(The next day, The GalaxyNet)
Mauriss was not the only one who received the news about Soron’s return, as the Commoners of the universe got the feed too and fast at that.
His clip slaughtering 12 Monarch’s on Ixtal went viral on the GalaxyNet, igniting every forum, newsfeed, and message board like a wildfire fueled by panic and disbelief.
Within hours, "#CultGodReturns" was the most trending tag across all major galaxies, with more than three hundred billion active threads inside two hours.
Comment chains overflowed, some written in trembling anxiety, others in bold defiance, each word pulsing with the collective nervousness of a civilization that had long believed its greatest nightmare was gone for good.
People argued. People screamed. Some laughed like it was a bad joke. Others prayed as if their souls might already be on the line.
"Bullshit," one voice snapped on a live stream that already had ten million viewers. "There’s no way that old monster’s back. The man was rumored dead. Was supposed to be gone. What’s next, the return of the fucking Cult Commander Charles?"
"Gone?" another shouted over him, breathless. "You call that Gone? He killed twelve Monarch Commanders in a single second! Twelve! You think that’s a rumor? We’ve got video! Ships falling like flies. Go watch the feeds from Ixtal before the censors wipe ’em."
The host tried to calm them, but it was too late. The panic was spreading faster than the moderators could delete it.
Across the feeds, new clips appeared—grainy footage of the sky tearing open over Ixtal, of red light swallowing ships whole, of a colossal shadow descending through clouds like divine judgment itself.
"He’s back," someone whispered in a shaky stream, the camera trembling as they replayed the footage. "Righteous Gods help us all... he’s really back."
But not everyone was afraid. Some clung to arrogance the way drowning men clang to driftwood.
"So what if he’s back?" a soldier barked into a military newsfeed, his face flushed with bravado.
"He’s one washed up god. Just one.
While the Righteous Faction has eight Supreme Gods protecting us.
We wiped their Cult off the map once and we’ll do it again.
I say, let the bastard come if he dares."
He claimed as the comment section beneath him exploded.
"You’re a fucking idiot," one viewer wrote.
"He’s not some rebel general, he’s a walking apocalypse."
"You saw what he did to our Monarch’s, didn’t you? That should be before he saw his capital desecrated. That should be before he became angry.
But if logic prevails, he should be much more angry now.
And who knows what he can do in that anger?
Who knows how many planets he will destroy before his rage is satiated...."
The user said, as many tried to gaslight him into believing that the universe was still under righteous control, and that everything was going to be alright.
"The Universal Government already has a containment plan."
"Maybe the Righteous Gods let him come back, to draw out the rest of the Cult. Maybe this is our way to end the Cult completely for good."
"Relax, Soron won’t risk war. The moment he steps off Ixtal, he’s dead."
They reassured, however, their words sounded weaker with every replay, every re-upload of righteous ships burning in the sky, as one particular doomsday threat gained traction, its tone bitter and half hysterical.
"I told you bastards this would happen. You can’t just erase a god’s home and expect peace. You burned their cities, their children, their houses, and now he’s coming for all of us.
You thought conquering Ixtal made you a hero? No, it just made you the next target."
The post was flagged a thousand times, then deleted. But by then, it had already spread.
Screenshots flooded every corner of the net, the words shared, dissected, turned into memes, warnings, prayers.
And then came the daily reminder.
CALENDAR EVENT: "The Cult Dragon’s public execution. Countdown to kill: 56 days."
As the posts that followed this daily reminder came in a flood.
"They’re baiting him! This is a set-up."
"Good! Let him take the bait! I want to see the Cult God choke on his own rage."
"You think he’ll sit quiet while they execute the Cult’s Dragon?"
"If he’s smart, he will. If he’s stupid, we’ll see him die a dog’s death."
"He won’t come."
"He fucking will."
Every word carried more weight than the one before it, each sentence soaked in that uneasy blend of denial and dread.
As by the time the feeds went dark and the broadcasts began looping their empty promises of "stability and divine order," a single truth had already settled deep into the hearts of every citizen across the Righteous worlds—
Which was the fear that Soron was back, and that he could be coming for all of them.
—-----------
(Meanwhile, the Eternal Garden, Kaelith’s POV)
Kaelith sat in silence within the Eternal Garden, a letter resting loosely between his fingers as his eyes moved across the page slowly, line by line, as the faint flicker of his pupils became the only sign that he was reading at all.
The report was brief and concise, as it spoke of crimson skies, fallen Monarchs, and a single name that weighed heavier than any army.
Soron.
His gaze lingered on the word for a long moment before his fingers tightened ever so slightly.
*Crunch*
The paper creased with a faint sound, the silence around him stretching thin.
There was no anger in his expression, no flicker of surprise or concern. Only stillness.
Then, without a word, he summoned a small flame between his fingertips, which spread across the parchment in a smooth, deliberate motion as the fire consumed each word until nothing but blackened edges remained.
He did not look away. He watched the letter burn down to ash, the faint heat brushing his knuckles before the last ember died.
Only then did he move, brushing the ashes from his palm with calm precision, his voice quiet and almost thoughtful as he whispered,
"It’s about time we meet again, brother."