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POV: Kael Raine
Kael Raine gritted his teeth as he walked the length of the eastern bastion wall of Eltheria's capital, Valenhold.
The city was on edge.
Soldiers whispered of shadows that screamed.
Nobles tossed in fevered dreams about a king with a golden crown of flame.
Church bells rang three times—not for prayer, but for fear.
They had lost four cities in as many days.
Not conquered—converted.
Burned to ash, rebuilt overnight, and raised under a banner of black, red, and gold.
New Dresden. Rommelstadt. Hiroboomshima. Neo-Stalingrad.
Names with no origin in this world. Names that carried echoes of cruelty.
And now—they were at the gates.
> "Where's our air support?" Kael barked at a trembling mage.
> "D-Dispelled, sir. Their wind elementals refuse to approach. They say the sky is… poisoned."
> "Poisoned by what?"
> "Faith, sir."
Kael cursed.
---
POV: Marcus Augustus Victor
He stood atop a black granite obelisk on a hill overlooking Valenhold, dressed in his imperial cloak. Wind tore at his robe, wings folded neatly behind him, a single hand resting on the hilt of his golden ceremonial saber.
The city shimmered in the morning fog like a wounded animal preparing to run.
He could feel it.
Fear. Doubt. Rot.
> "Raphael. Update."
> [Eltherian capital's morale has dropped to 31%. Internal loyalty conflicts at 14% and rising. Estimated defection opportunity: 18%.]
> "Demiurge?"
A soft voice replied from his side, smiling behind a mask of silver.
> "The dream plagues are working. Half the noble class now prays to statues bearing your likeness. Their priests believe it divine revelation."
> "Shalltear?"
She materialized behind him, licking blood from her fingertip.
> "I've broken five of their scouting regiments. Not killed—broken. They scream your name in sleep now."
> "Excellent."
He stepped down the obelisk like a descending judgment.
> "Let's knock politely."
---
POV: Lord High Bishop Melros – Church of Eltheria
The altar bled.
No one touched it—yet blood seeped from the statue of the Sky Goddess. Not human blood. Something darker.
The bishop fell to his knees.
> "What is this curse…?"
Then a voice echoed through the cathedral, layered and beautiful.
> "She has abandoned you."
He turned—and saw a golden crown floating in the air, wreathed in fire.
> "Your goddess ran. Your king hides. Only one voice remains."
A parchment bloomed at his feet:
---
> Valenhold shall be spared.
You need only open your gates.
Kneel before the King Who Stayed.
Let peace rule your streets.
Or let judgment fall.
---
POV: Kael Raine – War Council
> "No."
He slammed his gauntlet down on the council table.
> "We do not surrender to gods. Not fake ones. Not monsters. Not propaganda."
> "They don't even kill everyone," one noble muttered. "They rebuild. They heal. They feed people!"
> "It's a trick," Kael snapped. "A lie wrapped in gifts."
> "And you think we can fight them?"
Kael stood tall.
> "We fight. We hold. We protect this city until the real gods answer."
Silence.
Only the sound of distant horns… and wings.
---
POV: Cocytus
From the northern gate of Valenhold, Cocytus led the first wave.
Not an army.
Just him. And the ice.
He froze the first defensive wall in twelve seconds.
He did not speak. He did not threaten.
He walked, and snow fell in summer.
---
POV: Marcus
He waited for the moment. For the silence before thunder.
When it came, he raised his hand.
> "Open the sky."
The clouds peeled back like ripped cloth.
From the heavens descended a monolith of obsidian and gold, flanked by six Jackson's Brothers with their weapons raised high.
Marcus stepped forward.
> "People of Valenhold," his voice boomed across the city, carried by divine resonance.
> "I do not wish to rule you through flame. I do not hunger for your pain."
> "But your kings, your gods, your systems—have failed you."
> "Now you have a choice."
> "Open your gates."
> "Or I will."
---
POV: Kael Raine
The voice shook the city.
Kael stood atop the inner wall, flame-lance in hand, fury in his heart.
> "I will kill you myself, monster."
Then Marcus appeared—in front of him.
He simply stepped out of the air. No warning. No aura flare.
> "You speak with such confidence," Marcus said calmly, "for a man who's already lost."
Kael lunged.
His flame-lance erupted into solar fury.
Marcus raised a single hand.
CLANG.
Kael's weapon stopped inches from his face, caught between two fingers glowing with gentle light.
Kael's eyes widened.
> "You fight like a hero. I admire that."
Marcus gripped the lance—then shattered it.
Kael staggered back.
> "But this is no longer a story where the hero wins."
Marcus flicked his hand.
Kael flew backwards, slammed into the tower wall, cracking stone.
Marcus didn't follow.
He simply turned—and walked away.
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POV: Kael Raine – Later
He woke in a healing tent, broken and shaking.
He hadn't seen a single spell.
> "W-What… is he?"
> "He is the king," said the nurse.
> "He is the god of this age."
Kael began to scream.
---
POV: Marcus
He entered Valenhold's central square the next day.
Not one soldier raised a weapon.
The nobles bowed.
The bishop wept.
He stood atop the steps of the palace.
> "You chose well."
The flag of the Fourth Reich rose.
And the people cheered.
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