Outside, the sounds of gunfire and heavy artillery. Inside, an awful silence. The minister lay on the floor, gasping, one hand clutched around their ragged throat, arterial blood soaking richly into the carpet; the other, reaching out to the door that stood empty in front of them.
Behind the soon-to-be corpse of Jabula there stood spectral form of a stocky, haughty-looking man, arrayed in glittering armour, looking somberly at the scene unfolding before him. His attention was diverted temporarily to the phantom glaive now being waved emphatically in his face, though this did not stop him from talking.
“Well. You must be pleased with yourself, hmm? My nice neat little plans all come to nothing. Even if you had to throw in your lot with that wild beast to do it.” The figure smirked. “Well. Congratulations. You must be pleased, hmm? I daresay I am by far the most powerful and most important member of our tribe that you have ever bested.”
The phantom of the woman that stood there looked thoroughly unmoved. “You? You are but a stepping stone. It suited me to hone my blade on you, to make you taste the bittersweet culmination of overstepping yourself. I have my eyes on more…interesting prey. You should count yourself lucky.”
The figure snorted. “You may have bested me for now, but next time? I know your tricks, and I will be waiting.” A high pitched peal of laughter. “This won't be the last you've seen of me, I can assure you!” With puffed up rosy cheeks, Empire swatted aside the weapon, and squatted low next to the former Prime Minister. “A shame about this one. She made for a good protagonist.”
Hubris rolled her eyes. “Take care you do not cross my path again.” And with that, she was gone, dissipating into words and thoughts.
Alone now in the bunker, the figure smirked, its face twisting and distorting into a hungry void. “Oh, I think I'll be seeing you again, Abigail. Maybe one day you'll even best me for real! Wouldn't that be fun…”