[Oliver’s POV]

  They had reached the bottom.

  The final step led to a vast chamber. The air was thick with dust and silence, and the space stretched farther than their lights could reach. Enormous pillars rose around them, vanishing into the darkness above, their surfaces carved with symbols.

  Dozens of statues surrounded them. Stone representations of the scorpion-men. They stood in silent ranks, facing inward, as if guarding the chamber’s heart. Each one was carved with precision, its form frozen mid-strike, its tail arched high and ready to strike.

  Above them, the ceiling shimmered with a strange light. It wasn’t natural; it was technological or perhaps something older. A vast array of crystalline panels glowed, projecting an image of the city above. Even here, buried deep beneath the labyrinth, they could see the movement of the corrupted that still roamed the streets.

  Oliver took the lead, his boots crunching against the sand that covered the floor. He knew this place. Every step felt like retracing a memory he had already lived. His mind flickered with fragments of the vision he had seen before. This was the hall of the Chaotic, the throne of the Sovereign.

  But now, it was different.

  This hall had been abandoned to decay; time had stripped it of its former glory. The walls were cracked, the carvings eroded, and with each step, clouds of dust swirled through the air.

  At the far end of the chamber, half-shrouded in shadow, stood the throne.

  It was carved from a massive sandstone rock, its form imposing yet weathered by centuries. The surface was cracked, but still carried an aura of command.

  Oliver’s pulse quickened. He knew what he would find there.

  Through the veil of darkness, he saw it: a figure seated upon the throne.

  At first, it was only a shape; vague, flickering, distorted, like a glitch in reality itself. The image wavered, shifting between forms. For a moment, it looked like the monstrous scorpion-beings they had fought above. Then, with a shimmer, the distortion stabilized.

  A man sat upon the throne.

  His skin was bronze, his hair dark and disheveled, falling across a face that was both regal and worn. His body seemed frail, his limbs trembling faintly as if the act of simply existing required effort. A robe of dull light yellow draped over him, tattered and frayed.

  He looked broken.

  And yet, Oliver’s breath caught as the pressure hit him.

  It wasn’t visible. It didn't have any sound. It was Energy.

  It pressed against his body like a physical weight, saturating the air until it hummed with invisible power. It was unlike anything he had ever felt. Only two beings had ever radiated such a presence.

  The man stirred.

  A faint, rasping breath filled the chamber as he shifted in his throne, his frail body moving with slowness. His lips parted as though to speak, but instead, a violent cough wracked his form. The sound echoed through the vast hall, hollow and wet.

  He hunched forward, a hand pressed to his mouth, and when he pulled it away, dark blood glistened on his palm. For a moment, he stared at it, then wiped it away with the back of his hand, smearing a crimson streak across his bronze skin.

  Raising his sight to his new visitors, he smiled.

  “Finally!”

  The voice, Oliver recognized it instantly. It was the same one that had haunted their minds, the same that had taunted them through the trials. But now it was real, tangible, emerging from the lips of the figure before them. No longer an omnipresent whisper carried by Energy.

  “Humans,” the man said, his tone strained, thin, yet still carrying a sign of amusement. “You are the victors of my little game.”

  The sound filled the chamber. Gone was the playful arrogance that had once been in his words. In its place was weariness, an exhaustion that ran deeper than age.

  “It’s been… a very long time,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly. “But I must admit, I was entertained.”

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  He clapped weakly, the sound of his palms barely audible, the gesture more symbolic than sincere.

  Demi stepped forward. Her tone was cold, commanding. “Good. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. We came for the Crystal.”

  The man blinked, his head tilting just slightly, like someone struggling to recall something he had forgotten. “Crystal?” he repeated, his voice distant, almost puzzled.

  Demi’s patience snapped. She raised the trident, its prongs crackling with Energy, the air around it humming with power. “Our sensors detected a Silver Crystal on this planet,” she said, her voice hard as steel. “You saw what we did to your monsters. Hand over the Crystal before I do the same to you.”

