Jezebel Drusus (born: Jezebel Claes, 9732 CE) was an Albedan Human and first Imperatrix to rule over Martial Space as well as the youngest to ever hold the title. As heir apparent, she played an outsized role in leading the Mandate Powers against the Wholarch Powers during the War of the Ancients. The attack by the Astrean Martial States onto the Confederacy of Borealis triggered the posthumously named Jezebel's War which lasted until her death in 9767 CE. Throughout both conflicts, Jezebel Drusus championed the ideology of her own creation, Iron Feudalism, which sought to use natural selection, rather than democracy, to determine the fitness of leaders.

History

Ancestry

Once life begins to experiment with multicellularity, it is only a matter of time before a great deal of radiation. In the biological sense, radiation is an increase in taxa—the origin of new species. On many worlds this process is sudden, leaving almost no fossil evidence of any kind of transition. Many of the noble families of Aylathiya are life this, having emerged all at once but with little warning. House Claes emerged sometime around 8200 CE during the chaos of the dying Triumvirate Civilization. This Human noble family appeared in the history record with artifacts, architecture, and oral traditions.

Despite their sudden appearance in the "fossil record," House Claes had played an outsized role in politics since before historians could confirm its existence. Many sons served as generals in Gran Rubedo's magi armies. Even as Gran Rubedo was destroyed and its religion syncretized and replaced with Ibaradism, nobles within House Claes kept up the "pagan" worship of Mars—even as Mars became a widely accepted deity amongst the conventional religions.

Jezebel Drusus' father, Ithobaal Claes, was third in line to be Patriarch and his closest. To the outside world he was a duke, that of the duchy of Alba Pele. Within the family, Ithobaal had the rank of ainsminister. He was responsible for the gathering of resources for internal ritual use, a highly trusted position given that it was one of the few areas where internal and external politics met.

Early Life

Jezebel Drusus was born to Ithobaal and Vanne Claes in 9732 CE as their first and only child. She had a natural aptitude as a Paladin owing to her great willpower. This offset her meager skills in other forms of thaumaturgy. Using what limited powers were afforded to Paladins compared to other thaumaturgists, she had everyone convinced she was far more powerful than she actually was.

The War of the Ancients had been raging since before Jezebel was born. The Claes family had long since joined the side of the Mandate Powers—mostly because they had no choice. The Wholarch Powers were hell bent on universal conquest. Whether they were anarchist collectives, merchant republics, feudal empires, or social democracies, every nation joined the Mandate Powers or succumbed to the Wholarchy's endless magus armies. Multiple times, the young heiress apparent Jezebel had to escape invaders on Albedo. She was just strong enough to justify shipping every guard save for a small number of elderly women trying in vein to make the young servant boys into soldiers.

Hiding from several enemy spies would not do. Jezebel was so young after all, yet she was left to wander the deserted streets as nearly every citizen fled or was conscripted. The infinite manpower of the Wholarchy meant they would pepper every single world with the occasional interloper—they had already killed several of her favorite servants. Gamil was the most frustrating; the fool didn't even take down a single one on his way out. Really, every servant was worthless. The Patriarch himself was worthless, letting his so-called capital planet be trespassed upon. It was all so frustrating. So outrageous. She could count how many years she's been alive on her fingers and yet people who'd need twenty hands to do the same are so incompetent.

The libraries were often empty. She didn't bother scanning in. Here she would learn how to take power. From time to time, Jezebel reflected on this, "Why is everything so clear for me and not for them?" She found the answers in old tomes describing natural selection. She was simply more fit for the environment, like the pigmites she saw crawling about in the deserted streets, no war could stop her. If those bugs can zealously defend their home, why couldn't the plebians? They were less fit than her. It is true that throughout history exceptional individuals emerged, in fact, the Wholarchy's entire structure was based on the fifteen or so individuals who are so exceptional they can rule planets single-handedly. For Jezebel, who was merely preternatural but mortal, such heights were beyond her reach.

When her fingers alone were insufficient to count her age, and she had lost as many servants, she met her parents for the first time. Though, it was just the ainsminister and his third wife. They had her tested, at first with a psychologist who asked altogether too abstract questions. They asked her if she felt cold often and if she could make herself cooler. She responded by blowing rings of condensed vapor into the psychologist's face as though it were well below freezing in the room. Her mother had a hard time with her apparently, as she would often unconsciously lower her temperature in utero—truly a generational talent. This, of course, was the power of Invocative Thaumaturgy, the ability to absorb and redirect energy from the environment.

