The air in Thornewood hung thick with the scent of damp earth and sweat-soaked labor, the second wall's roots twisting higher under the relentless push of bound workers. Two days into the frantic buildup, Liam's scouts returned from the fringes with grim tidings: whispers of unrest among the outer ring's chattel, fueled by the dome's shrinking bite and rumors of the impending horde. Dissent brewed like rot in the soil, and Liam would excise it before it spread.
He convened the inner circle in the shadowed nave of the nascent cathedral, where Elaine's chants echoed off vine-draped pillars. Her diadem gleamed, amplifying the healing pulses that knit wounds from the prior night's skirmish with feral packs. Hannah lounged against a root-carved bench, polishing her mace with a rag stained in old blood, while Simone perched on the altar's edge, her wind bracers whispering faint gusts that toyed with her dark curls. 'Ten dissidents caught hoarding tools,' Hannah reported, her voice a gravelly drawl. 'They were plotting to sabotage the trenches—thought the horde would free them from the contracts.'
Liam's eyes narrowed, nature sense prickling at the undercurrent of betrayal. 'Bring them to the pit. Let the faithful witness.' The group moved as one, threading through the bustling core where merchants hawked mana-infused rations and slaves dragged felled timber to the forges. The outer ring sprawled beyond the first wall—a squalid sprawl of mud-churned pens and lean-tos, where the lowest castes huddled under threadbare hides. No guards patrolled here; law was a luxury for the elite. Fights erupted over scraps, victors claiming the loser's rations or body as spoil. A woman screamed from a shadowed alley as two men pinned her, thrusting roughly into her mouth and ass until she choked on their release, left sprawled in the filth with bruises blooming on her thighs.
The pit lay at the ring's edge, a yawning crater ringed by jagged stakes, its depths a tangle of thorny brambles fed by the Mother Tree's lesser offshoots. The ten slaves—ragged men and women, chains clinking—were herded in by Hannah's mercenaries, their faces gaunt from endless toil. One, a burly earth mage with scarred knuckles, spat at Liam's feet. 'You're no god, just a tyrant hoarding the system's gifts while we bleed!'
Liam stepped forward, roots uncoiling from his boots to lash out like whips. They seized the man's ankles, yanking him into the air, limbs splayed. With a flick of will, thorns pierced his soles, drawing blood that dripped in fat rivulets. He howled as Liam channeled deeper, vines burrowing into his calves, splitting muscle with wet tears. Flesh parted in ragged strips, exposing bone glistening white amid the gore. The crowd of slaves gathered at the rim murmured, some averting eyes, others watching with hollow resignation. 'Loyalty is survival,' Liam intoned, voice carrying like thunder. The roots tightened, crushing his knees with a sickening crunch, femurs splintering as blood sprayed in arcs, soaking the brambles below.
Hannah grinned, prodding the next—a wiry woman with matted hair—toward the edge. 'Your turn, rat.' The woman begged, but Hannah's mace swung low, caving her shin with a thud. Bone shattered, jutting through skin in a jagged spike, marrow leaking as she collapsed, writhing. Liam's light bolt followed, not to heal, but to cauterize—searing the wound shut in a hiss of charred meat, the stench of burnt flesh mingling with her screams. Simone's arrow pierced another's hand, pinning it to the ground; she twisted the shaft, grinding sinew until fingers popped free, blood pooling in the dirt.
The executions dragged on, methodical brutality etching fear into the onlookers. One slave, a young fire affinity barely out of F-rank, tried to bolt; roots snared him mid-stride, coiling around his torso and squeezing. Ribs cracked audibly, puncturing lungs in wet bursts, crimson froth bubbling from his lips as he gasped his last. Bodies piled in the pit, brambles greedily absorbing the vitae, leaves unfurling greener in the aftermath. The system pinged softly: +50 EXP for maintaining order. Devotion Radius Expanded. Liam surveyed the broken forms, their entrails steaming in the chill air, a stark reminder of trash's fate.
As dusk fell, the display rippled through the rings. Slaves redoubled efforts, digging deeper trenches under torchlight, their picks striking stone with frantic rhythm. No more whispers of rebellion; only the grind of survival. Back in the command pavilion, maps updated with fresh vein taps, Liam reviewed the horde's approach—waves of beasts from the core, drawn by the dome's contraction. 'Double the patrols,' he ordered. 'And cull the weak before they drag us down.'
That night, in the palace's dim chambers, a compliant slave—trembling from the pit's echoes—knelt to service him. Her mouth worked his cock with desperate fervor, tongue swirling the head as he gripped her hair, thrusting deep until she gagged. He finished on her face, cum streaking tears, then dismissed her with a shove. No warmth for the disposable.
Elaine slipped in afterward, her robes slipping to reveal pale skin marked by ritual scars. 'The faithful grow, Sovereign. Their prayers shield us.' She straddled him, pussy sliding down his renewed hardness, hips grinding as she moaned prayers. He fucked her hard, hands bruising her thighs, her walls clenching in ecstasy. Climax built; he filled her, seed taking root in devotion's vessel.
Dawn broke with renewed vigor. Scouts reported villages yielding faster, credits flowing into the coffers. The Mother Tree's canopy spread wider, fruits ripening with mana essence. Yet the deadline loomed—one week until the siege's fury.