The Price of Power

The roar of the crowd was deafening, a tidal wave of sound that crashed against the palace walls.

What had begun as celebration had quickly morphed into something darker, more primal.

The people of the Sovereign Lands, long oppressed and neglected, had tasted the possibility of change—and now they hungered for more.

"Justice!" The cry rose from a thousand throats. "Death to the false king!"

Atenzi stood on the balcony, the crown of the Sovereign Lands heavy on his brow.

He had achieved his goal, toppled Henry VI without shedding a drop of blood.

Yet as he gazed out at the sea of faces contorted with rage and bloodlust, he realized that his victory was far from complete.

Behind him, in the opulent throne room, nobles and officials huddled in fearful clusters.

Henry VI, the deposed king, cowered behind a phalanx of guards, his face ashen with terror.

For a moment, Atenzi hesitated.

This wasn't part of his plan.

He had intended to exile Henry, to show mercy as a demonstration of his benevolence.

But the mob's fury was a living thing, a force of nature that threatened to sweep away everything in its path—including, perhaps, Atenzi himself if he stood against it.

As if sensing his indecision, the crowd's chants grew louder, more insistent.

"Execute the tyrant! Justice for the people!"

Atenzi raised his hands, calling for silence.

To his surprise—and secret relief—the roar subsided, though the tension in the air remained palpable.

"My people," he began, his voice still hoarse from his recent ordeal but carrying nonetheless. "I hear your cries for justice.

And justice you shall have."

A murmur of anticipation rippled through the crowd.

"Henry VI will stand trial for his crimes against the Sovereign Lands and its people.

If found guilty, he will face..." Atenzi paused, steeling himself for what he was about to say. "...execution."

The crowd erupted in cheers, bloodthirsty glee evident on many faces.

Atenzi felt a chill run down his spine.

What had he unleashed?

In the throne room, Henry's wail of despair was drowned out by the renewed roars from outside.

Atenzi turned, fixing the former king with a cold stare.

"Take him to the dungeons," he commanded the guards. "Prepare him for trial."

As Henry was dragged away, still pleading for mercy, Atenzi felt a strange sensation—a mix of revulsion and... excitement?

The power to decide a man's fate was intoxicating, he realized. A part of him he hadn't known existed reveled in it.

---

In a realm beyond mortal comprehension, two beings of immense power observed the unfolding drama.

Khaliq, resplendent in his outfit of pure light, frowned as he watched Atenzi's proclamation. "This was not what I had hoped for," he murmured.

Beside him, sprawled on a couch of living shadow, Iblis grinned, revealing teeth like sharpened stars. "Oh, come now, brother.

Surely you're not surprised?

Mortals are such delightfully corruptible creatures."

Khaliq's golden eyes narrowed. "The game is far from over, Iblis.

Atenzi may yet surprise us both."

Iblis's laughter echoed like distant thunder. "Oh, I'm counting on it."

---

The next few days passed in a blur of activity.

Atenzi, now officially installed as the ruler of the Sovereign Lands, found himself swept up in a whirlwind of responsibilities and decisions.

But looming over everything was the specter of Henry's impending trial and execution.

On the morning of the third day, Atenzi stood before a mirror in his new royal chambers, adjusting the crown that still felt foreign on his head.

His reflection stared back at him, golden eyes burning with an intensity that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

A knock at the door roused him from his contemplation. "Enter," he called.

A nervous-looking aide scurried in, bowing low. "My lord, everything is prepared.

The people are gathering in the square.

They await your judgment."

Atenzi nodded, a grim smile playing across his lips. "Then let us not keep them waiting."

The walk to the palace's great hall seemed to take an eternity.

Guards lined the corridors, their faces a mix of awe and fear as Atenzi passed.

In the hall itself, the remaining nobles and officials of the Sovereign Lands waited, along with representatives from every guild and district of the city.

And there, at the center of it all, knelt Henry VI.

The former king looked a shadow of his former self, his fine robes replaced by simple sackcloth, his face haggard and unwashed.

As Atenzi ascended to the throne—his throne now—a hush fell over the assembled crowd. He gazed out at the sea of expectant faces, feeling the weight of their hopes and fears pressing down upon him.

"Henry VI," Atenzi began, his voice ringing out clear and strong. "You stand accused of crimes against the people of the Sovereign Lands.

Of neglect, of squandering our resources while our enemies grow stronger.

How do you plead?"

Henry raised his head, his eyes meeting Atenzi's.

For a moment, a flicker of his old defiance shone through. "Not guilty," he croaked. "I did what I thought was best for our people."

