(Planet Ixtal, Soron’s POV)
As Soron descended from the sky, the storm of crimson energy that trailed behind him began to fade, its residual light scattering across the torn horizon like dying embers of a divine fire.
Ixtal sprawled beneath him in ruin, its once vibrant society now reduced to a shattered landscape of blackened stone and foreign banners, which fluttered at places where Cult flags once stood proud.
The sight made his chest tighten, an emotion too complex for simple rage to express.
’What....What is this?’
He wondered, his gaze sweeping across the plains, as every inch of ground screamed desecration.
The banners of the Righteous Faction, woven in their imperialistic colors, stood impaled into Ixtal’s holy soil like spears mocking the dead.
Their soldiers, ants in comparison to his towering presence, scrambled in panic, shouting orders, rallying defenses, their voices faint and insignificant beneath the slow hum of the wind.
’How dare these scum infest MY land,’ he thought, his jaw clenching as his divine aura pulsed, cracking the air around him.
’How dare they set foot on something that was never theirs.....’
He cursed, however, beneath that anger also stirred some confusion.
He could still feel them. The faint, lingering pulses of the Cult Elders’ souls.
They were still alive somewhere in the universe.
But not on Ixtal.
’Impossible...’
He thought, as he narrowed his eyes, his divine sense enveloping the whole planet.
"How could the Elders still be alive if the Righteous banners fly here?" he whispered aloud, his voice low but resonant enough to ripple through the sky.
"If they still breathe, then this world should still be ours..."
He concluded, yet the fact remained that it wasn’t.
All around him, he saw the enemy’s architecture rising from the ashes: metal outposts, temporary barracks, artificial conduits channeling mana into containment arrays.
The Righteous had been here for months, maybe years. They had conquered, rebuilt, desecrated, and somehow, his people still survived beneath it all.
That contradiction tore through him worse than anger ever could.
The sky above still burned from his arrival.
Dozens of righteous ships lay crippled in the clouds, their hulls torn open by the aftershock of his descent, while their Monarch-tier commanders were reduced to ash before they even comprehended who they were facing.
Yet somehow, all those deaths could not reverse the damage done to Ixtal.
For even though he had killed the enemy leadership controlling the planet without lifting a single finger, he could still not undo what was already done.
’Was my absence truly worth it?’
He wondered, as every enemy soldier around him knelt in surrender, their spirits crushed by his existence alone.
He could end them all in a single flick of his finger,
Just one small gesture and he could wipe the entire surface of Ixtal clean, however, not everyone here seemed to be an enemy.
’Should I do it? Should I end them all?’
He wondered, as the thought of letting his aura cover Ixtal once and end all life present here felt tempting...
However, despite his desire, he hesitated, his hand tightening, before slowly falling back to his side.
’No... not yet.’
He thought, as he could still sense the living, and not all of them were enemies.
The aura of the Cult’s citizens, faint but distinct, flickered like buried stars beneath the planet’s crust.
Unlike the righteous faction soldiers that cowered and were devastated by his arrival, the Cult citizens were joyous, their aura’s enveloped in a bright blue, versus the dark maroon of the opponents.
And although there were less than a couple thousand present on the planet, Soron could not bring himself to kill them alongside the enemies.
*Sigh*
He exhaled slowly, his anger simmering beneath the surface like molten metal caged within stone.
"Ixtal," he muttered, his tone low, reverent, and furious all at once. "What have they done to you?"
His eyes drifted toward the northern skyline, where the faint shimmer of the Lost Forest still stood untouched, the only part of the planet that the Righteous had dared not defile.
At its center, he could feel the old stone castle left untouched, as he understood immediately that it was his brother’s orders.
For only Kaelith could protect that place out of sentimental value.
While no-one else would care much for it.
’Sometimes I don’t understand what you want, brother.
But unfortunately for you, I have stopped caring about it a long time ago.
The next time we meet, l will come for your life.’
He thought, as he turned his gaze towards a nearby soldier, and gestured for him to approach.
"You.... Come!"
He demanded, as the poor soldier immediately wet his pants, his legs trembling as he slowly approached.
"Y-yes my Lord."
He said, as Soron pointed towards the East and said, "There is a Cult survivor in that direction. Roughly two miles. Go fetch him for me within the next ten minutes.
Fail and I’ll kill you by exploding your heart inside your chest.
Succeed and I promise to set you free."
Soron instructed, as the terrified soldier sprinted eastward with all the desperation of a dying man clutching at his final chance to live.
The god watched him go, his expression unreadable, his gaze fixed far beyond what mortal eyes could see, as the horizon shimmered faintly in the distance.
Minutes passed in silence, broken only by the faint crackle of burning metal and the hiss of cooling ash that still drifted down from the skies. Then, at last, the soldier returned.
He came back limping, blood streaking across his face, his breath ragged, as he carried a half dead body on his back.
A body that was barely breathing, yet still clung to life with the stubbornness of one who refused to die before seeing dawn.
*Crash*
The soldier collapsed to one knee before Soron, his voice trembling as he gasped, "M-my Lord... I found him. A survivor of the Cult... just as you said."
Soron’s eyes narrowed slightly as the battered man slid off the soldier’s shoulder and fell to his knees before him.
His face was bloodied beyond recognition, one eye swollen shut, but behind the torn flesh still burned the unmistakable glimmer of faith.
For a moment, neither spoke. The wind carried the sound of distant alarms and the crackle of fire. Then, through split lips, the survivor smiled, a wide, trembling smile that cut through the ruin like sunlight through smoke.
"The Lord has returned..." he whispered, his voice shaking as tears began to spill freely down his cheeks.
"All our sufferings... all our humiliation... they will be avenged now."
He said as he tried to bow, but unfortunately, his strength failed halfway, as he simply crumpled forward, his forehead pressing into the ash-stained earth at Soron’s feet.
*Thud*
Soron’s expression softened imperceptibly as he stared down at the broken man.
And in that moment something inside his chest tightened, a rare ache that had nothing to do with fury or vengeance, as he remembered once again as to what it meant to be followed, trusted, and loved.
’My people, they suffered... yet they endured,’ he thought, lowering his gaze slightly. ’Even after all this time... they still wait for me.’
He reached out, his hand hovering just above the man’s head, as using just a sliver of his divine energy, he healed the man completely within seconds.
"Rise now, brave man. Rise and tell me what happened here...."
He demanded, as the broken man met his gaze, and began with his story.