[Oliver's]

  [Defeat the False Sovereign]

  “False.”

  The word rolled through the vast chamber like thunder, reverberating off the stone walls.

  The voice came from the far end of the throne room. It wasn’t shouted. It didn’t need to be. It simply was a sound that carried authority and venom in equal measure.

  “You’ve always been this way.”

  The voice grew louder, closer.

  “If you hadn’t tried to stop me, if you hadn’t tried to halt my ascension, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  The creature slowly rose from its throne. Standing upright, it pushed the throne aside, just enough for it to topple onto the floor. The massive stone structure toppled, crashing to the floor and splitting into fragments that scattered across the black tiles.

  Gradually, the black stone that had spread across the floor began to melt, turning into a black sludge before moving toward the creature’s feet.

  Almost at the exact moment, the lights in each of the columns began to turn on.

  The walls stretched upward into darkness, impossibly high, carved from polished stone that caught and reflected the faint light. Each flicker of light revealed more of the hall’s grandeur.

  And then he stepped into view.

  He was tall, easily two meters, his frame lean but powerful. Yet it wasn’t his size that made Oliver’s stomach tighten.

  It was his skin.

  It was the color of deep ocean water, blue, smooth, and faintly luminescent. Near his jawline, something darker pulsed. A slick thread of black ooze dripped from his face, falling to the floor.

  Oliver’s breath caught. He knew that substance; it was parasitic creatures. But this time was different.

  This man, this thing, wasn’t being consumed by it.

  He was using it.

  The resemblance to the beings on the first floor was undeniable. Yet he lacked the grotesque tentacles that had erupted from the backs of those infected.

  And unlike the monsters before, this one was dressed.

  His clothing was an anachronism, something out of a history book. He wore black boots, a dark tunic, and loose beige robes that looked worn yet meticulously kept. The fabric hung from him like the attire of an ancient scholar or a forgotten king.

  When he spoke, his voice was smooth, too smooth.

  “You call me false. Yet, here I am.”

  He lifted his right hand, palm open. The black ooze that had dripped from his face began to gather in his palm, twisting and writhing like a living thing.

  It flowed, coalescing into a single, thick mass. The substance condensed, its surface rippling like liquid metal.

  Then, with a sound like tearing cloth, it solidified.

  The black mass stretched, lengthened, and sharpened into the shape of a blade. A massive sword, broad and heavy, its surface still pulsing faintly as though alive.

  Oliver’s instincts screamed at him to move, to draw his weapon, to prepare. But he didn’t.

  He stood still, watching, studying.

  This wasn’t just another enemy.

  The Energy radiating from the man was overwhelming. Not raw and chaotic like the beasts from before, but refined. Controlled.

  Oliver could feel it through the air. It was almost the same kind of power he had felt when standing before Athena and Cernunnos.

  But still, it was different.

  This was imperfect. It was missing something.

  The creature’s mouthless face moved, the skin around where its lips should have been rippling as if something beneath it was trying to escape.

  “It’s impressive,” it said, dragging the massive black sword along the stone floor. The blade scraped against the ground with a metallic shriek, leaving a scar in its path. “That you made it this far... my children were not weak. You survived the corruption of your own minds. And not just one or two of you...”

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  The creature tilted its head, the movement sharp and unnatural.

  “Eight. Eight of you reached me.”

  He paused.

  “Even after seeing the worst parts of yourselves, you still walked forward.”

  The golden slits that passed for his eyes flickered faintly, almost like a smile.

  “Congratulations. You are... rare. Which makes it all the more satisfying to destroy you.”

  The [System] seemed to answer the threat.

  [ALERT]

  [YOU CANNOT DEFEAT HIM]

  [RUN]

  The glowing red text flashed violently across Oliver’s vision, each warning accompanied by a sharp beep-beep-beep that drilled into his ears. The alerts came faster and faster, overlapping until they blurred into a single glowing wall of light.

  He staggered back half a step, eyes wide.

  “What the hell?”

  Oliver’s heart pounded. He’d seen danger alerts before, but never anything like this.

  This wasn’t just the Athena or Cernunnos reacting.

  This felt... different.

