In the Court of the Orderly King (Completed)

The Realm of Order was a vast, imposing expanse of symmetry and precision, where every structure, every element was meticulously crafted to reflect the absolute nature of Justice’s will. Towers of silver and marble rose into the endless sky, their sharp lines and geometric perfection a testament to the unwavering rigidity of Justice's mind. The very air hummed with the energy of countless laws and principles, each one a thread in the intricate web of order that Justice had spun over millennia.

Everything was cold, calculated, and precise—a world where there was no room for chaos, no allowance for deviation from the path of perfection. Here, time itself moved with a mechanical precision, every second ticking away with the exactitude of a finely tuned clock. This was a realm where spontaneity was anathema, where every action, every thought, was bound by the iron chains of reason and law.

In the center of this realm stood a massive citadel, a fortress of white stone and dark iron, its walls adorned with countless scales, each one representing the delicate balance of justice that Justice sought to impose upon the Earth. The citadel’s heart was a throne room of imposing grandeur, where Justice himself sat, his form a towering figure of light, draped in robes that shimmered like stardust yet were as heavy as the burden he believed that he yet bore.

Justice’s form was not entirely corporeal, a being of pure principle and law rather than flesh and blood. His face was a shifting constellation of stars, each point of light representing a different aspect of the justice he dispensed. His eyes, however, were the most striking—twin orbs of blazing light, cold and unforgiving, that saw through the veils of deceit and imperfection that shrouded the hearts of mortals.

As he sat on his throne, he gazed upon the vast expanse of his domain, his thoughts lost in the intricate web of plans that he had woven. He could see the paths of least resistance, the calculated routes through which he would impose his will upon the world of man, bending it to his vision of perfect order. His mind, ever the instrument of logic and reason, weighed the potential outcomes of every action, calculating the costs and benefits with an unfeeling detachment. He pondered the resistance he would inevitably face—those who would oppose him, those who would refuse to submit to the order he sought to create.

He thought of the people he had once been close to, those who had walked beside him in the early days when the Earth was young and his heart was not yet hardened by the weight of millennia. He knew that they would not understand, that they would see him as a tyrant, a villain who sought to impose his will upon the world. But what did their opinions matter now? They were relics of a time long past, bound by the same emotions and weaknesses that had led the multiverse into chaos.

His thoughts darkened as he considered Compassion. She would oppose him, of that he was certain. She would see his plans as an abomination, a betrayal of the principles they had once shared. But he was resolute. The world had fallen too far into chaos, and only his vision of absolute order could save it. If Compassion could not see that, then she too would have to be cast aside.

As these thoughts swirled in his mind, he felt a disturbance—a ripple in the perfect symmetry of his realm. His eyes narrowed, the twin orbs of light intensifying as he focused on the intrusion. It was not one of his Heralds; their presence would have been instantly recognized and welcomed. No, this was a foreign presence, one that did not belong in the Realm of Order. But there was only one being who could enter his domain unbidden, one who had the right to cross the boundaries of his realm freely.

Compassion.

She had come to visit.

The air around Justice grew colder as his thoughts became more guarded. He knew why she was here. She would try to dissuade him, to pull him back from the path he had chosen. But he was determined. The time for soft words and gentle persuasion had passed. Now, only the cold, hard logic of justice remained.

As Compassion's presence grew closer, Justice rose from his throne, his form towering and radiant in the stark light of his domain. He would hear what she had to say, but he would not be swayed. The path forward was clear, and he would walk it, no matter the cost.

The door to the room opened, and there she stood—a figure of warmth and light, a stark contrast to the cold, unyielding world of the Realm of Order. Compassion, with her gentle presence and kind eyes, stepped into the room, her very essence a reminder of the world Justice had turned away from.

Justice stood tall, his presence imposing and unwavering, as he regarded his elder sister with a gaze as sharp and unyielding as steel. His voice, when he finally spoke, was curt, devoid of warmth or pretense. He could not afford warmth nor kindness right now, not so close to his plans being implemented.

"State your purpose," he commanded, his tone brooking no delay. "I can only imagine why you have sought me out, but understand that I am burdened with tasks far more pressing than idle conversation. Make your intentions known, and spare me any unnecessary pleasantries."

His words were final, the air around him charged with the weight of his authority. There was no room for delay, no space for anything but the cold, hard truth.

