In the Palace of the Tyrant, King Libra was entertaining his lust with a group of chained enslaved people when the Royal Bedroom doors were cleaved from their hinges and hit the ground with force that cracked the hardened palace floor.
The enslaved people entertaining King Libra shrieked as one of them had a front row view of the Ghost of Ottawa, hands dripping blood, dual sledgehammers steaming from the strike to the brass doors. As the Ghost entered the room, the King's Guards rushed the Ghost, swords drawn, trying to buy their King time. "All in vain, such loyal fools." Said the Ghost, sledgehammers dripping with the blood of the King's Guards. King Libra attempted to rush past the Ghost, only to catch a sledgehammer to the ribcage, tossing him back into the room. King Libra sat up shakily, coughing up blood. "W-Why! Why do you attack my kingdom? Speak now! I DEMAND YOU ANSWER ME!" The Ghost slammed his foot down onto the elevated floor's transition step and declared himself. "I am the Ghost of Ottawa, Protector of Greater Ottawa, and the Final-Bane of Tyranny's existence." The Ghost took a step towards the cowardly, terrified King.
"As for my purpose in attacking your nation? It's simple..." The Ghost's presence seemed to let out an aura of a primal yell from his bloodline. "...I am the torch-bearer for my lineage. I am the descendant of the Mighty Red Tails, who scoffed at prejudice with a defiant smile, descendant of the Legendary Steel-Driver, John Henry, who broke through mountains, facing off against prejudice with nothing but two twenty-pound sledgehammers and the strength of heart as his weapons..." At that moment, the Ghost's skin seemed to course with soul-electricity at the mention of those who'd walked the path to freedom long before him. However, in the eyes and viewpoint of King Libra, a legion of spirits, all of which were glaring at him with eyes full of anger, stood behind him. "You and your repulsive nation will serve as Greater Ottawa's example to this world... of what we think of any nation of slavers. For we have lived free... so too shall we all die free."
The King tried to make excuse after excuse, only further making what was to come for the King. The Ghost drove one of the sledgehammers down into the King's left side ribcage, pulverizing bone instantly. "I just crushed the skull of your Head Guardsmen. He'd murdered the young daughter of one of the many elven slaves I just freed. Silence your mouth filled with worn-out excuses." The King's screams echoed into the blood-stained hallways of the Palace. Mustering his strength, the wounded king rushed out of the room, down the large staircase, and finally hit the ground in front of a group of freed elves, dwarves, and kajin. "SAVE ME! MY PEOPLE! SAVE ME FROM THIS SUFFERING!" Cried out the King, tears of pain and fear rolling down his face. However, a dark, mocking-toned chuckle rang out from the bloodstained entrance of the palace. "Save you from this suffering? That's rich coming from the Monarch who keeps these people in iron shackles. You have no concept of true suffering." Said the Ghost, emerging from the palace with the girls from the King's room, now freed. "Well... not yet by any means. Death is a mercy in its own unique way." The Ghost tossed King Libra the sword of his slain Head Guard. "A wise philosopher of my world once said, "A man who has nothing to die for, has already surrendered." So pick up that blade, and show me what it means to be King."
The Ghost's words were a direct duel to the death. With his declaration, he threw down the sledgehammers, reclaiming his fire axes bathed in blood. "STAND UP AND FIGHT YOU WORTHLESS COWARD!" Yelled the Ghost, eyes piercing daggers into the King's soul. With a yell of mustered courage, King Libra, with blade in hand, rushed forth into the embrace of something far worse than death. For a moment, Libra held his own. Steel axe heads colliding against the sword's blade had sparks exploding from the magi-sword. However, there was one aspect that decided the duel's outcome before it even began... King Libra was born to be a King, but it was the Ghost through pain, loss, and the breaking of his soul, that had solidified his pathway to becoming a being of myth and legend. The Ghost's life was one written in scars that covered his body. For as the blades of his axes ripped into the thighs of this disgraced king, the King realized something most people had never understood about the Ghost of Ottawa... He was a gentle soul, continually forced to bear his fangs for twenty-four years straight. For it was not love that mended that broken soul... it was a fire. A fire of the resolute strength of his willpower to drive every nail deeper into the flesh of his soul... for this was the Flame of Vindictive-Defiance, and they would never be extinguished.
The Ghost pressed his attacks, bleeding the King dry of his strength through blood loss. With a series of rapid strikes from the Ghost, the King fell to the ground, attempting to crawl toward the cracked magi-sword. However, the Ghost appeared above the King, his breathing labored with intent. "A ruler must ensure the survival of his people, alongside their safety. Yet here I stand, having shattered the shackles holding members of your nation enslaved, the soil and cobbled stone streets run red with the blood of weak men, and their ruler, crawling toward his end, to remain a rotting corpse and a reminder to this world of one essential fact:" The Ghost raised his boot, "THIS IS NOTHING SHORT OF A GENOCIDE OF SLAVERS AND THEIR NATIONS!" Yelled the Ghost. His voice echoes were only silenced by the sound of Libra's teeth crushed down onto the stone of the bloodied streets, skull nothing but bloody paste.
Meanwhile, the Huey helicopter awaited the arrival of the Ghost. The Busch Hunter and Huey pilot, Barbara, looked over, having been alerted to a commotion. As they looked, they watched as the Ghost of Ottawa, blood-bathed fire axes in hand, led the now former slaves of Libra Ursa out of the dead kingdom. The Ghost stopped for just a moment, ordering the two to fly overwatch on their hour-long march back to Greater Ottawa, as he wanted to send a clear message to all those who may be observing them. As the Ghost led the march, he had no idea just how big a message he'd sent to those using magic to observe not only his battle, but also how he treated those he'd liberated.