Zabulus stood atop a chair and raised his hands up to the sky and brought them together above his head. He was smiling and gazing around at those in his audience. The cultists applauded, the cultists roared and bellowed with loud shouts and excited whispers, a vast majority of them looking quite happy.

In their expressions they were joyful as much as they could be, their bodies were strong and their hearts and souls were strong in the mind.

They were happy, so very, very happy. Oh how he made them laugh, and they were content. They had no fear, not a shred of doubt left in their minds; just unwavering pride for the man who had given them their strength and purpose. The man that had led them here, into a Garden that wasn't like any garden before.

The theater was no longer their communion, for they could not hold back their cheers of euphoria any longer.

There were others who also stood near him, though not part of his audience, no, they stood there observing from a distance, those being Alice and Laz, with a tense air between them. They could not look away from Zabulus, both seemingly fascinated with his performance.

Zabulus was amused, impressed at the display before him. Though it was expected of him. To be entertained by his people, by his loyal and dedicated followers who he despises so much and couldn't care less for. The ones who follow a mans word blindly just because of the armor he adorned, or because of the title he has given by a god they don't know.

However, no, he couldn't allow the feelings to flow freely and wild as they did earlier, for he needs to maintain a certain façade that keeps their morale from collapsing and him from spiraling into insanity. Their mental, fragile, weak. Walking around with only their smiles as a guide, thinking the gods would give them happiness forever. That their souls would reach paradise. That they will ascend beyond mortality.

Of course, only an idiot would believe this, no intelligent person, and he wouldn't dare take this kind of idiocy lightly or treat it well.

Even so. This cult that he had formed for his own self satisfaction, isn't really a place to be happy and merry. For as long as it serves a purpose, Zabulus himself isn't a friend or comrade or brother like they think him to be.

"Now then! My friends, let's take a rest, I'm sorry I have taken up your time today and kept you out of your schedules. You know how much I appreciate the service you have done for this town, and the amount of sacrifice and effort you've put in this..." At this point, the entire town had either fled to elsewhere in Eskra, or become a part of his cult. "...The purpose, the duty to protect Eskra, and uphold its ideals for justice, and defend their loved ones. Even if those same ideals are meant to bring happiness." Zabulus paused, attempting to give his speech some sort of serious tone, despite the irony behind the words he said. And in that pause, it wasn't just the crowd that looked towards Zabulus. The two of his companions who stood idly, as well, did so as well, confused.

"But! I have one final request, for you all to prepare for tomorrow's service, before our sacrifice can begin. We shall need to meet at the edge of the town for this..." Zabulus stated in his dramatic tone of voice. "Oh yes, this ritual, my friends, is quite crucial in securing the goddess' protection from any potential future invaders..." His smile visible beyond his restricting helmet, his eyes narrowed slightly.

His last statement made Laz laugh, thinking the words to be rather amusing and dumb, as if Eskra would need such defenses in this day and age. However, the other man in their small company of 'friends' had a blank, distant, yet serious stare on his face.

"I ask you all to rid me of this world at once. Go forth!" With that, Zabulus waved his sword in the air and pointed it at the first cultist who he was able to see. His gaze was a mere dot in the audience but soon, his focus went back to those of his compatriots. "I... No, We! We will create the perfect being together through my blood being shed on you all! Through this we will secure this realm's future and bring forth a new world! As my death will create my successors!"

A stunned silence hung in the room.

Alice had her brow furrowed. A sudden smile tugged at the corners of her lips and began spreading quickly over her face. "Ahhhh! So that's what he wants to do... Goodness, he does such amazing work..." She held the side of her cheek and lifted her chest as she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply before exhaling slowly, releasing all the pent-up stress that had been accumulating inside for a rather long period of time.

The cultists, as if animals in a cage fighting over one piece of food, scrambled and lunged at each other, while still maintaining that cheerful vibe they had displayed up until this point. "Kill that monster!!" Zabulus demanded in an almost casual fashion, pointing to a random member who was then swarmed and beaten into submission, before being killed so fast that not even Alice would be able to see or comprehend the process that led to the end.

And as it continued, the entire audience, with an absurd amount of enthusiasm, decided to continue their mass genocide, creating a frenzy of people throwing themselves at the men of the Dragon Guard and not hesitating to take every single life he ordered them to.

In total, there were 23 casualties, out of the 638 survivors, if only it was under better circumstances...

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Not long after the chaos, Laz and Alice, who now looked at the scenery with...

'Yes, you are one idiot... just like the rest of you fools'

He and the girl, whom Zabulus was reminded was named Alice, walked side-by-side. He found them extremely strange.

Despite looking into Laz's memories for as much as he wanted to, he never found the memory where he met Alice.

Did these two ever truly know each other?

He could only wonder for now, for his power was quite useless as it was. But, he still had those odd, 'animalistic' desires and needs, to gain more and more control over the human psyche... Even if he didn't understand his own power, nor Humans.

The same old question would repeat itself; would anyone believe the fact that he, who had fallen off the throne of the mighty wyrm, fell prey to such petty actions as jealousy? No. Not for these fools.

