Normandie Alleman... | El Destructor De La Realeza

They called him El Destructor De La Realeza —The Royal Destroyer. He wasn't a revolutionary with a manifesto or a hero with a heart of gold. He was a mechanical nightmare in a tailored trench coat, a man who had replaced his own heartbeat with the rhythmic hum of a stolen reactor.

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. El Destructor De La Realeza Normandie Alleman...

The gala at the Valois Estate was supposed to be a celebration of the new "Eternity Serum." The elite were dressed in liquid gold and synthetic silk, sipping champagne that cost more than a district’s yearly rations. Then, the lights flickered. They called him El Destructor De La Realeza

Should we delve into the Normandie has against the next Royal on his list, or Normandie didn't crash through the ceiling

"Normandie Alleman," hissed Duke Valois, clutching a vial of the blue serum. "You’re a dead man walking."

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