The blood mist churned. Nine dragons weaved through the streets, killing.
The guards and the ancient spotted dog zoan leader froze when they saw the dragons.
They looked at their own claws.
Then at the nine crimson dragon heads. The gap was too wide.
They were torn apart like paper. The blood mist absorbed their bodies.
But the slaughter didn't stop. It moved slowly toward the palace.
Rhett walked forward, the girl in his arms. The dragons cleared the path.
They chatted as if nothing was happening. "That roasted sweet potato looked good earlier. Pretty brave to sell that these days."
"Mm."
"You want some? This could get boring."
"No."
"Don't want it, or don't want to bother me?"
"Fine. I'll make some when we get back."
They talked casually, ignoring the chaos.
Behind closed windows, people watched. At first, their eyes were numb, scared, or indifferent. Normal reactions.
But Rhett sensed some schadenfreude. Some were happy to see their oppressors suffer.
Rhett: It's human nature. I'm getting paid soon. I'll let it slide. If you make fun of me, you're dead.
"What's happening out there?" an old voice whispered.
"Blood! Red mist! Someone's killing the guards!" A young voice, excited and scared. "They're tearing them apart!"
"Good! They deserved it!" Another voice, full of hate.
"Quiet! What if they hear us?"
"It's different this time... He hasn't touched us. We're still alive!"
"Really? Does he want money?"
"He's heading to the palace! He's going after the king!" The young voice was breathless. "Is it... is it..."
"Divine punishment!" someone whispered, crying.
"Don't say that! Wait and see..." But even that voice sounded uncertain.
As Rhett walked, crushing everything, the looks behind the windows changed. The numbness and fear faded. Shock and hope took their place.
They saw the arrogant nobles' lackeys die like ants.
The tyrant king would meet his end.
Someone knelt first. Then more followed. They couldn't speak, but they bowed, showing their gratitude and fear.
Rhett felt the girl's intense gaze. He looked down at her.
"See," he said, looking at the kneeling people. "They just need someone stronger than their oppressors."
"Destroy the old fear, and they'll make a new faith."
"And I," he said, as if stating a fact, "fit their imagination."
"So, I can be their god."
"Easily."
Rhett ignored the worship. His goal was the palace.
When he reached the palace steps, the fat king and his trembling guards knelt.
"Great one! Welcome!" The king's voice shook. "You must have seen how bad this country is! You were right! These people needed punishment! I'm small! I submit! Here's my treasure! And these women! Please spare me! Let me keep ruling for you!"
Rhett was curious. The blood mist calmed. He looked down at the king. "You seem used to this."
The king saw a chance to live. "You're new to this! That's fine! Around here, it's normal. The strong eat the weak. I came to power the same way. The smart survive!"
He kept talking. "If you submit, give up your wealth and power, you usually live. You might even get a job helping the new boss. It's easier for everyone, right? You can't rule these people alone."
The king felt lucky. This new strong one seemed inexperienced.
Rhett understood. In this era of low labor, people were valuable. Without them, the king was nothing. The strong kept the weak alive to rule them.
"I see," Rhett said. "Weak eat the weak. A simple rule."
The king smiled.
But Rhett continued, his voice cold. "I hate cycles."
"I prefer to crush them."
The king's smile died. Fear and despair filled his face.