Iron-Scale dragged the chains across the cracked cobblestones of the central plaza. The metal links rattled anchoring massive wooden posts driven deep into the foundation.

Voranthar hung from the tallest beam in the center. Thick iron bindings secured his wrists above his head, pulling his shoulders out of their sockets.

Alden and hundreds of corrupt lords hung from the surrounding timbers. Tears streamed down their faces as they stared at the gathering mob.

Tens of thousands of citizens flooded the square. They carried rusted farming tools, broken masonry, and shattered glass.

Their ribs showed clearly through their torn tunics. Voranthar kept his chin tucked against his chest, refusing to meet the gaze of the people he had fed to the biological engines.

Iron-Scale stepped onto the raised platform directly beneath Voranthar. He drew his star-iron dagger and slapped the flat of the blade against the King’s cheek.

The sudden impact forced his head upward.

"Look at your kingdom." Iron-Scale pressed the dagger deeper into the skin.

Voranthar squeezed his eyes shut and ground his teeth together. A cobblestone flew from the front row of the mob, colliding squarely with Alden’s forehead. Blood poured down the aristocrat’s face, mixing with the dirt.

The crowd surged forward against the wooden barricades erected by the Vanguard infantry.

Iron-Scale stepped to the edge of the platform and looked down at the starving masses. He raised his dagger toward the sky.

"The Sovereign of the Rubedo Spiral claims the geography." Iron-Scale scanned the faces in the front row. "He claims the foundries and the borders. These executioners belong to Tarnstead."

A woman missing half her left ear slammed a blacksmith’s hammer against the barricade. "My husband died in the lower districts. His bones are holding up the palace walls."

Iron-Scale looked at her and gave a single nod. He sheathed his dagger and turned to his infantry. He raised two fingers.

The Vanguard soldiers pulled the locking pins from the wooden barricades. The entire defensive line collapsed into the dust.

Iron-Scale and his troops stepped backward, clearing a wide path to the chained aristocrats.

The mob crashed forward like a collapsing dam. Voranthar finally opened his eyes and screamed for the royal guard.

His voice vanished beneath the screaming mass of citizens.

The woman reached Alden first. She swung her blacksmith’s hammer directly into his kneecap.

The bone splintered with a loud crack, sending the noble thrashing against his chains. Dozens of hands grabbed his silken robes and pulled him downward. The citizens ripped the fabric away, driving rusted shears and sharp rocks into his exposed skin.

The crowd dragged Alden down to the pavement, driving sharpened table legs and broken glass deep into his torso. Blood poured over the paving stones around his wooden post.

The prisoners wept and pulled at their shackles while the attackers scaled the execution timbers.

The people gouged out eyes with their bare thumbs and tore flesh from bone using their teeth and fingernails. Torn velvet and fine silk mixed with the mud and gore covering the plaza floor.

Voranthar kicked a young man in the jaw, crushing the attacker’s face with a steel boot. The mob swarmed Voranthar’s post to answer the strike.

A man drove a broken paving stone into Voranthar’s thigh, while a second attacker buried a rusted sickle deep into his abdomen.

The wooden beam securing Voranthar cracked under the shifting weight of the attacking bodies.

The timber snapped completely, sending Voranthar crashing down into the sea of people. Hundreds of boots trampled his face and chest, caving in his ribs as the attackers literally tore him apart limb from limb.

Iron-Scale stood on the periphery and watched the blood flood the central plaza. He wiped a stray drop of crimson from his cheekplate and sheathed his dagger.

Voranthar and his inner circle ceased to exist.

Blood pooled across the cracked paving stones of the central plaza while the citizens of Aethelgard dropped their bloodied pitchforks and rocks.

They stared at the mangled corpses of their former rulers as physical exhaustion overtook their bodies. Men and women collapsed onto their knees among the wreckage. Starvation reasserted its grip on their frail frames. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

Iron-Scale stood on the edge of the ruined execution platform. He raised his hand toward the broken city gates to signal his troops. Dozens of Troglodytes marched into the square hauling massive wooden carts.

The wagons carried towering vats of white alchemical nutrient paste shipped directly from the Bastion’s Bio-Reactor. The convoy rumbled over the cobblestones and halted in the center of the mob.

Iron-Scale projected his voice across the silent masses. "Your kings starved you to build their engines. The Sovereign of the Rubedo Spiral demands your absolute loyalty in exchange for your lives."

He drew his dagger and sheared the iron latch off the nearest vat. The thick white paste spilled onto the stone tiles. The rich scent of yeast and cooked meat drifted over the crowd.

A young man missing two fingers crawled forward. He scooped a handful of the white sludge and shoved it into his mouth.

The alchemical fuel hit his stomach to immediately stitch the deep bite marks on his arm together. His sunken cheeks filled out with new muscle mass.

He looked up at Iron-Scale with wide eyes and grabbed another handful.

The rest of the mob surged toward the carts. Tens of thousands of starving peasants scrambled for the food to gorge themselves on the nutrient paste.

The healing properties of the Aegis Spore matrix went to work across the plaza. Coughs faded while broken limbs snapped back into proper alignment.

The frail citizens bulked out into capable workers.

Iron-Scale signaled his Kobold guards. They unfurled a massive crimson banner bearing the geometric spiral and drove the shaft into the rubble of the execution post.

"Kneel to Rubedo," Iron-Scale commanded.

The young man dropped his head to the blood-stained pavement.

The people around him followed his lead to create a wave of submission cascading outward from the center of the plaza. Tens of thousands of newly healed citizens pressed their foreheads against the stone and pledged themselves to the Spiral.

Up in the orbital sanctuary, Rubedo leaned against his obsidian throne. He watched the population registry on his primary monitor update in real time.

The green numbers ticked upward at an absurd rate as the entire capital city assimilated into his faction.

[ POPULATION INCREASE DETECTED. ]

[ +295,420 HUMAN FOLLOWERS ACQUIRED. ]

Rubedo opened his resource terminal. The mass conversion triggered a violent surge in his daily worship metrics.

The starving peasants offered pure devotion after receiving their first real meal in years.

[ FAITH GENERATED: +295,420]

[ TRAIT ACTIVATED: 100x GROWTH ]

[ Divinity Points: +295,420,00]

Rubedo tapped his fingers against the console. The conversion automatically flooded his treasury with nearly a billion Divine Points.

The brutal reality of the global server required endless capital to maintain expansion. He possessed the exact workforce needed to tear the rest of the Fourth Continent down to the bedrock.

"Till the end, neither The Radiant Monarch nor The Silver Wing intervened. I took away their kingdoms, killed their vessels and army, and took away their followers. Still, they didn’t do a single thing. What’s going on?" Rubedo wondered.

"But since there was no Global server announcement about their deletion, that means they still have followers."