Lord of Deception

A storm gathered over the Imperial Capital. Dark clouds churned, blotting out the stars, as if the heavens themselves recoiled from what was about to unfold. Lightning crackled across the sky, illuminating the towering black spires of the Imperial Palace in eerie flashes.

Within the Grand Plaza, where executions and declarations of war were once made, a vast crowd had assembled. Nobles and commoners alike had been summoned by Imperial decree, their hushed whispers swallowed by the sheer magnitude of the moment.

At the heart of the plaza, upon a raised obsidian platform, stood Emperor Castiel. His golden robes billowed in the wind, a stark contrast to the dark storm above. His piercing amber eyes glowed with an unnatural radiance, divine energy thrumming beneath his skin.

And before him—the condemned.

Seven men, once high-ranking commanders of the Eastern Army, were kneeling in chains, their faces pale with fear. They had betrayed the Emperor, aligning themselves with Princess Seraphina's rebellion—and now, they were to be made an example of.

A hush fell over the crowd as the Emperor raised a single black-gloved hand. No executioner. No blade. Only him.

Then, he spoke.

"By decree of the Empire," Castiel's voice echoed unnaturally, resonating not just through the plaza, but through the very air, as if reality itself bent to his command. "I pass judgment upon those who would defy their ruler."

He lowered his hand.

And the world broke.

The seven traitors screamed as golden chains of pure celestial energy erupted from the ground, piercing through their bodies like divine spears. Their flesh sizzled, their veins glowed with holy fire—and in an instant, their bodies disintegrated into golden dust.

No blood. No remains. Only judgment.

The crowd gasped in terror. Many fell to their knees, praying, weeping—some out of fear, others in reverence. The Emperor had not simply executed them. He had erased them.

This was no longer just rule by power.

This was rule by divinity.

Across the plaza, high above in a shadowed balcony, Kael Arden watched.

His expression was unreadable, his mind calculating. The display of power had been deliberate, theatrical. Castiel was sending a message—not just to the nobles, but to Kael himself.

The Emperor was no longer relying on mortal means.

He had become something greater.

Beside Kael, Ilyssia tensed. "This changes things."

Kael remained silent. Processing. Analyzing.

Power like this was not granted freely.

The Archons had given the Emperor their favor—but at what cost? What had he offered them in return?

And more importantly—

How could Kael break him?

A smirk tugged at Kael's lips, cold and sharp as a dagger.

He would find out.

And when he did…

He would remind the Emperor that gods could bleed.

To Be Continued...