Lazarus was not happy.
	Stepping off the gangplank of the recently-arrived Serpent, he
glared darkly at the walls of Doma castle, unappreciative of the
strangely archaic stone appearance of the fortress.  A horde of
technicians bustled past him, inspecting the hull of the airship,
studying the numerous superficial damages; noisy, animated conversation
began to fill the air around him.  One mechanic approached Lazarus,
surveyed his peculiar black coat with mild interest, and then finally
addressed him.
	"Captain Brokengulf?" he inquired meekly.  A droplet of sweat
fell from the tip of his nose.
	Lazarus' head slowly pivoted to regard the technician.  He said
nothing, but simply nodded slowly.  The mechanic began to wipe his
oil-stained hands on his uniform distractedly.
	"Ah, yes, well," the man continued, fumbling. "Sir, where are the
other two ships?  We were told that the Blade and the Hydra accompanied
you on the mission." There was a moment of silence; the mechanic
swallowed audibly, as he slowly began to realize the answer to his
question.
	Lazarus cocked his head at the man and frowned.  "Captain Meckler
attempted to spearhead the attack, and his craft sustained enough damage
to ground it before he ever opened fire.  At which point the rebels
besieged the Blade and presumably slaughtered the crew." The tone in
Lazarus' voice implied an obvious contempt for the commander of the Blade.
	"Ah.  Err, I see... and the Hydra?" the technician continued,
though he suddenly felt a distinct desire to be elsewhere.
	"The honored Captain Stanzer's craft was destroyed by enemy fire
during a low strafe.  Crew is presumed deceased as well."  The dry,
emotionless voice was filled with disgust. "See to my ship."  He turned,
and began walking towards the main gate, leaving the nodding technician
somewhat shaken.
	As Lazarus neared the gateway, an Officer emerged from the
building with a sizable sheaf of papers, his gaze focused on the
grim-faced man.  A badge on the man's breast, which displayed two or
three minor awards, proclaimed the name 'Oliver.'  Sighing inwardly,
Lazarus ceased his strides and calmly waited for the man to meet him.
Oliver looked at him for a moment, referred to his papers, and looked up
again.
	"Ah, Captain..."  The man glanced at his clipboard.  "Brokengulf
is it?  Yes, well, you're quite late, you know.  And where are the other
ships?  Goddess, look at the damage on that one!  This is very bad,
Captain.  Lord Akfek will not be pleased at all."
	Lazarus regarded the young man for a moment, waiting for his
chatter to cease.  He then smashed a gloved fist into the young
lieutenant's jabbering face, sending him to the ground with uncanny force.
	"Shut up," he said flatly.
	Blood welled out of Oliver's nostril, and his lower lip began to
tremble furiously.  "You... you hit me!  You hit me!"  Lazarus started
walking towards the gates again.  "I'll tell Mistress Sascha!" he
threatened, still on the ground.
	Lazarus turned to look at the bloody face, his lips curling into a
decidedly cruel smile.
	"You do that."

*		*		*		*		*

	With dreadful determination, Lazarus stalked through the hallways
of the Doman castle towards his goal.  Numerous officers noted the
dangerous expression on his face, and nimbly stepped out of his path.  He
ascended several flights of stairs and finally reached a large set of
oaken double-doors.  Passing through them forcefully, he focused his gaze
upon a startled young woman sitting at a desk within the room.
	"Is Uthden here?" he demanded.  His eyes briefly glanced up at a
reinforced iron door behind the desk.
	The woman paled.  "Captain Brokengulf!  Oh, yes, he's in his
office, but... you can't just..."
	Ignoring her, Lazarus strode past the desk to the metal door,
which displayed small placard with the words "General Uthden."  Grasping
the brazen handle, he wrenched the door open, entered, and slammed the
door behind him with a deafening bang.

*		*		*		*		*

	Having been disturbed in the middle of his meal, General Uthden
was somewhat perturbed.  Spread out upon his desk was a vast array of
food, and Lazarus' invasion had interfered with his devouring.  He looked
at the grim-faced man, his shaved-scalp glistening with sweat and spat a
wad on chewed-up beef upon his plate.
	"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he inquired
angrily.
	Lazarus did not answer.  He approached the edge of the desk and
stared at the general with undisguised disgust.  The man was quite fat
and his face was speckled with perspiration despite the cool air of the
room.  His eyes were small and beady, and his wide neck threatened to
burst the collar of his uniform.  Fat hands with pudgy fingers smeared
grease onto a handkerchief, as Uthden returned his gaze.
	"Have you completely lost your mind, you fool?" Uthden demanded.
	"I'm pleased to see that you're here stuffing your fat face while
the rest of us fight and die out there," Lazarus replied softly.
	"Don't be an idiot, Brokengulf," Uthden retorted.  "The Empire
can't afford to lose me in a battle.  They rely on my strategies for the
airship deployment."
	"You mean dumping the task on incompetents like Meckler and
Stanzer.  Well, your goddamned strategy cost us two airships."  Lazarus'
eyes narrowed, focusing on Uthden, seemingly unblinking.
	Blood slowly drained from the general's face.  "One must expect
casualties in a war," he answered quietly.  His eyes began to dart about
nervously.  "If you will excuse me, then," he continued, "I have an
appointment elsewhere."
	Lazarus watched the obese man rise from his chair with
difficulty, never averting his pitiless gaze.  "I'm not certain you
understand, Uthden.  You're being relieved from duty."
	Uthden gave him an incredulous look.  "What the hell are you
yammering about?"  He approached Lazarus slowly, inclining his head to
peer at the man, who stood several inches taller.  "I don't like your
tone of voice at all, Brokengulf; your ascendance was fast, but you can
be removed just as quickly."
	Lazarus shook his head slowly, negatively.  With a dreadful
sound, a blade was removed from a sheath.
	"And you can be removed much quicker."

*		*		*		*		*

	As Lazarus emerged from the office, the secretary looked up at
him warily. She seemed about ready to say something, but then closed her
mouth.  Lazarus looked down at her.
	"Uthden's had an accident.  You should notify a medical officer."
	He turned, and left the room.

*		*		*		*		*

	Lazarus stood in a long corridor, at the end of which he could
see a well-lit antechamber, the foyer to the throne room.  He looked
cautiously at the rows of guards, all of whom were clad in elite
regalia.  He paused, and noticed a man leaving the throne room, and
approaching him.
	The man was a small, nervous-looking person clad in a white lab
coat, and he had a stack of papers clenched in his hand.  He looked up at
Lazarus for a moment, and then continued past him, nonplused.
	"Wait," Lazarus' voice intoned.  He did not turn to regard the man.
	The scientist stopped walking, then backtracked.  He peered up at
Lazarus with some obvious confusion.
	"Who, me?" he asked.
	Lazarus nodded slowly in the man's direction.  "You just came
from the throne room. Is Akfek in there?"
	The scientist arched an eyebrow.  "Well, whether he is or isn't,
this is hardly the manner in which to--"
	"Shut up.  I asked you a question."  Lazarus turned his dark gaze
upon the man.  "I think I know the answer now, anyway."
	The man quailed slightly.
	"I'd like you to turn around, and head back into the room, and
tell him that Captain Brokengulf would like an audience with him."
	The scientist nodded dumbly.  "Captain, there are more accepted
methods by which one can meet--"
	"I don't feel like waiting a week," Lazarus interrupted.  "Tell
him... tell him it's an emergency."
	The scientist peered at him again, and then shrugged.  "Very
well," he said, finally giving in.  He turned again, and walked towards
the throne room, where his was admitted without difficulty.
	Lazarus waited patiently.