The sky above Bouten was gray when Lucas passed through the southern gate. The wind carried the scent of iron, damp earth, and something subtler an undercurrent of fear that never truly left this territory. The city had grown, but not from prosperity. The expansion Gatto had forced over the past months was not born of natural development. It was expansion by coercion, built by hands that had no choice.
Wooden and stone fortifications rose higher than before. The trenches were dug deeper. New structures stood tightly packed together, not as homes, but as barracks for laborers. In the distance, Lucas saw rows of citizens dragging massive timber beams with rough ropes cutting into their shoulders. Their backs were bent. Their faces were empty.
He did not need to ask who had ordered this.
Gatto.
Lucas walked without disguise. He no longer cared to move within shadows. If Gatto wished to see him coming, then so be it. Today was not about ambush or strategy. It was about a conversation that might determine the fate of thousands.
The main hall of Bouten's stronghold remained unchanged since Lucas had last seen it thick stone walls, towering candles melting slowly in iron stands, and a heavy wooden chair at the far end that resembled a throne more than anything else. Gatto sat upon it casually, one leg resting over the arm, his chin propped against his hand. He did not look surprised.
"I knew you would come," Gatto said lightly.
Lucas stopped several steps before the throne. "If you knew that, then you should also know why."
Gatto smiled faintly. "To stop me, of course. Or at least attempt to."
"I didn't come to fight."
"Unfortunate," Gatto replied, sounding genuinely disappointed. "Battle is more honest than conversation."
"It is conversation that decides whether battle is necessary."
Silence settled between them. Candle flames trembled as wind slipped through narrow stone slits in the walls. There were no glass windows in this age only openings that were sealed with heavy wooden panels when night fell. Late afternoon light entered in thin lines, dividing the stone floor into pale segments.
"I have read the book," Lucas finally said.
Gatto laughed softly, then louder, his voice echoing against the walls. "I know. And you came to preach about sin, about cycles, about Tyrants born from human Sin Energy."
Lucas did not react.
"I know everything written in it."
The laughter faded.
"I know about the origin of Tyrants," Gatto continued, rising from his seat and descending the small steps before the throne. "I know about my ancestors. I know how every act of oppression creates fractures in the human soul that eventually condense into energy—energy that accelerates the birth of the next monster."
Lucas narrowed his gaze slightly. "If you know that ... "
"I reject it."
The words sliced through the air.
"I know every line of that book," Gatto repeated, his voice now calmer, colder. "But I do not agree with it. It was written by people who feared power. They call it sin. They call it a curse. I call it potential."
Lucas held his stare.
"The addiction to power," Gatto continued, stepping closer. "The addiction to control, domination, the ability to bend lives at will… that is not weakness. It is sensation. And that sensation is real."
He stopped directly before Lucas.
"And it is enjoyable."
There was no madness in Gatto's voice. No shouting. No rage. That was what made it more terrifying.
Lucas inhaled slowly. "Your enjoyment gives birth to new Tyrants."
"And?" Gatto raised an eyebrow. "The world has always birthed something stronger than before. That is evolution."
"It is not evolution," Lucas replied. "It is accelerated ruin."
Gatto smiled again. "You believe too deeply that humanity must be saved."
"And you enjoy watching it collapse."
For the first time, something shifted in Gatto's expression. Not anger. Not offense. Interest.
"Do you know what fascinated me about that book?" he asked quietly. "It blames men like me for the birth of Tyrants. As if without oppression, without suffering, the world would be peaceful. But it forgets one thing."
"What?"
"Humans create sin even without being commanded."
Lucas did not immediately answer. Gatto was not entirely wrong. Sin Energy did not arise solely from tyranny. It was born from jealousy, petty greed, private hatred, quiet betrayal.
But there was a difference between human weakness and systemic oppression.
"You amplify the fire that already exists," Lucas said at last. "And you do it deliberately."
"Of course," Gatto replied lightly. "Why wouldn't I?"
Lucas stepped closer. "Every fracture you create, every soul you break, accelerates the emergence of the next Tyrant. You may feel powerful now, but you are building something you will not be able to control."
"I do not wish to control it," Gatto answered calmly. "I intend to ride it."
Lucas fell silent.
"You think I am unaware of that risk?" Gatto continued. "You think I do not know that one day something stronger may arise and destroy me? I know. And that knowledge makes everything feel alive."
A chill crept down Lucas's spine. "So this is not about legacy."