Compassion stood, her form gentle but no less resolute, as the gown she often wore over her pale skin shimmered with the light of the stars deep in space itself - her hair was as similarly black as the darkness of space. Her eyes often shifted, but they remained a cool blue in this state, emphasizing her saddened emotional state. When they last were together millennia ago, they weren't perfectly bonded, but there was still an emotional side in him that genuinely wanted to do right by humanity. When he had reemerged from his self-imposed isolation after so long, the change in his heart was immediately apparent to her; it was almost like she wasn't looking at the same brother anymore.

Justice had sought to isolate himself from the world, feeling that doing so would give him a more objective understanding of it. Compassion, by contrast, opted to remain in it as an eternal guide to the moral agents within. She had seen great cruelties in her long years, but she had also seen great good over the years. Even if the good was often less prominent than the evil, that didn't change the reality that it was there. Once upon a time, Justice knew this - they had worked together to make sure that good could propagate. Now, she wasn't sure he could see anything else.

When he had locked himself away...Compassion didn't think he was even aware how negatively that impacted things - both for herself and for the world. When all you can see is the world at a glance and not the people in it, one's mind gets negatively colored. And from that negativity - that detachment - the cold callousness had arisen. She looked into what passed as her brother's "face", and tried to find something in there - some trace of reason in the unending dark ocean that was hatred and zeal.

"Brother..." Compassion trailed tenderly. "I know what it is you plan on doing, and I want you to see reason. You seek an absolute order, but I've seen the glimpses of what would result from the methods you intend to use. The death. The hatred that would rise. An unending cycle - an extinction that result just as surely as letting the current chaos unfurl unobserved would bring."

Compassion was as resolute as Justice was, her will being a typhoon crashing against the absolutely unflinching mountain that was Justice. But mountains erode over time; even if her words didn't deter her brother now, they would haunt him, however ironclad his will was. The reality was that she knew that both of their experiences had been subjective ones. Underneath the silk of her voice and the beauty of her skin was a sharpness, like a finely crafted steel blade - a beautiful rose of virtue that carried thorns, ready to cut into those that would wrong the innocent.

"As much as you will doubt me, you need me by your side to temper your hatred - just as I need you to temper me from showing unnecessary mercy," Compassion pleaded. "When the two of us still walked among the mortals, we were truly making strides - even as slow-going as it was. When you retreated and insisted on being a watcher from this realm of...stasis, I needed to do the work for both of us. All that we were doing to be guides for humanity had become stuck in limbo. And if it's not my presence you want, then please: allow me the time to shelter the virtuous people - whoever they may be - from your wrath."

As Compassion looked up at the void of stars that made up Justice's face, her eyes shone brighter - a testament to her belief that she was trying to talk down Justice from making a terrible mistake. A hope that some trace of the Justice she knew remained in there. She wasn't even trying to appeal to emotion - that would likely be a result of the bond they shared - she was beginning primarily from a position of foresight and familiarity with the human condition - familiarity with both humanity's virtues as well as its vices.

She lived seeing it daily. If it weren't for the relative minority that fought against humanity's vices, her belief in humanity would have been shattered centuries ago. Her logic ran downstream from this familiarity, while his logic was downstream from what he saw from this cold, isolated realm, and the resulting hatred.

She was the elder sibling by two millennia...did she truly fail her brother this badly? She wasn't a goddess - she wasn't deluded enough to believe that. She was simply a concept of many universal principles given form, just as Justice was. The possibility of her failing her brother in some way as both sister and partner in being humanity's guide had crossed her mind. But this was the moment that the possibility was being tested.

Justice regarded his sister, the swirling void that constituted his face reflecting the coldness that had consumed him over the millennia. Her words, filled with the warmth and light of compassion, contrasted sharply with the absolute, unyielding certainty that now defined him.

Certainly! Here’s the dialogue with the requested formatting:

"Compassion," his voice resonated, carrying the weight of a thousand judgments, "you speak of reason, of foresight, of the virtues that you believe still reside in the hearts of mortals. But what you fail to grasp, sister, is that the virtues you cherish are fleeting, fragile things—like flickering candles in a storm. They are easily snuffed out by the darkness that permeates the world. I have witnessed the cycles of humanity, the rise and fall of civilizations, the endless repetition of chaos and order, and I have come to a conclusion you cannot accept."