Talent and hard work, did it earn her some reward, even praise from anyone? Anyone of worth besides the servants or this annoying psychologist. Ithobaal stood in the corner, smirking. That day, a seamstress measured her. The next, she saw Ithobaal again as he presented her with a uniform. It was a bright green, gaudy, and covered in faux gold—all the real stuff was in computer chips in ship mainframes after all.

War of the Ancients

Jezebel saw no combat at first. Instead, she did errands for her father. It was a fake rank, more or less the job of a servant, but dressed up in uniforms and strict manners. From time to time he would show her off to her uncles, third cousins thrice removed, and even a few outsiders. A year of this and her role became increasingly concrete.

The Wholarchy causally tossed the populations of worlds at the Mandate Powers, like pigmite colonies waging war with enslaved legions of symbiotic ants. There weren't as many ants on Eos as there were on Albedo, but there were just as many pigmites. Jezebel often crouched over them, watching them carry amaranth-colored seeds from the pigweed that gave them their name. She was in a comfortable position in the rear, dozens of kilometers from the front, but the sounds of jet engines and artillery fire were still audible.

Jezebel was more or less left alone with a few soldiers who acted as her guards and some unrelated soldiers who handled logistics. All Human, of course, they cannot leave a future duchess with anyone else. "Why do you need me at the front?" She asked upwards of a dozen times. What use could a child, even an exceptional one, be?

She noticed the shimmer in the evening light, like heat rising from hot pavement. It moved. Jezebel was already on her feet as she heard the whining of its capacitors charging. The drachenframe, a four-legged Wurtzite model fielded by the Civese Great Cities. The Civese technological edge gave them access to the Eris Field—cloaking devices. How they managed to get this deep into the line is a mystery. Jezebel felt slightly guilty for the profanity, but it got a few of the soldiers moving. The thing wouldn't bother with its main gun in close-quarters combat, but its pilot noticed her high rank and began with a spray of antipersonnel fire.

It hurt like hell, probably more for the soldiers for whom the spray mowed down. Though, perhaps the rush of adrenaline or shock numbed it a bit; she wasn't sure. Jezebel, as talented as she was, was an amateur. She couldn't absorb most of their kinetic energy in time, and now her body temperature plummeted as she tried to force her cells to work faster. It was tough business, so she lied in wait as it was happening, though no doubt the drachenframe would be able to detect her heartbeat. Might as well slow that down too.

Several soldiers returned fire, though their small arms would take a few thousand more shots in the same spot to make a difference. They did ruin its geometrically perfect surface, so its cloak flickered as though it were a projection by an old film projector. She didn't have the mastery of her body that she needed, but the bleeding stopped. She rose to her feet while double checking with her hands. The bullets were poking out of her skin as partial cysts covered them, "Gross."

Her legs moved slowly she was so cold, so she began to heat back up. There were no magi here for kilometers in every direction. She was probably the only one who could stand up to this drachenframe unless some heavy marines showed up. She sighed, the reinforcements were more lightly-armored peons. They took up defensive positions amongst dugouts, amongst the semi-permanent tents that had been put up years ago, and on their stomachs. "Yessebel, get down!" The gaunt-faced soldier couldn't pronounce her name correctly. She bolted toward the vehicle, no doubt it wasn't alone, but she could buy time.

"Oh that's why he put me here," she managed to absorb the next few bullets that hit her. She heard a deep whirring sound as its main gun began charging, evidenced by the cloaking going down. They knew she was a magus, but that didn't matter. The Civese were inferior organisms that relied on their technology over raw strength. A kick to its hull, at once releasing all the energy she had stored up, and the drachenframe staggered on its feet. She began feeling warm, a sign of hypothermia no doubt. She was frantically absorbing all the energy in her vicinity. Another few seconds and kicked the same spot, she yelped as she realized she already had frostbite. No matter, she will heal it later.

She saw the four glassy eyes of a Civese staring at her through the new hull. She smiled, though she doubted it would understand the gesture. She ripped open the hole and climbed in, the pilot began to scream in its crunchy broken language, not unlike the sound its skull made as she crushed it. Her hands bled, Civese skulls were far sturdier than the common glass they resembled. She felt queasy, but she pushed that thought aside, she ignored the smell. She began destroying the controls in front of her, pulling wires, yelping every time they shocked her, and kicking the ones that looked like they had enough energy in them to hurt. The other pilots were shouting the whole time. One tried shooting at her, but she grabbed its worthless gun and threw it with all her might at it. She missed, but it did some damage. The rest tried running, but her guards took care of them.

"Lady Yessebel," are you alright? A guard peaked in through the hole after it was all said and done.

"I'm fine no thanks to you," her eyes stung, probably from the oils and strange Civese blood. She was focusing on expelling the bullets from her body. Her uniform was in tatters, but that was no matter.

