The silence that followed Myrith's final words was unbearable. The air in the colosseum had grown heavy, thick with the smell of iron and fear. Even the marble beneath them seemed to hum faintly from the echoes of power that had just been unleashed.
Myrith's gaze, golden and cold, lingered on the suspended goblins. Mudhand and his three surviving soldiers twisted helplessly in her telekinetic grasp. Their limbs jerked and spasmed, their eyes wide with terror as invisible forces held them inches from the ground. The space around them shimmered with psychic distortion.
Without speaking, Myrith flicked her wrist.
The four goblins were hurled through the nearest wall like toys. The marble cracked, dust spilling in a cloud. The sound of their bodies colliding with stone was dull and wet. One of them screamed a high, keening note that died too quickly. The wall itself bore a crater where they'd struck.
Before they could even slump to the floor, they were yanked back into the air. Blood dripped from Mudhand's mouth; one of his arms hung at an unnatural angle. The other three groaned weakly, their green skin now marred with deep purple bruises.
Myrith tilted her head slightly, her expression as placid as a still pond. She twisted her hand again, and the goblins were dragged along the surface of the wall, scraping against stone like meat against a grinder. The sound was sickening, bones scraping, skin peeling, stone shrieking.
The screams came again, this time raw and hoarse. The goblins flailed, but the invisible hold around them was merciless.
"I advise that you speak now," Myrith said, her voice calm and precise. "I am offering you a kindness you will not receive again."
Mudhand spat blood, his lips curling into something halfway between pain and defiance. "You think… you can break me?" His words came out in a gurgling rasp. "I won't say anything to you, human. Or to any of your kind. You better start scouting quickly and pray that the Gnarlak Kingdom doesn't march on you tomorrow."
He tried to sneer, even as he wheezed through his shattered ribs. "When they do, they'll burn your pretty city out of the sky."
He spat, not blood this time, but defiance aimed right toward Myrith.
The droplet never reached her. Myrith's boot connected with his face before it could. The impact was sharp and final. Mudhand's body flew several meters, skidding across the marble until he crashed into another wall, leaving a streak of red behind.
Myrith exhaled softly, her tone dropping into something colder. "I am running out of patience."
Her eyes flicked toward the three remaining goblins. The halberd beside her began to spin. Slowly at first, then faster until the air around it screamed. The weapon was no longer a blade; it was a blur of black and gold light.
She pointed the weapon forward. "Perhaps demonstration will suffice."
The halberd shot forward like a storm unleashed. It struck one of the goblins square in the chest, the sound of impact echoing through the colosseum. The goblin didn't have time to scream, the halberd's rotation shredded him midair, flesh and bone turning into a crimson mist that painted the wall behind him.
The weapon stopped just as suddenly, floating back into Myrith's hand. The two remaining goblins and Mudhand stared, eyes wide in disbelief. One of them vomited; the other let out a broken sob. Then both of them lost control of their bodies and wet themselves.
"I will ask again," Myrith said. "Where are your kings, your enemies, your allies, your strongholds?"
The two surviving goblins looked at each other. One of them trembled violently, tears streaming down his dirty face. The other found a flicker of courage or madness and screamed, "You'll die like all the rest of your kind! Filthy humans! Cowards hiding behind tricks and toys!"
Myrith blinked once, expression unchanged. "So be it."
Both goblins convulsed as invisible force seized their throats. They tried to speak, but the only sound was a choked gurgle. The pressure built until something snapped clean, sharp, final. Their throats tore open in a single, invisible stroke. Blood sprayed the ground in thin arcs.
The colosseum grew still again.
Myrith lowered her hand, her face unreadable. Only the faintest sigh escaped her lips. "I did warn them."
Mudhand was crawling now, his fingers slipping through the puddles of blood left by his men. His breath came in sharp, panicked bursts. He dragged himself across the floor, eyes wild, leaving a streak of red behind him.
Myrith began to walk toward him. Each step echoed. The golden trim of her armor glinted under the cold sunlight filtering through the broken ceiling.
Before she could reach him, Emma appeared at her side, kneeling lightly. Her armor was dusted with red, but her expression remained composed.
"My Lady," Emma said quietly. "We've already failed to retrieve any useful information. I asked to spare their leader, we'll torture him for days until he breaks."
Myrith's gaze didn't leave Mudhand. "Yes... this spectacle truly was just a waste."
Emma bowed her head. "It demonstrated your will. The others have seen what happens to defiance."
"That," Myrith replied, her tone dry, "was not the purpose."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Still. A lesson has been made."
Mudhand tried to laugh through the blood bubbling in his throat. "You'll regret this," he muttered weakly. "You'll choke on your own arrogance."