He took a step forward, the very air around him seeming to bend and conform to his will. "You see, Compassion, the flaw lies not in the world, but in the very nature of those who inhabit it. Mortals, left to their own devices, inevitably fall to chaos. Their hearts are corruptible, their minds easily swayed by fear, greed, and hatred. I have seen the good you so fervently believe in, and I have seen it crushed beneath the weight of their sins time and time again."

Justice's tone grew more resolute, the calm finality of his words echoing through the space between them. "Isolation has not clouded my vision, sister; it has purified it. It has allowed me to see with clarity, free from the distractions and emotions that once tethered me to a flawed perspective. You, Compassion, have let your empathy cloud your judgment. You still believe that there is something to save, something to guide. But I have moved beyond such delusions."

He paused, as if to let the weight of his words sink in. "The order I seek to impose is not born of hatred, but of necessity. It is the only solution to the endless cycle of suffering that mortals inflict upon themselves and each other. I do not hate humanity, but I have seen the truth of their nature, and I will not allow their weaknesses to perpetuate any longer. My order will not be a balance with chaos, for chaos is the enemy of all that is just. My order will be absolute, unyielding, and in it, there will be no place for the chaos that you so desperately try to shelter."

Justice extended his hand, the gesture both a sign of finality and a reflection of his unwavering conviction. "You wish to temper my judgment, to save the virtuous from my wrath, but you do not see that in doing so, you are only prolonging their suffering. The time for mercy has passed. The time for decisive action is at hand. And if you cannot see that, then perhaps you are not fit to stand by my side in this new order."

His words, though devoid of malice, carried a cold, irrefutable logic that left little room for compromise. "I do not seek to destroy you, Compassion, but understand this: your way has failed. If you cannot accept the necessity of my actions, then you will find yourself at odds with the very order I intend to create. And I will not allow even you to stand in the way of what must be done."

Justice’s form remained still, as if awaiting her response, yet his very presence exuded a sense of inevitability, as though the path he had chosen was already set in motion, and nothing could alter its course.

"So, you would seek to undo the good we have done over the ages," Compassion trailed, a single tear sliding down her cheek. "You hide it well, brother. But I know the reality of your heart - I have staved off for so long what has claimed you: despair. The disappointment of seeing humanity stumble, over and over. I know what you will do: kill billions to save the million. But how long can that cycle last? How long before there is no humanity left to guide under your methods?"

She turned away. At the end of the day, she had failed as Justice's sister.

"You mistake me, brother," Compassion started. "It is not chaos that I seek to shelter. It is the good of heart that would be caught in the crossfire of what you intend to do - but you seek to exterminate even them. And even if you don't, there are others who would resist that would seek to use them as a bargaining chip. In ages long past, during the Persian Wars, you and I were inseparable - we aided who needed aiding, and killed who needed killing."

"I remained to be the shepherd to save who I could," Compassion said. "But you would lynch them among the millions to kill the hundreds of thousands that are beyond hope. The Justice I knew would not have done so. And what of my followers? Would you lynch them, even if we remained out of the way?"

"You speak of despair as though it has consumed me, sister, but you are mistaken. What you perceive as despair is simply clarity—a clarity you refuse to embrace. Humanity has had its chances, more than we can count. Time and again, they have faltered, fallen into the same patterns of destruction and corruption. My methods are not born of despair but of necessity. The cycle you fear is one I intend to break, permanently. To save the few at the cost of the many is not cruelty; it is the harsh truth of justice, of order. The good of heart that you speak of, they are not my enemy, but they cannot stand in the way of what must be done. They will not be exterminated by my hand, but if they align themselves with those who perpetuate chaos, they will fall as collateral. It is not I who endangers them; it is their misguided loyalty to a flawed system that seals their fate."

Justice's voice, though unwavering, held a weight that seemed to press down on everything around him. The very air seemed to tighten, as though reality itself was bending to the will of his words.

"You remember the Persian Wars, Compassion, but you forget what we learned from them. Even in those times, we were not simply shepherds—we were arbiters, executing judgment where it was due. And what truly did we help? The Greeks to their right to keep their slaves, restrict the rights of women, and to kill each other in that Peloponnesian nonsense not even a generation later? Had to thin the chaff of Persian expansion in spite of their profoundly tolerant restraint for those who submitted and followed their laws? The world is no different now. The scale may have changed, but the principles remain. You wish to shelter the good, but you must understand that in this new order, good intentions alone will not suffice. To stand aside is to allow chaos to fester, and in that allowance, you become complicit in the very disorder you seek to prevent."

