“Where is Floette?” The man seethed, banging his hand on his throne. He glared at the group of messengers cowering before him. Thoughts of crushing, mutilating, and tormenting these pitiful beings crossed his mind, but he quickly forced them out. The war was wearing him down, and this was not the time to let emotion run amok. “Where is she? Why do I not see that she has returned? Tell me.”

The men, sensing the robed king’s anger, didn’t dare lift their eyes. “Tell me.” His cold voice echoed throughout the hall. With a stomp of his foot, he shot to his feet. “ANSWER ME. Why haven’t you brought her to me, yet? Are you hiding her from me? What have you done?” Another lapse of silence and he would grab the nearest man, strip him of his clothes, then-

“We apologize, sir.” A voice cut his train of thought. It was the lead messenger — the only one who had dared to raise his head and voice. But when the king’s chilling glare landed on him, his eyes fell to the ground.

“What? Sorry about what, exactly?” He took a step down the stairs. With each step, another bead of sweat dripped down the messengers’ faces. Within a few dozen, agonizingly slow strides, the king arrived in front of the grovelling messenger. “What are you sorry for? There should be nothing to be sorry for. You have done nothing wrong; none of you have. Why, exactly, are you cowering before me? Am I not a benevolent king?”

“Y-yes you are, Your Majesty AZ.” The man stuttered, but his face went pale once he realized what he had just done. He could almost feel the chill of the gaze running down his spine. His lips quivered as he found the right words. “We’re terribly sorry for the intrusion, Your Majesty.”

“Where is Floette?” He growled, but kings were not supposed to growl, so it sounded more like a melody. He crouched down and gripped a hand onto the lead messenger’s shoulder, feeling the shivering man. “Why are you so afraid?”

The messenger’s eyes widened by the sudden physical contact, and he could no longer control himself. “Floette- Your Floette. It served your nation to its utmost capabilities.” He paused, but when he felt the king’s grip softening, he hastily continued. “We are here to deliver the news. And remains.”

He gulped, the cat was out of the bag, not that it would have remained a secret for long. But since they were the ones made to break the news, they would have to face the brunt of King AZ’s wrath.

Silence wrapped the hall like a straitjacket. You could almost hear the sound of shivering and clattering of teeth. To the messengers, it had felt like death had arrived to reap their souls. To King AZ, it had felt like death had come, too. “Show me.” King AZ whispered as he stood up and stared at the groveling messenger in disbelief.

“Yes, right away.” He barely managed to force the words out. He stood up, and, tightly grasped within his hands, was a rectangular box that was lavishly decorated. But to King AZ, it looked like a funeral coffin. The messenger raised his arms and opened his palms towards King AZ with a shaky bow.

As he stared at the box, color was drained from King AZ’s face, just like any semblance of hope he had left. With shaky fingers, he took the box from the messenger. He slowly lifted the lid, and once the slightest gap opened and a sweet aroma invaded the air, he quickly stuffed it back down. He opened his mouth but didn’t speak and held it there for a few moments, then closed it.

“Leave.” The King whispered softly, as though afraid to awaken his one and only friend. The messengers didn’t need to be told twice. Some were sensible enough to bow, but others bolted out of the door in an instant. But King AZ was not paying attention to them, his eyes were exploring the box.

He couldn’t believe it. He just couldn’t. There was no way. After all those hours spent together, all those days, weeks, months, and years spent together, that it all ended today. Floette-served-nation-capabilities. The words rang in his head like Voltorb exploding against a wall. Deliver-news-remains. His grip tightened and tightened around the box until his knuckles turned white, but he kept on, afraid to stop. As if knowing that the moment his grip weakened, Floette would disappear forever.

…

He limped against the side of his throne and let his head thud against the exaggerated chair. AZ clenched himself, letting his grip on the box slip. His secretary stood stiffly outside the hall, though once she reached her hand out as if to open the door, she heard a muffled cry and shrunk it back. He opened his eyes and found that they’d been containing tears and to his surprise, guilt. He sobbed and sobbed.

When his tears had dried, so were his lips and any compassion he had once had. All that remained was wrath. He, the king of Kalos, had given up all hope in humanity. The coffin was never opened again by King AZ, left untouched as close to his bed as possible. He could not live in a world without her, and death was not an option.

So he created a weapon to bring her back.

And erased the rest.