The skeleton's empty sockets flickered with a pale light, its voice slipping straight into Kazel's mind.
"What makes you think that?" asked Kazel, his blade angled down but his gaze razor-sharp.
"You are nothing but a child," the skeleton's tone was calm, almost weary. "However, no child has ever made it this far. Perhaps with some luck, one would eventually appear. Yet, if such a child stood before me, they would tremble. But you… you are different."
Kazel smirked, his lips curling with cold amusement. "Fair enough. I have noticed a crown on the ground. Is that yours?"
The skeleton's skull shifted ever so slightly, as if the question stirred something ancient. "Do you covet the crown… or the throne?"
"Neither."
"Lies." The skeleton's reply came like the grinding of stone. "Everyone wants power, whether they are reincarnated ones or originals."
Kazel's smirk sharpened into something colder, his voice steady as iron. "I do want power," he admitted. "However, not a power given by someone. I either earn… or take."
The chamber seemed to tighten with those words, as though even the ruin itself held its breath.
The skeleton's voice hummed in Kazel's mind once more. "What were you?"
Kazel's blue eyes sharpened, his tone calm yet cutting. "A king, a god, a butcher… but the most recent, a tyrant."
"A king, you say?" The skeleton turned slowly, his brittle bones creaking with the motion. His hollow sockets fell upon the fallen crown at the throne's foot. Step by step, he walked toward it, each movement heavy with centuries of weight.
He bent down, his bony fingers curling around the tarnished circlet. For a moment he did not move, simply staring at the crown as though caught in a silence older than words. His skull betrayed no expression, yet in the stillness of his posture lingered a quiet ache, the longing of one who once ruled.
Finally, he spoke. "This old throne room now hosts two kings."
And with deliberate reverence, the skeleton raised the crown and set it upon his skull. The pale moonlight seeping through the broken ceiling gleamed faintly against the corroded metal, crowning not just bone, but the weight of memory itself.
"A dead one, and a live one," Kazel replied coldly, his smirk twisting beneath the pale shaft of moonlight.
The skeleton's hollow sockets locked on him. "My name… is King Vil of the Kingdom Astrea."
His bony hand reached into the folds of his tattered robe. From within, he drew forth a ring—black as polished onyx, gleaming unnaturally even in the gloom. With slow, deliberate motion, he slid it onto his skeletal finger.
At once, the ring pulsed, and the air split with a deep, guttural growl. Shadows twisted, condensing into form. Before Kazel's eyes, the massive frame of the weremole materialized, its claws scarred, its back hunched, its feral eyes glowing with residual fear—and yet bound to obey. In its hands, clutched tightly, was the same chained greatsword that had nearly torn Kazel apart moments ago.
Kazel's eyes widened slightly, but not in fear—in revelation.
(A spatial ring… holding a beast?!)
The thought snarled through his mind like thunder. His grip on his sword tightened, every nerve on edge.
Kazel's lips curled into a grin that cut like a blade. His voice thundered through the ruined throne hall:
"I am Kazel of the Immortal Sect—No… I am Emperor Kazel of the Zel Dynasty, the first and the last, uniter of nations!"
The words echoed off the shattered walls, ancient dust trembling as if the ruin itself bowed to his declaration.
The skeleton's crown glimmered faintly in the moonlight as his voice rasped, hollow yet resounding inside Kazel's skull."Kill me. End me. And everything here is yours!"
The onyx ring flared, and the weremole bellowed, a roar like stone grinding against stone. Its chained greatsword swung, dragging sparks across the cracked floor.
Kazel scoffed, his blue eyes burning like frozen fire."What are you talking about? You're already dead!"
He surged forward in a blur, boots slamming against the marble as his sword arced through the silver shaft of moonlight—straight toward the beast.
The throne hall thundered as the weremole lunged, its chain-blade shrieking as it swept in a deadly arc. At the same moment, King Vil's skeletal frame did not falter—his bony hand reached for a jagged blade that had rested beside the throne for centuries. The rust flaked off as he lifted it, but the aura it exuded was anything but brittle.
Two predators descended on Kazel.
The weremole's massive sword cleaved downward like a falling mountain, while the skeleton's bone-thin arm flickered unnaturally fast, its blade slicing for Kazel's ribs.
