Despite the blood leaking from her lips and the tremble in her knees, General Runa stood tall, glaring at Kyle with defiance.
Her body, twisted by divine reshaping and weakened by rejection, was on the verge of collapse. And yet, her voice remained steady.
"I will never kneel. Even if my body gives out, my flame will burn bright for the gods... and for the people who believe in them."
Kyle regarded her with cold eyes, his blade now lowered.
Her spirit was admirable, but ultimately wasted. He didn’t bother pointing out that her ’gods’ had already abandoned her—her flesh was screaming it for her. Still, she could serve him. One last time.
"You’ve only got a few hours left. If you’re going to burn, then I’ll use that spark."
He said calmly, stepping toward her.
Before Runa could respond, Kyle surged forward, swift as a shadow.
His mana wrapped tightly around her like a web, locking her limbs in place and suppressing any last attempt at resistance. Her body twitched in his grasp, but she couldn’t break free.
Kyle didn’t dignify her with a response.
He returned to camp just before dawn. The air was still tense, soldiers on edge, preparing for whatever came next. As he emerged from the treeline, all eyes turned to him—and widened.
In his grip, barely conscious but still alive, was General Runa.
Melissa was the first to reach him, sword already halfway drawn.
"Yes. General Runa. The enemy’s divine champion."
Kyle said, tossing Runa forward, where she crumpled to the ground, bound and broken.
The gathered commanders and soldiers could only stare. Whispers turned to stunned silence. Bruce approached slowly, his jaw clenched.
"How... How is this even possible?"
"She called her god into her body. I beat him out of it."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Even the most seasoned knights looked stunned. A divine vessel, defeated and captured? It bordered on myth.
"You’re all too quick to be shocked. This is the path we chose. War against the divine. If you weren’t expecting this... then you haven’t been paying attention."
Kyle said. His voice, calm and clipped, cut through the gathering.
General Runa stirred slightly, coughing. The mana bonds held firm. Her pride wouldn’t let her faint.
Kyle turned to the Grand Duchess, who had approached quietly, eyes narrowed and gleaming with understanding.
"We need to make a statement. A public execution. Let this battlefield know who holds the advantage now."
The Grand Duchess nodded slowly.
"A general... a divine general. Executed in front of her troops. It’ll shake their morale to the core."
"She’s their symbol. If we cut her down where they can see... we break their spirit."
For a moment, Amana simply looked at him. There was no cruelty in his expression. Just strategy. Cold, efficient, and effective.
"Then I’ll take care of it. Give me one hour. When the sun rises, we’ll show the entire frontline the price of standing against us."
She said, her voice steel.
Kyle gave a small nod and turned away.
As he left, whispers began again—fear, awe, disbelief. But underneath it all, a flicker of something new.
Kyle had brought them a god’s vessel, defeated. Whatever tomorrow held, it would begin under his shadow.
The execution grounds were packed.
Soldiers, villagers, commanders, and nobles—every soul in the area had gathered to witness what none had ever dared dream: the public execution of a divine general.
General Runa stood in the center, bound in chains reinforced with anti-divine sigils. Her eyes, though weary, still burned with defiance.
Blood stained her armor, and her body trembled under the weight of broken divine connection. But her voice rang out clear.
"My god watches. My death is not the end."
She shouted, her words cutting through the murmurs of the crowd.
"I may fall here, but others will rise. Others more worthy, more prepared to receive his grace."
People began to whisper again, some fearful, others angry.
"You think this is a victory?"
"Fools! When he descends, when his power blankets this land, all your petty armies, your mortal pride—everything will crumble beneath his will. Only his loyal followers will be spared. The rest of you will kneel or burn!"
The Grand Duchess stood at the edge of the platform, her jaw tight. She gave no reply, no signal. She simply looked to the executioner.
General Runa’s head fell, her final expression frozen in pride and fury.
A hush fell over the crowd.
Then, the Grand Duchess stepped forward. She wore her armor like a second skin, her cloak fluttering behind her in the morning breeze.
"We do not kneel. We do not bend. And we do not bow to tyrants—gods or otherwise."
She said, voice steady and clear.
The silence broke with applause. The crowd roared, their fear tempered by resolve.
"Not while I draw breath."
Behind the stage, Kyle watched the crowd with narrowed eyes. He didn’t smile. Instead, he leaned toward Bruce, who stood beside him.
"Get ready. We’ve made a statement. They won’t take this lightly."
Bruce nodded, his expression turning grim.
"Another retaliation?"
Kyle’s gaze drifted upward, to the distant clouds.
"Worse. I can feel the shift in the air already."
Far from the battlefield, in one of the grand temples devoted to Goddess Charrin, the air shimmered with divine energy.
Golden light poured from the domed ceiling, illuminating a vast chamber filled with kneeling priests. At the center stood the high priestess, arms lifted in reverence, her expression rapturous.
And standing before her, veiled in radiant cloth, was the goddess herself.
Goddess Charrin’s form glowed with iridescent light. Her voice, calm and controlled, echoed through the chamber with unnatural weight.
"The time is upon us."
The gathered priests held their breath.
"They have executed one of our chosen. Defied our word. Made a mockery of our laws. This cannot be allowed."
The high priestess bowed deeply.
"Goddess, what would you have us do?"
Charrin’s eyes gleamed.
"Prepare a vessel. One worthy enough to house my divine essence."
"I shall descend upon the mortal world. I will show them the might of true divinity and purge the heresy that threatens to undo the world we’ve protected for eons."
She stepped down from her dais, golden chains forming at her feet, binding themselves to the sacred altar.
"There is a man. A danger greater than any mortal before him. He twists fate, undermines faith, and bears a soul too resistant to divine authority. His name is Kyle Armstrong."
The priests shivered at the name.
Charrin looked down at them.
"He is not a savior. He is a blight. And I will be the one to burn him from existence."
The high priestess pressed her forehead to the floor.
"As you command, Goddess."
Charrin raised her arms, golden light spiraling around her.
"Begin the preparations. I will not suffer failure."
The priests scattered at once, each assigned to sacred tasks—finding a vessel, drawing divine sigils, preparing the altar for descent.
The temple pulsed with frantic energy, divine and desperate. At the center of it all, Goddess Charrin stood unmoving, eyes fixed on the horizon.
"Your time is up, human."
She whispered coldly.