As the silent tension from the earlier conversation with Princess Katherine settled, Sion and Duke John were being escorted to their temporary royal quarters within the palace. The echo of their footsteps was interrupted by a furious voice behind them.
"You son of a bitch! Your grandfather tried to kill me, and now you're acting like some kind of savior?!"
Everyone froze. The voice—dripping with hatred and resentment—belonged to none other than Prince Leonard.
Sion halted. His expression, once calm, darkened as if the very air thickened. John felt the shift instantly, his chest tightening as he glanced at his son's face.
Leonard stepped closer, spitting venom.
"And your filthy mother—don't think we've forgotten who she is. A traitor's daughter. That makes you no better than the rats we keep caged under the palace!"
The temperature in the hallway seemed to plummet. John's eyes widened, and he instinctively placed a hand on Sion's shoulder.
"Sion, don't—"
But it was already too late.
Sion's aura exploded outward, a tsunami of divine pressure flooding the corridor. Even at just 15 percent, it was crushing. The King Nathan, the Queen, Katherine, and Leonard himself all dropped to their knees as if the heavens had weighed them down.
Sion didn't yell. He walked—each step echoing like a drum of war.
"Raphael," he said flatly.
A soft golden shimmer burst beside him as Raphael appeared, her tone frantic.
"Sion, please. Don't do this. You've made your point. He's not worth it."
Sion looked at her—then smiled. But it wasn't warm. It was the calm before a massacre.
As he advanced, Princess Katherine rushed to intercept him.
"Stop! Please, Sion—this isn't who you are!"
But her words didn't reach the storm behind his eyes.
Suddenly, a royal guard attempted to lunge toward him from the side. A mistake.
In a flash, Sion vanished and reappeared—the knight's head flying clean off, landing with a sickening thud. Blood splattered across his face, adding to the terror of the moment.
Gasps filled the hall. Katherine covered her mouth in horror. John could only watch, stunned.
Sion reached Leonard, gripped his collar, and lifted him one-handed into the air like a rag doll. The prince struggled, choking, humiliated.
Sion's voice was ice.
"You think bloodline makes you righteous? You think being born in the palace makes you untouchable? I don't care about your crown, your status, or your lies."
He leaned in closer, eyes blazing.
"I could kill you now. And you'd deserve every inch of pain that follows. But I won't—not yet."
He dropped Leonard, who collapsed, gasping.
"Hear me, and hear me well—this is your only warning. Step out of line again, insult my family again, and I will break you. Limb by limb. Inch by inch. Then I'll feed the pieces to the beasts that dwell where even gods fear to tread."
His gaze swept the room.
"That goes for anyone. I don't care if you're a prince, a duke, or a god. Cross me… and I will show you hell."
Silence reigned.
King Nathan, breathing heavily from the oppressive aura, looked up—not in anger, but awe. He whispered to himself,
"What… is he?"
Sion turned and walked away, wiping the blood from his face with a handkerchief offered by Raphael. Behind him, the royal family and nobles were left in stunned silence—shattered, humbled, and forever changed.