"Legacy?" Gatto scoffed. "Legacy is merely a convenient excuse. My ancestors may have started this cycle, but I am not bound to it. I choose it."
The word lingered heavily in the air.
Choose.
Not a victim of fate. Not a puppet of history. Not a reluctant heir.
He chose oppression.
Lucas lowered his head briefly, then looked up again. "Then listen to me—not as your enemy, but as someone who has also read that book."
Gatto crossed his arms.
"It does not speak only of destruction," Lucas continued. "It speaks of possibility."
"Ah," Gatto smirked. "The dullest part."
"It says Sin Energy can be transformed."
Gatto did not answer, but his gaze narrowed.
"Not erased," Lucas went on. "Not through extermination of humanity as Samir might conclude. But changed. Managed. Given space so it does not erupt into Tyrants."
Gatto gave a quiet laugh. "You and Samir. Two readers of the same text, reaching different endings."
Lucas did not deny it.
"Samir wants to absorb it all," Gatto said. "Empty the world so there is no source of sin left. You want to repair humanity. And I…" He shrugged. "I prefer to enjoy the reality that sin exists."
Lucas stared without blinking. "And when the next Tyrant rises from the suffering you create, and it does not bow to you?"
"Then I will fight it."
"And if you lose?"
Gatto smiled. "At least I lived according to my choice."
The sentence struck harder than any threat.
Lucas understood then. He was not speaking to a man who did not know. He was speaking to someone fully aware, who willingly walked toward the abyss.
"You call it pleasure," Lucas said quietly. "It is addiction."
"Yes," Gatto answered without hesitation. "And I do not wish to be cured."
Outside the hall, the sound of hammers striking wood echoed repeatedly the rhythm of forced labor that never ceased.
Lucas closed his eyes briefly. "You enslave the citizens of Bouten to expand your territory. And when it grows, you will enslave more."
"Efficient," Gatto replied lightly.
"You are cultivating a field of Sin Energy," Lucas pressed. "You are laying the foundation for the next Tyrant."
"And you came to stop me with words?"
Lucas opened his eyes. His gaze was firmer now.
"I came to give you a choice."
Gatto fell silent, then chuckled softly. "A choice? You just heard me admit I already chose."
"Then I will give you the consequence."
The silence that followed was deeper, sharper.
"I do not wish to kill you," Lucas said honestly. "But if you continue creating systematic suffering—if you continue accelerating the birth of Tyrants then I will have no other path."
Gatto studied him carefully.
"You have changed," he said quietly.
"Perhaps."
"You used to hesitate."
"I have read the book."
Gatto smiled faintly. "And you chose to become a savior."
"I chose not to be part of the same cycle."
Gatto walked back to his throne and sat, looking down at Lucas from above. "I will not stop."
Lucas was not surprised.
"Not because of legacy," Gatto continued. "Not because of curse. But because I enjoy power. I enjoy seeing the world move at my command. I enjoy the sensation when someone realizes their life depends on me."
Lucas felt the anger he had restrained begin to warm his chest, but he did not let it erupt.
"You are proving something," he said calmly.
"What?"
"That Tyrants are not always born from ignorance. Sometimes they are born from conscious choice."
Gatto grinned widely. "Then perhaps I am already a Tyrant without needing to change form."
The evening wind pushed harder through the stone slits, making the candle flames flicker violently.
Lucas turned to leave.
"You are giving up?" Gatto called.
Lucas stopped but did not turn fully. "No. I am acknowledging that today's negotiation is finished."
"And tomorrow?"
Lucas glanced back slightly. "Tomorrow, I will not come with words."
Gatto's laughter echoed through the hall as Lucas stepped outside. Yet beneath that laughter was something new ,not fear, not regret, but the quiet recognition that what would follow was no longer mere ideology.
Outside, the sun sank behind Bouten's ever-expanding walls. The citizens still labored. Chains still rattled. Hammers still struck wood.
Lucas paused in the courtyard before walking away. He knew one truth now with certainty.
Samir wished to end Tyrants by ending humanity.
Gatto wished to preserve the world as it was even if it hastened its destruction.
And he stood between those extremes, trying to protect something that may have been fractured for centuries the hope that sin need not be erased, but transformed.
The wind carried a thin veil of dust across his face.
The negotiation had failed.
The cycle had not stopped.
And Bouten, without realizing it, had become the center of the coming storm.