The crowd pressed together like a tide against the cliffs, their murmurs a cacophony of anticipation and dread. The jagged edge of the precipice loomed above a vast, roiling ocean, where the waves crashed with relentless fury. Atop this natural theater of death, a platform had been erected, sturdy and grim, with executioners standing beside their instruments of judgment.
Each tool of death was a spectacle in itself. A gleaming guillotine, its blade polished to a cruel brilliance, waited for its next victim. A noose, thick and frayed from use, swayed slightly in the ocean breeze. A pyre of dried wood stood stacked high, ready to devour its offering in flames. An iron maiden, foreboding and spiked, sat ominously at the edge, promising a slow, painful demise.
Guards stood by the condemned, their faces cold and impassive, gripping their weapons with disciplined precision. The accused—men and women of varying ages—stood bound, their faces twisted with fear, resignation, or defiance.
At the center of it all, an old man in flowing white robes stood on the platform, his arms raised high. The insignia of the Holy Archangel Micaela glimmered on his chest, reflecting the dim sunlight that struggled through the gathering clouds. His voice, rich with authority and a practiced cadence, boomed over the crowd.
"Repent, for your sins have bound you in chains heavier than iron!" His voice carried a fervor that silenced the murmuring crowd. "Some sins cannot be absolved by prayer or penance. They stain the soul and tether it to darkness. Only through the cleansing of death can these souls be purified and allowed entry into heaven."
The people hung on his words, nodding solemnly or whispering prayers of their own. The priest turned to the guards and gestured toward the first condemned. "Bring them forth, one by one, that they may receive judgment."
A man in his forties was dragged to the center of the platform. His face was pale, his hands trembling. The priest unrolled a scroll, his expression stoic as he read aloud. "Gorvan Veros, your crime is the murder of your wife's parents, driven by drunken rage and foolishness. Do you seek prayer before your execution?"
Gorvan nodded quickly, muttering desperate apologies under his breath. The priest placed a hand on his head and uttered a short prayer before stepping back. The guillotine fell swiftly, the crowd letting out a collective gasp as Gorvan's head tumbled into the waiting basket.
Next, a woman with sharp, darting eyes was brought forward. "Ellira Kros, your crime is the poisoning of your stepson, a child of innocence. Do you seek prayer before your execution?"
Ellira hesitated, her lips curling into a bitter sneer before she finally relented. The priest recited the prayer with mechanical precision, stepping back as the pyre was lit beneath her feet. Her screams echoed briefly before the flames consumed her, the crowd murmuring with a mix of satisfaction and horror.
And so it went, each sinner meeting their end by the priest's decree, until only one remained.
The guards marched forward, dragging a teenage boy with long black hair and a scar that traced his left chin like a sinister brand. Despite his youth, his presence radiated a calm that unnerved the crowd. He walked with dignity, his head held high as if the chains that bound him were mere ornaments.
The priest's hands trembled as he unrolled the final scroll, his eyes scanning the text. His face paled, and he staggered, clutching at his chest as if struck. "By the Archangel," he whispered, quickly bowing his head in a silent prayer.
Clearing his throat, the priest addressed the crowd. "This… this sinner is Kaelix. His crimes are many, his sins grievous."
He began to read, his voice faltering as he listed the charges. "Mass murder. Mutilation. Torture. Extortion. Drug peddling. Human trafficking. Theft. Arson. Countless acts of violence and destruction."
The crowd gasped, their murmurs rising into shouts of disbelief and anger. "How could someone so young commit such horrors?"
Kaelix tilted his head slightly, his expression still calm. But then, as the priest continued, Kaelix interrupted. "Human trafficking? That one's false. Couldn't even convince anyone to work with me, let alone allow me to traffic their goods."
The crowd erupted into furious jeers, their disdain boiling over. Some hurled insults, others rocks, which the guards quickly intercepted. "Monster! You deserve worse than death!"
The priest stared at him, torn between pity and revulsion. He shook his head as if trying to reconcile the boy's composure with the crimes he had committed. "Kaelix," he said solemnly, "by the universal law of Alievor, you are sentenced to death. But for your extensive sins, your punishment shall be by divine decree."
At this, the crowd fell silent. Divine punishment was rare, reserved for those whose actions had stained the fabric of the realms. Even Kaelix raised an eyebrow, though his calm demeanor never wavered.
The priest took a deep breath and turned toward the heavens as if seeking strength. "May the will of the Divine be done."
The priest raised his trembling hand, motioning the guards to drag Kaelix toward the elevated section of the platform. The crowd murmured with a mix of morbid curiosity and righteous anger as the young criminal was pushed forward, his chains clinking against the wooden planks.