Myrith crouched beside him, the hem of her black-and-gold armor brushing the marble. She studied his broken form, then said quietly, "Arrogance is refusing to accept mercy when it's offered."
She stood, turning to Vrean, who was waiting at silent attention a few meters away. "Escort this one to the lower levels. Imprison him and heal him. I want him alive."
Vrean bowed his head. "Understood, Lady Myrith."
"Interrogate him daily," she continued. "I don't care if he talks or not. Guard him around the clock, twenty-five hours a day, seven days a week if you must. I will not have him dying out of pride before I decide his use."
Mudhand tried to lift his head, to snarl, but his jaw barely moved.
Vrean extended a hand. Mudhand's body rose from the ground, limp and barely conscious. The Esper Knight turned and began to walk toward the colosseum gates, the prisoner floating behind him like a discarded puppet.
Myrith watched them go, her golden eyes narrowing. "Prepare the rest," she said softly to Emma. "You, Vrean and I will explore the southern regions ourselves."
Emma nodded. "Understood."
The colosseum was left in silence again. The bodies, the shattered marble, and the metallic tang of blood all stood as quiet witnesses to what happened when the Citadel demanded answers.
---
Far away, in the citadel above the clouds, peace reigned once more.
In one of its vast wings, a group of a hundred humans farmers, civilians, wanderers were being led into a grand hall. The room was lined with ornate pillars of pale gold and white marble, its ceiling painted with a thousand stars. The floor was polished so perfectly it reflected faces like still water.
For most of them, it was the first time they had seen such beauty. The farmers clutched their hats and kept their heads low. Mothers held their children close, whispering reminders to stay quiet. Some of the younger ones couldn't resist gazing upward, wide-eyed, at the chandeliers that floated without chains.
"This way," said one of the guards, a female Esper Knight dressed in silver-trimmed armor and a maid's black uniform beneath it. Her helmet was off, revealing calm blue eyes and a face too serene to be human. She gestured toward a series of tables arranged in perfect symmetry.
"You are to rest here," she said gently. "Food will be provided."
With a snap of her fingers, several more armored attendants rolled in golden trollies laden with food, roasted meats, freshly baked bread, bowls of fruits that glistened like jewels. Steam curled up from the dishes in delicate swirls.
The humans stared. No one moved at first. They looked at one another, uncertain.
The maid smiled faintly. "Eat," she said. "You are guests of the Citadel now."
Then she turned and left the room.
For a moment, no one dared to touch anything. Then one of the children, unable to resist the smell, reached out for a piece of bread. His mother gasped but before she could scold him, the boy took a bite and made a sound of pure delight.
That broke the silence.
One by one, the others began to eat. Carefully at first, then eagerly. They tasted roasted meats softer than anything they'd ever had, soups rich with flavor, fruits sweeter than honey. Some began to cry quietly as they ate, realizing they hadn't felt full in years.
When they finished, conversation returned, low murmurs, soft laughter, disbelief. Some of the men leaned back, holding their stomachs. Others looked around nervously, as if expecting punishment for their indulgence.
The doors opened again.
Zareth entered.
Every person in the room froze. The air seemed to thicken. He wasn't as large as some knights, nor as ornate as Myrith, but his presence carried weight an invisible gravity that pressed on the lungs. His black armor shone like oil in candlelight, and his eyes, faintly glowing silver, scanned the room.
Two maids followed behind him silently. They began to collect the trollies, their movements smooth and efficient.
The humans rose to their feet instinctively, bowing their heads. No one dared speak.
Zareth stopped at the center of the room. His voice, when he spoke, was deep but calm. "You may sit."
No one moved until he added, "That was not a request."
Chairs scraped hurriedly as they obeyed.
Zareth's gaze swept over them until it stopped on two figures, Ria and Ethan. He motioned toward them with a single finger.
"You two," he said. "Come forward."
The pair exchanged nervous glances before stepping out from the group. Ria clutched Ethan's sleeve tightly as they approached.
When they reached him, two chairs slid across the floor by themselves, stopping neatly behind them. The motion was silent and smooth, telekinesis so casual it might as well have been breathing.
"Sit," Zareth said.
They sat.
For a long moment, he simply looked at them, as though weighing their worth with his eyes alone.
Finally, he spoke. "Tell me," he said slowly, "what you know. How did your people come to be in this condition? And what events brought you to our gates?"
Ria swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. "We… we were hiding. In the lowlands. We didn't mean to trespass, my lord."
Ethan clenched his hands together. "We just wanted safety. The goblins—"
Zareth raised a hand slightly, silencing him. His eyes gleamed faintly. "You will tell me everything," he said, voice calm but absolute. "From the first day your village fell, to the last night you fled."
The room was utterly still.