The number pulsed in Liam's consciousness like a heartbeat. More than half. The synthesis was more than halfway complete now. Liam Cross was becoming Lord Azra, and Lord Azra was becoming something that could order massacres and call it strategy.

"Look at yourself," Aldric said gently. "Covered in blood. Surrounded by the corpses of your enemies and your soldiers. Having just abandoned your queen to face three heroes alone so you could complete this mission. Tell me—how much of the person you were before this war still exists?"

Liam was silent. Because the answer was uncomfortable.

Not much. Maybe nothing. The synthesis had consumed most of Liam Cross's humanity, leaving only the memories and the role.

"I see it in your eyes," Aldric continued. "The recognition. You know what you're becoming. And part of you—the part that's not god—is horrified by it. But the rest of you, the part that's desperate to be this Lord Azra identity, doesn't care. Because caring is a luxury that leaders can't afford."

"Stop," Liam said quietly.

"Stop what? Speaking truth?" Aldric's smile was sad. "I'm offering you the mercy of understanding, Lord Azra. The knowledge that everyone who leads in war becomes a monster. The only question is whether we become monsters who win or monsters who lose. Whether our atrocities result in survival or just... atrocity."

Liam's hand was still wreathed in power, still ready to kill. But the king's words had found their mark, cutting through rationalizations and necessity to touch the raw wound of what he'd become.

Thirty-five thousand soldiers dead under his command.

Lilith abandoned to possible death.

His humanity reduced to forty-eight percent and falling.

All of it in service of preventing prophecy.

And standing before him, a king who'd made similar choices and was offering surrender because he understood exactly what those choices cost.

"Why are you doing this?" Liam asked. "Why the speech? Why not just... accept death silently?"

"Because I've spent thirty-seven years making terrible choices in isolation," Aldric said. "And I thought—perhaps foolishly—that sharing the weight of those choices with someone who was about to inherit them might serve as a final act of... something. Warning, maybe. Or confession. Or just the desperate need to have someone understand before I die."

He lowered his arms, moving back toward his throne.

"So kill me, Lord Azra. Complete your mission. Give your army their victory. But do it understanding that you're not just killing a king. You're killing the person you might become in thirty years if you survive this war. The leader who's made so many impossible choices that morality became abstract and survival became everything."

Liam stared at the king, at this man who'd ordered genocide and was now offering himself for execution while speaking uncomfortable truths about leadership and monstrosity.

The tactically correct choice was obvious. Kill him. Claim victory. Extract the army before things got worse.

But something in Liam—the forty-eight percent that was still Liam Cross, still capable of doubt—hesitated.

"What would you do?" he asked quietly. "If our positions were reversed? If you were the demon and I was the human king?"

Aldric considered the question seriously. "I would do exactly what you're doing. Fight with everything I had. Sacrifice whatever was necessary. Refuse to accept extinction even if the odds were impossible. Because that's what leaders do—we fight beyond reason, hope beyond evidence, and sacrifice our own humanity in service of our people's survival."

He sat back on his throne, settling into position like a man preparing for execution.

"So do it," he said calmly. "Kill the king. Finish your impossible offensive. Return to your empire and prepare to hunt twenty-one heroes who are already more powerful than anything you've ever faced. Spend more lives, make more sacrifices, become more monstrous in pursuit of an ending that might not exist."

He met Liam's eyes directly.

"Because that's what we do. That's what we've always done. We kill our enemies, claim righteousness, and live with the weight of what we've become."

The throne room was silent except for the distant sounds of battle elsewhere in the palace. Liam stood there, exhausted, injured, having lost more soldiers than he could count, with a queen who might be dead and a synthesis that was consuming his humanity one percentage point at a time.

And before him sat a king offering surrender while speaking truths that cut deeper than any blade.

[Current Status]

[Health: 38%]

[Essence: 27,340]

[Synchronization Index: 62%]

The decision should have been simple.

Kings who order genocide don't deserve mercy.

Enemies who threaten your species don't get philosophical debates.

Victory doesn't care about comfortable truths.

Liam raised his hand, Infernal Conflagration manifesting in black flames that had killed Grand Commanders and burned through consecrated defenses.

King Aldric IV of the Radiant Empire didn't flinch. Just watched with the calm acceptance of someone who'd made peace with his ending.

"Before you do," Aldric said quietly, "tell me one thing. That queen you abandoned to face the heroes—do you love her?"

The question was so unexpected that Liam actually paused.

"I—" He stopped, uncertain how to answer.

Did he? The partnership had become something more, something neither of them had acknowledged. The promise to talk about "what they were" if they survived.

"I see," Aldric said, reading the hesitation accurately. "Then understand that's the first thing leadership takes from you. Not your morality, not your humanity—those erode slowly. But love? That's destroyed in an instant. The moment you choose mission over person, objective over relationship, greater good over individual attachment."

He smiled sadly. "Welcome to kingship, Lord Azra. I hope you survive long enough to hate what it makes you."

Liam's hand trembled—just slightly, just for a moment.

Then he struck.

Infernal Conflagration consumed King Aldric IV in flames that didn't allow for screaming or suffering. Just instant immolation. Mercy, of a sort.

The king died sitting on his throne, and with him, any chance of negotiated peace.

[Essence Feast activated]

[+1,240 Essence]

The body turned to ash. The throne remained empty. And Liam Cross—Lord Azra—the synthesis of human actor and demon necessity, stood alone in a conquered throne room, having just killed a man who understood exactly what he was becoming.

[Mission Complete: King Aldric IV Executed]

[Sanctum Lux Capital Authority Eliminated]

[Synchronization Index: 62% → 65%]

[You have committed a great sin.]

[+300 EVP]

Three percentage points for executing the king.

The synthesis was accelerating.

And somewhere in the palace, Lilith was—

The throne room doors burst open. Lieutenant Zara stumbled in, bleeding from a dozen wounds, her expression devastated.

"Lord Azra," she gasped. "The heroes—they're—Queen Lilith is—"

She couldn't finish the sentence.

Didn't need to.

Liam's chest went cold.

And for the first time since the synthesis had begun, he felt something that transcended tactical necessity or strategic calculation.

Pure, absolute, human terror.

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