The Iron Pit of Ashburg was a place where hope went to be strangled in the dark. The walls were weeping with damp, foul-smelling condensation, and the only light came from a flickering, low-grade mana-torch that seemed to mock the two men trapped within the cell.
Victus was no longer a man; he was a hollowed-out shell of a god. He sat in the corner, his knees pulled to his chest, his fingers digging into his scalp so hard that beads of blood were beginning to form. Every word Matthew had spoken through the jade artifact was a jagged shard of glass cutting through his soul.
I am a Sterling. I am the spawn of a rapist. The man I called 'Father'—the man I betrayed and let die—was the one who held me while I was covered in my mother's blood.
The realization was a poison that paralyzed his heart. He felt like a "frog in a well" that had finally seen the sun, only to realize the sun was a falling meteor meant to crush him.
Beside him, Freddy watched with a heavy, sagging face. At over fifty years old, Freddy had seen the rise and fall of dozens of "prodigies," but seeing Victus like this—shattered, broken, and stripped of his arrogance—stirred something long dead in the old leader's chest. For years, Freddy had competed with Victus, hated him, and tried to outmaneuver him. But in this darkness, the rivalry felt like a childish game played by two corpses.
Freddy reached out, his weathered, calloused hand trembling slightly as he placed it on Victus's shoulder. It was a fatherly gesture, clumsy and unpracticed.
Victus flinched. His first instinct was to snarl, to tear that hand off and scream about his "noble" status. But then he remembered. He had no status. He had no nobility. He was just a bastard child of a murdered woman and a monster. He let out a low, pathetic whimper, his body shaking with the force of his suppressed sobs.
"I know, Victus," Freddy whispered, his voice thick with a sudden, unexpected regret. "I know. I was a fucking piece of shit. I tried to frame you for the Venric murders... I tried to use you as a stepping stone. I am so sorry, kid. For everything."
Victus's eyes were bloodshot, his face a mess of tears and snot. He looked up at Freddy, and for the first time, the "Prince" looked like a terrified child.
"Don't... don't say that," Victus choked out. "I was the one who did it all. I was the one who killed your friend and his family. I was the one who courted death."
In his heart, Victus knew. He knew Rayn was the one who had truly slaughtered the Venric family. He had seen the cold, crimson-eyed bastard's handiwork. But in this moment of total spiritual collapse, Victus didn't want to blame Rayn. He felt that if he took all the sins upon himself, perhaps the weight would finally crush him and end the misery of his existence. He was in a state of total self-loathing, where even the truth was a luxury he didn't deserve.
Hundreds of miles away, across the jagged mountains that separated the two towns, stood the Sterling Palace. If Ashburg's Dawinton Tower was a monument to grit and survival, the Sterling Palace was a monument to megalomania and obscene wealth.
The throne room was a cathedral of arrogance. The ceiling was a massive, vaulted arch of polished black basalt—obsidian so dark it seemed to absorb the very souls of those who entered. Below it, a multi-tiered crystal chandelier hummed with a golden, artificial light, casting long, sharp shadows across the floor.
The floor was a sheet of white marble, polished to such a mirror-finish that it felt like walking on a frozen lake. Every pillar—pristine, fluted marble—was reflected perfectly in the ground, doubling the visual impact of the room's cold grandeur.
The doors groaned open. Two figures entered, their auras so dense that the air in the hall seemed to vibrate with a physical weight.
On the left was Sandy, the leader of Division 6, "Fairfield." He was a 14 year old young kid with a beautiful, tanned physique and shocking white hair that contrasted with his piercing emerald eyes. He wore robes of a deep, regal blue, and as he walked, the very concept of "Wealth" seemed to bend to his will. Dozens of gold coins hovered in the air around him, drifting in his wake like a trail of metallic butterflies. He didn't use them; he didn't need them. They were simply drawn to his Phase 6 Merchant presence—a manifestation of his absolute mastery over the material world.
On the right was Andromeda, the leader of Division 4, "The Night Watchers." She was a vision of cold, ethereal beauty. Her long, dark brown hair was held in place by a jeweled tiara that pulsed with Gnosis. She wore an elaborate, silver-white gown that trailed behind her like a wedding dress made of moonlight. She was one of only three women in the entire Spectre organization to hold a seat of power. She was a Phase 6 Gambler, and her eyes were fixed forward with a serene, terrifying composure.
They approached the far end of the hall, where a high-backed throne of dark wood and gold trim sat on a raised platform.
Sitting on that throne was Victor Sterling.
