POV: The Tribunal
The air inside the majestic, gigantic Tribunal was thick with a tension that felt like a physical weight, pressing down on the lungs of every man present. Adorned with thirty-six gigantic thrones—with the central throne of blackened silver being the largest and most imposing—the chamber was the silent heart of the Church's power. Here, the Archbishop and his thirty-five bishops sat in a perfect semi-circle, discussing the singular matter that had fractured their unity: the execution of Aris.
"I vote it will be tomorrow," Bishop Lumen said, his voice a dry rasp that barely carried across the marble floor.
Lumen had suffered grievously from the initial punishment appointed to him by the Archbishop. His body mass had visibly reduced; he was a shadow of his former self, his ribs clearly visible beneath the fine weave of his religious garments and thobe. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his face was a landscape of gaunt hollows. Yet, despite his physical frailty, his eyes burned with a singular, toxic resentment for the man on the central throne.
"I suggest it will be held in three days," Archbishop Ashraf the Cinderborne replied. He leaned back, the ancient silver of his throne creaking softly. His glowing eyes scanned the room, exercising a deliberate, heavy authority that seemed to dim the golden light of the braziers.
"It is better for it to be tomorrow, your Excellency Archbishop," Lumen insisted, his bony fingers gripping the armrests of his throne until the wood groaned. "Delay only allows the seeds of the Bloods to take root in the public's mind. If we do not act with divine swiftness, we appear weak. We appear complicit."
"I am in authority of such things," Ashraf said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register that vibrated in the floorboards. "Know your place, Lumen. The boy is a high-level Sin user; the preparations for a public execution of his caliber require more than a single night's work."
"How about we conclude this in a vote?" Lumen countered, his voice shrill. He looked around the room, seeking the support of the other bishops who feared the dark aura they had witnessed earlier. "The law of the council states—"
"Know. Your. Place."
The Archbishop didn't raise his voice, but the sheer density of his intent made the air ripple. Lumen stiffened, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. Why has he gotten so domineering this meeting?! he thought alarmedly. The Cinderborne usually plays the diplomat, balancing the factions. This level of aggression is new. He swallowed his fear, convincing himself it was a bluff. Hm, doesn't matter. This guy is still spineless. He won't risk a full revolt.
"Your Excellency Archbishop, are you possibly denying democracy?" Lumen stated loudly, standing up on shaky legs to address the entire circle. "How come you are not allowing there to be a vote held? The Church of Luminara is a beacon of justice, not a dictatorship! We are a council of peers, not subjects!"
"You dare defy me?!"
The words didn't just break the silence; they shattered it. Archbishop Ashraf stood, his silhouette framed by the flickering light of ancient braziers. He didn't wait for a rebuttal. He didn't call for order. He simply lifted his hand, palm outstretched toward Lumen.
Lumen's eyes went wide. He had spent decades navigating the politics of the Church, and never once had he expected such a direct, violent action in the middle of a formal session. The surrounding bishops also froze, some half-rising from their thrones in alarm, their breaths hitching.
Before Lumen could even think what was going to happen to him, a shroud of cinders and white-hot embers erupted from the very oxygen around him.
"AHHHH! PLEASE!!! YOUR EXCELLENCY PLEASE STOP!!"
Lumen's screams were agonizing, a raw, wet sound that filled the chamber and echoed into the high rafters. The embers swirled in a tight, controlled vortex, clinging to his skin like starving insects. The smell of charred flesh began to permeate the holy sanctuary, clashing sickeningly with the scent of frankincense.
The surrounding bishops watched this sight in total, paralyzed horror.
"Your Excellency Archbishop! Please stop, this is too much!" one cried out, his voice cracking.
"Are you trying to kill him? Please stop, your Excellency!" another pleaded, though none dared step into the path of the swirling ash. They could see the heat distorting the air, turning the regal chamber into a localized oven.
After what felt like an eternity of Lumen's muffled wailing, Ashraf closed his hand into a fist. The cloud of embers vanished instantly, falling to the floor as harmless grey dust.