From his robes, the priest drew forth a weathered tome bound in white leather and inscribed with golden symbols that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. The Angelic Codex, the holy book of those serving their Angels. Holding the book close to his chest, the priest closed his eyes, murmuring prayers to the Archangel Micaela.
"We beseech the heavens to cast judgment upon this sinner," he intoned, his voice carrying an almost desperate edge. "Reveal the punishment fitting for his sins, that his soul may be cleansed in the fires of divine justice!"
The crowd fell silent, the tension palpable as the seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity. The wind carried the faint cry of seabirds, their mournful calls the only sound until Kaelix broke the silence.
"Well," he said, his voice casual and unbothered. "If I'd been in the eastern realms, they'd have given me a medal and a free lunch instead of all this nonsense."
A ripple of shock ran through the crowd, quickly replaced by jeers and curses. Kaelix ignored them, his lips curling into a sardonic smirk. "Should've known better than to listen to that idiot drug peddler's directions. Probably set me up for this mess. Tch."
As his words faded, the Angelic Codex suddenly began to glow, the golden light spreading from its cover like liquid fire. The crowd gasped, shielding their eyes as the book opened itself in the priest's trembling hands. The pages turned on their own, stopping abruptly as shimmering runes filled the air above it.
The priest read the divine script, his lips moving silently as his face grew paler with every word. With a heavy sigh, he closed the book and turned to face the crowd. "The heavens have spoken," he declared, his voice heavy with finality. "This sinner shall be denied the right of prayer. His sentence is to die by Iron Maiden, his flesh consumed by fire."
The crowd gasped in unison, their shock growing as the priest continued. "And his body shall be cast into the ocean depths, where it will know no peace for eternity."
Kaelix raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Awfully dramatic," he muttered under his breath, drawing another wave of outrage from the crowd.
Two guards seized him, dragging him toward the Iron Maiden—a grotesque device of iron spikes that glinted wickedly in the light. As they forced him inside, the first spikes punctured his limbs, drawing blood. Kaelix flinched, his lips twitching but refusing to cry out.
Before the doors were shut, bundles of dried wood were packed into the Iron Maiden's base. Kaelix, his movements restricted, turned his head slightly toward the priest. His voice was calm, almost conversational.
"Tell me, Father," he began, the title laced with scorn, "do you feel righteous doing this? Condemning a teenager abandoned by your so-called great heaven's laws? Do you really believe sentencing me to death is justice?"
The priest stiffened, gripping the Angelic Codex tightly. Kaelix continued, his words sharp and deliberate. "While you preach about forgiveness and mercy, people starve in the streets, dying in the name of following the same values you claim to enforce. Tell me, does it feel good to punish those who had no order choice but to break these rules to live another day?"
The priest's voice trembled as he replied. "The things you did were not necessary for survival. Stop trying to justify your evil under the guise of desperation."
Kaelix chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "Justify? Oh no, Father. I'm not excusing anything. You want the truth? Here's the truth for you: Twenty percent of what I have done was for survival. The other eighty?" His smirk widened. "Because it was easier to do so. Just like what you're doing now. Killing me is the easy way out, isn't it? Instead of fixing the suffering you preach about to stop people like me from doing this, you slap a bandage on the wound by executing us. Tell me, Father, how righteous is that?"
The priest's face twisted in pain, the weight of Kaelix's words settling heavily on his shoulders. For a moment, he hesitated, then asked softly, "Do you… regret your actions?"
Kaelix laughed for the first time, a bitter, haunting sound that echoed across the platform. "Regret? Don't insult me old man! I made a promise to some important people long ago: Never should I regret what I do to this society. And I'll keep that promise to my grave and beyond."
The priest sighed deeply, his heart heavy with conflict. "May the heavens have mercy on your soul," he said finally, raising a trembling hand. "Close it."
The Iron Maiden's doors slammed shut with a sickening crunch, the spikes driving deeper into Kaelix's body. Blood seeped through the iron seams, staining the wood below, but the boy made no sound. Only the faint, wet puncturing of flesh echoed in the crowd's horrified silence.
The pyre was lit, flames licking at the base of the Iron Maiden. The priest turned to the crowd, his voice resolute yet sorrowful. "Let this be a lesson to us all. Evil, no matter how deeply rooted, cannot escape the judgment of the heavens. May we strive to build a world where such darkness is never born again."
The flames roared higher, consuming the Iron Maiden as the crowd watched in stunned silence. Kaelix, unseen but still defiant, awaited his final moments inside the inferno.