(Execution Livestream Continuation, The Pit)
Commander Mickey James waited patiently for the Cult engineers to finish assembling their war arrays, standing at the head of the vanguard with his spear embedded into the fractured stone, unmoving as artillery frames unfolded behind him and mana conduits locked one by one into the earth, because this moment was not meant to be rushed, and the cost of impatience here was bound to be paid for in blood.
Only when the final synchronization glyphs flared across the command lattice did he draw his spear free and turn toward the countless ranks arrayed behind him, billions of Cult warriors standing in disciplined silence as engines hummed, weapons were steadied, and anticipation simmered just beneath the surface.
"CULT WARRIORS," Mickey James roared, his voice carried outward not just by amplification arrays, but by raw, unrestrained authority, rolling across the battlefield like thunder across open plains.
