As Ixion made his way out the front doors of the palace and into the courtyard with the chest in hand, he could hear the result of his action playing out throughout the palace.
Chairs squealed as they brushed against the marble floors from people's alarmed reactions.
Screams echoed throughout the halls.
The chancellors were all in a panic, trying to find their way to Ixion before he could escape, being among the few who ever managed to reason with the deranged King.
Ixion, all the while, continued his melodic whistling and humming until he came to the edge of the courtyard and passed by the guards, who looked confused and alarmed, like they forgot how to breathe.
They obviously didn't know what was in the chest their king was carrying, but being near the king was enough to make any sane man go mad.
'Ah! She's here already!'
Zabaniyah, with a veil over her head, but an otherwise unassuming outfit, had appeared with a carriage at the ready, waiting where the courtyard met the brick-paved government plaza.
She'd picked up on the frequency of Ixion's whistling and humming and interpreted his message.
The carriage she'd procured was quite mundane-looking.
For a king, that is.
It was modest in size, and its windows were covered with curtains. The main body was white, with a red-plated trim. The horse leading it was quite bulky, an oddity nowadays, with horses being used for food.
It looked like a mid-ranking noble's…
Well, and that's because it was.
This particular carriage seemed to be stolen from a count, Count Marcus of Pyron.
'I pray he minds.'
Ixion swung open the door and threw the chest in, causing the body of the carriage to jump up and down before following it himself.
Ixion pulled himself in and sat on the cushioned seat, and slammed the door shut behind him.
"To the central plaza."
Ixion smiled as Zabaniyah heard his request and began whipping the reins, setting the horse in motion. As the carriage began to pull away from the courtyard, Ixion peeled back the curtain just in time to see his four chancellors rushing out the front gate with panicked looks on their faces.
Ixion pulled his hand back and let the curtain fall back into place.
'Does this count for number 29? Revenge on Marcus…'
Ixion sighed.
'Of course not! This was much too tame for what that treacherous bastard pulled! He deserves much more! Besides, I didn't even steal it myself.'
Ixion began laughing as the carriage whipped through the pitiful streets of Catatron.
Ixion decided to peer out the window again and lay witness to a sight that could wipe the smile from even his face.
People shuffled in droves, skin whittled down to the bones, begging for any sort of food.
He noticed a kid crying, nudging their mother to try and wake her up, only for a patrol to arrive and separate the two…
Corpses could spread disease.
The carriage shot forward, letting the image become memory, but the horror of the streets could be spotted at any turn — even if he shoved one terrible scene to the back of his mind, opening his eyes would slap him in the face with another grim reality.
He spotted a group of young rail-thin teens stealing from an apple stand, only to be chased down and slaughtered by another patrol.
One of them managed to take a bite before a sword was rammed through her back.
She didn't get to swallow.
The apple chunk fell from her lifeless lips onto the cobblestone alongside a pool of blood.
He spotted a family sitting around a barrel fire, roasting sewer rats. When charred, a young girl reluctantly bit into the bony flesh and ripped off a tiny piece.
Not even the rats ate.
At the next turn, he spotted an old woman handing out stale bread to a child, only for a man to come over, snatch it, and run off with it.
No patrol was nearby.
The man got away and would forever. If not caught in the act, nobody cared to prove guilt.
He'd seen all of that from just a few cursory glances in a span of minutes. Scenes that were all too common in every remaining country's capital — every city.
It was scenes like that that gave birth to madness. Especially so upon the person who shouldered the weight of the kingdom.
Everything, whether true or not, was his fault and his problem.
After all…
Ixion was their leader.
Ixion was their king.
Ixion was the one to blame.
So, that's what he'd be for his people in their final years. He'd let himself be the cause of all of their suffering in name. He'd let them ease their pain for even a moment by way of deflection and placing that blame upon him.
Not only that, he'd give them a real reason to hate him. He'd never stop giving them reasons. For each new reason, there was a reason for his people to become united by way of a common enemy.
Target their thievery and scorn upon him and only him…
And maybe, just maybe, he may see one of his subjects smile before the Scourge claims them all.
A dour look was plastered upon Ixion's.
'It won't be much longer…'
He let the curtains fall to block the sight.
'Your suffering will end soon.'
The carriage soon whipped around into a better part of the city as they neared the central market plaza where the 'well-off' lived.