Bishop VIII

Xander's contemplation of the king's demeanor continued unabated, his mind dancing between memories of the past and the present reality. "So that's the king at this time, huh," he muttered inwardly, a wry smile playing on his lips.

"Always with the almighty behavior, no matter what the age," he thought, a spark of rebellion flickering in his eyes. The aura of authority surrounding the monarch seemed unaltered, reminiscent of the time when Aden himself had held dominion as the Demon Lord.

Lost in thought, Xander suddenly became aware that he stood before the stage device, the mechanical hum and glow demanding his attention. His gaze shifted from the king to the contraption in front of him, a quizzical expression replacing the earlier aloofness.

"Huh, what the hell is this?" Xander remarked, his focus now on the device. Agatha's voice cut through his musings, drawing him back to the present. "Young boy, put your hand into the device. It will measure your compatibility with the flow," she instructed.

Within Xander's heart, gratitude mingled with the arrogance he carried. The old woman's concise explanation spared him from the need to inquire, and with a blend of arrogance and respect, he extended his hand toward the device. The anticipation of the crowd, the scrutiny of onlookers, and the distant yet watchful gaze of the king converged at this moment, a crossroads where Xander's destiny awaited revelation.

Amidst the anticipation and the watchful eyes of the spectators, Xander's internal monologue raged on. He grappled with the unknown device before him, pondering its significance in his quest for self-discovery. The desire to understand the extent of his current abilities, to gauge if he had truly returned to his prime, gnawed at the recesses of his thoughts.

His disdain for the measurement device was evident, a sentiment rooted in the demons' tradition of determining strength through battle rather than relying on such mechanisms. "In the demon realm, the way to rank someone or some demon is by battle, not this weak-ass measurement device," he mused, the nostalgia of his past life as the Demon Lord coloring his perception of the present.

Amid the ceremonial ambiance, Xander's contemplations took a dark turn. His mind, swathed in the echoes of ancient power and conquest, wandered into the realms of ambitious reverie. As the measuring device awaited his interaction, the dormant desires of the former Demon Lord resurfaced.

In the recesses of his thoughts, he toyed with the notion of regaining his long-lost dominion by committing an audacious act. "Maybe I could take off the king's head now and go back to my realm?" The question hung in the air like an ominous specter. Xander's mind danced with visions of reclaiming his demonic glory, of ascending once more to the pinnacle of his power.

As he indulged in this dark fantasy, the shadows of his past whispered tales of ruthless conquests and unrivaled authority. The dream of a triumphant return to the Demon Realm, heads of defeated foes metaphorically adorning his throne, fueled his yearning for the might he once wielded.

As the device beckoned, Agatha's impatient request echoed in his ears. "Do it faster, young boy," she urged. Xander's internal response was one of nonchalance. "Relax, old woman," he quipped mentally, irritation flickering in his gaze.

However, a sudden realization struck him. What if revealing too much of his power exposed his true identity? The notion of divine interference also crossed his mind. "If I show too much, will my identity be revealed?" he contemplated, the weight of the potential consequences settling on his shoulders.

As the gears of the ceremony ground forward, Xander found himself at a crossroads between unveiling his true capabilities and blending in with the ordinary. A brief consideration of the goddess's response to his regained power flashed through his mind, adding another layer of complexity to his internal deliberations.

"Maybe I should hold back my flow," he mused, grappling with the dichotomy of unleashing his true potential and concealing the dark truths within. The clandestine dance between the past and the present unfolded within his mind, each step echoing with the weight of ancient ambitions.

Contemplating the potential repercussions, Aden wavered on the brink of a decision. "Maybe I should hold back my flow," he thought, a surge of conflicting emotions coursing through him. The prospect of unveiling his true power danced with the fear of exposing himself in a world oblivious to his past.

Caught in the labyrinth of his own musings, Aden failed to grasp the importance of observing the 'normal' digits displayed by the measuring device. The ebb and flow of the ceremony around him became a distant murmur, drowned out by the tempest raging within his mind.

As the measuring device awaited his interaction, Aden's hand hovered uncertainly above it. The gathering crowd, ignorant of the tumult within his thoughts, anticipated another lackluster performance from a mere servant. Unbeknownst to them, the former Demon Lord stood at the crossroads of revelation and discretion.

In the midst of these musings, Agatha's voice pierced through the haze. "Do it faster!" she demanded once more, prompting Xander to snap back to the task at hand. Without further ado, he plunged his hand into the device, his thoughts and uncertainties temporarily eclipsed by the ceremonial proceedings. Unbeknownst to him, the consequences of his actions in the flow measurement were about to unfold.

The moment the digit was unveiled on the screen, a stunned silence gripped the entire assembly. An audible gasp swept through the crowd as the unexpected hundred-digit number loomed large and kept increasing, signaling an unparalleled power within Xander. Before anyone could comprehend the significance of this revelation, chaos erupted.

Several heroes, swift and vigilant, surged forward, weapons drawn, and spells at the ready. Xander found himself at the center of a storm, facing pointed blades, fireballs, and lightning spears launched by the alarmed heroes. The atmosphere crackled with tension, and Brayan, with unsheathed sword, stepped forward to intervene, determined to prevent any harm befalling Xander.

Kanan, sensing the escalating danger, cursed under his breath. "Ahh, fuck it," he muttered, reluctantly following Brayan into the fray. The tightness in the air mirrored the palpable unease that permeated the Academy plaza. The unfolding events threatened to plunge the Selection Ceremony into an unforeseen conflict, leaving the fate of the mysterious Xander hanging in the balance.

Amidst the chaotic confrontation, a familiar voice cut through the tension. One of the heroes, recognizing Brayan, challenged him with a sharp question. "What is the meaning of this, Brayan? Are you now escorting a threat directly to the king's doorstep?"

Brayan, unwavering, met the hero's gaze. "My allegiance lies in protecting His Highness and the subjects within the nation of Xess. I am merely fulfilling my duty." He shot back, his tone firm and resolute. The hero, taken aback by Brayan's staunch commitment, hesitated for a moment.

Brayan seized the opportunity to redirect the narrative. "And may I ask, since when is it the duty of heroes to raise arms against a child?" The pointed question lingered in the air, challenging the heroes to reflect on the situation unfolding before them. The clash of values and responsibilities hung palpably, as the heroes grappled with the moral complexities of their roles in the face of the mysterious Xander's unexpected display of power.