  Another notification appeared, larger than the rest, the letters pulsing violently.

  [THIS ENTITY IS ONE STEP AWAY FROM ASCENSION.]

  [EVEN WITH YOUR RANGER ARMOR, YOU CANNOT WIN.]

  It didn't look like how the [System] behaved. Much less how Athena or Cernunnos sent notifications. It felt like a third party interfering.

  However, Oliver could not think of anyone who would want to warn him.

  For a fleeting second, Oliver’s mind fixated on a name.

  'Red?'

  He waited for a response, but there was only silence.

  The False Sovereign’s voice pulled him back.

  “You.”

  The creature raised its massive black sword.

  “You carry their scent.”

  The blade pointed directly between Khan and Mordred.

  “I know that smell. I hate it.” The Sovereign’s voice deepened, resonating through the stone walls. “They sent you, didn’t they? They want their crystal back.”

  He tilted his head slightly, the golden slits of his eyes narrowing.

  “They won’t have it.”

  Before anyone could react, before Oliver could even breathe, the creature moved.

  It didn’t charge. It didn’t leap. It simply disappeared.

  One moment, the towering figure stood at the far end of the hall. The next was in front of Khan.

  The air cracked like thunder.

  The swing of the blade was so powerful that it ripped the atmosphere apart, sending a shockwave across the chamber. The force of the wind alone hurled the others backward, their boots scraping across the stone floor as they struggled to stay upright.

  Khan barely had time to raise his arms.

  The impact hit like a meteor strike.

  For an instant, Oliver saw his silhouette swallowed by light, and then he was gone.

  Khan’s body was flung across the hall so fast it blurred, the shockwave following a heartbeat later. He struck the far wall with a deafening boom, the stone exploding outward in a storm of dust and debris.

  The entire chamber shook.

  Oliver’s ears rang. He could barely see through the haze, but Mordred’s voice cut through the chaos.

  “Alan! Hold him!”

  The words snapped everyone back into action.

  Alan didn’t hesitate. He threw out both hands and shaperned his eyes.

  A black sphere formed around the False Sovereign, its edges rippling like the surface of an event horizon. The creature’s movements slowed, not stopped, but hindered, as if his weight was too much to bear.

  The Sovereign turned its head toward Alan, the motion unnervingly calm.

  “Interesting,” it said.

  Oliver didn’t need to think; he already knew what was coming.

  The moment the False Sovereign shifted its stance, the air itself seemed to bend around him, the pressure spiking like the calm before a storm. Oliver’s instincts screamed, and he moved before his mind could catch up.

  He poured every ounce of his Energy into his legs. The Prometheus ignited, golden fire flaring around his calves as the ground beneath him cracked and splintered from the force of his launch.

  Mordred moved at the same instant.

  The two cut through the haze of battle, streaking toward the creature like twin comets.

  Alan was still frozen, his arms trembling as he struggled to stabilize the gravity field. The black sphere around the Sovereign was already fracturing, rippling in violent waves. The creature’s sword was raised.

  Oliver and Mordred reached him just in time.

  They dropped in front of Alan, their boots slamming into the cracked stone floor. The impact sent shockwaves outward, scattering dust and debris.

  The Sovereign’s blade came down in a blur of motion. It was too fast to see, too heavy to block. But they didn’t need to block.

  They hit back.

  Oliver’s leg shot upward, golden flames trailing behind his boot as his kick connected squarely with the creature’s head. The impact rang like metal striking metal.

  At the same time, Mordred’s fist, wrapped in dark Energy, drove forward, slamming into the Sovereign’s chest with enough force to create a thunderclap.

  The combined strikes sent the creature reeling backward, its feet gouging trenches into the stone as it skidded several meters away.

  For a moment, just a moment, they had stopped it.

  Oliver landed in a crouch. His pulse hammered in his ears, every nerve in his body alive with adrenaline. Beside him, Mordred straightened. Alan stumbled back, gasping for air.

  While the three were recovering, the False Sovereign was laughing.

  No sound came out, but his face moved. The skin where a mouth should have been stretched upward, splitting slightly at the seams, forming something that could only be described as a smile.

  “You won’t be enough.”

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