The Box: Fate
Chapter 70 — The Path of the Crimson King
Azureus stepped into the center of the dark cavern, the dim sapphire scales on his arms casting a cold light over the injured players. His vertical silver eyes swept across the room, noting the raw, physical damage that no healing potion could instantly patch anymore.
"You talk of marching into the trenches, rogue," Azureus spoke, his deep voice cutting through Sharky Bee's declaration. "But look at yourselves. You are no longer lines of data that can be refreshed. Your bones are cracked, your skin is charred, and your inner energy pathways are completely frayed."
He pointed a sharp, claw-like finger toward Kataki's motionless form. "Your leader's life force is leaking like water from a shattered vase. Axel's internal muscles are torn from holding the giant's weight, and Murasaki's hands cannot even grip her staff. If you step onto a battlefield in this condition, you are not vanguards—you are merely meat for the dark forces."
Gideon the Ash-Bringer nodded grimly, leaning his massive jagged greatsword against the cavern wall. He reached into his leather pouch and pulled out a small, glowing communication stone that was cracked but still functioning.
"The dragon is right," Gideon growled. "I've already crushed my guild stone. The other four Apex Kings have been alerted. They know Aethelgard has fallen, and they are mobilizing the secondary native defense forces to hold the border. But until they arrive, we need to get you kids off this field."
He picked up his sword, strapping it across his back. "My sovereign territory, **The Crimson Citadel of Ignis-Vail**, is nine hours west of here through the mountain passes. It has the finest native alchemists and spiritual springs on the continent. If we move now, we can stabilize the silver-eyed boy before his soul permanently unravels. Pack your gear."
Axel and Sharky Bee exchanged a tight nod. Silently, the sixteen-to-eighteen-year-old players began to lift their wounded, preparing for the long, arduous trek across the rugged native terrain.
***
Meanwhile, deep beneath the hollow, two-mile crater where Aethelgard once stood, a dark, wretched entity was drifting through the black subterranean channels.
Malakor's physical form had been completely obliterated by the final strike, but his malicious soul remained, a floating wisp of jagged violet fog. Fueled by the residual blood-mana of the red Zenith card, the wisp was frantically clawing its way downward through the bedrock, heading straight for the deepest abyssal trench where **Crash** lay chained.
*"Just a little further..."* Malakor's spiritual voice hissed in the dark, his consciousness fading but determined. *"If I can just reach the seal... if I can inject my remaining essence into the heart of **((Crash))**, the sovereign will awaken completely, and those outer-world brats will burn with this entire planet..."*
The violet fog descended into a massive, empty underground vault. The ancient, heavy chains of the seal were just fifty feet below him. Malakor's soul laughed in mad triumph, preparing to dive into the abyss.
But suddenly, the space inside the sealed underground vault froze.
The air turned into absolute, chilling zero. The thick, metallic scent of permanent deletion materialized from nothingness.
Malakor's spiritual wisp stopped mid-air, a sudden, primal terror paralyzing his essence. He slowly looked up.
Emerging directly from the solid stone ceiling was a massive, translucent skeletal hand made of silver bone and pitch-black mist. The physical Angel of Death had not returned to the void after the palace destroyed. It had lingered in the shadow of Kataki's final command—a lingering, unalterable program designed for a single purpose: *absolute termination.*
The massive skeletal hand closed around Malakor's violet soul wisp with an inescapable, crushing grip.
*"No! Wait! I am a servant of the system! I am the holder of the Zenith—!"* Malakor's spirit screamed, his violet fire flaring desperately against the bones.
The Angel of Death did not speak. It had no ears for bargaining, no numbers to calculate, and no mercy in its code. The tattered, cosmic cowl of the entity shifted slightly as its empty, hollow eye sockets stared down at the struggling general.
With a single, silent squeeze, the silver bones flared with a blinding, void-black light.
*CRACK.*
Malakor's soul didn't just shatter; it was violently erased from existence, its very history and essence vacuumed into the Angel's skeletal palm. The residual violet rot vanished from the subterranean channel completely.
Turning its massive head toward the western horizon where Kataki was being carried, the skeletal entity slowly dissolved into the dark air, taking the memory of the Void General into the permanent grave with it.
***
On the surface, the sky was completely dark as Gideon led the silent procession of the Sovereign Vanguards toward the jagged western peaks.
Zanaki walked near the rear, carrying a portion of the supply gear, his sapphire eyes staring out into the dark wilderness. He could feel the heavy, physical pulse of the world rhythmically beating beneath his boots. There was no map grid to show the way to Ignis-Vail, and no level numbers to guarantee their survival.
But as he looked at the hardened faces of Axel, Sharky, and the rest of the Akatsuki group walking through the shadows, he knew the game was officially over. The true, concrete war for their lives had just begun.