Leonel's cold and calculating eyes watched as this golden fist bore down on him.
As though it was still being constantly fueled by the energies of the world, it continued to expand in size. From matching Alexandre's fist, it was soon larger than even Leonel's body, wanting to crush him into minced at.
Leonel didn't seem to realize that this fist was ant for him. He remained unmoving, his spear being held between his fingers and thumb as though it was as light as a feather.
In his mind, thoughts of Normand continued to surface… The pain of the commoners, the nightmare of the nobles… All the pains and atrocities this man had committed in the na of maintaining his power and strength.
Leonl found that there were too many people like this in the world. It was just that not all of them had the power Alexandre had.
It was as though a cancer had been brewing in the Dinsional Verse for millennia, but not a single person had been able to do a thing about it.
Those that were at the bottom simply suffered in silence. Those at the top perpetuated it to hold onto their power. Those that managed to raise up from the forr and enter the ranks of the latter believed that their hard work gave them the right to do as they pleased.
Maybe the third group of people was the worst. They had perspectives on both sides, and yet they chose to maintain the status quo, saying garbage like those at the bottom should just work harder as though they had a monopoly on what it ant to put in effort.
Such people completely forgot about what help they might have received, what luck they might have stumbled into, what aid soone else had given them… Once they succeeded, nothing else mattered to them than to make sure others knew they reached their goals while you didn't because you didn't work hard enough.
And then there was this Alexandre. He was already at the top of this world, but Leonel could see the ambition in his eye. It couldn't have been more obvious.
This 'king' had already been lucky, being born into royalty in the first place. Now whatever card he had up his sleeve that made him so confident that he could face the whole of the Dinsional Verse… Do you think that he felt he was lucky to stumble into such an opportunity too?
No. He probably thought that he was destined for such a fate. That it was his 'hard work' that put him in position to benefit from such a boon. That he 'deserved' it.
It all sickened Leonel to the very pits of his stomach.
Why was it that he never thought his life was more valuable than another's? Wasn't it obvious that he was worth more? Just look at his talent, just look at his strength… Him dying wasn't the sa as another dying, how could it be?
But this was never how Leonel had seen it.
Why did his talent give him more worth than soone else?
He had been lucky to be born to a father from the Seventh Dinsion. He had been lucky to be born to a talented mother who could catch such a man's eye. He was lucky to have a grandmother from a Sixth Dinsional family, lucky to have a grandfather who ruled a world with Eighth Dinsional potential.
What had he done to deserve any of this? He won a lottery. That was all it was.
He hadn't earned anything. And, neither did this false king before him.
Such trash with an overinflated sense of worth, all because they were born with a golden spoon in their mouths…
Leonel hated them all.
In the past, he hadn't been able to put his thoughts together so clearly, to understand what it is that sickened him so much with such clarity.
But he understood now. If there was anything that could change the world, it would be reliant on those at the bottom to rise up. It would require those who understood the plight of those lesser than them, those were deed lucky enough to win the Dinsional Verse's lottery, who would have to choose to do sothing.
So, right here and now. In this world. Leonel chose to do sothing.
A dense black energy coated Leonel's spear. Its presence alone made space quake, the fabric of reality threatening to tear apart.
He rose his arm into the skies.
When it descended, silence reigned, Alexandre's roar coming to a deathly silence.
A scythe of Spatial Elental Force tore through the air, splintering the massive golden fist in two as though it was deflating a balloon.
Leonel took a step forward, his body vanishing only to appear before Alexandre.
The Apex? The greatest speed. The greatest strength. The greatest power.
But who cared? That was only the Apex in this false king's small world view. Leonel would show him the view of a person far luckier than he was… He would show him an Apex above his.
"Die." Leonel said coldly.
Alexandre shot a fist forward, still believing in his barrier. But, at that mont, Leonel's blade vanished.
When it reappeared, it had already crossed Alexandre's defenses, appearing above his collar.
Before Alexandre could even react, the blade had already cut into the traps of his shoulders, slicing his body across diagonally.
Blood rained through the sky, Alexandre's two halves flying through the air past Leonel without the ability to stop their montum.
But, as all things, this too eventually ca to an end.
With Alexandre's eyes dimming, his body lost any strength it had, falling through the skies in a shower of crimson.
Blood droplets hung around Leonel, completely unable to touch his body. They fell down one after another, bathing the Capital in the life of their false king.
The cheering of the rebel army ca to a grinding halt.
Had they done it? Had they really succeeded? Were their years of suffering finally over?
Hot tears fell down their cheeks, falling to the lands that were now their own.
Leonel stood in the skies, his armor glistening, his spear point relaxed.
He looked up into the skies, a light smile hidden beneath his helt.
But, it was at that exact mont that his pupils constricted.
His head whipped in the direction of Alexandre's corpse, his expression frosting over.
A deep cackle filled the air, the manic laughter plunging the temperature of the Capital down by dozens of degrees.
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