(24 hours before the execution, Universal Broadcast Network)

"Only twenty-four hours remain until the Evil Cult's Dragon is finally brought to justice, Charlie."

The anchor said with practiced composure as the camera panned smoothly across the gleaming studio, holographic backdrops of celestial maps and sigils rotating slowly behind him.

"How excited are you about this historic event?"

Charlie smiled, the expression warm and rehearsed, as he adjusted his cufflinks and leaned slightly toward the desk.

"Excited doesn't quite cover it," he replied, his voice measured and confident as the words rolled out effortlessly. "This is not just an execution. This is closure. For countless worlds. For trillions who suffered under Cult influence. Tomorrow represents the end of an era."

The anchor nodded along, eyes bright.

"A necessary end," he said, as the feed shifted briefly to archival footage of burning cities, shattered spires, and Cult banners torn down dramatically. "The Cult Dragon symbolized fear for generations. And now, the universe finally gets to watch that fear die."

Charlie folded his hands together calmly.

"And it's important to emphasize that this is justice, not revenge," he said, as if correcting a misconception no one had voiced.

"The Righteous Faction has given the Cult every chance to improve their ways.

However, every time we trust them, they either launch an offensive on one of our planets, or they carry out a cowardly terrorist attack, like the one on the Sky-God Arena…."

He paused deliberately.

"The Cult's destruction is something they brought upon themselves.

We did not want to do this.

However, if they threaten the peace of our worlds.

If they threaten the peace of our people and our children.

Then they're going to find out very soon that the Righteous Faction doesn't mess around when it comes to our children."

Charlie justified, as the anchor nodded along in agreement.

"No matter how powerful you are, no matter how long you hide, evil is never beyond consequence."

The anchor added, before leaning back slightly.

"And judging by the numbers, the universe agrees," he said, as a projection flared beside them, statistics scrolling rapidly.

"Markets are already reporting closures. Schools across thousands of systems have announced scheduled pauses. Even government facilities are preparing synchronized halts."

Charlie nodded once.

"This hasn't happened since the fall of the Evil Dragon Sherwin, 750 years ago, so in a way it's the biggest event the universe has witnessed in the past millenia."

The anchor concluded, as the segment cut away to a video of 'ThePit' in preparation for tomorrow's execution.

—----------

Meanwhile, on a merchant world near the outer edge of the rainbow stream, a crowded marketplace slowed as massive screens flickered to life above the stalls.

Vendors paused mid-transaction.

Customers turned.

Children were pulled closer.

A fishmonger wiped his hands on his apron and stared upward, jaw clenched.

"So it's really happening tomorrow…"

He murmured, as the image of the chained Dragon filled the display.

Nearby, a woman clasped her daughter's shoulder.

"They say he's a monster," she whispered. "That he's the reason daddy died while saving Planet Nemo."

Her daughter stared silently, eyes wide.

---

On an industrial moon, conveyor belts ground to a halt as workers gathered around a single battered monitor bolted to the wall.

One man crossed his arms tightly.

"I lost my brother to a Cult raid," he said quietly. "I don't care what anyone says. I want to see him die."

No one argued.

---

On a core Du Clan world, students sat in a lecture hall as their professor shut off the lesson display early.

"Tomorrow's classes are suspended," he announced, his tone formal. "Attendance for the broadcast is… encouraged."

A ripple of murmurs followed.

Some eager.

Some uneasy.

---

Across the universe, the same moment repeated itself endlessly.

Homes.

Barracks.

Markets.

Ships drifting between stars.

Trillions of lives aligning unknowingly toward the same hour, the same spectacle, the same singular event.

The execution of an Evil Messiah.

Not as a private act.

Not as a mercy.

But as a message to the universe.

Back in the studio, the anchor smiled into the camera.

"Tomorrow, Justice will be witnessed by all….

But today, let's see what people across the universe feel about it."

He said, as the feed shifted again, this time cutting to pre-recorded street interviews pulled from across the universe, as carefully selected voices filled the air, each one reinforcing the same narrative from a different angle.

On a mid-tier agricultural world, a farmer stood beside a field of glowing crops, arms crossed as the camera hovered.

"I don't know much about politics," he said plainly, dirt still under his nails. "But if killing that Dragon keeps my kids safe, then I'll watch it twice."

The clip changed.

On a frontier station riddled with blast scars, a security officer adjusted his helmet and stared straight into the lens.

"We've been on high alert for decades because of the Cult," he said. "Tomorrow proves that the Righteous don't just talk. They act."

Another cut.

A refined Lu clan noble on a garden world sipped tea calmly as she spoke.

"Some say it's cruel," she said, lips curling faintly. "But cruelty is letting monsters live long enough to strike again."

Each voice flowed seamlessly into the next, as the message layered itself deeper into the minds of those watching.

Fear.

Relief.

Vindication.

A sense of collective righteousness.

On transport vessels traveling through deep space, passengers clustered around shared screens, meals forgotten as countdown timers appeared in the corner of the broadcast.

23:58:17

23:58:16

Children asked questions.

Parents answered carefully.

Soldiers watched in silence.

Prisoners stared from behind forcefields, wondering if this was what justice looked like when it wasn't meant for them.

On one distant world, an elderly man shut off the broadcast and stared at his reflection in the darkened screen.

"They always make it sound so clean," he muttered, as old memories stirred behind his eyes. "Like killing a symbol kills the idea."

He did not turn the screen back on.

But most did.

Across the universe, excitement built alongside dread, as anticipation sharpened into something almost festive.

Special broadcasts were scheduled.

Viewing plazas prepared seating.

Vendors advertised commemorative trinkets already stamped with dates and slogans.

Justice Day.

The End of the Cult.

And far from the reach of cameras and anchors, far from the confidence of the Righteous narrative, the universe unknowingly leaned forward, breath held, waiting to witness a moment it believed would go exactly as planned.

Tomorrow was supposed to be the end of a story.

However, many were anxious that things could still go wrong.

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