the end of world (3)

I hastily leave Victor's office, not without addressing him as I pass:

"Keep the bounty as payment."

I throw this sentence over my shoulder as I step through the door and ask:

"Where is Brenda?"

Before he has time to answer, I'm already in the streets, blending into the crowd.

With a quick glance, I see people heading toward the town hall, while small groups gather around the projectors scattered throughout the city.

As soon as I reach the central square, a crushing pressure weighs down on me, as if my heart is trying to rip itself from my chest. I keep telling myself it's all in my head, but my body refuses to listen. Come on, Sirius, since when does the prospect of your own death scare you?

What I feel is the presence of someone far above me, a predator at the top of the food chain.

Fortunately, my inner monologue eventually calms me.

After regaining my composure—though it lasted only a few seconds—I'm surprised to see the crowd continuing as if nothing happened. Was I the only one who felt this aura? Before this thought settles in my mind, I notice a small minority reacting the same way. Likely those who, like me, live with death daily.

A quick glance ahead is enough to identify the source of this oppressive presence.

My instincts scream at me to stay low. One wrong look, one false move, and he could take me down without even lifting a finger.

I merge into the crowd, avoiding eye contact. To do that, I empty my thoughts and focus on their silhouettes reflected in the eyes of the spectators—an old trick I learned during my many stakeouts for Victor.

He is an imposing man, in his forties, with a few days' worth of beard, dressed in a white uniform. Judging by the six other men accompanying him, they're inquisitors. The only difference between him and his squad? The number of stars on their shoulders: two for him, one for the others.

I deduce that this unit consists of an Intermediate and six Initiates.

The tall man, the one whose aura crushes the square, suddenly shouts to the crowd:

"Citizens of Astoria, I am Captain Grégoire, Second-Rank Inquisitor."

At his announcement, a shiver runs through the assembly. It's rare to see inquisitors in a remote town like Astoria—let alone a Second-Rank one.

"A thousand years ago, with the arrival of the Ether, our ancestors' world came to an end. Because while Ether granted us great powers…"

He pauses, capturing the audience's attention before manifesting a spear of lightning. In one smooth motion, he hurls it skyward, triggering a deafening explosion. A blast so powerful that, had he aimed at the crowd, no one within a kilometer would have survived.

Seizing the moment of stunned silence, he continues:

"That same Ether gave birth to the Calamities—monsters akin to natural disasters that ravaged our world."

A pause.

"I was like you. I was ignorant of the blood spilled by the Executors to spare us from chaos… until I joined the Order to carry on the legacy of those before me."

His speech is calculated, efficient. He knows exactly how to build tension.

"Alas, that time of ignorance is over. The Calamities advance further each day. They stand at the gates of the lands our ancestors reclaimed at the cost of rivers of blood and tears."

Hard to deny his talent for propaganda. The crowd stirs with excitement. Voices rise, volunteers already step forward, unaware of the sacrifice demanded.

"That is why I return from the capital with a decree from His Majesty, the Emperor. Citizens of Astoria, you are called to take up arms against humanity's scourge."

At the mention of the Emperor, the fervor surges. The man is a legend, a living god in the eyes of the people. Slandering him? Forget a trial—your own family would stone you on the spot.

"But know this—great power demands great sacrifice."

A movement in the crowd. Ten hooded, bound individuals are dragged toward the execution posts.

"These individuals are traitors to the Emperor. They attempted to sow discord and flee in secret."

The Executors remove their hoods. A shock ripples through the square—the mayor, influential officials… all those with the means to be informed, those smart enough to understand the scam behind this mass recruitment.

"These cowards will serve as an example. There will be no rights, no trial."

The carrot, then the stick. From the beginning, there was never a choice. This entire spectacle has one purpose: to galvanize the crowd, to turn fear into blind devotion.

What they don't know is that only 30% of them will survive the Awakening—and even then, not unscathed. The rest? A slow, agonizing death.

A perfect brainwashing.

The first voice screams "Traitor!" and the wave follows. A real witch hunt.

Honestly, I'm not sure I could have done better. Maybe I would have planted a few spies in the crowd to reveal incriminating evidence, intensify the fire. Create the illusion of divine judgment.

I don't have time to finish my thought.

My fists clench, my blood runs cold.

An Executor removes a hood, and I recognize her.

Brenda.

So that's where she was. She must have tried to flee after hearing the news.

Should I act?

No. I must not let my emotions drive me to stupidity. Even the weakest of these Executors could neutralize me. Without a unique power like theirs, I stand no chance.

I take a breath, try to calm myself, weigh the pros and cons…

Then I see her.

A figure slipping through the shadows of the buildings, discreet yet determined.

Lucy.

She's heading for the execution posts.

What is she planning?

Don't tell me she's about to—

Shit.