Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 78: Noisy

Chapter 78: Noisy

I stand in my office, bathed in the pale glow of the moonlight streaming through the tall windows. Its cold, silver light paints everything in shades of quiet resolve, but inside me, the storm is far from calm. My gaze lingers on the moon for a moment longer, its stillness a stark contrast to the chaos simmering beneath my skin.

I turn slowly, finding the sentinels kneeling before me, their heads bowed low, the weight of my fury pressing down on them like an iron shroud. They can feel it too—the tension, the unspoken threat of what comes next.

"You see," I begin, my voice cutting through the stillness like a blade, sharp and cold, "by the first morning light, I want the Robbens ruined."

*

Throughout the night, the capital was drenched in blood. Shadows moved silently between alleyways and across rooftops, where Thorne’s people executed his orders with cold precision. The moonlit streets bore witness to carnage. Buildings that housed corruption, filth, and sin were razed to the ground without mercy. The unmistakable stench of burning wood and blood wafted through the capital, a grim reminder that no corner of the city was safe from Thorne’s wrath. Many screamed and fell beneath the unrelenting strikes of his men, while others — those who appeared to hold sway, the ringleaders of these dens of vice — were dragged from their hiding places, kicking and pleading, before disappearing into the night.

In a quieter part of the capital, far from the immediate chaos, stood an unassuming estate. The building, hidden from the common eye by tall iron gates and overgrown ivy, seemed quiet — almost serene — in contrast to the slaughter taking place elsewhere. Inside, down a dimly lit corridor, was a room that smelled of leather and dust. It was a modest office, with old books lining the shelves and papers scattered over the desk. The heavy wooden door creaked open slowly, revealing a figure seated behind the desk in the shadows.

The man in the chair barely stirred when the door opened, but the very air in the room seemed to grow heavier. Thorne, bathed in the dim glow of a single flickering lamp, sat with his fingers steepled, eyes cold and unmoving. The blood on his clothing had dried in patches, and though he had washed his hands, a dark stain of violence seemed to cling to him — an aura that permeated the space around him, making it feel colder than it was.

A man in his fifties entered cautiously, his hand resting on the door as he closed it with a soft click. His face, lined with age, immediately paled as his eyes fell on Thorne, seated like a predator in the dark. He stifled a gasp, his breath catching in his throat as recognition — and fear — swept over him. The man, Judge Corvin Malgrave, had heard the whispers in the streets, of Thorne’s retaliation, but he hadn’t anticipated being summoned. Not like this.

"Corvin," Thorne said, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable edge of authority, like the cold steel of a knife.

The judge, stiff and uneasy, immediately dipped his head in a slight bow. "My lord..." he murmured, his words trailing off as he tried to steady his voice.

Thorne’s gaze never left him. It was as though his very presence weighed down on the judge, pinning him in place. The room, already stifling with tension, seemed to close in on Corvin. He fumbled with his coat, hands trembling slightly as he tried to appear calm, but his heart pounded in his chest, loud enough that he wondered if Thorne could hear it.

"It’s time to pay up," Thorne said, his words hanging in the air like a sentence waiting to be executed. There was no need for elaboration. Corvin understood the implications. The years of silence, the favors exchanged in the dark corners of courts and backrooms, the promises of safety and protection — they all led to this moment.

Judge Malgrave’s throat tightened. He had been a man of law, or so he liked to present himself, but he was well aware of the price of power in the capital. His involvement in the city’s underbelly had never been as direct as some of the others, but he had looked the other way far too many times, allowing rot to fester where he should have enforced the law. Thorne had been one of the many he’d favored, but never in his worst nightmares had he imagined sitting across from him in such a cold, unforgiving light.

*

Dawn broke over the capital, the soft light filtering through the streets as a new day began, but the mood was anything but calm. In a nearby, dingy motel, Duke Robbens was dragged out like a common criminal, his fine clothes disheveled and his face flushed with fury. Heavy chains rattled against his wrists as he struggled against the guards, his eyes wild with disbelief.

"How dare you!" he bellowed, his voice breaking the early morning quiet. "Unhand me! Do you know who I am?!"

The guards remained silent, their grips firm, dragging him toward the waiting carriage. Nearby, the duchess—her face pale and stricken with panic—rushed forward, trying to intervene, but she was swiftly intercepted by a pair of guards. They stepped in front of her, blocking her path with cold indifference. Her pleas fell on deaf ears as her husband was taken away, his cries of outrage echoing in the empty streets.

Across the city, messengers were dispatched with urgent notices, slipping into the homes of nobles, merchants, and even some commoners. Word spread like wildfire: a trial was to take place. A trial for Duke Robbens, the once-untouchable noble, now paraded through the city like a lowly criminal.

By the time the sun had fully risen, the capital was buzzing with life. Commoners gathered in the streets, gossiping about the spectacle that was about to unfold. Reporters scrambled to their posts, eager to document the fall of a man who had once stood among the elite. Nobles, shaken by the sudden turn of events, dressed hurriedly, their minds racing with thoughts of what this could mean for them.

Despite the early hour, the city was alive with the noise of feet rushing toward the courthouse, of whispered conversations full of anticipation, fear, and excitement.

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