From a far edge of the ruined city of London, miles away from the heart of the chaos, Percival sat calmly atop the shattered roof of a building. In his left hand was a bagel he chewed on lazily, while his right supported his cheek as though this devastation were nothing more than a passing show. Below him, people lay buried under rubble, flames devoured the streets, and the cries of the dying rang out like a chorus of despair.
Yet he cared nothing for it. To him, the tragedy was merely a spectacle—something to sit back and enjoy without guilt, without remorse. Every scream, every flame, every collapsed building—it all stemmed from his orders. His will. His actions.
What a cunning monster the man was. Once in a lifetime.
"Well, this is getting quite boring," Percival muttered, his eyes locking on a victim who reached out to him with trembling, bloodied fingers. They begged for aid with what little strength remained, but Percival only answered with silence and an empty, unblinking stare. "Since I've already accomplished what I came here to do, I suppose it's time for me to leave."
He stretched with a sigh. "My back's killing me—"
From his pocket, Percival pulled a strange metallic device, no larger than his palm. Feeding a trace of ethereal energy into it, the mechanism glowed, pulsing like a beacon calling to something far beyond.
He rose, turning his back on the ruins and the dying below. But before he could take a step, an overwhelming presence erupted behind him—so divine and suffocating that it froze him in place. His entire body stiffened, as though a god had descended to earth.
"That aura…" Percival whispered, cold sweat running down his temple. "I know that scent. There's only one man with that kind of overwhelming presence…"
A blinding light split the heavens above, radiant and pure, more brilliant than the stars themselves. From that heavenly blaze descended a legion of knights in white armor, astride majestic horses, their combined presence crushing and holy.
At their center shone a figure so radiant it was painful to behold. His silver hair caught the divine light, his royal attire shimmering with unearthly brilliance. Above his brow rested a lavish golden crown, and in his hand he carried a blade forged entirely of pure light, its brilliance surpassing mortal comprehension.
The Lord of Light. The Tsar of Russia. The Grand Monarch of Illumination—King Graviil Ivanovich.
Upon seeing him, Percival smirked, hiding his tension behind a mask of nonchalance. "Shit," he muttered under his breath.
Graviil's voice cut through the air with calm authority as he turned to his soldiers. "Help the civilians. Get the wounded to the nearest hospitals. Quickly."
"As you command, Your Majesty!" the knights answered in unison, bowing deeply before riding off. Their horses touched the ground with a grace that seemed destined by nature itself.
Now only Graviil remained, his gaze falling on Percival. His blue eyes burned with a divine fury, restrained but unmistakable, as his body glowed with a faint golden aura. He hovered effortlessly in the air, gravity itself bending around him.
"Yo!" Percival greeted cheerfully, flashing a warm smile as though nothing were amiss. "It's been a while, father-in-law. How've you been?"
Graviil's reply was edged with ice, his face devoid of warmth. "I've not been doing well at all, lately."
"Why's that? Worrying about whether Aleksander is ready to take the mantle of Grand Tsar of Russia?" Percival teased. He chuckled lightly. "I'd be stressed too if I were you. Tough job, being king. I completely understand."
Graviil's eyes narrowed, his tone sharp as his sword. "And how would someone like you know anything of being a king? Of the burdens and sacrifices it demands?"
Percival only grinned wider. "Oh, don't be like that, father-in-law. You of all people know the influence I hold over humanity's era. And besides—" he leaned forward slightly, voice dropping with a mocking edge, "I have a kingdom of my own, you know."
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of Graviil's golden aura. The air itself seemed to tremble as the two men—monster and monarch—stood poised, the city's ruins smoldering beneath their gaze.
Percival's mind raced as he pieced it together. If he appeared here so suddenly, without warning… that must mean he and his family discovered where Xavier had run off to—Great Britain. More precisely, London.
And the fact that he arrived before me… it must mean he sensed my presence when I used my ethereal energy earlier. So he came personally to confront me, did he? Hah. That doesn't bode well… but it is exciting. Imagine—he chose to see me before his own grandson. He must really want me dead, haha.
Closing his eyes, Percival sighed deeply before speaking aloud. "So, father, what brings you all the way here? Did something urgent happen, so pressing that you'd leave your throne to cross into another country?"
He tilted his head, feigning concern. "Is this about Xavier? Oh! Don't tell me you've actually found him? I was starting to get worried about my son disappearing forever—"
Graviil's voice cut through him like a blade, cold and merciless. "Xavier is not your child. He is the beloved son of your brother, Jonathan—whom you murdered in cold blood."
His glare sharpened. "Do not overstep your boundaries, Percival."
"My patience is virtue itself—and mercy to those who stand before it."
