Glass Heart Syndrome

Chapter 50

The silence before dawn lay thick over Ezura, its streets eerily still. Eren sat in his chambers, a quiet rage simmering just beneath the surface, his fingers tracing the hilt of his dagger. His encounter with the Son of Shadows had reignited an old, familiar hunger. This was no longer about simply ruling Ezura—this was about crushing anyone who dared challenge his authority.

He had built his empire from the ground up, carving his name into the very bones of the city. To be questioned now was to threaten the foundation of everything he had fought for. And he couldn't afford even the smallest crack.

As the first light of dawn broke, Renna entered, her movements careful and measured, aware of the tension that hung in the air.

"He's spreading the message faster than we anticipated," she said, her voice low, barely more than a murmur. "People are listening. Some even believe him to be a sign of the old gods' return."

Eren's eyes narrowed. "Superstition. But dangerous, nonetheless." He stood, crossing to the window to gaze out at the city, as if he could see every shadowed corner where rebellion might stir.

"We'll need to remind them," he continued, voice steely. "They follow me not because of blood or divine right. They follow because I am power incarnate. And I will not be tested by the specter of some dead tyrant."

Renna nodded. "The whispers of rebellion are strongest in the west district. If we act there, swiftly, we might cut the head from this serpent."

---

The night returned, and Eren led his small, trusted group into the west district. They moved with lethal precision, navigating the dim alleys and crumbling rooftops. No word, no sound escaped them, just the faint, almost silent breath of hunters closing in.

They descended upon the ringleaders one by one, silencing their calls for the Son of Shadows with a blade across the throat or a crushing grip around the neck. Alaric had taken to it with particular zeal, each takedown punctuated by a sneer as he whispered, "You chose the wrong side."

Eren observed, each life extinguished under his command another reminder of his control. He wanted them to feel the fear before they met their end, to know that rebelling against him was not just a mistake—it was a fatal one.

---

The city began to shift in response. The Son of Shadows' influence was stifled, but the danger hadn't passed. Every assassination, every silenced voice, only seemed to embolden the most devout of his followers. Soon, Eren realized, it would no longer be about cutting the heads from the serpent. It would become a war of ideologies, his calculated rule against a feverish belief in some ancient bloodline.

One night, as he walked the corridors of his stronghold, lost in thought, Alaric caught up with him, his eyes gleaming with a grim satisfaction.

"We've taken out all the major supporters in the west district, but there's a problem," he said, his usual flippancy muted.

"What problem?" Eren asked, his voice cold.

"Word is, the Son of Shadows has amassed his own small army in the outskirts. And they're loyal enough to die for him." Alaric looked uneasy, his fingers tapping against the hilt of his sword. "They're calling him 'the last hope of Ezura.'"

A spark of anger flickered in Eren's gaze. "A foolish title. We'll see how much hope they have when faced with true power."

---

At dawn, flames erupted on the edge of the city. The Son of Shadows' followers had torched a supply post, the smoke rising in dark plumes against the pale sky. Eren's face was a mask of barely restrained fury as he watched from his tower.

Renna appeared beside him. "They're trying to provoke you."

"They've succeeded," he replied, voice like ice. "Prepare the soldiers. If he wants a war, then that's what he'll get."

But deep down, a part of him felt something else—a flicker of something he hadn't felt since his earliest days in Ezura. This was no longer about mere domination or control. This was personal. The Son of Shadows was a reminder of his past, of the vulnerabilities he had left behind. And Eren would do anything to eradicate that reminder.

---

That evening, Eren's forces marched out of the city, meeting the Son of Shadows' followers on the open plains beyond the city walls. His soldiers moved with discipline, a well-oiled machine, while the Son's forces were ragged, fervent, eyes alight with zealotry.

The Son of Shadows himself stood at the forefront, his posture defiant, his gaze fixed on Eren. They locked eyes across the field, and for a brief, tense moment, all was still.

Then, with a single, sharp command, the battle began.

Steel clashed against steel, and spells exploded across the field, illuminating the battlefield with bursts of violent color. Eren moved like a shadow, his blade finding throats and armor gaps, his magic striking down anyone who dared come close. Every step he took left a line of fallen in his wake.

But the Son of Shadows fought just as fiercely, his followers throwing themselves at Eren's forces with a reckless abandon that bordered on madness. They fought for a cause, for a vision of a better world that Eren's rule had stifled. And in their final moments, their fervor made them formidable.

The Son of Shadows himself was a blur, his blade flashing in the moonlight, every strike aimed to kill. He cut down soldier after soldier, his path drawing ever closer to Eren.

---

Eren and the Son of Shadows finally stood face-to-face, each drenched in the blood of those who had fallen in their name. The Son sneered, his face twisted with hatred and something like pity.

"You could have been great, Eren," he spat. "But you chose power over justice."

Eren met his gaze, unflinching. "Justice is an illusion. Only strength matters in this world."

The Son of Shadows raised his blade. "Then let's test whose strength prevails."

The battle that followed was brutal, both fighters moving with a deadly grace, their movements honed by years of survival in Ezura's harsh streets. Blades clashed, spells flew, each strike carrying the weight of their respective beliefs, their lives, their struggles.

In the end, it was Eren who stood victorious, the Son of Shadows lying defeated at his feet. Eren looked down at him, a strange sense of finality settling over him as he watched the life fade from his rival's eyes.

Ezura was his. But in that moment, he realized something—no matter how much blood he spilled, how many battles he won, there would always be another Son of Shadows, another person with dreams and hopes that stood in opposition to his own.

With a grimace, Eren turned, leaving the field behind him, his cloak billowing in the wind as he returned to his city. The echoes of the fallen followed him, a reminder that in this world of shadows and blood, the battle for power would never truly end.

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