Arthur arrived in Nazarick silently, making his way through the 9th Floor's corridors toward the chamber where Throximus was being held. The atmosphere grew heavier with each pace he took. Outside the sealed room, Old Guarders and several Area Guardians stood on alert, forming an impenetrable perimeter. Their gazes remained fixed forward, yet Arthur paid them no mind. His attention was reserved only for what lay inside.
The moment he crossed the threshold, his majestic Incubus form dissolved like mist—morphing into the abomination that was his true nature.
Bone cracked. Flesh twisted.
His head reshaped into a warped, obsidian eggshell—without features except two deep hollows where eyes should be. Those abyssal voids devoured light itself, swirling with sentient darkness. A crushing aura erupted outward, suffocating the air. The walls groaned. Even the shadows recoiled.
For Albedo, Aurora, and Angrboda, the pressure was familiar. Endurable.
But Throximus, bloodied and bound, felt his soul freeze.
The Pleiades followed behind their master, their forms stiffening instinctively in reverence.
Throximus was barely conscious, bruises discolored across his skin, blood painting him from face to chest. The signs were clear—he was beaten.
Arthur lifted his gaze toward the trio of guardians. Angrboda's entire body was restrained by Aurora's magic. Her eyes glimmered with restrained fury as she looked at Throximus. One glance was enough for Arthur to understand exactly what had transpired here.
"Aurora," Arthur said, his voice a deep ghoulish echo that reverberated in bone, "release Angrboda."
Aurora bowed her head and dispelled the restraining spell, freeing the giantess, who stepped aside with silent indignation.
Arthur's abyssal gaze shifted to Throximus.
"So… Son," he began, every syllable crashing like thunder. "Where did you send it?"
Throximus coughed—blood spilling to the floor in black droplets. Even with death gripping his lungs, he forced a grin.
"Heh… Wouldn't you… love to know…?"
The temperature plunged. Every living thing in the room felt instinct scream in terror.
Arthur leaned down slowly, placing a hand upon Throximus' shoulder. The touch was almost gentle—contradicting the crushing weight of mana distortions ripping the air. Space itself wavered like reality threatened to fracture beneath Arthur's power.
"You will tell me," Arthur whispered, voice cold enough to rot bone.
"Seems I have been far too lenient… simply because you are my son."
His grin widened grotesquely—stretching unnaturally across the dark, eggshell face.
"I should have locked you away the moment you dared to raise a hand against a Guardian. But I will not repeat my mistakes."
Throximus struggled to swallow. "What now…? You going to torture me for answers?"
Arthur stared. No malice. No emotion.
Only truth.
"No."
He stood upright, his voice commanding with absolute authority.
"Pleiades. Take him to the seventh floor. Imprison him."
The battle maids bowed in perfect unison, teleportation magic sparking as they vanished—taking Throximus screaming into the dark below.
Once the space stilled again, Arthur let the doppelganger form melt away—returning into his alluring incubus shape. He turned to Albedo, Aurora, and Angrboda with a composed yet chilling smile.
"Now then," Arthur exhaled quietly.
"It appears we have much to discuss."
🔹🔹🔹
In the Grand Throne Room.
Every guardian and co-guardian was present, kneeling before Arthur. They all gave a serious look as they watched their lord, the Ancient One, seated on the throne, without saying a word. Nobody raised a word as they continued to kneel down. Waiting for their lord to speak first. Some of the Guardians didn't even know what happened. They are called by Albedo on short notice. But they just followed the atmosphere.
"How did he teleport the golem without triggering the system?" Arthur finally asked.
"My Lord, For your wife in the Underworld and for your lovers in other pantheons to easily teleport to Nazarick, we have lowered the restriction. And for other matters, Thorximus has used this." Albedo took a small piece of paper. And presented it to Arthur.
Arthur took the paper and examined it.
"Rune Craft, huh?" Arthur murmured.
"From the examination, we have determined this rune is similar to what Hel, the goddess of the underworld of Nordic myth, uses. We believe that she betrayed us." Aurora said, and then she continued without a break. "Given that, Hel is one of the major gods; she won't move without the order of All-Father Odin himself. So given the circumstance, it's safe to assume the Nordic pantheons have turned against us."
Hearing this, Arthur looked at Aurora.
Yes, what Aurora said is correct. Hel's rune is custom to her own, like how Odin's rune is custom to his own. Under normal circumstances, nobody can copy it. That is under normal circumstances. Given that, it is his children; even that is possible.
Because of a project that he proposed to Friday, she can't help him, as she has been offline for a week now.
Of course, if he want he could just order her to stop, but given the importance this project holds for the future of his children as well as to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, he didn't have the heart to stop it.
Looking down, Arthur saw that Esdeath, Rory, Antares, Aura and Mare didn't seem to understand the situation. But because of the situation presenting itself, they couldn't voice it out loud.
"It seems some of the guardians and co-guardians didn't understand the situation we are in, Albedo. Why don't you explain it for them?"
❌❌❌
How was the chapter? If you have any advice for me, please comment on it.
please leave a review and comment, if you like Fan-fic.
I posted 20 advanced chapters on Patreon, If you want to support me, check it out. You only need 3$ to become my Patreon.
patreon.com/Clockwork439