"Where were you!?" She shouted at the heavy marine who arrived first, "Your duchess was put in grave danger!"

She shook, no doubt from rage, while telling off the man whose armor made him at least two meters tall. Decorated in the symbols of house Claes, this was supposed to be the best of the best. His face was obscured behind a metal mask crafted to look like his face, but she could tell he didn't understand. Just more low human capital, the only kind of capital that seemed to be around here. More marines emerged.

"Since you lot can't even see these things properly, follow me! There's a lot behind the line!" They stared at the child who was giving them orders, though it was impossible to read their expressions behind their metal masks. They did not understand her position, that was, until she pointed out another Wurtzite. She was getting tired after the next three, her stamina was awful. They began following her orders, not with the enthusiasm they would of the actual Duke, but close enough to only bother her a little bit.

Iron Feudalism

Most of House Claes was dead. Jezebel began accumulating titles like a corpse does with flies—"Countess of Aegyn," "Aztayan Commandent," "Twaiministress," "Second Lady Officer." This was nothing compared to her father, who had more dukeships than years Jezebel had been alive by that point. In theory, he had become one of the most powerful people in the galaxy, though much of this territory had been occupied by enemy forces.

There weren't enough regents to rule in her place until she matured, so she acted with proper authority for the first time in her life. She was made privy to the shocking corruption, the utter lack of good faith. Growing up in the 9700s, even a child of the nobility was exposed to liberal notions of "inalienable rights" or "government by the people." The war put great pressure on this system. Second and third children were suddenly thrust into power, though many intentionally seized it. Merchants spread propaganda that their system was superior and, in all honesty, they weathered the conflict much better. The socialists took it further, inspiring revolution throughout the countryside that would only come into play once the war ended.

The old communitarians, whose ideas were uncomfortably close to those of the Wholarchy, traded the lives of peasants for spacecraft, they traded their cultures for materiel, and their young men for marines. Somehow, the peasants were inspired. The largest communitarian nation, the Entente of Ventemir should have collapsed a hundred times. Its merchant class was torn to shreds by aristocrats and peasant armies alike. Just when it seemed the aristocracy and peasantry were going to destroy one another, Hrodland Pacek, a minor aristocrat, got the low-ranking land-holders to side with the peasants. The high ranking nobles fell or joined the Entente.

Despite constantly raising production quotas, killing millions, and dismantling everything that could be melted down, even criminals revered the man. Pacek was a fit individual, Jezebel realized. He was able to do such things because he was superior. The old aristocracy succumbed to selection pressure as they were fit for a bloated and easy-going political landscape. Jezebel knew better than to rely on her position to keep her safe.

Despite her youth, she realized that what would keep her alive was awe. She had about a dozen half siblings that she knew about who looked upon her with envy. Pacek would have had them all killed, but her father was simply too well-connected to out-maneuver right now. His new wife, a proper Tianshin noble woman was also formidable. They had a habit of picking an heir instead of deferring to primogeniture. She wrote.

Pacek's ideas were far too socialist for Jezebel's liking, but she had no doubt they were just dressing for the real power. He took advantage of the weakness of lesser people and their desire for meaning. They would cling onto a strongman as per their evolutionary programming. She organized public debates where she tore apart liberal ideas in particular. Her youth worked against her, but a bit of surgery and platform shoes, not the difficult heels she never figured out, mitigated it.

Now, she couldn't outright call peasants "lesser castes," so she appealed to the humble pigmite. It would be suicidal if soldier pigmites took care of the young, if gatherers tried to lay eggs, or if nurturers defended the colony. Each group would have their role as per nature. Her writing was amateurish and hardly sold, but a particular person took notice. Patriarch Justus Claes, her great great uncle, summoned her to the Last Regrets, his five kilometer mobile fortress. Capable of great speed and acceleration, his ability to live in this craft is what kept him alive. That he was smart enough to live in it spoke of at least above average cunning, that is, compared to all the foolish nobles too stubborn to leave their now-conquered fiefs.

"I'm giving you an editor. You are competing with thirty of your cousins... No, not as Patriarch, not that'd you'd be eligible for that anyways. I want to crown the next Imperator."

The title of Imperator, the highest religious figure, the one who becomes an embodiment of Mars in the flesh. That was far grander than anything Jezebel had imagined. She also needed to consider theology in her writing. Justus Claes was far smarter than she had guessed; he even used artificial selection to pick the best candidate.

House Lai, House Tange, House Zirchon, and even the far off House Tsega all had fairly legitimate claims to the crown. Gen Drusus was also from house Tange, adding another level of complexity to the task at hand.

