(Execution Livestream Continuation, 'The Pit')

At first, there was nothing, as the sky above the execution grounds remained wide and empty, showing no sign of disturbance or warning, its vastness stretching uninterrupted in every direction without giving anyone a reason to look up.

However, that changed moments later, as a faint distortion formed high in the upper atmosphere.

*Ripple*

No mortal eyes could notice the distortion yet, but those at the Monarch-tier and beyond could perceive immediately that the space above them was bending inwards at an unnatural angle.

*Gulp*

The Righteous Commanders swallowed nervously as the distortion slowly deepened, expanding just enough to become recognisable, until something finally emerged from its center, a distant silhouette descending without haste, its presence unmistakable to those who understood what they were seeing even before its shape became clear.

"What do we do now?"

Many wondered in rising panic, as Soron continued his slow descent until his outline became clear even to mortal eyes, his form cutting cleanly through cloud and wind while drifting downward with both hands clasped calmly behind his back, posture relaxed and entirely unthreatened, his cloak trailing behind him like a dark shape drawn from the sky itself.

His gaze remained level and unhurried, carrying a calm that felt profoundly out of place on an execution ground, as that very composure unsettled those watching long before he came any closer.

"It's the Evil Cult God! It's Soron!"

The scream tore through the outer rings first, panic bleeding instantly into the words as heads snapped upward across the battlefield and spectators reacted on instinct alone, some scrambling to their feet while others stumbled backward in blind fear, as trillions of eyes across the universe finally locked onto the descending figure.

"He's really here…."

"Gods above, he's actually here…."

"Run—can we even run?!"

The murmurs collapsed into chaos as the presence pressing down from above grew heavier with every passing second, not through motion or force, but through inevitability, as though the sky itself were slowly lowering toward the ground.

Soron did nothing to acknowledge them.

He continued his descent at the same measured pace, eyes unfocused from the mortals below as though they were scenery rather than lives, while within him intent began to stir, unfurling gradually and violently, as killing intent spread outward in a widening sphere meant to blanket the entire battlefield at once.

It was not rushed.

It was not frenzied.

It was vast, cold, and unapologetic in its certainty, as pressure descended with the clear intent to crush lungs, still hearts, and extinguish billions of mortal lives in a single, effortless act, not as cruelty, but as statement.

A reminder.

An opening declaration of war.

Yet before that pressure could fully settle—

The ground answered.

*THRUMMM*

Across the execution grounds, beneath the feet of every soldier standing within the Chakravyuh, dormant runic arrays flared to life in perfect unison, ancient symbols igniting with blinding brilliance as layered geometries snapped into place, mana surging upward through prepared channels with flawless synchronization.

A planetary-scale aura shield bloomed upward like a translucent dome, wrapping around the mortal ranks with divine precision, as Soron's killing intent slammed into it head-on and dispersed harmlessly, pressure shattering and bleeding away into nothingness like waves breaking against an immovable shore.

Gasps echoed as soldiers staggered, not from pain, but from sudden release, as the crushing weight vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

Soron slowed, just slightly, his eyes sharpening as he felt his intent rebound cleanly and without resistance, not repelled through effort, but denied through design.

'The first wonder of the Chakravyuh… The Godly Aura Shield,' he thought calmly, understanding settling in without surprise.

"Ha–"

A faint, almost imperceptible chuckle rose and was suppressed immediately, the sound lost between sky and ground as something bitter and nostalgic tightened in his chest, not for the soldiers beneath the shield, but for the brilliance behind the construct itself.

As his gaze traced the glowing pathways beneath the barrier, memories surfaced unbidden, diagrams and arguments, late-night debates and impossible equations flickering through his mind as recognition took hold.

This was his father's work.

A masterpiece designed to fight tyrants.

And now—

Now it was aimed at him.

'Snuffing out two billion mortals would be no effort at all,' he reflected without pride, only fact, 'if only I could press down on them with my aura.'

His eyes narrowed faintly.

'But unfortunately… I can't.'

The shield held perfectly, dispersing divine pressure with merciless efficiency, as though mocking the simplicity of brute force and reminding him that this battlefield was never meant to be opened that way.

Below, stunned silence spread as realization set in, soldiers glancing at one another with renewed confidence while whispers shifted from fear to awe.

"He tried to kill us…."

"And it didn't work…."

"The formation stopped him…."

"Gods above, we're safe…."

Hope—fragile and dangerous—began to bloom.

High above them, Soron continued his descent, unbothered and unhurried, angling himself toward the innermost circle of the Chakravyuh with eyes fixed on the execution platform at its heart, fully aware that the moment he crossed that threshold, the formation would shift from dormant defense to full activation.

He knew the sequence.

He knew the response.

He knew the cost.

The instant he entered, the other Gods would move, stepping into prepared positions like pieces snapping into a long-practiced board, as the Chakravyuh would bind him fully to the third dimension, severing retreat and locking the battlefield into a closed system designed to kill Gods slowly rather than quickly.

A cage.

Perfectly engineered.

Yet still—

He descended.

Because Soron had never believed in half-measures, and he understood a truth the others relied upon without fully respecting.

There was no retreat left.

No alternative path.

No clever bypass that did not end with Veyr's death and the Cult's collapse soon after.

The lion's den waited below, jaws wide open and bait still breathing.

And Soron walked toward it calmly, cloak trailing behind him, hands clasped behind his back, gaze steady and resolute.

Because he understood that the only way out of the lion's den—

Was straight through it.

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