Lumen sat slumped in his throne, a shriveled mummy of a being. Miraculously, the highly flaming cinders had only seared his skin and the superficial layers of muscle; the Archbishop's control was so precise that the heat hadn't touched a single internal organ.
Bishop Lumen was charred to a crisp but still alive. His skin had turned a deep, obsidian black, cracked and weeping in places, but his chest still rose and fell in shallow, panicked bursts. He was a living statue of charcoal.
A few bishops from Lumen's faction started whispering, their voices trembling as they looked at their blackened leader.
"How could he do this..."
"Is he not afraid of the consequences? The Council will never forget this..."
"Why is he so bold today? It's as if he's inviting a war."
Ashraf's gaze snapped toward the whisperers, his eyes flaring with the heat of a furnace. "Silence. This is his punishment for daring to question me and my commands. Looks like your previous punishment wasn't good enough to teach you the hierarchy of this room." The Archbishop's lips curled into a thin, cold smile of satisfaction that terrified the onlookers more than the fire had.
The bishops were completely stunned, unable to speak a single word. The power dynamic of the Tribunal had shifted in a single, brutal moment.
"Alright," Ashraf said, his voice returning to a calm, business-like tone as he sat back down. "Like I said, it will be held three days later. Meeting adjourned."
POV: Merlin and his group
The Sinner Squad quarters were a sprawling complex of stone and silver, far removed from the golden opulence of the higher floors. Here, the air was colder. Merlin, Lucky, and Genius walked through the corridors toward the cafeteria, their footsteps echoing with a rhythmic precision.
As they walked, the group passed through a specialized equipment hallway. For a fleeting second, they stepped into a side-chamber to drop off their primary gear.
The light in the armory was dim, but it caught the glint of their unique armaments. Merlin unbuckled a heavy, velvet-lined case. Inside lay a pair of masterfully crafted Victorian-style firearms. They were forged from pure, cold silver, etched with delicate engravings of ivy and thorns that seemed to move when the light hit them. One was a long-barreled revolver with a grip of dark wood, and the other was a sleek, long-range rifle with a stock inlaid with ivory crosses. They looked less like weapons and more like relics, radiating a silent, deadly elegance.
Genius leaned his weapon against the rack. It was a rapier unlike any other—heavenly in its design, the hilt was a golden cage of intricate swirls that seemed to trap light within it. The blade itself was shimmering silver, so thin it was almost invisible, yet it hummed with a faint, holy frequency that suggested it could cut through space itself.
Lucky, however, took the longest with his gear. He slid a massive, silver gauntlet from his arm. It was a complex piece of engineering, composed of overlapping plates that looked like the claws of a sleeping beast. It wasn't just a weapon for striking; it was a focal point for his sloth-based style. Even as it sat idle on the table, the air around it seemed to lag, the dust motes slowing down as if the gauntlet were siphoning the very speed out of the room.
"Hey Merlin, I still haven't asked you," Lucky said quietly as they exited the armory and headed toward the cafeteria. "What exactly did you plan with Lord Archbishop and Bishop Ainsley? The air in the headquarters is getting weirder by the hour. I feel like I'm walking through a minefield."
"Yeah... I've been wanting to ask you this but I haven't had the chance," Genius added, his brow furrowed as he checked his watch. "The way you're carrying yourself... it's like you're already in the middle of a battle."
"Do not worry about this. You will see," Merlin said confidently, his eyes never wavering from the path ahead. "Let's go to the cafeteria. We need to keep up appearances, and the rumor mill is the best place to find out what the enemy thinks we know."
They reached the massive, gorgeous cafeteria. It was a space of high arches and long wooden tables, currently teeming with hundreds of Sinner Squad members. The air was a chaotic mix of the smell of roasting meat and the sound of dozens of different gossips and jokes clashing together.
