The execution grounds hadn't been used in fifteen years.
It sat on the edge of the administrative district—a vast, open plaza ringed by tiered seating that could hold thousands. In the old days, before the Governor's reforms, public executions had been commonplace. A spectacle. Entertainment for the masses and a warning to those who might step out of line.
Kael had abolished the practice when he took office, declaring it barbaric.
Today, he brought it back.
The plaza had been cleared overnight, cleaned of debris and activated for the first time in over a decade. Holo-projectors lined the perimeter, ready to broadcast the proceedings across every screen in the city.
The execution platform itself—a raised dais of dark metal—gleamed coldly under the twin suns.
And surrounding it, restrained in energy shackles that pulsed with suppression runes, knelt twenty-three figures.
Merchants. Officials. Children of wealthy families.
All dressed in prison grays, heads bowed, faces pale with terror or resignation.
The stands were packed.
Thousands had come—slum dwellers and merchants, workers and scavengers, people who'd lived their entire lives beneath the boot of those who thought themselves untouchable. They filled every seat, crowded every walkway, pressed against barriers for a glimpse.
The air hummed with tension. With anger. With something that tasted like vindication.
News drones circled overhead, their cameras capturing every angle. Across the city, in homes and shops and street corners, people gathered around holo-screens, watching.
Waiting.
Kael stood at the edge of the platform, dressed not in his usual formal robes but in the combat armor of an A-rank awakener—black plated with gold trim, the Governor's seal emblazoned across his chest. His aura blazed like a sun, a pressure that made the air itself tremble.
Beside him stood his enforcement captain—a grizzled veteran named Torrhen—and three judges from the city's highest court, their faces grave.
Selene watched from a private box above the plaza, Niamh and Jade seated beside her. Gorvoth stood at the back, arms crossed. Lio had stayed at the shop with Amara, unable to stomach what was about to happen.
Jade sat very still, his silver-grey eyes fixed on the platform below. His expression was unreadable, but his hands rested calmly in his lap.
Niamh kept glancing at him, worry etched into every line of her face. Selene's hand found Jade's shoulder, squeezing gently.
"You don't have to watch," she murmured.
"I want to," Jade said quietly.
Selene studied his profile—too calm, too controlled—but said nothing. Just kept her hand on his shoulder, anchoring him.
Kael stepped forward, and the crowd fell silent.
His voice, amplified by the plaza's sound system, rang out across the space: clear, cold, absolute.
"Citizens of Nexus."
Every eye turned to him.
"For years, a rot has festered in the heart of our city. Hidden beneath wealth and privilege, shielded by names and titles, a network of predators has operated with impunity."
His gaze swept across the kneeling figures.
"They took children from our streets. Children no one would miss. Children who had no one to protect them."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd with anger, grief, recognition.
"They caged them. Tortured them. Used them for entertainment."
The murmurs grew louder, angrier. Someone shouted a curse from the stands, raw and furious.
Kael's expression didn't change. "These twenty-three individuals have been tried and found guilty. The evidence is irrefutable. Testimony from survivors. Financial records. Physical evidence recovered from multiple sites."
He paused, letting the weight of those words settle.
"Under the laws of this city, under the authority granted to me as Governor, I sentence them to death."
The crowd roared.
Not cheers. But It was something deeper, darker. A collective release of rage that had been building for years, for generations. The sound crashed over the plaza like a wave.
Kael raised his hand, and silence fell again.
"This is not justice," he said quietly, his voice somehow still carrying. "Justice would have been preventing this from happening in the first place. This is... reckoning."
He turned to the first prisoner—Matthias Draven, former councilor's son. The man was weeping openly, shoulders shaking, face streaked with tears and snot.
"Please—" Matthias choked out. "Please, I—I was just following—my father made me—"
"Your father is dead," Kael said flatly. "He died by my hands for his horrid crimes and you shall have the same luxury. The apple really doesn't fall far from the tree."
Matthias let out a broken wail.
Kael stepped back and nodded to Captain Torrhen.
The captain raised a plasma pistol—standard issue, efficient, and fired.
The bolt struck Matthias in the chest. His body jerked once, then slumped forward, smoke rising from the wound.
Dead.
The crowd was silent for a heartbeat.
Then someone shouted: "Good!"
Others joined in a chorus of approval, and satisfaction.
Kael moved to the next prisoner.
One by one, they died.
