(Execution Livestream Continuation, ’The Pit’)
Chains scraped loudly against the execution platform as Veyr was dragged forward, his knees buckling briefly when Raymond forced him down, the suppressive shackles biting into his wrists as the stone beneath him felt colder than anything he remembered.
*KLANG*
The impact echoed outward as his knees struck the platform, the sound swallowed instantly by the roar of the crowd, billions of voices crashing together into a single, overwhelming demand for blood.
"EXECUTE!"
"EXECUTE!"
"EXECUTE!"
The chant battered against him from every direction, not as sound alone, but as pressure, as hatred, as expectation, as if the universe itself had decided that this was the moment it wanted him to disappear.
Veyr lifted his head slowly.
Not in defiance, nor in fear, but because he refused to bow any lower than he already had, as that much dignity was all he intended to keep.
And as his gaze shifted left, his eyes met the distant figures seated upon the elevated thrones built on the execution platform, as Kaelith the Eternal Sovereign looked down upon him with detached calm, eyes steady and unreadable as if observing a minor correction in the flow of history rather than a man about to die.
Beside him, Helmuth sat heavy and unmoving, massive arms resting against his axe as though waiting for a battle that had yet to begin, his gaze flicking toward Veyr only briefly, dismissive and uninterested, as if the Dragon before him was already irrelevant.
Mauriss reclined lazily in his seat, chin propped against his palm, eyes bright with mischief as he smiled down at Veyr like a child watching an insect crawl toward an inevitable end, amusement radiating from him rather than cruelty.
To them, he was insignificant.
A variable already solved.
A conclusion already written.
However, while the three of them looked at him with simple disinterest, as he shifted his gaze to the other side, to right, where the Great Clan Gods sat, he observed something entirely different.
Unlike the Gods Of The Universal Government, who looked uninterested in the execution as a whole, the five Great Clan Gods actually looked at him like a symbol who deserved death.
They had excitement and bloodlust in their eyes, as though they wanted to see his life end.
Which was ironic, since not one of them looked at him as an enemy.
Not one of them looked at him as a threat.
They looked at him as a prop.
A necessary symbol to be removed so the play could continue.
Which felt oddly insulting to him as a whole.
*Thump*
*Thump*
*Thump*
Heavy footsteps echoed across the platform as the executioner emerged from the rear gate, draped in pitch-black robes that absorbed light rather than reflected it, the fabric hanging loose and formless, hiding everything beneath it as though the man inside had already surrendered his identity.
A hood shadowed his face completely, and in his hands rested a massive scythe, its curved blade etched with suppressive runes and execution seals, the weapon humming faintly as it drank in the ambient mana, eager in its own silent way.
Each step he took was deliberate.
Measured.
Final.
The crowd erupted further, their excitement sharpening into something feverish as the executioner approached, the atmosphere thickening until even breathing felt heavy, anticipation vibrating through the air like static before a storm.
"EXECUTE!"
"EXECUTE!"
"EXECUTE!"
The chant reached a deafening crescendo, billions of lives united in a single moment of shared hatred and spectacle, as screens across the universe zoomed in, capturing the kneeling Dragon, the looming blade, the Gods watching from above.
Veyr remained still.
His breathing slow.
His shoulders relaxed.
As if he had already accepted what was coming.
Yet high above the platform, something subtle shifted.
Mauriss’ grin faded just slightly as his eyes drifted upward, scanning the empty sky beyond the execution grounds, instinct stirring beneath amusement as something refused to align the way it should.
Helmuth’s grip tightened around the haft of his axe as his gaze followed, nostrils flaring faintly, senses straining toward a presence he could not yet place.
Kaelith’s expression did not change, yet his eyes lifted as well, calm focus sharpening into something colder and more alert, as geometry beneath the platform adjusted almost imperceptibly.
They were searching.
Not for Veyr.
But for someone else.
Someone late.
Someone who should have already appeared.
The crowd noticed none of it.
The executioner raised the scythe slowly, the blade catching light as runes flared to life along its edge, energy coiling and tightening as the final moment drew near.
Veyr closed his eyes briefly.
Not in prayer.
But in remembrance, as the chant thundered around him and the universe leaned forward, convinced it was about to witness the end of a legend.
However, just as the executioner raised the scythe to its highest point, ready to bring it down and end the spectacle in a single sanctioned motion, a restrained burst of aura sliced through the execution platform with terrifying precision, silent and controlled, as if someone had brushed a blade gently across the throat of reality itself.
The executioner stiffened.
Not violently.
Not even noticeably at first, as his grip loosened and the scythe slipped from his fingers, metal striking stone with a hollow clang as his body locked in place, every muscle frozen mid-command while the life behind his eyes vanished without resistance.
A heartbeat passed.
Then his head slid free from his shoulders.
The body collapsed forward in a boneless heap, blood spreading slowly across the platform, pooling at Veyr’s knees as the execution ground was plunged into absolute silence.
The chant died mid-syllable, as across The Pit, mouths hung open in shock.
While across the universe, trillions of viewers leaned closer to their screens, confusion spreading faster than fear as feeds filled with overlapping questions, disbelief, and frantic speculation.
"What just happened?"
"Was that part of the ritual?"
"Was the executioner a Cult agent?"
"How can this even happen in the presence of eight gods? What the hell is going on here?"
No one answered.
Above the platform, Mauriss’ laughter rang out, low and delighted, as his grin widened and his eyes gleamed with unmistakable recognition.
"Ohhh," he murmured happily, fingers tapping together as amusement washed over him. "That timing is just perfect."
Helmuth rose to his feet.
*CRACK*
Stone cracking beneath him as his massive frame straightened, raw power rolling outward without restraint as soldiers in the inner rings staggered, some falling to one knee beneath the sudden pressure.
He tilted his head back and stared into the sky, lips curling into a savage smile, as high above, far beyond mortal sight, the air began to warp.
No clouds parted.
No portals opened.
Instead, the sky itself bent inward at a single point, pressure mounting as something immense forced its presence against the fabric of reality, the planet groaning faintly beneath the strain.
Helmuth cracked his neck slowly, the sound echoing across the execution grounds as he lifted one massive arm and pointed upward.
"You have some nerve," he said, voice carrying effortlessly across the battlefield and through every active broadcast channel, as anticipation coiled tightly in his chest.
"To show up on my planet, alone..."
His grin sharpened.
"Cult Master Soron."