her.

"So uh, who did you come with?"

"A few friends. Only one of them has an aristocratic background, others are either new money or from the administrative Mandarin class. Some of them are classmates who are from the middle class."

"I see. What school do you attend?"

"Prescott Secondary Independent School."

"Oh wow, you must be really smart to get in. I myself am taught in this palace by private tutors."

The two continued chatting and learned more about each other. He found out that she was a year older than him and she was, like him, orphaned at the age of 13 when her parents perished in an aviation disaster last year. They talked for at least half an hour and their conversation attracted the attention of other partygoers and they looked at the two. Finally, he decided to finish the job.

"So Kath, would you-"

A quick-paced tango piece was played by the musicians all of a sudden.

"What the-", the Emperor exclaimed in confusion.

"Go on with your question."

"I was gonna ask if you would like to dance with me, but I only know the basics when it comes to tango."

"I've taken tango classes, don't worry. I'll guide you if you don't mind."

The Marquise took the Emperor's flippers and led him to the centre of the ballroom, so that she could guide him. "Best night ever," Suleiman thought to himself as what had previously been a particularly humiliating day was ameliorated by meeting Katherine.

Chapter 1
The next morning, servants of the Westioner President were busy setting up his breakfast table. While his demands weren't really ridiculous, he demanded perfection all the time. For instance, a small pot of French press coffee, with no sugar or cream added in, must be on the table. There must also be three stacks of newspapers, one with a left-wing bias, another with a right-wing bias that was friendly to him and a third that claims to be independent and bias-free. The eggs must be poached for exactly a certain period of time, while the composition of yoghurt, milk, muesli and fruits in his bowl of cereals must be of the exact same percentage that he requested. In addition to them, at least three different types of fresh fruits must be available on the table as well.

The President soon arrived at the breakfast room, sharply dressed in his black business suit and red tie. He had already finished his morning ritual of showering in literally ice cold water (the water source from his shower was from a block of ice that would be melted in a special process without screwing up its temperature), self-grooming, dressing himself and praying to the almighty Indigió. Upon sitting himself on the chair that was located at one end of the table, he started saying grace for his breakfast. The servants noticed that the process lasted at least a few minutes before he dug in.

After finishing the meal, which he found to be satisfactory, he started reading the newspapers. As a really fast speed-reader, Slender managed to finish reading them within 15 minutes, to the astonishment of most outsiders but not to his staff as they were accustomed to it. He had much work to do that day as he has to meet up with the Gaulish foreign minister in order to discuss the crisis in the Ninja Archipelago.

The Westioner President was one of Antarctica's most prominent political figures. Ever since he was inaugurated five months ago, his popularity and influence rose as the days passed. After his controversial raid of the Nexonan palace, his 'influence' skyrocketed as it meant that he effectively controlled the Nexonan monarchy. This was ironic as the Nexonans used to be the Westioners' former colonial overlords. Slender was elected under the Indigióst Right ticket, and he was doing a really good job in keeping his promise to make Westion great again. Despite not having seen combat for the length of the Slender administration as of now, the Westioner military became one of the most well-trained and advanced in Antarctica. Its nuclear arsenal became the third largest, at an estimated amount of 6,400 warheads. The economy boomed due to the government encouraging research & development, which in turn significantly raised the nation's technological advancement level. A universal healthcare system was also put in place.

However, freedom in the country dropped sharply as the Slender administration clamped down on anti-religious speech and thought. Publicly known atheists were arbitrarily arrested and subjected to imprisonment without trial. In the first few weeks of the administration, anarchist groups protested against the ever-growing government, which resulted in a brutal suppression by the Indigióst Squadron (the former militant/terrorist organisation Slender led prior to the presidency, which had became an official paramilitary by then), the police and the military that killed over 78 and injured over 300. The pro-Indigióst media was quick to portray the anarchists and atheists as terrorists and traitors to the nation, resulting in the president's approval rating rising to an astounding 87%, the highest that any Westioner President had ever enjoyed.