The merchant's nephew who'd funneled credits. Shot.
The former councillor's son who'd overseen acquisitions. Shot.
A city official who'd falsified records. Shot.
Each death was efficient. Clinical. No drawn-out suffering, no torture.
Just judgment.
The crowd's reaction grew more fervent with each execution. Some wept. Others shouted. A few turned away, unable to watch.
But most stayed.
Bearing witness.
By the time Kael reached the twentieth prisoner, the plaza reeked of ozone and burned flesh. Bodies lay slumped across the platform, a testament to consequences finally delivered.
The twentieth prisoner was a woman, merchant Lord Carine's niece, young, barely into her twenties. She'd stopped crying hours ago, her face blank with shock.
When the plasma bolt struck her, she didn't even flinch.
Three prisoners remained.
Kael paused, turning to address the crowd again.
"These final three," he said, voice carrying across the now-silent plaza, "were the architects. The ones who built the network. Who made it profitable. Who ensured it continued."
He gestured to the first—a heavyset man in his fifties, sweating despite the cool air. "Merchant Lord Veyron. You supplied the locations. The equipment. The suppression runes."
Veyron's mouth opened and closed soundlessly.
"Do you have anything to say?"
"I—I was just—business—it was just business—"
Kael's expression didn't change. He nodded to Torrhen.
The captain fired.
Veyron toppled backward, eyes wide and glassy.
Kael moved to the second. An older man, mid-thirties, with the kind of pampered softness that came from a life without hardship.
"Administrator Kellan. You managed the 'inventory.' Organized the acquisitions. Kept records."
Kellan was shaking so badly his restraints rattled. "Please—please—I have a family—children—"
"So did they," Kael said coldly.
Kellan screamed as the plasma bolt struck him.
Then silence.
One prisoner remained.
The crowd leaned forward collectively, holding its breath.
The final prisoner was older—sixties, grey-haired, impeccably dressed even in prison grays. His face was composed, almost serene, as if he'd accepted his fate long ago.
Kael stopped in front of him.
"Overseer Maren," he said quietly. "The broker. The one who connected buyers to sellers. Who arranged the 'games.' Who made sure no one asked questions."
Maren lifted his head, meeting Kael's eyes with disturbing calm.
"Governor Varros," he said, voice smooth and cultured. "You think this ends anything? You think killing us stops it?"
Kael's expression hardened. "It stops you."
Maren smiled faintly. "There will always be
others. The demand doesn't disappear because you execute the supply. New networks will rise. New players will fill the void."
"Perhaps," Kael said. "But they'll know what happens when they're caught."
"Will they?" Maren's smile widened. "Or will they simply learn to hide better?"
The crowd murmured uneasily.
Kael leaned down, voice dropping so only Maren could hear. "You're right. This doesn't end it. But it sends a message. And sometimes, that's enough."
He straightened and nodded to Torrhen.
Maren closed his eyes.
The plasma bolt struck true.
His body slumped forward, lifeless.
The plaza was silent.
Twenty-three bodies lay across the execution platform, smoke still rising from their wounds. The smell of burned flesh hung heavy in the air.
Kael stood alone at the center of the carnage, his aura still blazing, his expression carved from stone.
Then, slowly, someone in the crowd began to clap.
It was a single person at first—a woman from the slums, her face lined with years of hardship. Her applause was slow, deliberate, defiant.
Then another joined. And another.
Within seconds, the entire plaza erupted in applause—not celebration, but acknowledgment. Recognition.
Finally.
Kael didn't smile. Didn't bow. He simply turned and walked off the platform, leaving the bodies behind.
The broadcast cut.
Across the city, people turned away from their screens—some satisfied, some disturbed, all marked by what they'd witnessed.
And in the private box above the plaza, Jade sat very still.
His eyes were dry. His expression calm.
But his hands, hidden beneath the edge of his sleeves, were clenched into white-knuckled fists.
Niamh's hand found his, squeezing gently. "Are you okay?"
Jade nodded slowly. "Yeah."
His voice was steady. Controlled.
But Selene, watching him carefully, saw the truth.
He's not okay. He's just very, very good at pretending.
She said nothing. Just kept her hand on his shoulder as they stood to leave.
As they left the plaza, the city began to breathe again.
The executions were over.
The monsters were dead.
But the scars they'd left behind—on the children, would take far longer to heal.
If they ever did.
....