POV: Marcus Augustus Victor
The flames had died by morning.
Marcus stood at the gates of what had once been Renteia, a smug little merchant city that had believed itself safe behind second-rate wards and untrained mages.
Now the walls were rubble. The towers were broken teeth. And the corpses—many of them still twitching from soul-disruption effects—lined the streets in neat trails.
Not a single Jackson Brother was scratched.
> "Efficient. Beautiful."
His voice echoed off ruined stone.
Behind him, Albedo stepped forward, black wings tucked like blades at her sides.
> "My King, the operation was a complete success. The Jacksons eliminated all resistance. Demiurge reports that the remaining population is contained and secured."
> "Very good," he replied with a smooth nod. "Let us begin."
He stepped through the broken archway of the gate, crossing into the city proper—his city now.
---
POV: High Priest of Renteia – Father Quorin
He had been dragged from the rubble by something—some monster dressed like a human, wearing black steel and glowing red lenses.
Now, he knelt on cracked stone in the center plaza, surrounded by the last hundred survivors. All of them were stripped of weapons, magical charms, and even hopes.
He looked up—and saw him.
Tall. Pale. Wings folded like judgment.
An angel, draped in black robes trimmed with gold. Eyes like burning glass. He didn't walk—he glided.
Soldiers bowed before him. Even the monsters bent their heads.
A divine presence.
> "A god…"
> "I am not your god," Marcus said aloud, as if reading his thoughts. "I am your ruler. Your protector. And your reckoning."
---
POV: Marcus
He stood atop the shattered podium where Renteia's merchant council once gave speeches to inflate prices and sell lies.
The townspeople stared at him like he was the last page of a holy text.
He raised his hand slowly.
A massive flag unfurled above him—deployed magically from subspace. The black-and-gold eagle gleamed in the morning sun. The words beneath it shone like a divine edict:
> "Freedom Through Order. Obedience Through Loyalty."
> "You were ruled by the greedy," Marcus began, voice amplified through layered magic. "By cowards. By liars. That ends now."
> "Your homes are safe under my rule. Your lives will be protected. Your trade will flourish. Your future… will be forged."
He paused, then added with perfect dramatic timing:
> "I do not offer you democracy. I offer you purpose."
---
POV: Civilian – Neria Drosen
She was just a baker's apprentice.
Her parents were dead. Her master had died screaming when one of the red-eyed soldiers blew apart a watchtower with what looked like a cannon on his back.
She had expected cruelty. Slaughter. Desecration.
Instead… she saw order. Streets being cleared. Wounded being separated from corpses. Food already being distributed from conjured storage crates. Healing magic applied to children.
And now… this man, this king, stood before them.
He didn't look like a tyrant. He looked… perfect. Unshakable. Eternal.
> "Maybe… this is better. Maybe we lost nothing."
She didn't even notice her knees bending.
She just bowed, along with everyone else.
---
POV: Marcus (Internal)
> "They're already breaking. One speech. One display of force plus mercy. Humans are so predictable."
Raphael spoke in his mind:
> [Emotional conversion rate: 47% loyalty. 31% fear obedience. 22% neutral. No hostile elements remain.]
> "Good. Upload propaganda visuals to the archive. Start drafting New Dresden's charter."
> [Acknowledged. Creating constitution: "Subject Liberty Matrix v1."]
---
POV: Demiurge
He observed from the shadows, perched like a gentleman spider behind a broken cathedral spire.
Magnificent.
> "He does not rule with fear alone—he manipulates with elegance. Offers survival as reward, order as salvation."
Demiurge adjusted his glasses with slow reverence.
> "I would burn a thousand worlds for this king."
---
POV: The Jackson's Brothers
Jackson Charlie stood at the corner of the plaza, shotgun resting on his shoulder.
Civilians who met his gaze looked away immediately. Some even fainted.
> "Subjugation complete. Emotional recovery underway. Civilians converted."
"Democracy delivered."
Jackson Delta crushed a broken sword under his boot and nodded.
> "We'll need more cities."
> "Always," Alpha answered.
> "He brings peace," Bravo muttered, "...whether they want it or not."
---
POV: Mare
Mare walked quietly through the ruins, staff clutched in one hand.
He stared at the burning buildings and broken walls with wide, confused eyes.
> "So much damage… but… everyone's happy now?"
He didn't fully understand it.
But when Marcus passed him and placed a hand gently on his shoulder, Mare felt something stir in his chest.
> "This was necessary," Marcus said softly. "Sometimes, peace must be planted in blood."
Mare nodded. "Y-Yes, Lord Marcus…"
---
POV: Marcus
He stood on the highest balcony of Renteia's old treasury, now repurposed as his temporary throne hall.
From here, he could see the full city. Smoke. Rubble. But also: reconstruction. Magic-infused scaffolding. NPC workers forming patrols. Civilians moving under strict but fair command.
> "Raphael."
> [Yes, Lord Marcus?]
> "Start plotting the next city. This one's the blueprint."
> [Next logical target: Kingdom of Eltheria. Strategic node. Army of 20,000. Led by hero-ranked commander.]
> "Perfect. Let's test their 'hero' against the Jacksons."
He turned back toward the throne room.
Albedo stood waiting for him, eyes glowing with quiet madness.
> "What is your will, my King?"
> "Raise the banners. We move in three days."
He sat on his throne.
Black, gold, divine.
And the people knelt beneath him.
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