The golden crown-mark upon Roze's forehead pulsed softly, illuminating the marble throne hall with light that carried both divinity and decay. Every Reverent stood silent, their eyes locked upon him—the boy who had just dethroned their supposed leader. The silence was thick, charged with awe and fear, until Roze's calm voice sliced through it like a blade through silk.
"Amandon," he said slowly, his tone deliberate, "and all of you—do you still believe yourselves gods?"
Amandon's expression remained rigid, but a flicker of emotion—discomfort, perhaps even unease—flashed briefly in his eyes. Roze took a few steps forward, the faint echo of his footsteps filling the void where words dared not exist.
"You're not gods," Roze continued, his voice deepening, resonating through the air. "Not divine protectors. Not celestial beings sent to 'guide' this world. You're foreigners—aliens to this planet. You came from other realms… other dying worlds."
The Reverents shifted slightly, glancing among one another, their once-pristine confidence thinning.
Roze's crimson eyes glimmered with grim satisfaction. "Your worlds were consumed, weren't they? By something greater. Something supreme. So you all fled—every last one of you—and gathered here, on this fragile planet, trying to build a defense line to protect yourselves. To survive."
Hexos lowered his head slightly, the faintest trace of a smile playing on his lips. Musan chuckled under his breath. Amandon, however, said nothing—his gaze fixed unblinkingly on Roze.
"Yes," Roze said, voice tightening. "That plan—that intention—was noble. Until you came, Amandon."
The sound of that name was venom now, dripping with accusation. The golden lights on the ceiling dimmed as Roze's aura swelled.
"You," he said, his voice cracking like thunder. "A servant of a supreme space being. Fengxi."
The air quivered. The mere utterance of that name sent visible ripples through the floor's reflection. Some of the Reverents recoiled slightly, eyes widening in disbelief—or perhaps in memories they had long buried.
"Yes," Roze continued, his tone both fierce and cold. "You serve Fengxi, don't you? The cosmic devourer who consumed your own world. You came here to prepare another sacrifice for your lord. This entire planet—this Earth—is nothing but an offering dish for him."
Amandon finally moved. "You speak nonsense, boy," he said sharply, though his voice trembled faintly. "Watch your words."
Roze smiled faintly. "Do I? Then tell me, why did you orchestrate the summoning ritual? Why did you summon not one, but five from Earth, and pit them against each other?"
Amandon's lips pressed into a line.
Roze spread his arms wide. "It wasn't about balance, was it? It wasn't about sharing power. You wanted conflict. You wanted their souls fractured, their blessings scattered across them like crumbs on the floor. Because scattered blessings are easier to consume."
The Reverents whispered among themselves. Hexos smirked. Mysialsia laughed softly behind her hand, her tone melodic and cruel. "He's not wrong, is he, Amandon?"
Amandon turned toward her with fury burning behind his calm exterior. "You dare mock me—"
But Roze cut him off, his voice booming across the hall. "You wanted to make this world tastier, didn't you?" His words were harsh, deliberate. "You wanted to season it with chaos, blood, and pain. You thought if mortals bathed this world in conflict, the supreme being would find it delicious. You were preparing a feast!"
The echoes of his voice crashed through the chamber like waves.
For the first time, Amandon's composure broke. His hand clenched tightly at his side, shadows and light swirling violently around him, his aura unstable. His perfect posture twisted into rage.
"You insolent worm!" he shouted, his voice shaking the very pillars. "You know nothing of what I've done for this world! You dare accuse me—"
But his fury was met with laughter.
It began softly—from Musan. Then Mysialsia joined, a silver laugh that cut like glass. Hexos's voice followed, smooth and dark, and then others joined, their laughter growing until the hall was filled with it. Reverents who once knelt to Amandon now watched him with mockery.
Roze stood among them, utterly still, eyes never leaving Amandon's twisted expression. "They laugh because they already knew," he said quietly. "You've ruled them through fear, threats, and lies. You silenced those who opposed you. You promised protection while feeding on despair."
Amandon's rage flared. "Silence!" His energy burst outward, shaking the entire palace. Cracks spread through the floor as golden-black lightning flickered around him.
Roze didn't move. Instead, he stepped forward once more, his aura rising to meet Amandon's. "You said I was bluffing before. But now, Amandon, the truth stands before you. You are finished. Your story ends here, servant of Fengxi."
Amandon's roar filled the air, but Roze's voice cut through it like a decree from fate itself.
"Your plans failed. Your conflict failed. And now you, too, will fade. You wanted to summon heroes from Earth to spread chaos—but all your blessings, all your curses, all your schemes—they've converged into me. I am the vessel of everything you wanted to control. And I am not your tool."
Roze's crown-mark flared violently, bathing the hall in pure light. Amandon staggered backward, the brilliance searing his flesh and aura alike. The other Reverents shielded their eyes as Roze's energy rose like a divine storm.
When the light faded, Amandon knelt—broken, trembling, his body steaming from within.
Roze looked down at him. His eyes were merciless. "You've been dead for a while now," he said softly. "You just hadn't realized it."
Amandon's head lifted slowly, his face a twisted mix of hatred and disbelief. "You… you think you've won?"
Roze tilted his head. "I don't think. I know."
The words struck like a verdict, final and absolute.
Amandon screamed, a sound that echoed through the cosmos—and then his body began to dissolve into fragments of gold and shadow, the remnants of his false divinity scattering into the air like dust in sunlight.
The laughter from the other Reverents returned—softer now, almost reverent.
When silence fell again, Roze turned slowly toward them. His presence filled the hall, heavier than any divine aura they had ever felt. His voice, though calm, carried a weight that made even the oldest Reverents lower their heads.
"Now," he said, "I will deliver new rules."
Every gaze locked upon him. The golden crown on his forehead gleamed brighter, casting long shadows behind each Reverent.