The execution ground trembled.
People felt their knees weaken.
And Thueban had it the worst.
But he remained standing.
Spreading his arms wide, he called upon his element.
Poison.
Thueban's fingers trembled from release.
Indeed, he had been preparing this.
Since the first day Malik ever stepped foot onto this land, or perhaps even earlier, ever since the first noble under him fell to the guillotine. A plan Z in case everything went wrong... and now, everything had indeed gone wrong.
He faced a man he shouldn't have.
All that was left for him was to open the gates.
"Seyr-e-Ezhdehâ-ye Sammîn."
He muttered a name, one not fit for mortal tongues.
It spoke of a march, the March of the Venomous Serpent.
The execution platform shivered.
Poison answered.
