(2 hours before the execution livestream, ’The Pit’, The Righteous Army)
"MOVE, MEN! WE AIN’T GOT ALL DAY!"
The roar cut across the battlefield like a whip crack, amplified through command arrays and amplification spells, as Righteous Commanders began bellowing orders from elevated platforms, their voices overlapping into a single wall of urgency that rolled across The Pit.
"HURRY IT UP!"
"LEFT LEGIONS, LOCK YOUR SPACING!"
"SHIELDS UP, NOW!"
At once, the army stirred.
Boots slamming against scorched stone.
*THUD* *THUD* *THUD*
Entire legions shifted as one, ranks breaking and reforming with brutal efficiency, as banners dipped and rose again while officers shouted corrections mid-stride, hands slicing through the air to force alignment.
This was not panic.
This was momentum.
From the ground, it felt endless, as soldiers marched forward in precise arcs, each unit curving inward or outward based on position, as the first concentric ring began to close, shields interlocking with a metallic chorus.
*CLANG* *CLANG* *CLANG*
Behind them, the second ring followed, then the third, and then more beyond that, each wider than the last, each slotting into place like parts of an enormous living mechanism, as the Chakravyuh formation slowly revealed its true shape.
"DON’T BREAK FORMATION!"
"HOLD YOUR LINE!"
"IF YOU CAN SEE THE STAGE, YOU’RE TOO FAR IN, MOVE!"
Soon, the sheer scale became suffocating.
From above, the formation spread outward like a colossal spiral, billions upon billions of soldiers locking into position until nearly five percent of the planet’s surface was consumed by disciplined flesh and steel, the army transforming into a structure rather than a force.
While at its heart stood the execution stage.
Silent.
Waiting.
A raised platform made of dark metal and divine restraints, looming calmly as the geometric center of everything, as if daring fate itself to interfere.
*Bzzzt*
Beneath every boot, runic arrays lay dormant.
Their symbols etched so deeply into the planet’s crust that even though millions of boots marched over them, the structure remained unaffected.
"FINAL ADJUSTMENTS!"
"OUTER RINGS, HOLD STEADY!"
"NO ONE MOVES WITHOUT MY WORD!"
The noise slowly settled into a controlled hum, as the last legions locked in and Commanders scanned the formation with cold satisfaction.
None of them were given the whole picture.
None of them were told about when or how the runes beneath their feet would activate.
However, what they were given was a piece of paper and how their legion should look.... Which was what they followed to perfection.
"Soon the universe will watch...."
A Righteous Commander said, as he thought about how soon the whole universe would be watching this execution.
"Calling so many soldiers and Gods here feels like an overkill, but I guess that’s just how serious the superiors are about making a statement today..."
The Commander concluded, as he shrugged his shoulders and walked off, unaware of the Chaos that was about to erupt soon.
—----------
(Meanwhile, the special invitees and notable guests)
The space between the concentric rings of soldiers had been carefully cleared, wide enough to seat thousands of specially invited guests without ever compromising the integrity of the formation, as floating platforms, reinforced terraces, and rune-stabilized seating rose subtly from the scorched stone.
Here sat the observers.
Individuals whose names carried weight across the universe.
Master artificers.
Renowned alchemists.
Universe navigators who had charted forbidden regions.
Clan heirs.
Sector governors.
Mercenary legends long retired.
They sat in clusters, cloaked in finery or armor depending on preference, their gazes drifting inevitably toward the execution stage at the heart of the Chakravyuh, as quiet murmurs rippled through the stands like nervous static.
"Did you hear?" one man whispered, leaning closer to his companion as his eyes gleamed with barely contained excitement. "They say every Righteous Faction God is going to be present today. All of them."
His companion let out a low whistle, fingers drumming against the armrest.
"Yeah, I heard the same. Apparently even those who haven’t shown their faces in centuries are coming out for this."
A woman in elegant robes tilted her head slightly, lowering her voice as she joined in.
"A Du Clan young master mentioned it to my cousin," she said, as if sharing forbidden gossip. "He said his father confirmed that the Du Clan ancestor will be here... along with the other Great Clan Gods."
Her words spread quickly.
Brows lifted.
Eyes widened.
"That’s insane," someone muttered. "You don’t gather that many Gods unless you’re expecting something big."
A pause followed.
Then another voice cut in, quieter but sharper.
"Do you think Soron will show up?"
The question lingered longer than intended, as several heads turned instinctively toward the empty sky above the formation.
"That has to be why they’re all here," a young man said, excitement threading through his tone. "You don’t set a stage like this for just an execution."
"I don’t know," another replied, shaking his head slowly as skepticism crept into his expression. "I honestly don’t think he’ll come."
"Why not?"
"Because no one is stupid enough to walk into a guaranteed ambush," he said simply, as his gaze flicked briefly toward the dormant runic arrays beneath the soldiers’ feet. "Not even Soron."
A few nodded in agreement.
Others looked disappointed.
"That’s true," someone admitted. "Still... part of me hoped."
Conversation drifted again, excitement slowly replacing tension as thoughts shifted from danger to opportunity.
"After this is over, the networking alone will be incredible," a merchant lord murmured, adjusting his rings. "So many high-level figures in one place."
"I heard there’s a private gathering afterward," another added. "Restricted invites. Righteous Commanders, Clan heads, and a few chosen elites."
"If you get into that," a third chuckled softly, "your status skyrockets overnight."
Laughter followed.
Light.
Careless.
As if the stage at the center was meant for spectacle rather than death.
Yet every now and then, someone would fall quiet, their excitement dimming as their gaze drifted upward toward the empty sky, an unspoken unease slipping through the cracks of laughter and idle chatter.
The soldiers surrounding them did not move.
The formation held steady.
The runes remained dormant.
And yet, something about the atmosphere felt wrong, as if the air itself had tightened in anticipation, carrying the subtle weight of inevitability, while those blessed with sharper instincts felt the unease spreading with every passing moment, a quiet warning that this evening was not destined to remain peaceful for long.