In the dim, flickering light of the royal throne room, King Thalion sat motionless upon his obsidian throne, draped in black and crimson banners that whispered in the draft like silent specters. Shadows danced across his expressionless face, and the gleam of his onyx armor shimmered faintly like oil slick on water. His crimson cape pooled around his feet like freshly spilled blood.
On both sides of the velvet red carpet leading to the dais, his soldiers—The Knights of Obsidian—knelt in perfect formation, their heads bowed low, weapons sheathed, silence unwavering. The air was thick with tension and unspoken fear. In this hall of cold marble and unyielding authority, it was clear: this was not a court—this was a lion's den.
King Thalion stood with the clanging echo of steel. Every plate of his dark armor groaned like chains on a dungeon wall. In one hand, he carried his jagged sword, Vanthelmor, a relic forged from the remains of a fallen star. He walked forward slowly, each step falling like judgment itself.
"My knights," he began, his voice calm, commanding, laced with the gravitas of a thousand battles won. "We have built this empire upon steel and sacrifice. You have served me for decades, some of you since birth. I have entrusted you with my life... and still—someone has betrayed me."
A shockwave of murmurs passed through the ranks. Eyes widened. Breath caught. None dared speak, but disbelief flashed across their faces. Betrayal? Here?
An old knight, Sir Aldros, rose trembling to his feet. The silver in his beard gleamed under the torchlight, his eyes misted with fear and confusion.
"Your Majesty... this cannot be. We have followed you through hell and war. We have no life but that which you gave us. Who would dare defy you?"
The Knights of Obsidian were no ordinary soldiers. They were myths wrapped in steel—each one capable of felling dragons, of silencing entire kingdoms with a single charge. They had been chosen at birth, bound by blood and blade, and cursed—cursed with an ancient spell that would hurl any traitor into the Abyss, a void of endless, black water filled with the wails of forgotten souls. No one had ever defied the curse and lived.
And yet, here they stood—unclaimed, unjudged. Something was wrong.
A younger knight, eyes wild, shot to his feet. His blade hissed from its sheath, pointing directly at the king. Madness danced behind his eyes.
"This is madness!" he roared. "You cage us, rule us like beasts, and now accuse us of crimes we aren't even capable of committing?! We've lived as your pawns, your dogs, your damned weapons! And still, it's not enough?"
His voice cracked into laughter, hollow and bitter. "Ha... ha-ha... why didn't I strike you down sooner?! You're no king—you're a tyrant, a parasite leeching off our blood!"
Silence shattered like glass. One by one, knights rose, hands trembling not with fear, but fury. Steel hissed, gauntlets tightened, and rage swelled in their chests. Only three remained kneeling—Sir Aldros, and two silent knights who dared not breathe.
King Thalion stopped. His expression remained unchanged.
"It seems your hatred blinded you," he said flatly. "You forgot the curse."
A moment passed.
"We know the curse," the mad knight spat. "But even death is sweeter than your rule. Before it drags us into the Abyss—we'll take you with us!"
With a thunderous cry, they charged. Dozens of elite knights—faster than arrows, sharper than lightning. Their blades cut through the air, aimed to end a reign.
But when they struck—they found nothing.
Their swords passed through him.
Behind them, footsteps echoed softly.
Thalion stood once more, now behind the rebels, hands clasped behind his back, as if taking a stroll through a garden. His smirk was cold, alien.
"Unlucky for you," he said, voice like frost, "I already knew. You planned this rebellion too well. You studied the curse—its delay, its blind spots. You thought yourselves clever."
The air twisted.
And then—they came.
Pitch-black tendrils erupted from the floor, writhing like serpents. One coiled around the mad knight's arm. He gasped, and more followed—wrapping around his neck, his legs, his chest. His scream was choked, agonized.
Dozens of tendrils burst forth, pulling down each rebel in screaming terror. No one could help them. No one could look away.
The rift had opened. The Abyss had come.
Their cries rang throughout the hall, growing fainter as they were dragged into that wretched sea of despair. Then—silence. Not even echoes remained.
Only three knights knelt. Motionless. Drenched in sweat. Alive.
"You three," Thalion said softly. "You did not rise. You did not intervene. That is wisdom. Had you drawn your blades—even in defense of me—I would have slain you myself. But you... you chose restraint."
He approached. Slow. Inevitable.
"Raise your heads."
They did.
And then—he smiled.
It was not a smile of joy, nor kindness. It was the grin of something no longer human. A predator wearing skin. The kind of smile that turned men into ghosts.
"I am bound," he whispered, "by royal decree. I cannot harm my knights... but your families? Your bloodlines? The people you love?" His smile deepened. "Them, I can harm. If you ever so much as think of defiance again—I will purge this continent of your name, and leave only you three to remember."
Thump! Thump! Thump!
The air grew crushing. Their hearts pounded in terror, their bodies trembled under the invisible weight.
"U-understood, Your Majesty!"
"Dismissed."
They fled. Broken. Alive. Barely.
The throne room fell into eerie quiet.
King Thalion walked toward the great stained-glass window behind his throne, the twilight sky painting him in hues of red and violet. And then—a pulse of light.
[Confirming user... Kim Eun Jin. Inheritance complete.]
[Soul Transfer: Successful.]
The king's body jerked.
A breath was drawn—harsh, ragged. Fingers twitched. Eyes blinked, wide and disoriented.
"Wh-what... the hell?"
It was no longer Thalion behind those eyes.
It was Kim Eun Jin.
And he was trapped in the body of a monster.