The Price of Power

The crowd was so loud, it felt like the palace walls might come down. What started as cheering quickly turned into something scarier, more wild.

The people of the Sovereign Lands, who'd been pushed around and ignored for so long, had gotten a taste of change—and now they wanted more.

"Justice!" thousands of people shouted. "Death to the fake king!"

Atenzi stood on the balcony, the crown feeling heavy on his head. He'd done it—he'd taken Henry's place without spilling any blood. But as he looked at all those angry faces, he realized this wasn't over yet.

Behind him, in the fancy throne room, nobles and officials huddled together, looking scared. Henry, the old king, was hiding behind some guards, white as a sheet.

For a second, Atenzi wasn't sure what to do. This wasn't his plan. He was going to send Henry away, to show how nice he could be. But the crowd was so angry, it was like a force of nature. If Atenzi went against them, they might turn on him too.

The crowd started chanting louder. "Kill the tyrant! Justice for the people!"

Atenzi raised his hands, asking for quiet. Surprisingly, the roar died down, but you could still feel how tense everyone was.

"My people," he started, his voice still rough from being sick, but loud enough to hear. "I hear you asking for justice. And you'll get it."

The crowd got quiet, waiting to hear more.

"Henry will be put on trial for what he did to the Sovereign Lands and its people. If he's found guilty, he'll face..." Atenzi paused, steeling himself. "...execution."

The crowd cheered wildly, looking excited for blood. Atenzi felt a chill run down his spine. What had he started?

In the throne room, Henry cried out in fear, but you couldn't hear it over the noise outside. Atenzi turned and gave the old king a cold look.

"Take him to the dungeons," he told the guards. "Get him ready for trial."

As they dragged Henry away, still begging for mercy, Atenzi felt weird—disgusted, but also... excited? Having the power to decide someone's fate was like a drug. A part of him he didn't know about was loving it.

The next few days were a blur. Atenzi, now officially in charge of the Sovereign Lands, was super busy with all sorts of decisions and responsibilities. But hanging over everything was Henry's trial and execution.

On the morning of the third day, Atenzi stood in front of a mirror in his new royal room, fixing the crown that still felt weird on his head. His reflection stared back, golden eyes burning with a fire that was both thrilling and scary.

Someone knocked on the door. "Come in," Atenzi called.

A nervous-looking helper came in, bowing low. "My lord, everything's ready. The people are gathering in the square. They're waiting for your decision."

Atenzi nodded, with a grim smile. "Then let's not keep them waiting."

The walk to the palace's great hall felt like it took forever. Guards lined the halls, looking both awed and scared as Atenzi passed. In the hall, the remaining nobles and officials of the Sovereign Lands waited, along with people from every part of the city.

And there, in the middle of it all, was Henry, on his knees. The old king looked terrible, wearing simple clothes instead of his fancy robes, his face dirty and tired.

As Atenzi sat on the throne—his throne now—everyone got quiet. He looked out at all the expectant faces, feeling the weight of their hopes and fears.

"Henry," Atenzi began, his voice clear and strong. "You're accused of crimes against the people of the Sovereign Lands. Of ignoring them, of wasting our resources while our enemies got stronger. How do you plead?"

Henry looked up, meeting Atenzi's eyes. For a moment, a bit of his old defiance showed. "Not guilty," he croaked. "I did what I thought was best for our people."

The crowd grumbled unhappily. Atenzi held up a hand for quiet.

"Let's hear the evidence," he commanded.

What followed was a parade of witnesses and documents, all painting a bad picture of Henry's rule. Stories of too many taxes, of big parties while people starved, of important defenses left unguarded. With each new revelation, the mood in the hall got darker, with more people calling for Henry's head.

Finally, Atenzi raised his hand again. The hall went silent, everyone looking at him.

"Henry," he said, "the evidence against you is overwhelming. You failed your people, betrayed their trust in you as ruler of the Sovereign Lands."

Atenzi paused, letting the tension build. "The sentence is death."

The hall erupted in cheers and cries for blood. But Atenzi wasn't done.

He stood up and walked down to stand in front of Henry.

"You were supposed to protect us," Atenzi hissed, his voice low so only Henry could hear. "Instead, you hid behind these walls while our enemies got strong. You had feasts while kids starved in the streets. You're everything that's weak about humanity, the reason we lost our place in this world."

Atenzi's voice got louder, now carrying to the whole hall. "Your execution will send a message—to our enemies, and to anyone who would betray humanity. We won't tolerate weakness anymore. We won't bow to those who would push us down. From today, the Sovereign Lands—no, all of humanity—rises again!"

The crowd roared so loud it hurt your ears.

As guards dragged Henry away to get him ready for his death, Atenzi went back to his throne, feeling a strange fire in his chest. He'd tasted real power now, had felt the thrill of making a whole nation do what he wanted. And he wanted more.

The execution was set for noon, to happen in the big square in front of the palace. As the time got closer, Atenzi stood on the balcony, looking out at the huge crowd that had gathered to watch justice being served.

Part of him felt sick at what he was about to do. This wasn't who he'd been back on Earth, wasn't what he'd planned when he first came to this world. But another part—a part that was getting stronger every minute—loved it. This was power. This was destiny.

As the bells rang for noon, Henry was led out onto a quickly built platform. The old king could barely walk, he was shaking so much as they put him in front of the chopping block.

Atenzi raised his hand, and everyone got quiet.

"People of the Sovereign Lands," he called out, his voice reaching every corner of the huge space. "Today, we fix the wrongs of the past. Today, we send a message to anyone who would fight us, who would try to keep humanity weak and chained."

He paused, looking over the crowd. Their faces showed excitement, bloodthirst, and—he noticed with some worry—fear.

"Let this be a warning," Atenzi continued. "To our enemies outside our borders, and to anyone who would betray us from inside. Humanity won't put up with being pushed around anymore. We won't bow to tyrants, from outside or inside."

With a nod to the executioner, Atenzi gave the final order. "Let justice be done."

The axe fell, and with it, the last bits of Atenzi's old self disappeared.

As the crowd cheered and Henry's blood stained the platform, Atenzi felt something big change inside him. He'd crossed a line, had tasted a kind of power he never knew existed.

As he turned to go back into the palace, he noticed a commotion near the square's entrance. Guards were rushing around, looking scared.

A helper hurried up to Atenzi, his voice shaking as he reported.

"My lord," the man gasped, "we've got news from our coastal watchtowers. A huge fleet is coming from the east. They're flying Elizabeth Báthory's flag."

Atenzi felt his blood run cold. The Crimson Countess, ruler of Bloodmire, was making her move. And the Sovereign Lands, still reeling from all the internal trouble, was nowhere near ready.

As panic started to spread through the crowd, Atenzi's mind raced. He'd gotten power, had made a whole nation do what he wanted. But now came the real test—could he keep it when faced with a huge threat from outside?

The game, it looked like, was about to get a lot more dangerous.