Justice's presence seemed to grow, as if the very fabric of his realm was resonating with his conviction.

"As for your followers, they are not my targets. But understand this, sister: if they rise against the order I will bring, if they stand in defense of chaos, they will be judged as all others. Your shepherding as you would call it has proven ineffective. Not only do the wolves come and go as they please as they dine on your, as you claim, ‘beloved’ sheep, but they feel so comfortable as to live amongst them as they dine. The Justice you knew is not gone; he has simply evolved to meet the demands of a world that refuses to change. In a time of sink or swim it seems they are intent on slamming into the iceberg. I do not seek to undo the good we have done, but to ensure that the mistakes we allowed to persist are never repeated and that our works endure. The world will know order, and in that order, true justice will reign."

Finished for a moment, Justice sat down in his throne. His shoulders slouched ever so slightly as if his energy had been sapped somewhat having to explain himself to his older sister. Opening his hand, he created an image of the Earth in it, only about the size of a basketball, and twirled it. As it spun, golden and white light began to work over the surface. Desolated lands healed, dried basins of dead bodies of water killed by man refilled, the green patches of nature grew once more and regained their vibrancy. Even the works of man appeared to grow and thrive as their cities grew brighter in this model. “If a shepherd is performing poorly then he is replaced, it is simple as that. How much more of your ‘flock’ would have been an acceptable amount before you acted for them? For my account it has been too much for a long while now.”

"You idealize what could happen under your rule, brother. Chaos merely is - and it arises, however much we may not want it to. Even the very planet's natural processes are chaotic. If you seek chaos, you will find it, even if it's not there," Compassion started. "As much as I wish it were otherwise, neither of us are gods. Neither of us is perfection. And if what you say is true, and my methods and intents are flawed, you are no less vulnerable to such flaws. If you were to succeed in imposing your order, I pray that you would not forget why you sought to do so. Do not allow your zeal for order to destroy everything else you seek to preserve - everything that gives life meaning. I've seen such a thing lead too many to an early grave.."

Compassion sighed and her eyes returned to their normal purple. Her brother was so proud - so set in his ways - that his zeal had taken over. He was beyond reason, and their bond had eroded. Without her other half - one that acted indifferently and without zeal - she was nothing. Justice as he was saw only the wider picture. He missed the trees for the forest, while she examined both.


"As you implied, there would be no use for me in the world you plan to bring. Then perhaps it is my fate to fizzle out and cease existing. I am obsolete to you, after all," Compassion said, acknowledging that her brother saw her as nothing more than obsolete machinery. Reason had failed her, so she made the low blow of putting words about herself into Justice's mouth. "You have my followers' neutrality to your actions, but that neutrality will break should you target them on purpose."

"You misunderstand me, sister," Justice began, his voice steady, "I do not idealize what could happen; I accept what must happen. Chaos, as you say, is a natural force, but it is also a force that can be controlled, shaped, and diminished. My purpose is not to eliminate chaos entirely—that would indeed be folly—but to suppress it, to prevent it from overwhelming the order that sustains life. I am not blind to my own flaws, nor do I claim perfection. But I also do not shy away from the responsibility that falls upon us as embodiments of greater principles. If I falter, it will not be from ignorance but from the weight of the burden we both bear. I do not seek to destroy meaning, Compassion; I seek to preserve it, to protect it from the very chaos that would erode it. Your fears are noted, but they will not deter me from the path that has been set before me."

Justice's presence remained unwavering, his conviction unshakable. He regarded his sister with a mixture of pity and resolve, understanding her concerns but unwilling to yield to them.

"You speak of obsolescence as though it is a fate I have chosen for you, but that is not the case. The world we seek to shape requires balance, yes, but balance must be maintained, not left to the whims of chaos. If your neutrality holds, then so be it. But know this: should your Disciples interfere with the work of my Heralds, should they choose to break the neutrality you have sworn to maintain, they will face the consequences of that decision. This is not a threat, sister, but a simple statement of fact. The path I walk is one of order, and order will not tolerate disorder, no matter the source."

