It surprised him to see his son cross that door while everyone else remained on the battlefield. His youngest son had abandoned his post and returned without sending word to any messenger about the reasons for his return.

He knew exactly what this was about; it was obvious. Not only could he read his son’s aura, but the boldness in his demeanor was evident as he approached him. There he sat, on his throne, the most powerful martyr in the room.

Brounds, a broad and muscular man, wore a dazzling golden armor adorned with incomprehensible magical symbols. His face bore no wrinkles, though his hair had lost its sheen and had turned gray.

Each of his son’s steps radiated contempt, yet the powerful king remained calm, unfazed by the situation.

He knew this was all part of a vile act of betrayal by his most naïve son, the youngest of the three. His name was Zatharos.

That was the name he had given him when he’d created and molded him with his own hands. He’d taken the initiative to bestow upon him the most precious gifts, granting him enough talent to become one of his prodigious sons. The rest, he’d have to learn on his own. Brounds had always known that Zatharos was the weakest in comparison to his siblings, but he’d never thought of him as naïve—at least, not until that precise moment, seeing him stand before him, making a respectful bow even before declaring his intentions, filled him with profound disappointment.

Zatharos moved through the throne hall with ease, adorned with carved pillars of molten rock. He wore a black coat embroidered with magical symbols in fine golden threads. His build was slender but undeniably well-defined beneath his garments. His black hair fell casually across his pale face, accentuating his sharp nose and yellow, reptilian-like eyes that emitted a faint glow. Despite his neglected appearance, he was undeniably attractive.

The hall was dominated by a harmonious blend of black and gray hues. His throne was crafted from the planet's most valuable minerals, where they had landed, a muted combination of cyan and crimson that dazzled any who dared to gaze upon it directly.

Zatharos stopped in front of his father and made a respectful bow, slightly bending his knees and inclining his torso forward by a few centimeters, shoulders and head low. When his bow ended, he still couldn’t meet his father’s eyes. Perhaps it was guilt for what he was about to do, or maybe he was saving the satisfaction of finally looking his father in the eye once his intentions were clear. On the other hand, his father, Brounds, known throughout the universe as the most powerful ruler, "The god who destroyed a thousand moons," held an expression of confidence and authority. But for Zatharos, he was no more than a multi-planetary genocidal figure.

Brounds swiftly brushed aside a strand of his faded gray hair that touched his left eye, as he would any obstacle that irritated him. With a firm voice, he asked:

"Didn’t I order everyone to remain on the battlefield until not one of them was left?" he stated indignantly. "Consider yourself warned, Zatharos; I do not tolerate disobedience. If I must punish you as an example to those who dare to defy me, I will."

"I understand, sir," Zatharos replied, his voice soft and passive.

"Knowing this, and yet you still defy my orders!" he shouted in fury.

He had adopted an infuriated, aggressive stance in response to such insolence.

"Speak up, boy, before I sever your head for treason."

"Exactly!" said Zatharos, smiling, filling the atmosphere with sarcasm. However, his head and shoulders remained low, and his gaze fixed on the grayish ground.

After Zatharos’s words, three circles emerged from the ground, forming a triangle within an even larger circle. The hall, previously shrouded in darkness, filled completely with a spectrum of sky-blue light as the circles spun and aligned. Brounds started at the sight of such an unexpected event.

"What is all this, Zatharos!? Speak, or I shall eliminate you at once! Though I’d prefer not to."

"Thank you, Father. But, unfortunately, even though you are an almighty god, if I were to explain, you would be incapable of understanding it."

“Then…” Brounds said, conjuring a golden staff with three prongs at its head, at the center of which a purple sphere gleamed, “…disappear.”

His words were cut off by rays of light that bound his arms and legs, rising from the floor in tandem with the geometric seals.

"I recognize that you are clever and resourceful," said Zatharos after a brief pause, finally raising his gaze to meet his father’s eyes for the first time. “But I am even more so.”

"I won’t deny, you’ve genuinely surprised me," Brounds replied, his furious demeanor suddenly calming, showing not a trace of shock. “I never thought you’d have the nerve to confront me directly. You always preferred underhanded tricks, like the spoiled child you are. And now here you are, throwing a tantrum… my son, my dear son.” He laughed, a wild, deranged laugh. “You’ve come this far for a purpose, haven’t you? Will you tell me? Does that purpose have a name?”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The grin on Zatharos’s face was a giveaway; his father understood it all perfectly. He knew his intentions in full. Though Zatharos claimed to be the cleverer of the two, it wasn’t true. His words were little more than arrogant banter.

“Yes, exactly as you suspect, Father. You know my reasons. You have a perfect memory, just like me. You know why we’re here, in this moment. You created this scenario with your own actions. You are solely responsible for all of this.”

