[Debate is now in session!]

Cyrus glared at the blue notification as past memories reared their ugly heads. Fashioning a stick of pure willpower, the man started beating his past back into their prisons.

Locked in mortal combat with himself, he didn't realise one of the gods had levitated him off the stark white surface and gently placed him over a seat. Hovering over the plump, red cushion, the god slowly lowered his hand until his legs just dangled above the beginning of the chair leg. The immortal released his hand. The residues of the levitating power spluttered and failed, unable to continue supporting his weight.

Laughter and mild chuckles rang out.

Cyrus fell the final distance, landing on the cushion with a loud smack. The impact broke him from his self-appointed task of memory suppression. His half-closed eyes snapped open. It was followed by a flurry of hand activity as his fingers instinctively reached for the familiar position where his scabbard would have rested on his hip. There was no sword.

There was a brief moment of panic as his imagination ran wild. It implanted scenarios from gruesome murders with multiple dagger wounds to being beaten to death with a smooth, black chair leg. A re-enactment of how the first of the Gracchus brothers had gone out. Pluto blessed their souls.

Common sense finally caught up with his imaginative streak. The bloody scenes evaporated as Cyrus remembered where he was. In a senate where his saviour was gonna be put on trial...

His eyes latched onto the stage, where he had been standing until recently.

"We are here today due to Mars's actions in interacting with the mortal world directly...blah blah blah"

The roman's mind instantly tuned out the dull speech. For the first time, Cyrus didn't want his consciousness to tune out, straining his ears to make out the individual noises. The man finally pierced the foggy veil.

To his regret, it seemed whatever translator had transformed Latin into this language couldn't translate political jargon into a simple dialect. Even worse, the words he could understand from their droning sentences and debates rang a small bell in the back of his mind. It was feeding time. Swarms of hungry memories with serrated fins thrashed to the surface, disturbing the tranquillity. The once smooth blue surface transformed into a frothing mess.

Memories clouded the roman's mind. He glimpsed brief flashes of the past. He relived the walks with his father, sneaking into the Senate to see his papa's speeches and jumping onto a chair at the dinner table to see his Dad compose literature. A single tear drifted down his cheek.

Cyrus hurriedly wiped it away as one of his father's lessons came to mind. "Never show weakness in front of potential enemies."

Yet with these familiar yet distant words came another tide of salt water, bursting free of his eyelids. The world flickered. The black seats turned wooden brown. The people were no longer dressed in black and white double layers but in togas. He saw his father on stage, beaming at the crowd as he dissected his opponent with poise and ease. Every word was a dagger. Every sentence was a sword. His enemy's speech became his shield, his spear that would strike through the slimmest cracks.

And he would be at the front of all that. Cheering and jumping about as his Dad demolished every enemy only to be hushed and smacked on the head by one of Dad's many friends. He remembered no matter who he sat beside or how carefully he chose his seat, someone was always there to remind him. His lips twitched upwards amidst an outpour of tears.

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"Why isn't my Saint title helping with this," Cyrus cried, muffling his soft chokes behind his shirt.

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, soothing his tense muscles, undoing the knots and stemming his tears. The aroma of freshly roasted fish over a fire, the salty, herbal blend of sausages and the sweet tang of olives danced in his nose. The crackling of pork, his mother's voice calling him for dinner and a high pitch squeal of happiness as dinner is revealed echoed in his ears.

"That is because it isn't designed for it, dear one. The past is a part of you. Just because your evil streaks are gone doesn't mean history will change. Embrace it."

He opened his eyes, expecting to see the source of that mesmerising, calming voice. Cyrus opened his mouth to thank her. However, she was nowhere to be found. The roman looked back, yet all he discovered were sympathetic looks and a few pats on his back. "Who..." Before he could continue the search, a massive thud grabbed his attention.

Mars didn't look so good, face utterly red with steam coming out of his ears in sporadic bursts. His lips were coated in blood, his teeth acting like transform boundaries, grinding against each other. His entire being was shaking. His clenched fist had slammed into the lecturn, making an upside-down L dent on the surface.

The woman on the other side of the stage wasn't even phased. Her suit was wrinkle-free. Not a single strand of black hair was out of place. Her lips pressed together in a smug smirk, eyes alight with excitement.

"So you plead guilty to the charges, God of War?"

"Yes, Themis," came the defeated response.

The woman's smile grew, extending ear to ear. In a deceitfully sweet tone, she turned back to the "Senate," "Would anyone like to name the punishment?"

A hand lifted a split second after the announcement.

The woman stood up. A familiar, sickly sugary tone filled the now-silent room. "So after much consideration, I believe that since we can't punish Mars on a God level, the punishment must go down a step to the mortal realm."

Mar's face grew all the redder, steaming pouring out in the bucketfuls from not just his ears but the nose.

Cyrus's mouth hangs open.

[You have discovered a direct target of your oath! Kill 0/1 Goddess of Demons to get a reward! Please note, you have to personally kill the target OR have a large influence in plotting her demise to receive the reward!]

[Y/N (This doesn't have any effect since [Oath of Vengeance] is active = Y]

Cyrus frantically shook his head at the notice, his imaginary figure a blur of motion as it repeatedly came in contact with the N button. Sweat dripped down his face.

"Since all of our power would decrease if say, we punish his followers as a whole, why not end the life he so preciously endeavoured to save by breaking the rules. This is an efficient demonstration to show any attempts of subverting or breaking the laws would backfire on the initiator and their actions!"

The roman could predict who this "precious life" was. Him.

"The life of Cyrus should be ended as the punishment! However, since it is unfair for the mortal to take the entire punishment having taken no part in the actual event, a bounty would be placed on his head with the exact location of his core written on it."

The response was mixed. Murmurs of both approval and disapproval reverberated around the room.

"Who will take the bounty?" A gruff voice rang out.

The woman looked at the man who the question originated from.

"Why, the animus, of course!"

The voices intensified, and words such as "guaranteed death" and "no chance" were repeated constantly. Many shook their heads, already certain of the outcome.

Seeing the gods and goddess present were dissatisfied and unswayed in their stance, Lilith took out the carrot.

Putting on a frowning mask, full of consideration, she waved for the Senate to quieten down. "So my earlier ruling may be a bit harsh. Instead of instantly putting down the bounty, let's give the human time to prepare! One full year to level himself and develop his skills in preparation?"

The voices of disapproval dissipated.

After a few more minutes of discussion, the Goddess of Law pulled a gavel from within her jacket. It slammed onto the podium, leaving a circular imprint on the black surface. The room grew silent. "All in favour! Put up your hand!" Slightly more than half of the gathered immortals raised their hands. Thermis quickly scanned and tallied each vote. "The punishment has been chosen! The court is adjourned!" The gods stood.

[Case is now closed!]

Cyrus opened his mouth to protest but reconsidered after remembering who he was speaking to. Gods. Powerful, overlord beings that could squash him with the flick of a finger. With a collective pop, the immortals disappeared from sight, leaving behind empty black seats. The God of War had stayed behind briefly, a look of concentration on his face.

His voice whispered in his head, "Ad maius bonum!"

Before he too vanished.

[Teleporting back to the mortal realm...]