A heavy silence had fallen over the chamber after the king's verdict.
All eyes were frozen in place. Samuel, still on his knees upon the platform, head lowered, hadn't moved. Everything felt suspended in an unnatural tension.
Then, a creak. A heavy door slowly opened at the back of the hall.
A man entered.
Or rather… a mountain.
The executioner.
He stood over two meters tall, each step making the marble tiles tremble. He wore a long black cloak that dragged behind him, stained with ancient, dried blood. His chest was covered by a crude armor made of hammered iron plates, blackened by soot and gore. His face was hidden beneath a full helmet shaped like a skull, its eye sockets deep as if carved by death itself.
In his enormous hands, he held a titanic axe. The iron was black, serrated, with a wide, battered blade. It had severed more heads than one could count—a weapon with a memory of death.
The executioner advanced slowly, dragging the axe behind him with a chilling metallic scrape. He stopped just behind Samuel.
The High Priest stepped forward, ivory staff in hand, and cleared his throat.
"May this soul, lost in the mists of a world it failed to understand, be judged with mercy by the Three Crowned Kings. May their light pierce the darkness that clouds it. And if repentance lies within… may it be heard in the void. So goes the will of the Heavens."
Samuel closed his eyes. He did not tremble. He allowed a strange calm to settle over him.
Leïla… I'm coming.
He felt the air shift. The executioner had leaned in. His heavy breathing brushed against Samuel's neck. The axe was raised.
The priest gave the signal.
And in that split second—
A crash tore through the air.
The ceiling exploded.
A cry of shock, screams, fragments of stone, roof tiles clattering to the floor. The blast swept across the stands. Nobles screamed, shielding themselves. The golden knights rose to their feet, weapons drawn. Even the king narrowed his eyes in surprise.
Samuel sensed an odd stillness around him. He slowly opened his eyes…
The executioner's head, split cleanly in two from the crown, slumped on either side of his shoulders. His body collapsed in a cacophony of steel and flesh.
All eyes turned to the source of the strike.
Canon.
He stood just a few meters from Samuel, on the ground level. In one hand, he held a gigantic axe, its blood-red blade still dripping with the executioner's blood, the handle black as night. His other hand held a half-burned cigarette.
He exhaled a puff of smoke, eyes fixed on the king.
"Sorry, Your Majesty. But I owe this man. I won't let you kill him."
Chaos erupted in the hall. Nobles shouted. Guards stood, panicking. The four golden knights remained motionless, their eyes locked on the intruder.
But it wasn't over yet.
In a burst of motion, two more figures leapt down from the roof, landing beside Canon. Dante, katana drawn, positioned himself back-to-back with Canon, ready to hold the line.
And Helydia…
Her body transformed mid-air, taking on her semi-arachnid form.
Her legs stretched, splitting apart. A black, chitinous carapace wrapped around her back, and long spider-like limbs sprouted from her hips. Razor-sharp claws replaced her hands. The instant she hit the ground, she moved in front of Samuel and, with a metallic hiss, slashed through his chains with a single, clean strike from her bladed leg.
Shock turned to panic.
"A half-monster! A creature was hiding in the capital!" screamed several nobles.
Some backed away, others cried out about assassination—but none dared move.
Samuel looked up at her, stunned.
She met his eyes and, in a whisper, said:
"We're getting you out of here."