The silence in the square was heavy, broken only by the crackling of fires from the ruined palace and the distant sirens of the city. Putinâs jaw was set tight, his eyes reflecting the violet glow of Ethanâs gaze. He was a man who had built an empire on strength and fear, but for the first time in his life, he was staring into a bottomless abyss.
He knew Boris was his best operativeâthe one sent to do the work that couldnât be traced. The mission into Scavenger territory had been critical: securing a shipment of "raw materials" for the secret research labs of Olympus. But things had gone wrong. Boris had been intercepted by Ethan, a battle had erupted, and the interference of a high-tier spirit beast had sent Boris fleeing back to Moscow, broken and bleeding.
Now, that failure had brought a god to his doorstep.
"Fine," Putin hissed, the word tasting like ash. "Boris! Come out!"
From the shadows of a partially collapsed hallway, a massive man emerged. Boris was a giant, built like a fortress, but today he looked like a crumbling monument. His bandages were soaked in fresh blood, and his breathing was labored. When he saw Ethan, his heart hammered against his ribs. He wanted to fightâhis instincts screamed for itâbut he knew he was looking at his own executioner.
"Master Ethan..." Boris rasped, his voice full of a grim acceptance.
Ethan didnât offer a word of greeting. He simply extended his hand.
The air between them distorted as the Void Singularity manifested. Boris was lifted off his feet, his massive frame shrieking as the gravitational pull began to tear at his very atoms.
Ethan held him suspended in mid-air, ensuring the cameras of the onlookers captured every agonizing detail. This wasnât just a kill; it was a broadcasted warning. As the black hole began to unravel Boris at a molecular level, the giant let out a sound that wasnât humanâa high-pitched, vibrating wail of pure agony.
The world watched through millions of screens as Borisâs skin began to flake away into shadow, his muscles twitching as they were slowly devoured by the void.
"I have a very simple question for you, Mr. President," Ethan said, his voice calm and melodic, cutting through Borisâs screams like a blade through silk. He turned his head slightly to look at Putin, who remained motionless. "What exactly were you doing with those kidnapped slaves?"
The atmosphere turned freezing. The people recording with their phones held their breath, realizing they were about to hear a secret that could shatter what was left of the old worldâs morality.
"Tell me," Ethan urged, a cruel, beautiful smile playing on his lips. "And maybe Iâll let Boris die quickly."
Putinâs hand trembled almost imperceptibly as he reached into his coat. "Grant me a moment for one call," he demanded, his voice cracking for the first time. "A call to a mutual acquaintance."
Ethan tilted his head, his amethyst eyes glowing with an amused light. "Go ahead. Iâm in no rush. Boris has plenty of molecules left to shred."
Borisâs screams reached a fever pitch, a guttural, wet sound that made the surrounding soldiers pale. Putin dialed a secure line, his face a mask of desperation.
"Matriarch Blackwood," Putin hissed into the receiver as soon as the call connected. "The boy... the âGodâ of Royal is here. Heâs leveled the palace. Heâs devouring Boris in front of the world. I protected you once. I gave you asylum when the world wanted your head. I am calling in that debt. Stop him."
There was a long silence on the other end, then the Matriarchâs voice came through, cold and weary. "Put him on."
Putin handed the phone toward Ethan. Simultaneously, the President signaled his radio operator. "Cut the grid. Shut down the repeaters. Kill the satellites. I want this square dark! Now!"
The operator scrambled, but within seconds, he looked back at Putin with terror. "Sir! The repeaters are dead, the satellites are offline... but the transmission hasnât stopped! Itâs like the signal is coming from the air itself! We canât kill the feed!"
[My apologies, Mr. President, ]] Crulâs voice whispered through Putinâs own earpiece. [I am the signal. You cannot hide the truth from the world anymore. ]
Ethan took the phone, his voice turning smooth and playful. "Hello, Matriarch. Iâm just out here doing some housekeeping. Some of your old friends seem to have forgotten who owns the territory theyâve been âsamplingâ from."
"Ethan," the Matriarchâs voice was firm. "I know what they did. I know Boris is a dog that needs to be put down. But Iâm calling in a favor."
"You want me to let Olympus walk?" Ethanâs eyes darkened. "They were trafficking my people for experiments, Matriarch. Thatâs a heavy price for a favor."
"No," she replied sharply. "Kill Boris. Burn the palace if you must. But spare Putin. When the world was hunting me, when I had nothing, he gave me asylum. He didnât let them execute me. I owe him a life-saving grace. For me, Ethan... leave him standing."
Ethan looked at the President, who was watching him with the eyes of a man awaiting a death sentence. Ethan sighed, a sound of mock disappointment.
"Youâre lucky you have powerful friends, âTsarâ," Ethan said, handing the phone back to Putin. "The Matriarch paid your bail. I wonât kill you today. But donât think for a second that youâre off the hook."
Ethan stepped closer, the pressure of his aura causing Putinâs knees to buckle. "Now, answer my question before I decide to flip this entire country upside down and look for the answer myself. Those slaves... the research. What were you looking for in their blood?"
Borisâs body was now little more than a translucent red mist held together by the Voidâs gravity. The world leaned in, the feed still crystal clear, waiting for the President of Olympus to speak.
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