King Aldric IV was not what Liam had expected.

No elaborate armor. No divine weapons. No army of bodyguards surrounding him with fanatical devotion. Just an older man—maybe sixty, graying hair, wearing simple royal robes—sitting on a throne in an empty room as his capital burned around him.

"You look surprised," the king observed. "Were you expecting something more dramatic? Perhaps me cowering behind my guards? Begging for mercy?"

Liam's hand was still wreathed in the remnants of Abyssal Plate, Essence channeling through him despite the exhaustion and pain. Every instinct screamed this was a trap. No king sat alone and undefended while an enemy army breached his palace.

"Where are your guards?" Liam asked, his voice rough from the earlier strangulation.

"Dead, mostly," Aldric said calmly. "Or fighting in other parts of the palace. I dismissed my personal guard an hour ago when it became clear your forces would reach this room. I saw no point in wasting more lives on the inevitable."

"The inevitable," Liam repeated.

"Your victory, of course." The king gestured around the empty throne room. "You've breached three walls that stood for millennia. Killed Grand Commanders who've never been defeated. Led an army through impossible odds to reach this chamber. I'm not fool enough to think a few dozen guards would change that outcome."

Liam studied the man, searching for deception, for hidden threats, for whatever trap was surely waiting. But Aldric just sat there, relaxed, almost peaceful.

"You summoned the heroes," Liam said. "The Twenty-One. To purge demonkind from existence."

"I did," Aldric confirmed. "Or rather, my High Priests did, following prophecy that's been written for three thousand years. The Demon Queen started a war she couldn't win because of prophecy manifesting the only force capable of ending demon-kind's threat permanently."

"We're not a threat—"

"You invaded my capital," Aldric interrupted mildly. "Killed thirty-five thousand of my soldiers. Burned significant portions of an ancient city. And you stand here now, covered in blood and ash, preparing to execute me." He paused. "Forgive me if I find the 'not a threat' argument somewhat unconvincing."

Liam's jaw tightened. The king had a point, and they both knew it. This offensive had been brutal, costly, and morally complex at best.

"You were planning genocide," Liam said. "The heroes are designed to purge every demon in the empire. Men, women, children. Everyone. That's not defense. That's extinction."

"Yes," Aldric agreed simply. "It is. And if our positions were reversed—if demons had summoned prophetic champions to end humanity—you would call it necessary. Survival. The protection of your people against an existential threat."

"That's different—"

"Is it?" The king leaned forward slightly. "Tell me, Lord Azra—and that's what they call you, isn't it? The Primordial Demon. The Originator of Sin. Tell me, how many humans have you killed in the past eight days?"

The question hung in the air like an accusation.

Liam didn't have an exact count. Thousands. Tens of thousands when you included indirect casualties from the offensive. Paladins, Commanders, Grand Commanders, priests, regular soldiers just defending their homeland.

"They were defending—"

"Exactly," Aldric interrupted again. "They were defending. Just as you claim to be defending. Both sides convinced of their righteousness. Both sides willing to commit atrocities in service of survival. Both sides believing the other deserves extinction."

He stood from the throne, moving with the careful dignity of someone who'd accepted his fate.

"That's the nature of war between species, Lord Azra. There is no moral high ground. Only survivors and corpses. Winners and losers. The righteous and the extinct—which are often the same thing."

Liam felt something twist in his chest. The king's words were cutting close to truths he'd been avoiding, questions he'd been suppressing under the weight of necessity and synthesis.

"So what are you suggesting?" Liam asked quietly. "That we just accept genocide? That demons should die quietly because prophecy demands it?"

"I'm suggesting," Aldric said, moving closer, "that you face a simple reality. You can kill me today. Execute the king, declare victory, extract your army from this city. But it changes nothing. The heroes exist. The prophecy is manifest. And in three to four months, they will begin their crusade regardless of whether I'm alive to witness it."

"We'll hunt them," Liam said. "Kill them before they're ready."

"Will you?" Aldric's expression was skeptical. "Have you met them yet? Encountered their power? Because I have. I've watched them train for three days. And what they are after three days of training is already beyond anything your empire has ever produced."

The king's words were meant to demoralize, to break resolve.

But Liam had just experienced exactly what Aldric was describing. He'd fought three heroes for maybe two minutes and nearly died. Left them to Lilith, who was—

No. Focus. Can't think about that now.

"What they are now isn't what they'll always be," Liam said. "Everything can be killed. Even prophecy."

"Perhaps," Aldric acknowledged. "But consider the cost. Your army has lost thirty-five thousand soldiers taking this city. How many more will die hunting twenty-one divine champions? How many demons will be sacrificed pursuing a goal that might be impossible?"

"However many it takes," Liam said flatly. "Because the alternative is extinction."

"And if extinction is inevitable?" Aldric asked. "If prophecy is truly inescapable? Then all you're doing is postponing the end while sacrificing thousands more in pursuit of a futile hope."

"Hope is never futile," Liam said.

"Spoken like someone young enough to still believe that," Aldric said, and there was something almost sad in his expression. "I ruled this empire for thirty-seven years, Lord Azra. I've watched hope fail more times than I can count. I've made decisions that sacrificed thousands to save millions. I've chosen survival over morality so many times that the distinction became meaningless."

He was close enough now that Liam could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight of decades of impossible choices.

"Do you know why I'm sitting here alone?" Aldric asked quietly. "Why I dismissed my guards and accepted my death? Because I'm tired, Lord Azra. Tired of making impossible choices. Tired of balancing the survival of my species against the morality of genocide. Tired of being the king who ordered prophecy to manifest."

"So you're just giving up?" Liam asked.

"I'm accepting reality," Aldric corrected. "You came here to kill me. To give your army a victory that justifies their sacrifices. To prove that demons can strike back against the Radiant Empire. So I'm giving you that. Kill me. Claim your victory. Leave this city before the full garrison can trap you here."

He spread his arms, completely vulnerable.

"But before you do," he continued, "understand what you're becoming. Understand that every choice you're making—every sacrifice you demand, every life you spend, every fragment of morality you compromise—is shaping you into exactly what I became. A leader who chooses survival over humanity. Who makes the mathematics of death seem acceptable. Who justifies atrocity with necessity."

[Synchronization Index: 62%]

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