A murmur of discontent rippled through the crowd.

Atenzi held up a hand for silence.

"Let the evidence be presented," he commanded.

What followed was a parade of witnesses and documents, each painting a damning picture of Henry's rule.

Tales of overtaxation, of lavish parties while the people starved, of crucial defenses left unmanned.

With each new revelation, the mood in the hall grew darker, the calls for Henry's head more insistent.

Finally, Atenzi raised his hand once more.

The hall fell silent, every eye upon him.

"Henry VI," he intoned, "the evidence against you is overwhelming.

You have failed your people, betrayed the trust placed in you as ruler of the Sovereign Lands."

Atenzi paused, allowing the tension to build. "The sentence is death."

The hall erupted in cheers and cries for blood.

But Atenzi wasn't finished.

He stood, descending from the throne to stand before the condemned man.

"You were meant to be our protector," Atenzi hissed, his voice low enough that only Henry could hear. "Instead, you cowered behind these walls while our enemies grew strong.

You feasted while children starved in the streets.

You are the embodiment of humanity's weakness, the reason we lost our rightful place in this world."

Atenzi's voice grew louder, his words now carrying to the entire hall. "Your execution will serve as a message—to our enemies, and to any who would betray humanity's cause.

We will no longer tolerate weakness.

We will no longer bow to those who would oppress us.

From this day forward, the Sovereign Lands—nay, all of humanity—rises anew!"

The crowd's roar was deafening.

As guards dragged Henry away to prepare him for his fate, Atenzi returned to his throne, a strange fire burning in his chest.

He had tasted true power now, had felt the exhilaration of bending an entire nation to his will.

And he wanted more.

---

Khaliq's frown deepened as he observed the scene unfolding in the Sovereign Lands. "This is not the path I had envisioned for him," he murmured.

Iblis, still lounging on his shadow couch, cackled with glee. "Oh, but it's so much more interesting this way, don't you think?

Your little wildcard is turning out to be quite the tyrant."

"The game is not over," Khaliq replied, though a note of uncertainty had crept into his voice. "Atenzi may yet find his way back to the light."

Iblis's grin widened, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. "Care to make another wager on that, brother?"

Khaliq did not reply, his golden eyes fixed on the unfolding drama below.

---

The execution was set for noon, to be carried out in the grand square before the palace.

As the appointed hour approached, Atenzi stood on the balcony, gazing out at the throng that had gathered to witness justice being served.

A part of him recoiled at what he was about to do.

This wasn't who he had been back on Earth, wasn't the path he had envisioned when he first arrived in this world.

But another part—a part that grew stronger with each passing moment—reveled in it.

This was power.

This was destiny.

As the bells tolled noon, Henry VI was led out onto a hastily constructed platform.

The former king's legs shook, barely able to support him as he was positioned before the block.

Atenzi raised his hand, and a hush fell over the square.

"People of the Sovereign Lands," he called out, his voice carrying to every corner of the vast space. "Today, we right the wrongs of the past.

Today, we send a message to all who would oppose us, who would seek to keep humanity chained and weakened."

He paused, his eyes sweeping over the crowd.

Their faces were a mix of anticipation, bloodlust, and—he noted with some concern—fear.

"Let this serve as a warning," Atenzi continued. "To our enemies beyond our borders, and to any who would betray us from within.

Humanity will no longer tolerate oppression. We will no longer bow to tyranny, be it from without or within."

With a nod to the executioner, Atenzi gave the final command. "Let justice be done."

The axe fell, and with it, the last vestiges of Atenzi's old self.

As the crowd cheered and Henry's blood stained the platform, Atenzi felt something fundamental shift within him.

He had crossed a line, had tasted a kind of power he had never known existed.

As he turned to reenter the palace, a commotion near the square's entrance caught his attention.

Guards were rushing about, their faces pale with fear.

An aide hurried up to Atenzi, his voice shaking as he delivered his report.

"My lord," the man gasped, "we've received word from our coastal watchtowers.

A vast fleet approaches from the east.

They fly the banner of Elizabeth Báthory."

Atenzi's blood ran cold.

The Crimson Countess, ruler of Bloodmire, was making her move.

And the Sovereign Lands, still reeling from its internal turmoil, was woefully unprepared.

As panic began to spread through the crowd, Atenzi's mind raced.

He had achieved power, had bent an entire nation to his will.

But now came the true test—could he hold onto it in the face of an overwhelming external threat?

The game, it seemed, was about to enter a new and deadlier phase.