But in all seriousness, it was understandable why he felt this way, right? His only two companions are a glutton incarnate and a cowardice incarnate. These two aren't people whose presence you should wish for. But now, all Zabulus had was this kind of power.

Suddenly, Laz looked up and caught him.

Zabulus stood frozen and unmoving as he stared down into the black void.

Over the past few days, his 'vision' had improved, sometimes he'd see beyond what could be seen, beyond what could ever be, to places no mortal being could possibly imagine, and in other moments, he could barely see an inch past his hand. In such moments, he could barely see himself. But his perception was normal for those of his species, he figured.

The wind whispered through the tall stalks of dead grass, rustling against each other and his legs as he walked onward and deeper and deeper into this field of dry, brittle and yellow-looking ground.

All the cultists had stopped what they were doing, and stood perfectly still, motionless. Not even the air dared move around them, or the clouds floating slowly overhead or the sun's light shining bright down on them all. No. All stood without movement. They watched, with fear...? With curiosity? With a hunger? With joy or anger, or excitement. What was the right word?

Who gave these humans the authority to speak?

All were staring and watching, their gazes burning his skin as they looked at him, and only him and nobody else, with those dull expressions of theirs and the piercing glares they'd give to anyone unfortunate enough to be in their sights, whether they're strangers or familiar faces or even themselves, no matter who and where they came from, there'd always be eyes to stare them down, even if the target's alive or not.

But now they stared with a terrifying sensation, that kind of look on their faces, the expression. Their wide and startled gazes, orbs of soulless and soulless irises that only had empty pits of white and black pupils.

"Now." He spoke, his voice akin to a god who had been reduced to something of an alien. He spread his arms wide like an eagle, each foot firmly placed and set and his body turned with such elegance and finesse. His movement was not at all something expected. His steps graceful and balanced. He held a sword in a way no man would carry, he held himself upright and ready for battle, without waver or hesitation. But this wasn't a declaration for a war or anything.

"I ask you, to gather your weapons, anything. Pitchforks, spades, kitchen utensils, whatever, find what you wish," his voice was louder now, it echoed and carried through the air, amplifying further every time a new word was spoken, or the one before the last. "Your sacred tools, the best of the bunch." He knew that he said it'd be soon, but no one would contest him even if he wasn't being truthful, as their obedience and obedience alone, were the ones they chose. No, no one would refuse and disobey the great Zabulus, albeit they knew him as Aeneus.

"Hey!" A cultist shouted. "Heyy!! Whaat?! Hey! Hey! Heeyyy... I can hear yoouuu, don't make fun of meeeeee....!! Hey...!! Hooh... huh.." The cultist spoke to nobody he could see, confused as he was, Zabulus took notice of his behavior and gazed upon him intently.

Another man began screaming and yelling with all of his might, tears streaming down his eyes, nose runny and hair flowing free around him in a manner so messy it resembled the dirtiest mop in the history of the land.

Zabulus kept silent.

The rest were crying. Tears, loud, loud, loud... It all felt so loud. They understood the truth behind his words.

Many thought they'd be with their god for days, many thought it'd be hours, but for it to be this soon?

Some were already huddling up close together and embracing each other. It was an eerie sight.

Was it just him? Why wasn't anyone else responding? Was there no response at all?

Then, they all turned to him, emotionless with their weapons. The sight incurred a slight feeling of uncanniness in him, but no reaction was forthcoming. They would have to be prepared in due time, after all.

"Let us, the followers of Aeneus the Dragonkin, fulfill the will of our lord and master."

His arms, still spread and with the posture of one on a high, raised the weapon he had held for quite some time already and showed it. The sun reflected off of its shiny surface in a blinding glare. It glistened in a way that could kill blind men, for they would simply explode at the sight of it. A sense of dread fell upon him. The crowd didn't waver nor break down and run like a river of flesh. If anything, they were very much ready to kill their own kin and fellow cult members in a blind bloodlust for glory. They did not scream nor protest, or complain or fight or do anything, no, they only kept silent and still as their eyes stayed open, so wide that their eyelids wouldn't dare close shut anymore. He could see the veins inside their pupils, pumping and circulating.

And with a movement so fast one had to use an electron microscope to perceive and capture it, the blade left the man's hands and made its way to one of the people in the far back of the mob of bodies.

And at once, they all charged. But the charge was silent. It was deathly quiet.

His breathing was heavy. He could hear the pounding of his heartbeat increase its pace and frequency by a minuscule amount of time. And their swords swung. Their weapons pierced, their clubs fractured. They didn't move at the speeds that were recorded and measured in the past, but it seemed like a huge horde of charging, raging mad men. And they were indeed raging, with a bloodlust of madness. He, alone, and alone. Against a small mob, is how it felt, despite his wishes.

In what was an instant, all their weapons had stopped as he was pierced by every single one. An invisible force coming from the back of the mob and slicing him in half, splattering everything on his front side everywhere. It was, unfortunately and luckily enough, a quick death for everyone who had attacked him, due to his blood spraying everywhere. But his hands had just barely enough time to cover his eye sockets.

For a third time, Zabulus had died.