El Destructor De La Realeza Normandie Alleman... Direct

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.

With a single, gravity-defying strike, he severed the structural support of the Spire’s primary stabilizer. The room tilted. Panic, sharp and ugly, replaced the refined boredom of the guests. El Destructor De La Realeza Normandie Alleman...

"Normandie Alleman," hissed Duke Valois, clutching a vial of the blue serum. "You’re a dead man walking." He moved with a speed that defied biology

The "Royals" were the oligarchs who lived in the Cloud Spires, breathing filtered air while the rest of the world choked on smog. They thought they were gods. Normandie was the atheist with a high-frequency blade. The Night of the Gilded Fall He aimed for the pillar

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

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

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.