The monarch paused, letting the weight of his words linger in the air, before continuing. "I am not here to bandy words with you. I have only two questions to ask… before I do what must be done."
"Questions for me?" Percival echoed, smirking, though his eyes flickered with curiosity.
Graviil didn't repeat himself. His eyes burned, brighter than the sun. "First: I suspect you are the reason Xavier fled in secret. The letter he left, your presence here—it all points to you." His tone darkened, sharp as judgment. "And with the state of London… this destruction, this suffering, this slaughter—it reeks of your hand as well. Do I lie?"
Percival only smiled mischievously, shrugging with casual mockery. "Well, Your Majesty, Xavier left on his own accord. I had no part in his cowardly decision to run away."
At those words, Graviil's grip tightened around his blade, fury trembling through him. The insult to Xavier cut deep, yet he forced himself to remain composed. "Coward? That's rich—coming from the likes of you."
Percival laughed lightly. "Oh my, did I strike a nerve?"
Graviil's silence was a blade in itself, his stare cold as death.
"Forgive me, then, my Lord," Percival said mockingly, bowing with exaggerated courtesy. "If I offended you."
"And as for London," he continued with another careless shrug, "cities burn, accidents happen. If a grand place like this suddenly caught fire, well—that's just the way of life, isn't it? Misfortune is natural. Why should I be blamed for nature's cruelty?"
Graviil's heart sank at the blatant deceit. The crimes were written plain on Percival's face, yet the man cloaked them in lies without hesitation. With a sigh, Graviil pressed forward. "Then let us move to the last matter. No—it is not a question. It is truth."
His aura burst forth, roaring like a lion, his presence as crushing as the heart of the sun. His voice thundered like judgment itself. "Percival. I know you were the one who poisoned my daughter, Fyodora, all those years ago. I tried everything in my power to save her when she fell gravely ill—renowned pharmacists from across the world, the most potent healing potions, even the Divine Lionheart and the Holy Grail, the Chalice of Immortality."
His voice broke slightly, though his fury held steady. "Yet… nothing could heal her. I later discovered her ethereal core had long been shattered. She suffered. She died in agony."
Slowly, Graviil raised his radiant sword of light—Zadkiel. His words fell like a divine verdict. "You slaughtered your own blood without a second thought. So why would I not believe you vile enough to murder my daughter—your brother's beloved wife—just the same?"
"You were there when she was gravely ill—pregnant, only days away from bringing her second child into the world. You were the closest to her, the one who promised you would 'do everything in your power, with all your intelligence and knowledge, to cure her.'"
Graviil's voice trembled with divine wrath, his eyes blazing. "But instead… you poisoned her. Cold-bloodedly. With some vile concoction born of your devilish intellect. For there is no other explanation—she could never have contracted the Black Death. The Varmints are extinct."
He then pointed his sword of light towards Percival, his tone thunderous as judgment itself. "Tell me, Percival—DO I LIE?"
At last, Percival understood why Graviil had restrained his fury until now. A smile crept across his lips, wicked and devilish, as though savoring the moment. His reply came drenched in mockery, every syllable meant to wound.
"Accusing an innocent man of murder? How cruel of you, Emperor Graviil!" he sneered. "There's no way I would ever harm your daughter. Why would I want to poison her, my Lord? What reason could I possibly have?"
Lying bastard, Graviil thought, fury raging beneath the calm mask of his face.
Percival's smirk deepened, his tone lowering into something darker, colder—sarcasm laced with venom. "Threatening me won't do you any good. I know you're still aching from the loss of your wife and daughter, but pointing fingers at your age isn't wise."
His eyes narrowed, his words now whispered with chilling arrogance. "And even if it was me who poisoned her… what then? What would you hope to do?"
His aura began to swell, the air trembling around him as his voice grew sharper. "I am not afraid of you, Lord Graviil. Nor of the other heads of the Four Grand Royal Families. I may not be foolish enough to think I could defeat you all at once—but one-on-one? With preparation? I would triumph."
He spread his arms, his grin unshakable. "You are relics of a bygone age, long past your primes. This is not your Golden Era of conquest and glory. This… is my era to conquer."
His aura clashed violently with Graviil's, the two forces colliding in silence before the storm. The wind howled, silver hair and royal garments whipping in the gale. Graviil lowered his head slightly, his voice dropping to a chilling murmur.
"…Is that so?"
Before Percival could even form a reply, the world exploded in light. His vision blurred—then vanished. In less than a blink, Graviil had disappeared from sight.
And reappeared behind him.
Calm. Cold. Eyes like a lion before the kill.
Zadkiel flashed.
A clean, merciless strike.
Percival's head was severed in a single motion.