At the centre of the city is the High Courts of Hebron.
Its sheer presence dominates the skyline, encircled by a meticulous ring of towering skyscrapers and sleek structures, which all seem to bow in reverence to this sacred edifice. The cityscape's geometry appears to converge on the Coliseum, creating a perfectly circular enclave around it, as if the structure itself is a celestial anchor around which the metropolis revolves.
The Coliseum's exterior, rising to over a hundred metrons, its silhouette looms like a monumental guardian.
The outer levels are a series of concentric rings. These rings, meticulously carved and polished, create a mesmerizing visual effect, as if the structure is a vast, elegant spiral leading down into a sanctum of stillness. A colonnade of arches frames the entire edifice, each arch meticulously engineered to both support and beautify. These arches are not just structural; they are adorned with luminescent inlays that emit a soft, ambient glow.
Within this grand ring, the interior of the Coliseum is a breathtaking void of space. The central arena, a vast expanse of polished stone.
Perched at the zenith of its inner sanctum, is the centered protruding balcony—a vantage point of both authority and reverence. At the balcony's core, seated in an aura of command and gravitas, are the Magistrate and the two arbitrators. Their presence is central to the Coliseum's function, and the design of the balcony underscores their elevated status. The Magistrate's seat is an opulent throne-like structure, crafted from a fusion of organic metal and crystalline composites, which responds to the Magistrate's touch with a soft, warm luminescence. Equipped with embedded holo-screens.
To the left, one gallery houses the High General, Commanders, and Brigadiers of the Bellatoris, the elite military cadre. This gallery is distinguished by its rugged, metallic aesthetics, with integrated tactical displays that project real-time data and strategic maps. The walls are adorned with digital banners and insignias of the Bellatoris, constantly shifting to display ranks, honours, and current operational statuses.
Within the expansive infrastructure, the tiered stands above is a circular structure, overflowing with government representatives, high-ranking officials, and esteemed dignitaries, the tiered stands are a veritable assembly of power and influence. Delegates from across the galaxy are arrayed in their finest regalia, their attire a dazzling display of advanced fabrics and technologies. The presence of these figures adds a palpable weight to the atmosphere, as their collective gaze and occasional murmurs resonate through the grand space.
"Bring in the accused."
The massive doors retract from each other to usher in a sequence of Bellator soldiers Each soldier is clad in sleek, reflective armour that merges seamlessly with their biomechanical enhancements. The armour, predominantly white with metallic accents, its surface adorned with glowing sigils. The two rows deviate from each other and wind around the entire ground level, perfectly equidistant from each other to stand in position and to stand on guard.
Promptly, two Bellators wrestle in a volatile detainee, an avionic technician that supervises the maintenance of travel crafts in the Capital city. Along with his additional onuses of aiding in the erection or enhancements of city holoboards.
The accused was reported because of his suspicious behaviour of late. Since there was more than one similar concern, the city custodians obtained permission to search his dwelling. And there they found something that makes him guilty of high treason.
The male Erethean's neck and hands are bound by state-of-the-art steel fetters that lock around his wrists, rimmed with glowing emerald lines. The two Bellator soldiers escort him to the centre before shoving him forward. They step back in sync, rigidly clasping their hands behind their backs.
Presently, the two city custodians that had searched the technician's dwelling take to the stands. They enter the court of law, striding inside to align themselves with the Bellator soldiers that stand behind the accused. The row of law enforcers and the troop of Bellators that encircle the interior simultaneously jab their right forearms across their chests in hail of the Prious. And in respect of the righteous Magistrate.
"Delias Torp, you have been found guilty of high treason. Before the proceedings begin, I ask of you: How do you plead?" the arbitrator questions. The one standing on the right-hand side of the Magistrate.
The accused slowly raises his bowed head and slings it back to launch a glob of saliva at the ground. "Not guilty." The accused smirks. Ripples of green tremors through the collar and fetters; a searing retribution.
The Magistrate activates the data screen that is embedded in his armchair. And the holographic case files projects out of the screen.
A city custodian steps forward and salutes the Magistrate.
"Consent to speak, your honour."
The Magistrate flicks his wrist in approval.
"During the search of the accused's dwelling. We found nothing out of the ordinary until we discovered a concealed underground compartment. It was all but empty except for the symbol that sat on display like a hallowed shrine."
The Magistrate's silver brows like steel tufts furrow. He consults the open case file and scrolls through it until his starry eyes land on the symbol. The grey hue of the Magistrate's face drains of its metallic sheen. And he impales the accused with a frosty look.
"Why do you carry this ancient Mark? How do you know of it?"
The uneasiness and alarm mingled in the Magistrate's tone evokes interest and yet stirs concern in the hearts of the present high-ranking leaders.
The accused barks out a loud maniacal howl of laughter that echoes throughout the court.
"Does it surprise you that I know more than the indoctrinating lies the Prious spouts?"
A burst of bewildered mutterings surges through the stands in a wave. The voices of the assembled dignitaries and government representatives create a storm of angry whispers and fragmented conversations that cascade through the tiers like a turbulent sea.
"What does the Mark mean to you?" the Magistrate asks.
His question is met with a roar of laughter, a guffaw to combat their outrage.
"It symbolises justice. It symbolises him." The frenzied look in the accused's eyes blaze with the fervour that augments his voice. "Kairfell's thoroughfares will be flooded with the blood of its citizens. The Capitis realms will burn and the Priosess will be brought to their knees. They will beg for mercy and will receive none!"
The stands erupt as the spectators begin to shout slurs of condemnation.
"Heretic!"
"Radical!
The furious furore shatters the atmosphere as Bellator dashes forward to thrust his boot into the back of the accused's leg—he drops to one knee. The Bellator props up his hand blaster and presses the tip of the barrel against the back of his head aggressively.
"Stand down!" the Magistrate booms and rises from his festooned seat.
The Bellator withdraws his blaster to neatly position it across his chest. He takes a measured step back to return to his place. As the Magistrate reaches the railing, he leans slightly forward, his imposing figure casting a formidable shadow across the vast arena below. His attire—an elaborate robe of deep cerulean adorned with metallic filigree—flows around him with every movement, enhancing his already commanding presence. The look in his eyes is a tempest of anger and authority. The Magistrate's eyes, framed by furrowed brows and a stern expression, seem to burn with an inner fire.
"Slaying me will not change what is coming. Coming for you all!" the accused screeches, "A cosmic reckoning of unparalleled magnitude, unmatched by anything this universe has ever witnessed, is now upon us. No power in existence can halt their advance. Nothing, indeed, stands in their way!"
The accused shuffles forward on his knees and raises his bound hands in a prayer-like gesture and closes his eyes. "He will cleanse the cosmic plain from its decadence and those who are guilty will weep tears stained with blood."
"Enough of this blasphemy! I hereby condemn you, Delias Torp to death." The haze of fury lifts and the Magistrate heaves out an angered breath. "May your passing serve as an example that Kairfell is a stronghold that can never fall. And the Bellatoris is the sword and shield that protects our empire. We bow to none and we destroy those who dare to think otherwise."
The Magistrate's patriotic words arouse a cheer that reverberates through the court as all the high-ranking officials and military leaders thunder a deafening applause. The Bellators instantly lunge for the accused, both grabbing his arms on either side and locking him in their iron grip. The Bellators drag him out of the arena. Everyone else begins to leak out of the exits.
The Magistrate turns his back on the cheering crowds and quietly addresses the two arbitrators. "Alert the Prious at once. This is a threat to interplanetary security."