CHAPTER 2 - A SENSE OF DESTINY
Irmgard
I sense the unfolding of my destiny.
It was written long ago. I was always meant for greatness. The moment the Lord Rulers first ran for office with their joke-party, in the last elections ever held in human history... that's when my future was sealed.
I was only a child, then, and I didn't know I'd be one of them, soon.
But not soon enough.
It's criminal, really, how long it's taken the world to acknowledge that I, Irmgard Gast, am nothing short of Lord Ruler raw material. But at least now I know that I was right.
I've been Awakened, and in a short time I'll crush that formality of a challenge against two losers, and go on to finally claim what is mine.
Of course, it is a bit of a travesty that two lesser creatures as Carolina and Ragnar were Awakened: a slave girl and a guy from an insultingly common family, it's basically a slight to present them as my peer competitors.
But the more I think about it, the more I realise it makes a weird sort of sense. Of course this "challenge" requires some cannon fodder for me to slap around, before I'm inducted into the inner sanctum of the true power residing at the heart of the world.
I smile. My family has been stuck in the doldrums of regular wealth far too long. Outlandish wealth, to be sure, but... mundane, really. Ordinary.
Rich people have always existed. A wealthy family such as mine is something you might have seen before the Seizure Of Power as well, and therefore... inherently human.
In the New Order, there is no more damning insult than that.
I run a hand through my hair, reassuring myself. The indignity is almost over. Soon, no one will be able to doubt me any more, although frankly any doubters just need but to look at me: I am every inch a queen.
The jade and opal necklace declares it. The glossy sheen of my black boots proclaims it. The form-fitting leather trouses and greatcoat affirm it. I am a queen-in-waiting, a goddess waiting to be born.
To so many petit bourgeois people - like the Bothnias, for instance - dominance is just a word. So is slavery. They've adopted the trappings of the new order, but not its philosophy, its ethos.
They don't understand the artistry of true mastery, not like I do. The deft skill required to slowly peel away at a human mind, until you irreparably damage it, and the victim ends up begging to be enslaved: their only option left for self-fulfilment.
They don't get the velvety cruel aesthetics of dominance and submission. Not like I do. A girl like Carolina -- made for breaking, really -- is wasted on two dummies like Arthur and Audra. They have her do their homework. God, how dull and unimaginative is that?
But no matter, no matter. Their incompetence just makes my talent shine all the brighter... and gives me a perfect excuse to have some fun with the livestock girl.
I reach the Botnhias' apartment, my heels clicking ominously on the polished marble floor of the hallway -- a poor excuse for one, truth be told, but consistent with their limited bourgeois means.
My reflection in the mirror-lined hallway is like a rippling fractal of my power and superiority. The Awakening is making me feel more than human already, as if I've been kissed by the sun itself. I wonder if I look different to myself only, or the outside as well. Even my features look different to me today.
I'm confident, regal, splendid - a predator, elegant and ruthless. The corridors stretch out before me like an open field before a conquering general.
It's Arthur who greets me, with his usual befuddled expression. I've only been here yesterday, and he didn't expect me to pay a second visit so soon. Especially when his sister Audra isn't at home.
He knows nothing of the Awakening, of course. How could he? His limited mind is not receptive to the astral, otherworldly psionic language of the rightful rulers of mankind. His ears are deaf to the music of the spheres.
The only time he'd ever feel a thought from a Lord Ruler, would be if he is being compelled to obey an order.
Note to self, I'll have to make sure he experiences that some day, after my ascension.
I spy Carolina in the background, tending to her chores. Her mother Georgia and her brother Utah aren't in sight. She's scantily clad in a see-through bedlah, appropriately baring much of her chattel flesh to display.
She raises her head at the intrusion, a hint of surprise lighting in her eyes, before they harden when she recognises me.
Of course she can begin to guess why I'm here.
My dear Carolina. My victory over you may be preordained, but did you really think I would ever let you go off easy? No mind games? No... preparation? What'd be the fun of that?
"Hey, Irmgard," Arthur says, hesitantly. "Audra isn't, uh... Did you want something?"