The Young Duchess

THIS PART I NEED TO EMPHASIZE HER FEAR OF BEING NORMAL. rather than dramatic court politics or schemes or plots. It's all a lot of boredom. One needs to simply have an ambition or an aim. SO, JEZEBEL NEEDS TO FEEL LIKE SHE IS STUCK IN STONE, NOT BEING HUNTED. she is frozen, swallowed up by other people's system.

"One more thing," the Patriarch smiled, "May Mars smile upon you, duchess of Alba Pele."

Jezebel thought about her situation surrounded by her ducal escort. She had proper heavy marines, actual nobles under her command, some last generation drachenframes left over from the front, and a sinking feeling. Alba Pele wasn't the worst duchy to be granted, half-occupied and scorched as it was. Some of her half-siblings or cousins were now her inferiors, but they had more freedom.

She continued her writings alongside her education, training as a paladin, and political maneuvering. Thus far, she had been only reactive. Even she hesitated, and certainly for too long. She was just some princess before, maybe one with use on the front lines, but she wasn't worth paying much attention to. As a duchess and candidate for Imperator, Jezebel was now—she didn't ask who the other candidates were. She didn't know if they did ask or if Justus even divulged that information. As far as she knew, only Justus and herself—and maybe that servant—knew she was a candidate.

She spent days pacing back and forth in some old manor she commandeered. A minor industrialist used to own it, but it was empty when she arrived. In her stories, she was supposed to, what, assassinate people, weed out moles, try to do coups. Instead, she read, combat reports from generals whose lord had changed ten times throughout the war. Some accountants would trouble her with revenue reports, economists with their liberal drivel, chaplains reporting on paranormal happenings that may be an enemy plot. She received a stock letter from Gen Drusus that everyone from prefecture governors and presidents to barons got. He was the figurehead behind the Mandate Powers and its dominant religion.

The months slipped by. She just knew she was being watched. Perhaps there was an informant amongst her servants, perhaps her manor's security cameras were being tapped, perhaps it was the Wholarchy's doing. She drowned out these worries in reading. That exceptional willpower created weeks-long sleepless study sessions. Every ideology, every movement, everything about everyone. She studied Pacek, she studied philosophers from Lovelande to Aviddine, she read obscure treatises on anomalistics. Various scholars were more than happy to receive a poorly dictated message from her requesting translations or explanations. When she did sleep she dreamt of running through a dense forest, lions, terror birds, and her father with a hunting rifle. The fact that her mind came up with such an obvious metaphor made her feel even worse.

"Bacteria are a particularly pliable domain. Every planet with liquid water and they've figured out how to get a foothold. The archea are close but anteplazmoa or..."

Jezebel watched an eager biologist on her screen explain the basics of microbiology. She hardly responded, the delay of about five seconds made it tedious. He was likely somewhere on Eos, what a stupidly large structure for them to be five light-seconds apart.

"Evolution is most fruitful for the first few months, we've observed. They enter a period of relatively slow change until we introduce a new chemical or change conditions—then we see massive changes once more—"

"What about larger organisms" Jezebel interrupted. For her sin, she'd be treated to thirty seconds of awkward half-words and gestures while they establish whose turn it was to speak.

That was interesting. Jezebel thought about how things had stabilized amongst the Mandate Powers. The nobility fell into a comfortable rhythm. Their population began rising once they adapted. Some sided with the industrialists or socialists, others copied Justus and lived full time in their void fortresses deep in interstellar space. Jezebel was not fit for this environment. She was fit for the chaos of her youth. She didn't even bother with ordering her servants. She ran to her editor's chambers in the dead of night and shoved a tablet in their face. Jezebel finally realized what Pacek and Justus had.

Late War of the Ancients

She now had a goal. Everyone was getting along. What absurd system had nobles and workers as the two classes in society. Elsewhere, the aristocrats were melting into the industrial class. What a pathetic bunch those industrialists and merchants are. They have strictly enforced legal contracts and only function when there is "rule of law." Take them away and those pampered fools would be killed instantly. What do they know of the cutthroat world of court politics. They are most unfit during times of chaos.

Jezebel revamped her efforts to spread her ideology, mimicking Pacek in how she carried herself, her vocabulary and even how she dressed.

"Liberals are the enemy!"

It was simple and it was true. What self-respecting socialist would side with a capitalist country? Only when the absolute totalitarianism of the Wholarchy was the alternative. They were already straining at the leash to destroy less pure sects anyways. Any noble with a shred of pride would sooner die than accept bailouts from the big banks. Those that had were already dead. Jezebel was deeply in the red, but to accept their loans would mean losing her independence. Even the phrase "deeply in the red" is one the merchants use. As long as Jezebel's soldiers respected her orders, she was fine.