His voice was calm, devoid of anger or malice, but carrying the weight of an absolute truth.

"I did not wish for us to stand on opposite sides, Compassion. I had hoped you would see the necessity of what must be done. But if neutrality is your choice, then we will honor it—for as long as it holds."

"It never had to come to this, brother...us arguing over the best way to proceed further," Compassion said, her gown fluttering in the wind as her own portal opened. "But it did, anyway. I don't want the blood of those whose only crime was being in the wrong place on your hands, Justice. If that happens, hatred will meet you even from those who would otherwise be noble. Mortals are as short-sighted as they are temporal, and may never understand or even accept that it was in error, or why you did so. Is this truly what you are willing to bear?"

In truth, Compassion was even more worried as to what the possibility of innocents dying on Justice's watch would have on his psyche than the principle of ruthless order itself. Compassion could never live with herself if she had directly harmed an innocent. So, how could Justice? The way he looked at everything now was so cold and clinical. It didn't even sound like calculated risk - it was pure cold callousness. How could he justify his stance if he didn't believe himself perfect?

"Imprison me here, if you must, if you believe that I must see everything with my own eyes to come to agreement with you," Compassion said. "Otherwise, I leave through this portal."

"You mistake my resolve for cold callousness, sister," Justice's voice reverberated through the void-like expanse of his realm, a chilling and unyielding force. "But I am no longer swayed by the fleeting emotions of mortals. I am here to save this world, to fix what is broken, to impose order where there is none. And I will not play your games, Compassion. Imprisoning you would be nothing more than a distraction, a concession to a path that leads nowhere. I have no time for distractions."

He moved closer, the very essence of his being pressing down upon the space around them, the weight of his will almost tangible. "You speak of innocents, but you know as well as I do that inaction can be as deadly as any blade. To do nothing is to allow chaos to fester. Neutrality, in this context, is not a virtue but a failing—a refusal to tip the scales in favor of order. If you are not with me, then you are against me. Your neutrality is a luxury this world cannot afford. As for these innocents that would be wielded against me by the corrupt and the rotted, they will die knowing they aided a better world. Another name to add to the plaque of martyrs that will adorn this new, grateful world that thrives thanks to sacrifices like that. Like mine own."

Justice paused, allowing his words to settle like the finality of a judge's gavel. "You will not be harmed, nor will your Disciples, so long as they abide by the terms I have set. But understand this: your access to my realm, your place within my presence, is a privilege that hinges on the pleasure of the sovereign of this realm. Of now, I no longer find myself willing or able to grant you that right in good confidence. You may leave through your portal, but do not return until I deem it necessary. I no longer have time for your appeals to emotion or your attempts to temper my resolve. The world will be saved, sister, with or without you."

Justice stepped back, the portal swirling behind Compassion, an invitation to leave the cold, unyielding domain he had built. "When you are ready to stand with me, to see the world saved through the only means left, you may return. Until then, you are no longer welcome here. Choose your path, Compassion, but know that my path is set. This is no longer a matter of my forgiving you or seeking your absolution, it is now my matter to question how you have lived with your own inaction to this growing tumult." While he left his question to linger in the air, Justice prepared his magic, readying to end the ward which granted her freedom to travel here whence she pleased.

"Your very emergence would become a cause of chaos. People too scared to do anything else will turn on each other. You'll be starting an age of chaos in the name of creating order," Compassion said with a sigh. "You realize that...don't you? Goodbye, brother..."

It was over. Her brother was truly lost. He made his line in the sand, and she had to, too. She had no other choice than to be in opposition to the most extreme actions of her once-beloved brother. For better or worse, the ultimate question between the two siblings was such: is it better to cultivate order or to cultivate good? But Justice's callous disregard for life had to be stopped.

And he spoke like one with a god complex. She truly failed him as his sister. Dejected at her failure, she stepped through the portal to her own realm, the only thought in her mind wishing her old brother to rest in peace. And she was angered by the hypocrisy of the being that remained behind - for the sake of creating order, he would create even more chaos to start his reform. A man who would kill everyone on that planet - in his bid to save humanity from itself, he would see it driven to extinction. And all that would be left behind is a world of absolute silence.