“Precisely because I understand your motives, I have no choice but to attempt to persuade the naïve young fool you are. Love, Zatharos—that precious sentiment that the Xemites experience—is not a benefit to beings like you or me.”

“Superior beings?” Zatharos mocked. “Don’t make me laugh, Father. That supposed difference is nothing but an illusion. Right now, those ‘inferior beings,’ as you call them, are standing up to us. Isn’t that proof enough that this difference doesn’t exist?”

“They can never win! It’s only a matter of time, and you know that well.”

“Enough with the lessons. I don’t need them anymore. You’ve done enough; I no longer need you.”

“Do you truly believe you can defeat me? Even with this cheap trick, you won’t be able to beat me. You’ve become naïve, my son.”

“That ‘cheap trick,’ as you call it, was crafted specifically for you. It’s courtesy of her; you should be grateful,” said Zatharos, a touch of nostalgia in his tone.

As her name resurfaced, memories tormented him, plunging him into a deep sea of resentment, making him desire his father’s death even more.

“You know, Father, she made me believe there was real hope, that the solution didn’t lie in destruction. She could have done it; she could have changed the system with her influence,” Zatharos spoke, pacing around the throne room. A sense of satisfaction showed in his face as he reminisced, but there was something sinister in his words, something off-kilter. “Knowing her, I discarded everything you taught me. I knew she was the path I had to follow. But you… you killed her. You destroyed my hopes, my dreams. You used me as nothing more than a puppet. In that moment, I saw the truth: we were nothing more than toys for your vile, twisted game, weren’t we?”

“That isn’t—”

“I’m not done,” Zatharos interrupted, silencing him. “So no, I’m not going to kill you just for her. I don’t need you, Father. You were always an unnecessary piece, like a stray screw no one missed. So I’m going to destroy you. But don’t worry; it’s all for a greater good. That, I learned from you,” he said with a smirk.

“Za-tha-ros! The forces you’re toying with, boy—your actions are getting away from you!” Brounds paused, taking a breath before continuing. “I hope the path you’ve chosen does not lead to your own destruction. I’ll pray for your soul, though your future looks grim.”

His words filled Zatharos with a strange mixture of euphoria, hypocrisy, and irony. He was completely intoxicated by it.

“So be it,” he said, with nothing more to add.

A double snap, triggered by the clash of his hands, set in motion the intricate plans of a being who had orchestrated everything from beginning to end. As the seals shifted further and further, each geometric figure completing its sequence, Brounds’s hysteria increased with every moment. The helplessness of being subdued by his own son was overwhelming. His fury generated a growing surge of energy that surrounded him, shaking the entire planet. The skies cracked in reaction to his power; mountains crumbled, and birds fled in terror. The inhabitants, stunned, looked on in shock at the events unfolding. Everything trembled uncontrollably. The more he tried to break free, the more painful the binding rays of light became.

Suddenly, two guardians in ornate armor appeared without warning. They seemed like mere puppets at Zatharos’s command, part of the ritual. Brounds, stunned, glared at his son with disdain, convinced he didn’t understand the forces he was meddling with.

These guardians, with golden spears and wings so white they radiated purity, positioned themselves on either side of Brounds, aiming their spears at him.

Enraged, Brounds released his immense power entirely, transforming into a dark, winged being, with purple cracks highlighting his skin, which appeared like fractured obsidian.

“Exterminators! Regulators of this universe… How can this be? ZA-THA-ROS, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, BOY?” Brounds shouted in frenzy, staring at the winged knights. “You have no idea what forces you’re tampering with!”

Zatharos remained silent, watching his father’s demise with an unwavering smile. He wanted to savor the moment, relishing every second.

The guardians, who had stood silently on either side of Brounds, began to emit a golden energy that shot directly at him. As it struck his body, Brounds howled in pain, consumed by the overwhelming energy that subdued him completely. When the energy enveloped his entire form, he vanished in an explosion, leaving everything in complete silence.

Zatharos couldn’t contain his laughter; his glorious triumph filled him with pride, reveling in his incredible power.

As those few seconds of calm passed, elsewhere on the planet Xerath, a great battle raged. The Xemites, entrenched within a massive stronghold, recited a chant with nine members gathered in a circle around a golden chalice containing a glowing liquid. When their chant ended, a bolt of energy shot from the mysterious chalice into the sky, triggering a massive explosion followed by a wave of energy that spread across the entire planet.

The energy swept through Xerath, consuming Brounds’s Hunters (his army soldiers) and causing them to vanish.

Zatharos, seated on his father’s brilliant throne in the throne room, was aware of what was about to happen. As the wave approached at great speed, he simply waited in his seat. Before it reached him, he extended his arms, as if welcoming it with a warm embrace, and his last words before the impact were:

"Right on time, little brother."

With those words, all trace of Zatharos and the Hunters vanished from Xerath.