Chapter 31: The Chains of Judgment
The city of Shinya trembled.
Every bell tolled, their thunderous echoes rolling through the streets like waves of doom. The air was thick with smoke from burning pyres and torches lit along the execution grounds. Banners of the Celtic High Council hung from every tower, their black-and-gold sigils fluttering ominously in the wind. The people gathered in silence, their faces a mixture of fear, despair, and anticipation.
At the center of the vast courtyard—the Plaza of Saints—stood the execution stage. Constructed of black stone and laced with runes that glowed with dark energy, it was not merely a platform for death but a symbol of the Council's dominance.
Three figures knelt upon it.
Moro, the rebellious heir of Jara, his chains bound tighter than ever, the Matrix pulsing faintly beneath his skin.
Kaya, her head bloodied but her spirit unbroken, glaring at the crowd as though daring anyone to celebrate.
King Hanks, stripped of his crown, humbled yet defiant, his jaw set in grim resolve.
Above them, seated upon high thrones, were the Celtic Highs. Robed in shadow, their bodies radiated a suffocating presence, their eyes burning with unnatural light. Their voices echoed as one, layered and chilling.
"Let all who dwell in Shinya witness. These traitors—Moro, Kaya, and Hanks—have defiled the Council, dared to break the sacred chains, and stirred rebellion among the weak. For this, they shall die."
The crowd shivered, though none spoke. To defy the Council was to invite death.
But among the silent masses, shadows moved. Rebels disguised as townsfolk. Eyes met. Hands tightened on concealed blades. Somewhere deep in the crowd, Herbet stood cloaked, his gaze locked on the stage. His squad—ragged, battered, but determined—were scattered across the plaza, waiting for the signal.
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The Prisoners Speak
Before the executioner could step forward, Moro raised his head. His voice, hoarse yet strong, rang across the plaza.
"People of Shinya! Look at what your masters do! They call this justice, but it is chains! They feed on your fear, they thrive on your silence. But I tell you this—Shinya can be free!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The Celtic Highs stirred, shadows rising in fury. One of them hissed:
"Silence, heretic."
But Moro pressed on. "My father, Jara, fought for this land before me! He bled so you would not kneel! And though I am bound, though they plan my death, his fire lives on in me—and in all of you who still dare to hope!"
The runes on the stage flared, chains tightening, forcing him to the ground. Kaya snarled against her restraints. "Cowards! You hide behind your power, afraid of the people you crush. You fear them because you know—one day—they will rise!"
Hanks, blood trickling from his mouth, lifted his head last. His voice was deep, steady. "I was once their servant. I obeyed their decrees. And for that, I carry shame. But no more. If I die today, let it be known—I die rebelling against them. And that rebellion will not end with me."
The people trembled, whispers spreading like wildfire. For the first time, doubt flickered in their eyes.
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The Highs Respond
The Celtic Highs rose as one, their presence crushing the atmosphere. Their voices shook the plaza like thunder.
"Fools! Your words are nothing! Hope is an illusion, freedom a lie! Shinya is eternal because we are eternal!"
The executioner stepped forward, a massive figure clad in black armor, his blade glowing with cursed light. He raised it high, preparing to strike Moro first.
The crowd held its breath.
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Herbet's Move
From within the throng, Herbet's voice cut like steel.
"NOW!"
The plaza erupted.
Dozens of rebels threw off their cloaks, blades flashing, arrows loosed from hidden vantage points. Smoke bombs burst, cloaking the square in chaos. Citizens screamed, scattering as the battle broke out.
Herbet surged forward, leading the charge, his axe cleaving through guards that rushed to protect the stage. Beside him, Kaya's squad fought like demons unleashed—shadows and steel dancing through the confusion.
"Protect the prisoners!" Herbet roared, cutting down a soldier and smashing another into the stone.
Explosions tore through the barricades, shaking the ground. Rebel horns sounded in the distance, and more fighters poured into the plaza, striking from alleys and rooftops.
The city had become a battlefield.
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The Clash
The Celtic Highs rose in fury, their hands outstretched, summoning storms of black energy that tore through the rebels like scythes. Entire squads were annihilated in a heartbeat, their bodies reduced to ash.
But the rebels did not falter. They pushed forward, knowing every step was paid in blood.
On the stage, the executioner swung his blade downward toward Moro—
Only for an arrow to whistle from the smoke, striking his arm and sending the strike off-course. Moro rolled, chains clattering, as Herbet leapt onto the platform, cleaving the executioner down in a single blow.
"On your feet, Moro!" Herbet shouted, breaking Kaya's restraints with a savage strike.
Kaya staggered up, spitting blood. "Took you long enough."
Herbet smirked grimly. "I like to make an entrance."
Hanks' chains shattered next, and though weakened, the king rose with fire in his eyes once more.
Moro grasped Herbet's forearm, meeting his eyes. "You came."
Herbet nodded. "Did you ever doubt it?"
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The Counterattack
The Council's roar shook the skies.
"INSOLENCE!"
A wave of shadow blasted across the plaza, scattering rebels like leaves. The Highs descended from their thrones, towering figures cloaked in divine darkness.
"Kill them all."
The battle intensified. Hawks appeared at the edge of the chaos, his twin blades cutting through rebel after rebel with surgical precision. His eyes locked onto Hanks, then Moro. A predator spotting his prey.
The rebels fought bravely, but they were outmatched. The ground ran red, smoke rising as hope teetered on the edge.
Yet, amid the carnage, a chant began to rise from the crowd—whispers at first, then louder, carried by the very citizens who had once been silent.
"Freedom… freedom… freedom!"
The Council turned, enraged, as the chant grew louder, defiance spreading like wildfire among the people.
And in that moment, Moro stood taller, his chains glowing with cracks of blue light as the Matrix within him surged against the darkness.
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The execution had failed.
But the war for Shinya had only just begun.
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