Two days above the clouds, riding Necrothrix, Veyne donned his nightmare armor. Black, jagged, and alive with dark power, it exuded menace. Screaming faces writhed across his gauntlets. On his head, a pale skull mask—a twisted replica of Balgorth—gleamed red in its eye sockets. A short blood crown pierces his hood. Every piece of his gear was crafted by him, inspired by legendary armors throughout history.
Veyne raised his hands. Green astral chains coiled around Necrothrix.
"DOWN!"
The dragon plummeted, cutting through clouds as Veyne tainted the whiteness with darkness, turning the sky pitch black.
Below, guards and gardeners gawked. Day became night as shadows spread. Thunder cracked overhead. Staff scrambled to alert the council, but before long, a blinding white barrier enveloped the council grounds. Its beams pierced the black clouds—but Necrothrix barely flinched.
Just before impact, the dragon spread its wings and roared in unison, shaking the earth. Dust and debris erupted as Veyne disembarked. He gestured skyward, speaking in a demonic tongue.
"Shiad-nafic-toosax."
The dragon lifted off, leaving Veyne inches from the pulsing divine barrier.
"You call this a greeting? Expending all that magic just to cower behind rules? Drop the act!" he shouted.
The barrier shattered. Thirty armored guards advanced, spears at the ready. Veyne ignored them, spotting a woman descending the steps. Blonde hair flowed to her ankles, light pulsing around her—a clear marker of rank. S-rank Realmforger, leader of the Divine Enforcers: Elaina Darven.
"Little Laina Darven. Ten years gone, and still daddy's little sidekick?" Veyne taunted. "Where is that sack of a man, by the way?"
"Shut your mouth, or I'll rearrange you beyond repair," she snapped, though she continued toward him.
"And how do you know it's me, and not one of my minions?"
Her eyes flared yellow. "Old man, that's definitely you."
Veyne grinned. "Not the same girl from ten years ago, I see. Curious—do you think your current skills could even match me?"
Elaina gripped her blade, aura blazing. "Summon a skeleton to fight? Might have better luck than you!"
Veyne's eyes scanned her as he lowered his hands, palms out. The ground trembled violently. Soldiers stumbled back.
"Perhaps your advice isn't bad, young lady. Maybe an army will curb that arrogance. SUMMON UN—"
"SILENCE!"
A booming voice froze him. Atop the stairs stood a stern old man, grey hair and mustache matching his disapproving glare. Soldiers snapped to attention.
"No fighting on sacred grounds," he intoned. "Elaina, escort this… abomination into the council chambers."
Veyne noted the smirk playing briefly on the old man's face. Something in it left him uneasy.
"Follow me," Elaina said begrudgingly.
Veyne analyzed each guard as they walked. A-rank Realmforgers all, deadly even on their own. Yet Duskhold had backups for everything—magic, death, even disaster. He remained unshaken.
The center chamber stretched before them. Sixteen thrones lined the hall, housing council members from infants to elders. Elegance and authority filled the room.
An elegant lady rose to introduce him. "Fellow delegates, before us stands Veyne Moregrove, an S-rank Realmforger of note."
Veyne's grin returned. "And why have you been pestering me, armed to the teeth just for me?"
A younger male leapt to his feet. "This is your trial, demon!"