The final, agonizing sound was not the snap of bone or the tearing of flesh, but the laughter of the Saintess.
Kaelen—once known as the 'Crownless Tyrant,' the man who had nearly shattered the world of Aethel—lay broken on the cold flagstones of his subterranean dungeon. Above him, illuminated by a halo of radiant holy power, stood the Hero party.
"Such power, wasted on malice," declared Elara, the Saintess. Her voice was pure, crystalline, devoid of any cruelty, which only made the judgment burn hotter. "You were given countless chances to atone, Kaelen. Now, you will simply cease."
Kaelen choked on his own blood, the potent Hero's Blade still lodged deep in his chest. He tried to raise his arm, to unleash one last, desperate surge of darkness, but his mana core was shattered, a useless husk of what was once the single greatest source of black magic in the world.
He saw the faces of his tormentors: The Hero, Orion, whose righteousness was as blinding as his sword; Lyra, the Grand Mage, whose tears Kaelen had once dismissed as weakness; and Elara, whose angelic light had betrayed him more utterly than any blade.
Atonement? Kaelen's mind screamed. I never asked for your pity! I only sought power so this wretched, hypocritical world could not crush me again!
He had regressed once before, returning from a life of crushing poverty and suffering to become the Tyrant. He had conquered kingdoms, gathered dark artifacts, and built an empire of fear. Yet, in the end, the 'Heroines'—the very people he had tried to save in his first, failed life—had hunted him down like a rabid dog, blinded by their own self-proclaimed justice.
"Do you have any final words, Tyrant?" Orion's tone was weary, like a man completing an unpleasant chore.
Kaelen managed a bloody, feral grin. "Yes. I will return. I will find a way, and when I do, I will not simply break your kingdoms. I will break you. All of you. You will beg for the very mercy you deny me now."
As his vision faded to black, a swirling, impossible purple vortex—a phenomenon far beyond the Hero's magic or the Saintess's light—engulfed his dying body. This was not the end the Heroes intended. This was the intervention of an unknown, spiteful cosmic force, granting the Tyrant one last, cruel second chance.