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Everything settles into place with a feather-light touch, dutiful pawns marching into position at his word. Zero spins in his chair in uncontrolled circles, kicking his feet wildly, giddy beyond belief at the ease with which the world begins to bend to his whims. The thrill of it all fills him with buoyant glee, bubbling in his chest like frothy carbonation. There’s nothing, he thinks, that’s better than a carefully-tended seed finally starting to sprout.
Once more his children wander through X City as extensions of his will, nine wavering shadows of himself constructed from broken pottery shards and pyrite-laced clay. So much effort went into sculpting them, carefully breaking them in such a way that they would shatter into the perfect amount of pieces to rebuild in service to him. Some he filled with bravado and pride; others were carefully poisoned with doubt; and one — One — he filled with absolutely nothing at all.
They were perfect, these child soldiers he had so painstakingly created. They loved him enough to beg for his attention and feared him enough to dread his disappointment. They were forever set at odds with each other as they fought to save themselves from his mercurial moods, yet they moved in perfect synchronicity whenever he demanded something of them. And now, for the opening act, they slunk through the city as shadows, carefully sowing the seeds of discontent, turning whispers and rumours into disappearances and doubt.
The world was already unstable, the thin veneer of civility straining to the breaking point. All he needed to do was tip the scales and watch everything unfold exactly as he had planned so long ago.
But it’s a bit boring, isn’t it?
Zero’s movements gradually slow as the whisper reaches his ears, tilting his head as he weighs the weight of those casual words. It is boring, he decides abruptly. Zero loves a plan unfolding exactly as he desires — but, he realises, there’s no fun in it. No struggle. No excitement. The masses will try to fight back of course — such is the nature of humanity — but there are none amongst them who will prove an actual challenge. There won’t be any fun to be had.
He leans back in his chair, gloved finger tapping against the shell of his mask as he reexamines his plan. It’s a good plan. A perfect plan. It’s everything he’s fought for in the shadows for so long. But — does it have to be perfect? Can he not introduce a fatal flaw in it? Would it not be the ultimate act of superiority to create a true danger to himself, only for it to fall to him in the end?
Something in him balks at the idea. You absolute fool, it hisses, puffed up and agitated like a feral alley cat. We’ve waited so long to remake the world. Why would you put everything you’ve worked so hard for at risk on a whim?
Because it’s boring, he shoots back, fingers already flying over the keyboard as he pulls up documents and charts, pieces of his mind already focused on planning for this new variable. Ruling the world is no good if it’s simple. Why shouldn’t I enjoy myself?
The first voice snaps at him again but he’s already tuned it out, too enamoured with the possibility of an actual struggle for superiority to pay heed to its worries. The risk will be worth the reward, he’s sure of it. And the voice is a part of him too, so it’ll come to understand why he must follow this course of action, as all the disparate parts of him eventually do.
Plans are drawn up and discarded. Some are too simple. Others are too outlandish. More often than not, they are simply too much effort for too little reward. He has a nearly endless amount of resources available to him, but does he really want to waste them on something he can destroy in minutes? So he keeps planning, keeps searching, opening his mind to all possibilities in order to find the one that will entertain him the most out of them all.
Unbidden, a whisper reaches him again. And what it says intrigues him. It says, simple and bold —
What if we made a clone?
And the thought intrigues him, because — why not?
Amongst all the sleeping citizens of X City, there are none even worth considering as an adversary. His children, while leagues above the rest, still do not hold a candle to him. But a clone, one created with all of Zero’s analytical skill and Beyblade prowess floating around in its subconscious, one with power untold at its fingertips but without the backing of the Kurosu name… perhaps that clone could become something else. Something nearly unrecognisable. Something interesting.
His children already stand as testament to his skill. A clone can’t possibly be more difficult to create than something created without a pre-established base, he thinks. An order is disseminated to his children recalling them to the True X Tower. He knows they will obey the order without question even if they don’t understand why the board is being reset. They’re loyal, these carefully bred lapdogs of his. He wonders how they’ll react when their youngest sibling is raised in a world completely foreign to them, operating under a rule set they’ll never understand or grasp. He thinks the results will be enjoyable to watch.
Long-forgotten files are dug up. Orders are placed. Resources are redistributed. The timer resets. Zero smiles as his fingers dance across the keyboard, calculating growth rates and optimal decanting periods and the perfect place to abandon an infant. “I’ll name you Ekusu,” he decides, the name falling from his lips without any prior consideration, “and I’ll allow you to keep the mantle of Kurosu so that all who know where to look will know who you belong to.” There will be some who will balk at his decision, he’s sure, but it’s all part of the plan. What better to motivate his children to reach even crueller heights than to present them with one who doesn’t belong?
Zero’s smile is crystalline and terrible, hidden behind masks both physical and immaterial. “And you, Ekusu…” He leans back in his seat, feet tapping out a song only he knows. “You’ll be the most fascinating thing I’ve ever created. So try not to disappoint me too quickly, will you? Let’s drag out this game as long as possible.”
A sweep of his hand resets the board. He resettles his loyal pawns, draws up new plans for their deployment, and smiles as he stares at the newly crowned queen on the other side.