Some months ago, a faction of the Freedom Party had done the unthinkable and clawed their way into the sacred dungeons beneath the High God's domain.
They did not come to protest or kneel. They came with blades drawn and eyes set on a single purpose.
They extracted a royal who was undergoing punishment under divine judgment.
The act itself was blasphemy.
To storm the prisons beneath a god was to spit at heaven and survive long enough to boast about it. The walls of that place had stood for eras, layered with seals, watched by entities that did not sleep, guarded by laws that bent reality itself.
Yet they breached it.
The royals trembled, not from fear alone but from insult. Such audacity could not go unanswered. It was a declaration that divine authority could be challenged. It was proof that the Freedom Party possessed not only strength but conviction twisted enough to gamble against eternity.
Retribution came swiftly.
