The marketplace still reeked of iron and dust. Blood ran across the cracks of stone, painting the ground where Dr. Avenza had fallen. His lifeless body sprawled like a monument to defiance… crushed.
The people knelt, heads bowed, their fear thick as smoke. Yet among their silence, Azeron's thoughts burned louder than their screams ever could.
For a moment, his hand lingered in the air where Avenza's soul had flickered and vanished.For a moment… he had considered sparing it.Letting the man's defiance become an eternal warning.A lesson carved in whispers.
But now, as shadows curled around his blurred, godlike visage, a chilling clarity struck him.
Azeron (low, thunderous):"Mercy… Mercy itself is corruption."
The crowd shuddered at the words, though none dared raise their heads.
Azeron:"I thought once, that leaving a man broken yet breathing could be enough. That their humiliation would serve me. That their suffering would echo louder than their death. But no… even a shattered dog may dream of freedom."
He turned his blurred face skyward, voice growing sharper, more resonant.
Azeron:"To grant mercy… is to plant a seed of rebellion. And rebellion spreads like fire. It festers, multiplies, and poisons even those who once obeyed."
He lifted his hand, shadow-fire igniting in his palm, a strange energy darker than night itself. His voice became a decree.
Azeron:"There will be no seeds. No mercy. No survivors of defiance. For obedience is not a choice. It is truth. It is law. And law does not forgive… it erases."
A murmur rippled through the people — despair, awe, dread — but none spoke.
Then, Azeron's gaze fell back to the corpse of Avenza. The staff lay broken. His body already stiffened with the stillness of death. But Azeron raised his hand, summoning shadows that pierced into the scholar's chest.
The soul rose, screaming — a faint light, trembling against the darkness.
Dr. Avenza's Soul (faint, defiant whisper):"Even death cannot chain truth…"
The soul flickered like a dying flame. But Azeron's laugh cut through it, deep and merciless.
Azeron:"Then let truth die with you."
The shadows tightened, devouring the light until it shattered, fragments scattering into nothing. Not even a trace remained. The scholar had been erased — body, soul, memory.
The people screamed and wailed, some pressing their foreheads into the ground, others sobbing prayers that he would not turn next to them.
But Azeron stood tall, satisfaction burning in his blurred, divine face.
Azeron (roaring across the heavens):"This is satisfaction! This is dominion! From this day forward, let it be known: I do not conquer bodies alone — I conquer souls. To defy me is to vanish. To resist me is to cease. To kneel… is to exist."
The air quaked. Lightning cracked across the sky though no storm was present. His words etched themselves into the hearts of the people — not just as fear, but as law.
Finally, Azeron lowered his voice, calm but heavy, each word like an iron chain tightening around the world.
Azeron:"I am not king. I am not tyrant. I am the end and the beginning. I am not to be remembered… I am to be obeyed."
He raised one hand, shadows parting the heavens themselves. His final words of the day struck like a brand:
Azeron (final decree):"Mercy is myth. Rebellion is dust. And Azeron… is eternal."