The Tyrant’s Resurgence

The air in the hideout was thick with tension. Zareth stood over a crude map of the city square, his fingers tracing the Dominion's expected formations. A public execution wasn't just a display of power—it was a statement. One meant to force him into action.

"The moment you show up, they'll close the cage," Veyron warned, arms crossed. "They're not just waiting for you—they're ready for you."

Zareth didn't look up. "Then we break the cage."

Murmurs spread through the rebels. Some believed in him. Others saw suicide. The Dominion was notorious for setting flawless traps. But Zareth was no ordinary man.

Veyron sighed. "You're doing this no matter what."

"Yes."

"Then at least take a real plan with you."

A smirk. "I already have one."

The city square was suffocating with Dominion presence. Banners draped over buildings. Enforcers lined the rooftops. The square itself was packed—civilians forced to watch, a display of terror.

At the center, the captured informant knelt before the execution block, bound and bloodied. His breath came in ragged gasps, eyes barely open.

Above him, on a raised platform, stood the Governor of Black Hollow. He was flanked by armored figures—Dominion elites clad in blackened plate, each one radiating controlled power.

And then there was him.

Standing at the Governor's side was a figure in crimson armor, a massive greatsword slung across his back. His presence alone made the air feel heavier. A Dominion officer. High-ranking. Powerful. Prepared.

The Governor stepped forward, his voice carrying across the square.

"People of Black Hollow, you have been given mercy, and yet you bite the hand that feeds you!" His gaze swept the crowd. "Let this be a lesson."

The executioner raised his axe.

Zareth moved.

One moment, the axe was falling.

The next, a black shadow tore through the execution platform.

Zareth hit like a storm. His blade sliced through the executioner mid-swing, sending a spray of crimson across the wooden planks.

The square erupted into chaos.

The Dominion was ready.

Four elite warriors surged toward him, their Aetherbrand Aspects flaring. Each wielded a different style—one with a spear, another with twin daggers, a third with a warhammer, and the last with flowing, ethereal chains.

Zareth didn't hesitate. He met them head-on.

The first warrior lunged—the spearman, swift and precise. Zareth sidestepped, gripping the shaft of the spear and ripping the man forward. The force shattered ribs as Zareth drove a knee into his chest, then followed with a brutal downward slash—one elite down.

The dagger-wielding assassin struck next, movements blurred by speed techniques. Zareth anticipated it, countering with a devastating elbow to the throat. Aether flared as the assassin tried to retreat—Zareth grabbed him by the skull and drove his head into the execution block.

The warhammer came next—a mountain of a man bringing his weapon down in an earth-shattering blow. Zareth met raw power with raw power. He caught the descending hammer in both hands, twisted his stance, and drove a devastating punch into the warrior's gut. The hammer wielder staggered, coughing blood.

The final elite struck. The chain-user's Aetherbrand Aspects lashed out, binding Zareth's arms in an instant.

For a moment, he was restrained.

Then he pulled.

Aetherbrand Essence surged through him as he ripped the chains free, dragging the wielder forward. With a brutal twist, Zareth caught him by the throat and crushed his windpipe.

Four elite warriors. Dead in moments.

The crowd was silent.

The Governor's expression darkened. And then, the Dominion officer moved.

The officer's blade was drawn in a single smooth motion. The sheer weight of his presence was different—not just power, but experience.

"You're strong," the officer admitted. "But I know what you are, Zareth Valgarde. And I was trained to kill monsters like you."

He attacked.

This fight was different.

The officer's blade was fast, precise, and unrelenting. Aetherbrand Aspects surged, each strike aimed to counter Zareth's raw power with refined technique.

Zareth blocked, countered, and adapted.

The two clashed across the execution grounds, their strikes carving through stone, sending shockwaves through the square.

The officer's Aetherbrand Aspect allowed him to manipulate weight—every strike he made was heavier, faster, perfectly calculated.

But Zareth was evolving mid-battle.

He shifted his stance. Read his opponent. Exploited openings.

And then he began to dominate.

His blows became relentless. The officer started to slow, forced onto the defensive. Zareth pressed forward—fist, blade, raw force.

And then, with a final, earth-shattering strike, he drove his sword through the officer's chest.

The Dominion officer staggered, coughed blood, and fell to his knees.

The silence was deafening.

Zareth stepped back. "Monsters don't die easy."

He turned away. The officer collapsed.

The Governor fled.

With the officer dead and the elites broken, the Dominion forces shattered. The execution grounds were a bloodbath.

Zareth walked forward, unchaining the captive. "You're free."

The rebel looked up, awe in his eyes. "You… you really are the Tyrant reborn."

Zareth said nothing. His legend was growing.

But so was the Dominion's fury.