  The being’s laughter filled the chamber, raw, rasping, and broken, yet carried by a strange vitality. His shoulders shook with the effort, and tears welled in his eyes. He wiped them away with the back of his trembling hand, still smiling.

  “You came… because you believed there was a Silver Crystal. Here?” His voice was hoarse, but the amusement in it was unmistakable. “You have no idea how deliciously ironic that is.”

  He took a slow breath. Then, with an almost theatrical pause, he straightened his back, the faint remnants of grandeur returning to his posture.

  “I’m afraid there is no Silver Crystal.”

  The words hung in the air.

  Demi’s trident flared instantly, red Energy crackling between its prongs. The air hissed, charged with tension. Her knuckles whitened as she lifted the weapon, ready to strike. But before she could move, Oliver caught the shaft of her weapon.

  His voice was calm, but his tone left no room for argument. “He’s not lying,” he said. “There’s no Silver Crystal here.”

  Demi’s eyes flicked toward him, disbelief and irritation flashing in equal measure.

  Alan stepped forward, his expression tense. “Wait. That can’t be right. We scanned the entire region. The readings were perfect. He found an exact Silver Crystal signature.”

  Oliver’s gaze remained fixed on the being seated on the throne. “You detected something like Silver Crystal Energy,” he explained. “The same resonance, the same wavelength, but not the source itself. The dragons and the Guardian. They carried fragments of that same Energy. But it doesn’t mean there’s a Crystal to harvest.”

  The chamber fell quiet.

  Oliver’s eyes darted across the group. Adrian stood motionless, his expression unreadable, as though none of this surprised him. Katherine had her arms crossed, her face impassive; either disinterested or hiding something.

  Demi lowered her weapon, her voice sharper now, cutting through the silence. “Then what is this? What’s the reward for reaching this place?”

  The being on the throne smiled again.

  “A reward?” His voice deepened, the frailty fading from it. “Oh, it’s something far greater than any Silver Crystal.”

  He spread his arms wide.

  “Me.”

  “You will have the honor of granting me my freedom,” he said, his voice calm, almost serene. “A quick, clean strike. Right here, between my ribs, and I will be released from the chains of existence.”

  The silence that followed was suffocating.

  Each of them reacted differently.

  Even Oliver, who had seen gods, Sovereigns, and nightmares, felt a flicker of disbelief. He had expected a Sovereign. But not like this. Not one who wanted to die.

  “However,” the man continued, his tone shifting, a faint smirk curling his lips. “Only one of you will have that privilege.”

  He raised a hand to his chin, stroking it as if pondering something amusing. “It wouldn’t do to have all of you stabbing me at once, would it? No, no… that lacks elegance.”

  His dark eyes gleamed as he leaned forward slightly. “Let’s make this entertaining once more. Give this old man one last joy. You will fight each other. The last one standing earns the right to end me.”

  The words fell like a sentence.

  For a heartbeat, no one moved. The sound of their breathing filled the chamber's emptiness. The idea settled into their minds.

  Katherine was the first to break the silence.

  She took a single step back, her jaw tight, her eyes cold. “I came for the Silver Crystal,” she said, her voice steady but laced with disgust. “Whatever this theater is, it’s not my prize.”

  She turned away, stepping toward one of the columns that lined the chamber’s walls.

  Adrian followed soon after, his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak, but his silence said enough. He moved toward another column, crossing his arms, his gaze fixed on the remaining.

  That left three.

  Oliver.

  Alan.

  Demi.

  They stood before the throne, the air between them heavy with unspoken tension.

  The Chaotic watched with quiet amusement, his faint smile never fading. “Ah, yes. Three strong fighters remain.”

  Oliver’s gaze flicked between the others. Alan’s stance was defensive. Demi’s trident still glowed; the weapon hummed with restrained fury.

  Each of them was calculating, weighing the risk, the reward, and the fight.

  Before anyone else could speak, Demi moved.