He approached the leaders and delegates of the crested families. He left the audience waiting for his next move by scanning their faces steadily. One of the delegates was seized by the neck and whisked about like a delicate flag the next thing they knew. Rowan Eelse hung in mid-air, his throat constricted and almost squished by the tyrant's firm grip. He kicked and flared his limbs as he tried to breathe.

The ruler exclaimed, "Your soul is mine!"

He reached out and laid his hand on Rowan's chest; a concentrated string of violet and black energy poured out of his chest and onto Tyndale's arm shortly after. And from distance, the audience could see the flicker of life in his eyes fade away, his legs stopped kicking, and his hands fell away from the tyrant's grip. He eventually collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

“Do you really refuse to acknowledge me as your ruler?” He screamed again.

The chants set off a chain reaction. The public hanging of one of their delegates frightened the shocke
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