The sounds of many explosions filled his brain, yet all he could manage was a grin. Standing before the court, the people showed no pity. Why would they? This man single-handedly obliterated nearly half the city of Croakhigh. A good number of the casualties included many of the Divine's soldiers--the society of protectors, assigned with keeping citizens safe. Many of those soldiers, were newly appointed cadets. They had arrived at the training academy in order to become a part of the Divine, and instead were handed death. Others who had not died, were seriously injured, and rendered useless to the regime.

Expressions read many things towards the culprit, yet he had the audacity to plead himself innocent. Only moments ago, the court had thrown a fit over the man as he claimed he was "only attempting to provide more space for the growth of Croakhigh." This was of course not true, and he knew it. But villains tend to poke and prod until their last breath.

"Case 34, you pledge yourself innocent?" the judge inquired, after silencing the rather peeved audience.

Case 34. It was the name they had bestowed upon him far before they had him in their custody. He felt some amount of pride. It was more a reward than anything else. It was proof he had achieved something.

"I am as much a victim as anyone else, your majesty." He bowed; the smile displayed on his features remaining. Every move he made was seemingly meant to send the court into a frenzy. And he was well acquainted with the sensitivities of people.

When his love and him were still one, the two used to sit atop a stretching building and gaze at the many passersby of the city. There was always much conflict, as any large society would find. Of course, this was far before he became the embodiment of chaos himself. One thing was always clear to him, and it was something the couple would marvel upon quite frequently--the simplicity of a mankind's ways. Take something of theirs, and they might just hunt you down to the ends of the earth. And still, when they dropped off the edge, their vengeance would haunt you. And it was all for the name of "justice"--wrong, it was for vengeance.

Names were always important to the Croak's people. Some say their meanings foretold one's future. He never used to believe such things. Superstitions were all they were. Now he if you were to ask him, he'd share a very different opinion.

"We are all familiar with the Naming Theory, yes?" The question was not something anyone in the room was expecting. This angered the people more--something that was not his original intent at all. He almost laughed aloud, but they had to know he was serious if he could ever see himself continuing.

The judge banged his mighty hammer onto the table. "Silence!" All fell eerily quiet. "Please resume, Case 34."

Now he had their full attention.

"Davian Alastor." His voice carried through the atmosphere. His hand gestures were charismatic, dramatic.

The crowd erupted into small murmurs.

"Does someone here recall the meaning?" he asked. Everyone paused, stared at him. Then a man finally raised his hand. The evildoer pointed to the person dressed finely. "How about you, good sir?"

"The name means: 'Beloved Vengeance.'" the gentleman stated rather shyly.

"Exactly right, my kind fellow! --Beloved Vengeance." He stretched the words out, spinning around to make eye contact with everyone sitting in the dais. "There once was a man named Davian Alastor," his tone remained enthusiastic, however, with a new edge to it. "What parent would name their child such a thing? --a shitty one, indeed.

Everyone always despised him because of the meaning-- excluded him, shunned him. That was when he learned man's society was also shitty." He laughed before the court, then continued. "But then he met someone--a girl--capable of looking past his title and loving the true him, the one that many refused to see.

You guessed it! They fell madly in love! It was them against the world, against the cruelty of man that they knew so well." he paused, making it a point to lock eyes with every officer in the room. "But sadly, she died," he let out a sound between a scoff and chuckle. The man then turned back to the crowd, clicking his tongue, and shaking a finger with his restrained hands. "No, that's not right--she was murdered. Died right in the poor fellows' arms! Was killed by..." he did a small drumroll on the rim of his encircled platform, lying in the middle of the surrounding dais. "None other than the Divines themselves--!"

Everyone went wild once more. The judge reclaimed the attention of the room and stared at the villain. "Case 34, that will be enough from you."

The young man's blue eyes dilated with anger. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He spun around to the judge with a wild expression. He almost seemed weary.

"It will never be enough!" he roared. "And do you want you know why?"

"Case 34, you will cease this topic!"

But he would not. They had to finally see their plans. Everything must be cleared. How they planned to restore the old ways of Croakshigh. The ways in which relied on the labor of man, and death of those too weak to contribute. The Divine could never hold that power. If it came to pass, only destruction would follow. Nothing good comes from man's greed. So, the bound man opened his mouth once more, despite the judges' warning.

"Because the Divine are fakes! They're all, scheming liars with the sole purpose to reclaim all of us! --everyone here, you're all just pawns, and Davian found it out soon after Calia Mallory's demise."

"SILENCE!" the judge howled. But it was too late. They would face the consequences of their actions, and the whole city would be witness to it. It didn't matter if they killed him. At least Croakshigh would know the truth.

"--Calia?"

"You told us she had killed herself!"

"Liar--"

"--We trusted you!"

Many voices rang out their own remarks. This was the beginning of an uprising.

"Yess..." Davian drew the word out. "That's right. They killed Calia Mallory for finding out the truth--the truth to bring us back to the Anhedonia Times--and attempted to bury it with their lies. Little did they know that while she lay, dying in my arms--" he paused for a moment. Calia's mother was there. He was surprised he hadn't noticed sooner "--she told me everything." The lady shuttered at his words and stood to leave. He felt horrible she had had to hear it like that. She, too, had been victim to the lie of her daughter's death.

"Guards, seize him!" Judge Count ordered. As the people cursed, Davian was escorted from the room. Two soldiers on either side of him, two behind. It seemed the villain turned out to be the hero all along. They led him through a long hallway, away from the distant sounds of betrayed citizens, and Count attempting to calm them with more falsehoods.

Calia's death would not be in vain. The Divine would be brought to justice. A tear slipped from the corner of Davian's eye. This was it. All that pain and grief, all that loss. It served a greater purpose. There would never be a day when he wouldn't regret the many lives lost, but at least Calia's plans would be achieved. Croakshigh would not be forced into the old ways of the city that Count plotted. The people have a greater chance now. When the audience leaves this morning, news will spread like wildfire.

Davian still wasn't completely certain on the logistics of the Naming Theory, but one thing was for certain. Calia Mallory's name meant: Very Beautiful Death. Part of the reason he'd chosen to ignore the theory was because if it were true, then that would mean she would die, and how could death ever be beautiful? But now he got it. Though the Naming Theory was still questionable and uncharted, Calia had died beautifully. She died in my arms, someone who loved her very dearly. Without her death, Davian would've never had the courage to do what he had. People would remember her as being the only one to figure out the Divine's plans. She would be a hero.

Beloved Vengeance did occur, and he was innocent.