Victor was in his thirties, but his skin was as smooth as a youth's, his long red hair cascading over his shoulders like a river of blood. He wore black armor that fit him like a second skin—armor that didn't look like protective plating, but like a shadow that had been forged into a weapon. Beside him lay a massive tiger, its orange fur glowing with an unnatural golden light.
Victor Sterling was the strongest man in the region. He had awakened the 'Clock-Maker' power. It was a terrifying, reality-bending ability. To Victor, the world didn't move in a linear flow; he saw the "gears" of time. He could perceive the mechanics of a fight before a single punch was thrown. To fight him was to fight a man who had already seen your death.
"What happened?" Victor's voice was a low, melodic baritone that nonetheless made the gold coins around Sandy stop their movement.
Sandy and Andromeda knelt, their foreheads nearly touching the reflective marble. Sandy moved toward one of the smaller advisor chairs but didn't dare sit yet.
"Your Majesty," Sandy began, his voice shaking. "Thomas called us. He says there has been a... disturbance in Ashburg."
Victor turned his black eyes toward Sandy. "I know you have more gold than sense, Sandy. But if you try to showcase your pathetic 'wealth aura' in front of my throne again, I will execute you where you stand. The only power in this room is mine."
Sandy's gold coins immediately fell to the floor with a series of sharp clinks. He sat silently, sweat beading on his brow.
Suddenly, the air in the center of the room warped, and Thomas appeared, kneeling and gasping for breath. He looked like a man who had just run through a gauntlet of ghosts.
"Sir... I am here," Thomas stammered.
"Speak, Thomas," Victor commanded, his fingers idly stroking the golden tiger's head. "Why the fuck did you summon the Division leaders? Did Victus finally secure the town? Has my 'brother' finally proven he's worth the air he breathes?"
Thomas swallowed hard, his throat clicking in the silence. "Sir... Victus failed. He didn't become the leader. He and Freddy... they were both defeated. A new man has taken the throne of Ashburg."
Victor's eyes narrowed, the "Clock-Maker" gears in his mind beginning to whir. "Defeated? By whom? Who the fuck in that shithole has the strength to take down a Phase 6 Gambler?"
"A boy named Rayn," Thomas whispered. "He's a new member of Division 7. He supposedly came from the 'Whispering Vines' village—the one we attacked and razed months ago."
Victor let out a short, sharp laugh. It wasn't a sound of humor; it was a sound of absolute contempt. "Rayn? A survivor of a peasant village? You're telling me my 'brilliant' brother was topped by a stray dog from the sticks?"
"Sir, Freddy also participated," Thomas added quickly. "But Rayn manipulated the entire town. He invoked the Mandate. He broke them both in front of the people."
Victor stood up, his black armor humming with a low-frequency Gnosis. The golden tiger rose with him, its eyes glowing with a predatory light.
"See, Thomas?" Victor mused, talking to Thomas. "You thought you were the smartest person in the room. You thought your schemes could control the world. But you're wrong this time. Thomas".
He then thinks about Victus in his mind :Victor's eyes flashed with a cold, murderous intent. I should have killed him years ago. He was always a failure, a reminder of my father's weak-willed obsession with that Andromeda bitch. If he's in a cell, he's useless. I'll have to go there and snap his neck myself just to clear the family record.
"Enough of this petty drama," Victor barked, his voice echoing through the obsidian vaults. "Everyone be ready. The Grand Ceremony of the Four Kingdoms is being held next month. It was supposed to be our victory celebration, our formal annexation of Ashburg."
His lips curled into a snarl. "We are going to make those Ashburg bastards pay for every drop of blood they spilled sixty years ago. They think they can kill my father and hide behind a border? They think a white-haired brat can change the destiny of the Sterlings? Next month, we march. We will kill this Rayn, we will execute my useless brother, and we will turn Ashburg into a graveyard."
The leaders of the Night Watchers and Fairfield bowed low. "As you command, Your Majesty!"
Back in the Dawinton Palace, Rayn stood on the balcony, looking out toward the horizon where the Sterling mountains pierced the clouds. He didn't need a "Clock-Maker" power to know what was coming. He could feel the gears of fate turning.
He knew about the Ceremony. He knew about the Sterling King. And most importantly, he knew that a single town wasn't enough to satiate the hunger in his soul.
"Next month," Rayn whispered, his crimson eyes glowing with a manic intensity. "The Sterling family thinks they're coming to a party. They don't realize they are coming for their funerals."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, jagged piece of obsidian he had taken from the palace archives. He crushed it in his hand, the stone turning to dust.
"One month," Rayn muttered. "Thirty days to refine the Gambler's Heart. Thirty days to become the monster this world deserves."
The countdown to the massacre had begun.