One by one, names were called.
Each time, a man was dragged from the crowd—nobles, officers, industrialists—faces pale, voices shaking as they tried to justify themselves. Some spoke of duty, others of necessity, some even tried to twist their greed into patriotism.
It didn't matter.
One after another, their answers failed.
And one after another, their souls were torn from their bodies and absorbed into the waiting scythe above.
The ballroom grew quieter with each fall.
The survivors stood frozen, too terrified to even breathe loudly. Whatever masks they wore before—status, pride, influence—had long since shattered.
They were human now.
Just human.
Afraid of death.
Daniel walked slowly through the hall, stepping past lifeless bodies scattered across the polished floor.
"As expected," he said calmly. "Your bodies may be human… but your hearts are not."
His gaze moved across the remaining guests.
"Because no sane person would celebrate in a hall like this while millions are dying in war."
No one dared respond.
Then Daniel stopped.
"And now…"
His voice lowered slightly.
"Our final contestant."
The scythe above trembled faintly.
Daniel turned his head toward a man standing among the officers.
"General Ludendorff."
Silence fell even deeper.
For a brief second, it seemed like the man would step forward like the others.
Instead—
A sudden blur cut through the air.
Ludendorff didn't answer. He attacked.
His fist came straight for Daniel's face, moving with unnatural speed and force. The effect of the enhanced gas was obvious; his strength had crossed far beyond that of a normal human, his muscles straining as he put everything into that single strike.
But Daniel didn't step back.
He simply raised his hand and caught the punch.
The impact stopped dead.
The sound echoed through the hall, yet Daniel didn't move an inch.
Ludendorff's expression shifted from aggression to shock as he tried to push forward, but his arm refused to budge.
Daniel's fingers tightened around his fist.
"Do you really think drugs can make you strong?" he asked calmly, his voice cutting through the silence.
Ludendorff gritted his teeth and tried to pull back, but it was useless.
Daniel stepped closer.
"I really hate people like you," he continued, his tone lowering slightly. "Men who hide behind power and send millions to die for their own benefit."
Then, without any effort—
He twisted Ludendorff's arm.
A sharp crack rang out.
Ludendorff let out a strained sound, his body forced to bend with the motion, yet the unnatural strength in him kept him from collapsing completely.
Daniel watched him with a cold, steady gaze.
"Borrowed strength," he said quietly, "is still weakness."
Steve, who had been watching everything from the crowd, swallowed hard. When the god of death was angered, what followed was far worse than death itself.
"And as for your punishment," Daniel said slowly, "for ignoring the cries of your people… for wanting the world while fueling this war…"
His voice lowered, heavy and absolute.
"Let this be a warning to all of you. Life is a gift. It should be cherished—not spent like currency."
The shadows beneath his feet began to move.
At first, it was subtle.
Then—
They rose.
Black hands crawled out from his shadow, stretching across the floor before wrapping around Ludendorff's body. The general struggled violently, his enhanced strength pushing against them, trying to break free.
It didn't matter.
The shadows only tightened.
"No—!" Ludendorff shouted, trying to tear himself free, but more hands emerged, gripping him from every side.
Daniel watched without emotion.
"Now," he said calmly, "you will be trapped within my shadow… forever."
The hands dragged Ludendorff downward.
Slowly.
Relentlessly.
Until his body disappeared into the darkness beneath Daniel's feet.
The hall fell silent.
Then Daniel lifted his head and looked at the remaining guests.
"Let this be a warning," he said. "If this war continues any further…"
The shadows around him stretched faintly across the entire hall.
"My shadow is large enough to accommodate all of you."
His voice turned cold.
"Where death itself loses its meaning."
The next moment—
The lights returned.
The scythe vanished.
And Daniel was gone.
Only his words remained in the air.
"So by tomorrow morning…"
A faint echo lingered.
"The war should end."
The doors slowly opened.
One by one, the survivors stepped out of the hall.
No one spoke.
Their faces were pale, their movements unsteady, as if they had just walked out of a nightmare they could not wake from. They had survived, yet none of them felt lucky. What they had witnessed inside was not something the mind could simply forget.
They had seen death.
Not as an idea.
Not as a distant fear.
But as something that stood in front of them, spoke to them, judged them.
And now they had to live with it.
Each step they took away from the castle felt heavier, because the thought lingered in their minds—what if next time, it was them?
Diana watched them leave, her expression conflicted.
"Is it correct?" she asked quietly. "Are they innocent… just under the influence of Ares?"
Daniel stood beside her, looking at the emptying hall.
"Diana," he said calmly, "these people are far from innocent."
His gaze shifted slightly toward the doors.
"For them, sweet words don't work. They don't change because someone explains right and wrong. They change when they feel fear… when consequences become real."
He paused for a moment.
"And even then, not all of them will change."
Diana frowned slightly, still struggling with that answer.
Then—
A sudden crack echoed through the hall.
The ceiling above them shattered.
Stone and debris rained down as something crashed through from above and landed heavily on the floor.
The ground shook.
Dust filled the air.
Daniel looked up, his expression finally shifting with interest.
A faint smile appeared.
"Ares is here."
*****
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