Timeless Assassin

Chapter 897: Descent

(Execution Livestream Continuation, ’The Pit’)

As Helmuth’s words rang out across the execution grounds and through every active broadcast channel, the attention of the Gods shifted almost in unison, their gazes lifting toward the vast, empty sky above The Pit, as if drawn by an invisible thread that only beings of their stature could perceive.

High above the planet, far beyond the reach of mortal sight, Soron stood suspended in space, his presence concealed not by distance alone but by deliberate restraint, as though reality itself had been instructed to pretend he was not there.

From that vantage point, the Chakravyuh formation unfolded beneath him in its terrifying entirety, concentric rings of soldiers spanning several cities, interlocking lines and dormant runic arrays forming a living sigil so vast it could only be appreciated from orbit, as the execution platform glimmered faintly at its heart like a lure meant for something far more dangerous than the man kneeling upon it.

Soron observed in silence.

He did not rush.

He did not react.

He studied.

His senses traced the flow of mana through the formation, mapping the dormant pathways beneath billions of feet, as he measured the density of divine authority saturating the inner rings and weighed the positioning of the Gods seated at the center, while his mind worked relentlessly to identify the single point where entry might not result in immediate annihilation.

Below, the pause stretched.

Seconds passed.

Then more.

And as nothing happened, unease began to ripple outward through the gathered masses, as soldiers shifted slightly within their ranks and spectators leaned closer together, whispers spreading like a slow infection.

"Soron is here?"

A voice trembled somewhere among the special guests, as eyes darted upward in frantic searches of the empty sky.

"The Evil Cult God is here?"

Another whispered, louder this time, fear bleeding into the words as the realization settled that if Helmuth was speaking truth, then the most dangerous being in existence was already watching them.

Across the execution platform, Raymond tightened his grip on the chain instinctively, his grin faltering for just a fraction of a second as his gaze followed the Gods upward, while Veyr remained kneeling, his head slightly bowed, as if he already knew exactly where Soron was standing.

Helmuth waited.

He did not move at first, his massive frame radiating barely restrained excitement as his eyes remained locked on the same empty stretch of sky, lips curling slowly as anticipation sharpened into something feral.

"Come on."

Helmuth called out at last, his voice rolling across the battlefield with open provocation, as he lifted his axe and pointed it skyward with deliberate slowness.

"I know you can hear me."

He dragged the axe downward, the blade now pointing directly at the kneeling Dragon before him, as the implication cut deeper than the steel ever could.

"You’ve seen it, haven’t you?"

Helmuth continued, his grin widening as raw challenge bled into every word.

"You’ve seen the formation, you’ve seen the runes, and you’ve seen just how beautifully set this is."

He spread his arms slightly, as if presenting the entire planet as an offering.

"This is a setup, Soron."

He laughed openly now, the sound echoing with savage delight.

"The same setup we used to kill your father, and you know it."

The crowd held its breath.

"So here’s the question."

Helmuth said, his voice lowering just enough to sharpen the threat.

"If you want to save your boy, then you have no other choice but to enter this trap knowingly...."

His axe dipped again, hovering inches above Veyr’s bowed head.

"So you can either come down here....

Step into the center.

And face me."

The silence that followed felt suffocating.

"Or."

Helmuth tilted his head back, eyes blazing as his gaze searched the void once more.

"You can do what you’ve always done."

He sneered.

"Run."

"Hide."

"And leave him to die while you wait another few centuries for the universe to forget your name."

He paused deliberately, letting the weight of the choice settle.

"So what will it be?"

Helmuth demanded, raw anticipation vibrating through his frame.

"Will you show some spine and fight me?"

"Or will you prove that even the great Cult Master Soron is nothing more than a coward who only strikes when the odds are stacked in his favor?"

He asked, as below him, the execution grounds remained frozen, billions of eyes locked on the empty sky, hearts pounding as fear and expectation intertwined, while Veyr’s fingers curled slightly against the stone beneath him, his breathing steady despite the blade still hovering close.

High above it all, Soron finally exhaled.

It was a slow, measured breath, drawn deep and released carefully, as though even the simple act of breathing required intent now, as his awareness turned inward for a fleeting moment and he took stock of the body he was about to wager against the universe.

However, what he found surprised even him.

The rot that had gnawed at his flesh for years, the brittleness that had plagued his movements and hollowed his strength, felt... quiet, as dormant power stirred obediently in response to his will, circuits flaring not with rebellion but with alignment, as though his body understood that this moment mattered more than pain, decay, or consequence.

For now, it listened.

For now, it obeyed.

Soron flexed his fingers slowly, feeling mana respond cleanly, smoothly, as strength flowed where it was commanded without delay or hesitation, as the familiar weight of peak readiness settled over him once more, fragile yet undeniably real.

’A couple hours,’ he assessed calmly, as clarity sharpened his focus. ’Maybe more, if they don’t push too hard too fast.’

It would be enough.

It had to be.

His gaze drifted briefly, not downward, but inward, to a familiar presence etched deep into his thoughts, as a faint, almost imperceptible curve tugged at the corner of his mouth.

’You better come in time to bail me out... boy,’ he thought quietly, as Leo’s image surfaced unbidden, equal parts burden and reassurance.

Then Soron inhaled again and began to move.

His descent was unhurried, controlled, as he allowed gravity and intent to guide him downward, cloak trailing behind him like a shadow peeling itself free from the stars, as he made no effort to hide anymore, knowing full well that the moment he crossed the threshold, every eye that mattered would already be locked onto him.

He was not rushing to save Veyr.

Not yet.

Because Soron understood the truth of this stage better than anyone else.

The Dragon kneeling below was bait.

The spectacle was bait.

And he, alone, was the prize.

They would not kill Veyr just yet.

Not until he was firmly within their grasp.

And so he descended, calm and deliberate, as the universe watched in silence, unaware that the moment he touched the battlefield, everything they believed to be under control would begin to unravel.