With a sly and mischievous grin spreading across my face, I coyly ask, "would it be alright if I borrowed Carolina for a little while?"
My eyelashes flutter innocently as I speak, my tone soft and playful. "I'm planning on going out shopping, and could use a slave to chaperone for me. May I have her collar and leash?"
Even from out here, I hear Carolina's sharp intake of breath. Slaves don't control their bodies, their minds, their actions. They are tools, and utility is their religion. Only thus can the chaos of the old world give way to a rational, structured optimisation of the human species... and its herders.
Slaves soon learn their own bodies will never belong to them. The fact that this resignation doesn't inoculate them from pain is what makes it truly delicious. Yes, she logically knows she has no say in this... but she still hates it.
She also knows - as well as I do - that Arthur wouldn't dare refuse me. Both because I'm his social superior, and because the dumb fool still thinks he's actually going to score with me eventually. Ha! As if I'd ever fuck someone so bland and lowly as him. He's not a slave or even a grunting labourer, to be sure, but...
When set next to a Lord Ruler, even he looks just like chattel to me.
"Sure," Arthur says, always too eager. "Anything you want, Irmgard."
Anything I want. How delightful. The thrill of power is intoxicating as I watch Arthur scramble to fetch Carolina's collar and leash for me, a task he wouldn't ordinarily demean himself to do. But he's doing it now because I asked him to.
Oh, yes, I'll definitely pay him a visit after my ascension... and it won't be to fuck him.
Carolina tries to muster the best approximation of dignity a slave is capable of. She returns my stare, her dark eyes a storm of defiance. How delightful it will be to break her, to conquer that spirit and turn her into a docile sex toy with no self-esteem and no intelligence.
There is no better sport in this world than that. No higher cultured pursuit. Taking these mere human beasts of burden, slowly flaying their self-esteem and identity until the animal beneath is exposed...
Then building them back up, artfully, methodically, into a fully enthralled version of themselves...
Tightening your grip, strangling their independence, their ability to think of themselves as people, until it's utterly snuffed out...
It's the New Order's falconry, and poetry, and jousting, all rolled into one. The ultimate pastime for us of the elite, with the ultimate reward, too.
She really is wasted on such an unimaginative owner family as the Bothnias.
"Thank you, Arthur," I say with a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes as I accept the leash from his hands.
I walk over to Carolina, closing the distance between us. "Don't worry darling," I coo as I clip the leash onto her collar, "we're just going out for a little stroll. I'll walk you back to your owner soon enough. I know how much you hate being separated from him and Audra!"
"Yes m-m-ma'am," she says, as she is required to. God, that stutter, she did that yesterday too. The creeping uncertainty... I can see fear swimming in her eyes now, but she quickly looks away.
She follows me out the door with docility born of necessity. As we walk down the beautiful marble corridor again, towards the exit, I can feel every single one of our steps echo through the walls. It's a fateful sound... almost like a clock, counting down to my hour of victory.
The world outside, though, is not so empty. On the contrary, it's a kaleidoscope that swallows us whole. Everywhere we look, it's a triumph of visual and tactile glory, a work of art sculpted by the Lord Rulers' minds.
People are clad in leather, adorned with boots and gloves - or even more extravagant attire. Some don gauzy silks that whisper in the wind, while others wear translucent bedlahs that reveal tantalising hints of skin.
The wealthy display their status through armlets of gold and opal and jade, dripping with precious gemstones and delicate silks. They flaunt their riches through glistening gold armlets and shimmering silks, but even the slaves are adorned with trinkets and baubles - a reflection of their masters' powers.
Reduced to less than human, they exist to be used and admired. Their masters lead them around on leashes like prized possessions, and as well they should. There is no better possession than a slave, and we should all be grateful that the Lord Rulers bestowed this insight upon us.
No longer are the energies of myriad individuals scattered and wasted in billions of piecemeal efforts, without structure or direction. Instead, the will of the Lord Rulers reshapes, reorders, and redirects. People too weak to stand up for themselves are put to good use, so they can finally contribute according to their limited talents.