Kazel snarled, his sword flashing up—he caught the skeletal blade with a shower of sparks, but the impact of the weremole's strike forced him to roll aside, the marble cracking where he had stood a moment before.
He came up grinning."Two against one? Then it's fair."
The weremole roared, stomping forward, its claws scraping against stone. The skeleton advanced in silence, its crown tilting ever so slightly, sockets burning with an ancient will.
Kazel dashed straight toward them. His blade blurred, sparks ringing as he parried the skeleton's thrust, spun under the chain that lashed toward his throat, and kicked the weremole's knee to stagger it—but the beast barely flinched.
The skeleton's sword came again, sharp and precise, aiming for his neck. Kazel tilted back, the blade grazing his hair as he twisted, his own strike darting for the skeleton's crown—only for the weremole's chain to whip around his arm, halting his swing mid-strike.
The chain tightened. The beast pulled.
Kazel's shoulder wrenched—yet his smirk widened."You've made a mistake."
He twisted with the pull, letting the momentum spin him into a downward slash that clashed against the skeleton's weapon again, sending a shockwave rattling through the hall.
Moonlight fractured against steel, bone, and beast as the throne room became a maelstrom of death.
The throne room shook with every clash.
The weremole swung its colossal sword, chains rattling like thunder. The skeleton moved with eerie precision, blade flickering at Kazel's throat and heart with every strike.But Kazel—Kazel was smiling.
His blade was never late. Steel rang as he deflected the skeleton's thrust, sparks bursting like fireworks in the gloom. His wrist snapped, redirecting the bone blade into the path of the weremole's downward swing. The two attacks clashed against each other with a deafening clang, forcing both beast and bones to recoil.
"Pathetic," Kazel spat, his aura bursting outward, rattling the torches on the walls.
He blurred forward, faster than the beast's eyes could follow. The weremole's claw lashed out, but Kazel slid under it, carving a deep gash along its arm as he passed. Black blood spattered the floor. The beast roared, staggering back.
The skeleton tried to intercept, but Kazel twisted, meeting its strike head-on. For an instant, bone and steel locked together—then Kazel snarled and shoved, hurling the skeleton several paces back, its throne cracking as it crashed into it.
Moonlight caught his grin. His presence filled the ruined hall, towering above them without needing height.
"You call yourself a king?" Kazel's voice thundered. "Then kneel like the dog you are!"
The weremole charged in fury, blade whipping on its chain, but Kazel spun with it, one hand snapping the chain taut mid-swing. With a vicious yank, he dragged the massive beast off balance—and in that heartbeat, his sword slashed across its chest, carving deep enough to rattle its bones beneath the hide.
The skeleton darted in again, its blade aimed at Kazel's heart.Kazel only tilted his head, letting the blade pass by his cheek. His eyes gleamed blue in the moonlight.
"You'll have to do better than that."
Steel shrieked against steel, the throne room alive with sparks and roars. Kazel pressed forward, his strikes relentless, carving arcs of death that left neither beast nor bone a breath to rest.
Between the clash of blades, the skeleton's hollow voice echoed directly into Kazel's mind:
"Are you loyal to your kingdom?"
Kazel's grin sharpened. "I'm loyal to my cause."
The skeleton's eye sockets flared with pale light. "And what is it?"
Kazel's sword whirled, forcing the skeleton back step by step. His words spilled like a decree written in blood."There will be no poor people. No one will bask in the rain due to the lack of a roof! There will be no starving mouths. There will be clean waters—no worries of tomorrow!"
His next swing howled through the air, aiming to sever the skeleton's spine.
But before the blade could cleave, the weremole lunged in, its massive frame absorbing the strike. Bone and hide split open, black ichor spilling.
"Rami!" the skeleton's voice shook the hall, for the first time laced with emotion. It charged, blade darting for Kazel's skull.
But Kazel's eyes flashed icy blue—the mark of Frostfang in his veins. His body moved like water under a frozen current. He dipped, the blade whispering past his cheek, and rolled aside, widening the gap between them.
Kazel rose in one smooth motion, breathing steady, sword poised, lips curved into a smirk.
"Too slow, dead king."