The Indigióst Church itself, filled with Slender's cronies who managed to become high-ranking priests, was quick to support the administration. Worshippers were often subliminally encouraged to support the government and convinced by the priests that the president was the long-awaited saviour appointed by Indigió. Along with the Indigióst symbol, Slender's portrait soon decorated the offices of all government officials and priests. Prayers by the Indigiósts, who made up over 95% of the nation's population, soon started showing gratefulness towards the appearance of a messiah-like figure (Slender) in the nation. The results were really devastating to the opposition as Slender's National Indigióst Party swept all of the seats in the legislature during the legislative election two months ago. The Indigióst left politicians were effectively cast out of any position to assert influence, forcing them to either switch to other parties or to join the NIP. What's left of the opposition were accused as atheists and locked up.

The 'messianic' president developed a messiah complex as days passed. He became more arrogant as he believed that only he himself could lead Westion Island to glory. He started consolidating power around the presidency. The Westioner presidency soon became one of the most powerful presidencies in Antarctica. While some outsiders referred to him as a nationalist and religious strongman, others simply referred to him as a neo-fascist.

Nevertheless, the Gaulish foreign minister soon arrived at Slender's residence. He was led into one of the living rooms by a butler, where the president was waiting.

"Good morning, Your Excellency," the minister said as he extended his flipper to shake Slender's.

"Good morning to you too, Monsieur Jacques. Please take a seat."

The Gaullish foreign minister sat on the Louis XV-style couch. He was then presented with a glass of sparkling Cream Soda, made from a notable province in his own nation, by the Westioner president.

"Do have a drink. It's one of the best vintages that I've ever acquired."

"Thank you, Monsieur Slender."

Slender suddenly felt annoyed at him for merely calling him a 'mister'. In his opinion, he should be referred to as 'Your Excellency' or, better yet, 'Our Messiah'.

"I believe that you have some intentions for meeting me during this pleasant morning."

"Indeed, I would like to discuss the crisis in the Ninja Archipelago with you. The Alemanian army had already reached Poleland's capital this morning. If we do not intervene, the rest of the archipelago will fall like a chain of dominoes to the Alemanian."

"Well, in that case, we must certainly intervene," the President said. "I must intervene. Only I can save the Ninja Archipelago," he said to himself in his mind.

"What shall we do then?"

"We'll immediately take action on the Alemanian threat."

"How will you take action?"

"You'll see."

That afternoon, Samantha Li was waddling back to her house after having lunch at a café in the town centre. Despite having moved to the small town of Frescol only a year ago, she had already adapted to the surroundings as the air was much fresher than that of Westion City, while the climate is cool all-year round. It was, in general, a better place for one's health.

As she walked on the moist pavement leading back to her house, she couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if she hadn't moved there. "Maybe I'll still be earning a six-figure salary with my own practice in the CBD," she thought to herself. "Then again, I'm also earning a lot as an online retailer. I have to be grateful to the almighty Indigióst for what It had gifted to me so far. A good life, a good career and an awesome place to live in."

The weather was damp as there were some drizzles in the morning. It was forecasted that there would be another light shower in the evening as well, followed by a thunderstorm near midnight. She had always reminded herself how Frescol appeared very similar to the quintessential Puffish village in the Permish Isles northeast of Westion Island. The buildings looked as if they had been constructed by Puffish colonial administrators at the hill stations of their colonies. Despite the fact that the unique architecture of Frescol attracted numerous local and foreign tourists to this quaint hill station annually, Sam was upset that the unstoppable forces of modernisation were slowly breaking this barrier and creeping into the hills. Earlier during this month, a proposal to construct a modern eighteen-storey building (with glass and steelworks as the main materials) at the town centre was halted after the locals protested against the construction. The building, while aesthetically appealing in the eyes of the hardcore followers of the Modernism movement, was considered to be an ugly monstrosity by the locals. They were initially in deep trouble as the proposed building was supposed to function as the local branch office of the National Indigióst Party. Many protesters were arrested and placed under detention by the police.

However, Sam, a former member of the NIP herself and also formerly one of its 'informal leaders', managed to negotiate with the party official in charge and had him to agree to the construction of a Gothic church-building as the branch office instead. The detainees were subsequently released following further negotiations. Dazzled by her feats since nobody dared to speak up against the government, she was thanked by the locals and even hailed as a sort of a community leader despite holding no positions in the town council.