He pointed sharply behind him—two Holy City guards carried a heavy, white-draped tray onto the high platform, placing it with a thud beside Phaethon.
The white cloth was yanked away!
A collective gasp rose from below, mingled with the terrified shrieks of some women.
On the tray lay Caenis's severed head! From the severed neck oozed a strange, faintly metallic, pale blue viscous fluid, glowing eerily in the dawn light.
Along the wound's edge, glimpses of inhuman metallic structures and conduits were faintly visible!
"See?!" Phaethon's voice thundered, filled with fury and pity. "She was not human! Never was! She was a fabricated puppet! A machine in human skin! A collection of kill commands programmed with 'expel the Chrysos Heirs' at its core!"
He pointed at the pale blue "blood," his voice resolute, shaking every soul present:
"It was her! Lurking within our highest authority for decades! Wielding the Cleansers' blades! Pushing countless of our fellow citizens into the fire! It was she who sowed discord, manufactured division, letting the human strength that should have united against the Black Tide bleed away in infighting! It was she who stabbed her own kind in the back while we teetered on the abyss's edge!"
"I have nailed the sinner's corpse to the gates of the Council of Elders! Every soul in the Holy City can verify the truth of my words!"
The crowd fell into utter dead silence. Fear was replaced by greater shock and outrage.
All those lingering doubts about the similarities among generations of Cleanser leaders now found their answer! A sense of betrayal, cold as a serpent, bit into every heart.
Phaethon's voice softened, yet carried a deeper anguish:
"I know, last night's bloodshed fills you with fear. Fear of me. Fear of an unknown tomorrow. You wonder, who is this person who can slay a fabricated puppet and seize the Council? A new tyrant? An agent of the Chrysos Heirs? Seeking to enslave you, to wring out your last dregs of worth?"
He shook his head slightly, a near-bitter smile touching his lips.
Then, under the gaze of tens of thousands, he performed an action no one expected.
Slowly, he raised his left hand. Before anyone could react, he swiftly drew a dagger and slashed a long cut across his own palm.
Phaethon heard a few familiar cries of alarm from the crowd, but he did not look their way.
One drop, two drops... crimson, warm, unmistakably human, mortal blood slowly welled up, coalesced,
Then, in the biting cold wind, dripped onto the cold stone of the high platform.
*Plip... plop...*
In the deathly quiet of the assembly ground, the sound was as clear as drumbeats.
"See clearly, citizens of Okhema!" Phaethon raised high his bleeding hand, letting that stark, pure crimson be exposed under the dawn's light! "My blood is red! It is warm! It is the same ordinary yet tenacious blood flowing within every human, every non-Chrysos being! I am one of you! I am no lofty descendant of gold! I am merely a mortal... a mortal who refuses to watch humanity slaughter itself on the eve of doom and march towards utter extinction!"
He lowered his hand, letting the falling blood bloom into small, stark red stains on the stone.
"I initiated this upheaval not for power! Not to enslave anyone!" His voice suddenly surged with passion, like burning flame, his eyes blazing as they swept the crowd.
"It is for 'survival'! To seize a sliver of hope for all of us, in this already shattered, relentlessly encroaching apocalypse!"
He spread his arms wide, as if to embrace the entire Holy City, all the people on the cliff:
"My fellow citizens! Look at the abyss beneath our feet! Look at the lost city-states in the distance! Look at the relentlessly advancing, all-consuming Black Tide! Do we have time left? Do we have the luxury to keep wasting our strength in infighting, suspicion, and digging our own graves over a long-rotten power structure, over the insane commands of a fabricated puppet?!"
"No! We are out of time!" His declaration was iron-clad, each word a hammer blow on the people's hearts.
"The cancer that was Caenis has been cut out! The Council's rotten structure has been broken! But this is only the beginning! It is us, struggling in the depths, gasping our first breath of free air as we breach the surface!"
His gaze turned piercingly sharp, filled with unwavering resolve:
"I, Phaethon! Stand here not to become a new Elder! Not to replace the Chrysos Heirs! All I seek are two words—'Salvation'!"
"I implore you! I beseech you! Cast aside past prejudices! Discard needless suspicion! Shatter all shackles that hinder our unity!"
He pointed towards the cowering remnants of the Council huddled in the corner of the assembly ground, his voice icy and commanding:
"The Council of Elders will be restructured! It will no longer be a lofty nest of decay and internal strife! It will become a beacon! A beacon that gathers all strength—whether you are human, a descendant with golden blood, a craftsman of ancient arts, a battle-hardened warrior, a scholar of wisdom—all together!"
"The Chrysos Heirs?" Phaethon's gaze turned to the distance, as if seeing through the clouds. "They are not the enemy! They are our kin, bound by blood, possessing great power, equally yearning for survival! They are indispensable allies for the Flame Chase Journey! The insane commands of that puppet Caenis must be utterly shattered! What we need is to unite every force we can, to build a great wall of flesh, blood, and steel against the Black Tide!"
His voice reached its zenith, like a tidal wave within a storm, brimming with unmatched power to move and rally:
"The Holy City of Okhema will no longer be a cage for infighting! It shall become the starting point of the 'Flame Chase Journey'! Humanity's final sanctuary! From this day forth, we have but one goal—Survival! Survival at any cost! Survival by uniting all our strength!"
"I do not promise you riches or eternal peace! The only promise I can make is to lead you, with our flesh, wisdom, and courage, to fight for a future! A future that may still be arduous, filled with sacrifice, but at least... a future where light exists!"
He took a deep breath; the cliff-top wind seemed to pause for a moment for him.
He raised his blood-stained hand, clenched it into a fist, and held it high aloft, like a battle standard piercing the gloom:
"Tell me, citizens of Okhema! Will you choose to wait for the end like maggots in a rotting mire, consumed by suspicion and infighting?"
"Or will you choose to believe in me! Believe in each other! Believe in the strength of our unity! Grip your weapons tight, kindle the Coreflame in your hearts, and follow me—to fight! To struggle! To spill the last drop of blood, shed the last drop of sweat, for that slender hope! To fight for survival! To fight for the future!"
"Tell me—your answer!"