They took their food portions—some of the highest-grade nutrients in the entire Kingdom of Luminara—and found a secluded table near the back wall. Before they could even begin eating, the conversations from the tables next to them began to drift over like toxic smoke.
"Hey, have you heard? The execution is set for three days from now," a random Sinner squadman said to his teammates, leaning over his tray. "It's for that sixteen-year-old kid, Aris. Apparently, he was a deep-cover espionage agent sent by the Bloods. Can you imagine? At that age?"
"Huh? Really?" a second, more eccentric-looking Sinner replied, his eyes wide. "That's great! One less scum on this miserable planet to worry about. If I had the chance, I'd kill him myself! Behead him and put his head on my wall as a trophy! Oh, how majestic that would be! I'd tell everyone I caught the 'Little Devil' myself."
"Jeez, that was fucking corny as hell. Just shut the fuck up," an angry Sinner from an adjacent table interjected, not even looking up from his soup. "You're one cringey cunt, aren't you? Thinking you could take down a High-Sin user."
"Oi, just shut the fuck up," the eccentric one snapped back. "You don't have to butt in every conversation, you obnoxious, miserable fuck. At least I have an imagination."
"The fuck did you say about me, you little shit?"
"Come on, this way, pussy! I'll show you who's miserable!"
The two Sinner Squad members stood up, their chairs clattering loudly against the stone floor, and headed toward the sparring mats to settle the "dumb battle" they had started over words.
"Holy hell, those two were the most unlikable fuckheads I have ever seen," the original Sinner said, shaking his head. "Anyway, what were we talking about?"
"The kid. The one getting executed in three days. The 'Bloods' spy."
"Ah yes. Quite disgusting, frankly, don't you think? Imagine being mind-fucked from such a young age just to be their slave. It's quite sad, really. Kid never had a chance to be normal."
"Yes, indeed," his companion agreed, tearing into a piece of bread. "Born to be brainwashed. Didn't even serve his purpose yet; caught on his first day. Talk about a failure. The Bloods are getting desperate if they're sending children to do a man's job."
"Yeah, quite the sloppy job. Apparently, when he awakened, cult members were just standing there like idiots, practically waving flags. And the guards searched his room for only a few minutes before finding a coded message hidden right under the mattress. Quite the sloppy agent, don't you agree? Almost makes you think they wanted him to get caught."
"Yeah, it's good that he's sloppy. We don't want such a person in our ranks, do we? Such a dumb fuck, to be honest. He probably thought he was a hero."
Merlin, Lucky, and Genius watched as the conversation devolved further into mindless debauchery and crude jokes about the boy's impending death. Merlin's grip on his fork tightened, the silver metal beginning to bend and hiss under the pressure of his suppressed aura.
"I have never seen or heard of such words being uttered in such a manner," Merlin said, his voice thick with pure disgust. "How can these buffoons be considered a holy shield meant to protect the Church of Luminara and the Kingdom? They speak of a child's life as if it were a poorly written play, unaware that they are merely puppets in a larger game."
"Oh well... back on topic," Lucky said, shaking his head as if to wash away the toxicity of the voices around them. He looked Merlin dead in the eye, his playful demeanor completely vanished. "Come on, dude. You have to at least spill the beans just a bit. Three days is a long time for that kid to sit in the dark, and it's a long time for us to sit here doing nothing."
Merlin looked at Lucky, his amethyst eyes softening just a fraction, but his resolve remained ironclad. "Do not challenge my words, Lucky. I told you: you will see it. The plan is in motion, and the Archbishop has secured the time we need. Take it as a surprise from me to you—a surprise that will rattle the very foundations of this cathedral."
"Alright, alright," Lucky said, holding his hands up in surrender and backing off. "This better be good, Merlin. For Aris's sake, it better be the best surprise you've ever pulled, because if it's not, we're all going to be sitting in cells right next to him."
Merlin didn't respond. He simply looked down at his meal, his mind already miles away, calculating the movements of guards, the timing of shifts, and the precise moment the silver barrels of his weapons would taste the air.