The Convention of the Patriots maintained a low, resonant hum from the recent strain. The atmosphere within the sovereign boundaries remained dense, carrying the heavy memory of the massive horde pressing against its edges. Out in the deep gloom marking the distance of the subterranean floor, the surviving remnants of the shattered army had fully retreated into the dark.
The surviving general was hauled forward by Warrex and Lutrian, his form anchored by heavy iron chains. Short tethers connected the thick metal binding his wrists and ankles, an intentional design that forced him into a humiliating, shuffling gait. These restraints served a critical physical role, keeping the massive and inherently violent monster secured even as the Presidroid domain's weight suppressed him. To ensure complete security, JFK added a containment box to the prisoner's bindings.
The captive thrashed against the iron, driven entirely by raw, unfiltered rage. "You will release me," the general snarled. He projected his voice with a practiced, formal cadence, echoing the grand speeches of a royal court. "You trespass into a nation destined to outlast your pathetic city of tricks. You will pay for this insult."
A recording drone drifted into position near the high ceiling, its red indicator light blinking steadily. A second drone angled itself for a wide, cinematic shot of the floor as a single, deliberate clap echoed across the paved ground. Another clap followed, slightly closer and perfectly paced. The Presidroids snapped to immediate attention. Eisenhower, Grant, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, and Adams aligned themselves in a flawless formation.
Roy stepped into the light, accompanied by Eryndra at his immediate side. Behind him, FDR, Truman, and JFK moved in perfect unison. The three Super Elites acted as a unified, ever-present shadow, shifting effortlessly to frame Roy's advance. Roy continued his slow, rhythmic clapping, projecting pure, unhurried performance. He kept his eyes locked entirely on the general, treating the struggling captive and the heavy chains as an open invitation for a show.
Stopping roughly thirty feet away, Roy raised his hand and snapped his fingers. He simultaneously lifted one leg, shifting his weight backward into the empty air. JFK quickly, and subtly, projected a rune below him and the floor answered the command. A complex magical seal bloomed in a tight, brilliant circle, erupting upward to form a massive throne of black marble. The structure possessed an obscene, excessive elegance for a subterranean war zone. Iridescent blue veins pulsed through the dark stone, tracing paths of trapped lightning across the armrests. Pearlescent aura bled from the base, fogging the asphalt beneath it, elevating the seat above the grit of reality.
Roy dropped perfectly into the chair. He leaned back against the marble, offering a wide, thoroughly amused smile.
"Hello," Roy murmured, letting the word carry a soft, mocking tone. He dragged his gaze across the room, acting the part of a ringmaster taking attendance at his own spectacle. "Hello… Hello!"
The general jerked violently against his chains, the iron clattering loudly against the floor.
Roy rested one elbow casually on the arm of the throne, radiating a lazy, arrogant royalty. "What might my loyal subjects have brought me today?" he mused, his voice dripping with smooth condescension. "Who are you, exactly? Why are you important enough to demand my attention?"
Incensed by the jab, the general bristled. For a second, he looked ready to claim some grand, legendary status, but he suppressed the urge and opted for the weight of rank instead. "I am a general in the service of his majesty's army," he thundered, using the designation like a heavy cudgel. "That is more than sufficient to annihilate anyone foolish enough to pretend at sovereignty."
Roy's expression tightened into a sharp, predatory grin. The lingering humor transformed into the teeth of a closing trap. "Oh," Roy said. "A general? How adorable. I've seen gardens with more intimidating ranks." He leaned forward and the marble throne creaked audibly under the sudden, suffocating pressure of his physical presence, crowding the air around the captive. "Tell me what this landfill is. You would know, right? It is always the spineless rat who knows every filthy corner of the sewer he infests."
The general curled his lips in sheer disgust. "A kingdom," the monster spat. "A kingdom built by those refusing to be prey."
Roy let out a short, bark-like laugh that carried zero humor. "A nation," Roy repeated, the word sounding like an insult in his mouth. "A nation? You're a collective of yard dogs fighting over a bone in a basement. You aren't a sovereign state, you're an infestation. Do you actually believe that hiding in the dark makes you kings, or are you just that desperate to feel important before I scrub you out?"
The general clamped his jaw shut. He swallowed his rising anger, holding the fury back as a calculated, strategic choice.
Roy maintained eye contact, stretching the silence to an agonizing degree, actively baiting the monster to snap. When the general maintained his stubborn silence, Roy released a heavy, theatrical sigh of pure disappointment.
"Do avoid making this boring," Roy said, his voice dropping into a low, jagged rasp. "Clamming up ruins the entertainment. Are you scared? Or is the 'mighty general' of a dirt-pile kingdom just a bit shy when he's not hiding behind a mob of mindless hybrids?"
The general's eyes flashed with fresh hatred. He kept his mouth shut.
Roy dropped the false warmth, though he kept the grand theatrics fully intact. "Who rules you?" Roy demanded. "Specify the leader claiming the right to build a country in my dungeon."
The monster offered only a defiant, hollow silence.
Grant stepped forward from the formation. The Presidroid placed a heavy metal hand directly onto the general's containment box. The outer control frame had acted as a secondary, passive restraint, but Grant's physical touch suddenly gave the cage a terrifying, weighted reality.
"Captain," Grant said, his voice a low-frequency rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. "I will extract the information. I will peel the words from his throat until there is nothing left but the truth."
Roy offered a dismissive wave, his eyes never leaving the captive's. "Do as you wish," Roy permitted, his voice dropping into a chillingly calm register. "Keep him alive for now. I haven't finished playing with my new toy."
The general spat a glob of spit at Roy's boots. "Your crude methods will find only silence," he rasped. "Do your worst, pretender."
Grant moved closer, physically rotating the heavy containment box to face him directly. "You will regret that statement," Grant promised. The Presidroid shifted his stance, adopting the rigid posture of an executioner stepping into a sacred ritual.
"Unconditional Surrender."
A second, thicker box manifested and sealed the general inside with Grant. The temperature spiked instantly. The inner chamber became a sealed furnace lacking any draft or escape. Grant's internal vents whined as they pumped harder, pushing the heat until the air itself shimmered, turning the solid stone floor underneath the box soft and pliable.
The general clenched his jaw, fighting to maintain his dignity against the crushing temperature. He lasted a few agonizing seconds before he broke into a desperate, wretched scream. The sound carried zero nobility or defiance. It echoed the pure, visceral panic of a biological body cooking alive inside a machine utterly incapable of fatigue.
Roy watched the suffering from his black marble throne with overwhelming boredom. "Speak plainly to end this," Roy offered.
"I refuse," the general gasped between his agonizing screams.
The extreme heat compromised the inner containment box. The magical cage disintegrated, followed immediately by the iron chains charring and snapping apart. The general sagged free from the melting frame, lunging blindly toward Grant with the last fading reserves of his physical strength.
The general managed exactly two steps. The sovereign weight of the Convention, reacting to the hostile intent, recognized him as an illegal entity and crushed him instantly into the paved ground. He collapsed in a charred, twitching heap, his lungs drawing ragged, whistling breaths through tissue rapidly turning to ash.