She knew the truth, even if she didn't admit it out loud: Compassion blamed herself for Justice's current state. When he decided to shut himself away from the world, she decided to let her duties to her followers and humanity at large - the same duties she had been doing before Justice ever came into her life - take precedence over her duties as a sister to Justice. Could his current state have been averted if she was there for him, holding him, dousing the flames of his hatred? Or would she have come to the same conclusions as he did?

Justice did not acknowledge it, but he was driven by his despair. Compassion herself was on its precipice. She had staved it off for so long...perhaps the good she had seen her followers do had been all that helped her keep it together. And now, as she saw what her brother had become, the first fissures within the crystal of her mind began to form. Was there even meaning behind either of their existences anymore?

My brother. He's dead. I let him die. This is just the end of something else.

Her eyes glowed a blood red as she struggled to hold the despair back.

Justice sat back on his throne, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on his form. The void around him, once a comforting embrace of certainty and resolve, now felt like a cold, empty expanse. He hadn't wanted things to come to this, but the world needed him to be unyielding, resolute, and beyond sentimentality. He had to believe that the path he had chosen was the only way forward, even if it meant severing ties with the one being he had once trusted above all others.

As Justice settled back into his throne, the cold, unyielding structure pressing against his form, he allowed himself a rare moment of introspection. The memories of his recent confrontation with Compassion lingered, tugging at the corners of his mind like a persistent shadow. He had tried to remain steadfast, to keep his resolve unshaken, but the confrontation had stirred something deep within him—something he hadn't felt in centuries.

His thoughts drifted to a time long ago when he and Compassion had walked the world together. Those were simpler days, when their purpose seemed clearer, and their bond was unbreakable. He could still recall the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled with hope and belief in the goodness of humanity. They had fought side by side, striving to guide mortals toward a better future, each playing their part in the delicate balance of the world.

He remembered the Persian Wars, the nights spent discussing strategy and philosophy, the quiet moments where they found solace in each other's company. Back then, he was not the embodiment of cold logic and rigid order that he had become. There was still a warmth in him, a fire that had burned brightly alongside Compassion's own. They had been two halves of a whole, each tempering the other, each providing what the other lacked.

But then came the centuries of isolation. Justice had withdrawn, believing that distance would grant him the clarity and objectivity needed to fulfill his purpose. He had shut himself away, building this realm of absolute order, where emotions and distractions had no place. In doing so, he had severed the bond that once united them, allowing his heart to harden, his resolve to calcify into something unrecognizable.

He had seen the world through the lens of detachment, witnessing the failings of humanity over and over again. Each act of cruelty, each descent into chaos, had only served to reinforce his belief that order must be imposed, no matter the cost. But in that process, he had lost something vital—something that Compassion had tried, in vain, to remind him of.

The pain of losing her, the regret of what he had become, all of it had been pushed aside in his relentless pursuit of order. The world they both had stewarded over required no less.

For a brief moment, Justice allowed his mind to slip back to those happier times. He could almost feel the warmth of the sun on his face, hear the rustle of leaves in the wind, and see his sister's smile—a smile that had once given him hope, a hope that now seemed like a distant memory. The world had been so full of possibilities back then, and they had believed that they could guide humanity to a brighter future together.

But that was a different time, a different Justice. The being he was now could not afford such luxuries. He had a world to save, a duty to fulfill, and emotions had no place in that equation. Yet, even as he tried to push those thoughts away, the ache in his chest remained—a lingering reminder of what he had lost.

It was then that he sensed her approach—the steady, purposeful steps of one who had long served him with unwavering loyalty. Justice straightened, the swirling colors of his form settling into their usual dark and imposing hues as the memories were locked away once more. The doors to his throne room opened not long after he recomposed himself from this.

A Seraph entered the throne room, their ethereal wings casting a soft glow in the otherwise dim space. Justice quickly recomposed himself, the mask of authority slipping back into place as if nothing had happened. The Seraph knelt before him, their head bowed in deference.

The Seraphine of Rouen, The Herald of Hope, forged from the soul of Jeanne d'Arc, entered. Her presence was a stark contrast to the tumultuous thoughts that had occupied him just moments before. Clad in resplendent armor, her gaze was unwavering, a testament to the unwavering conviction that had defined her in life and continued to define her in service to Justice.

She moved with a grace and purpose that belied the battles she had fought and the sacrifices she had made, both in her mortal life and now as a Seraph. The flames of her resolve had never dimmed, even in the face of overwhelming odds. Justice found a certain comfort in her presence—a reminder that, despite the many losses he had endured, there were still those who believed in his cause, who fought for the order he sought to impose.

But even as he prepared to speak, the echoes of his recent confrontation with Compassion lingered at the edges of his consciousness. The weight of their words, the pain of their estrangement, could not be entirely dismissed. He wondered, for just a fleeting moment, if Seraphine too would have shared Compassion’s concerns if she had known him before his transformation—if she would have tried to steer him away from the path he now walked.

Yet, those thoughts were fleeting. Justice knew that the world required a firm hand, a steady will, and an unwavering commitment to order. There was no room for doubt, no space for regret. He had made his choices, and he would see them through, no matter the cost.

"Seraphine," he greeted her, his voice steady, the tumult within hidden beneath layers of composure. "What news do you bring?"

Seraphine Jeanne approached with her customary grace, her armor glinting in the dim light of the throne room. She bowed deeply before Justice, her every movement reflecting the discipline and purpose that had defined her life and now her afterlife.

"My lord," she began, her voice clear and resolute, "I bring news from the world. The tensions among the nations continue to rise, as you predicted. Conflicts are simmering just beneath the surface, and the powers that be scramble for control, each trying to assert their dominance over the others. However, there are also pockets of unexpected unity—small alliances forming among the innocent, driven by a desire for peace in the midst of growing chaos. The meta taint is now being recognized by man as disparate groups organize across the world in opposition to their chaos."

Justice listened intently, his form remaining still, though within him the currents of thought swirled. Seraphine's report was thorough, detailing the state of the world from the highest echelons of power to the smallest of villages. She spoke of new technologies emerging, birthed from the crucible of necessity to combat the greater abilities born into metas, an arms race against an unnatural and aberrant genetic error, and of ancient grievances being rekindled, threatening to ignite into full-blown war. She noted the whispers of rebellion, the quiet dissent growing in corners where order had begun to fray.

She also spoke of the heroes among mortals—those few who still clung to the ideals of justice, compassion, and mercy, fighting against the tides of corruption and despair. They were few and far between, but their efforts, though small, were not insignificant. They were the sparks of hope that refused to be extinguished, even in the darkest of times. Justice dismissed these "heroes" however, vigilantism was chaotic and unprecise especially with the taint of this abnormal Meta-Gene in the veins of much of them.

When she finished, Justice regarded her with a deep sense of satisfaction. The world was progressing toward the inevitable conclusion he had foreseen. The old systems were faltering, and soon, the need for a new order would be undeniable. But there was still work to be done, and the time to act was not yet upon them.

"You have served well, Seraphine," Justice finally spoke, his voice resonant and commanding. "Your reports confirm what I have foreseen. The world is on the brink, and soon, it will be time to impose the order it so desperately needs. But not yet."

He rose from his throne, his form towering above her, though the once-turbulent colors had settled into a calm, determined hue. "Mankind shall have four more months. Four months to continue in their ways, to perhaps see the folly of their actions, though I do not expect such a revelation. In that time, we shall prepare. The Seraphs shall stand ready, as shall the Heralds. When the time comes, we will move swiftly and decisively, bringing about the change this world requires."

Jeanne bowed once more, her expression one of unwavering loyalty. "As you command, my lord. We shall wait, vigilant and prepared, for the moment when your will is to be enacted."

"Go, Seraphine," Justice said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. "Ensure that the others are informed. Let no one be caught unawares when the time arrives."

With that, she turned and left the throne room, her steps echoing in the vast chamber. Justice watched her depart, his mind already turning to the tasks ahead. The time for action would come soon enough, and when it did, there would be no turning back. He would save this world, even if it meant reshaping it from the ground up, and even if it meant leaving behind those he had once held dear.

As the doors closed behind her, Justice allowed himself a final, fleeting thought of his sister, of what might have been had they remained united. But that time had passed, and the path before him was clear. There was no room for doubt, only the certainty of his purpose.

"Four months.... Four months until I show this world the error of its bygone ways." He felt a sense of pride and satisfaction at the end of chaos that was to come. Even if they fought him, even if they hated him, they would be alive and safe. And wholly incapable of acting on that petty hatred.