Henry stumbled back into the castle, his boots dragging against golden tiles cracked from their earlier clash. The mountain palace seemed alive now—walls shifting, gears whirring, and staircases extending as though the fortress itself resisted him.
The glow of the golden dome above bled into the halls, suffocating and endless. His fists clenched tighter. His chest still burned from Ravenous's gravity, but he couldn't stop now.
Henry (gritted teeth): "Elara… Where are you?"
Meanwhile…
Elara sat stiffly at the long black-gold table, her body rigid but her stomach twisting in protest. Before her, the feast gleamed like temptation itself—roasted meat glistening with fat, bowls of grapes, pears dripping with nectar, and loaves of bread still steaming.
Midas leaned back in his throne at the table's head. His smile was calm and patient, as if he already knew what choice she would make.
Midas: "Eat. I see the hunger in your bones, child. You are wasting away under the weight of your awakening."
Elara glared at him, lips pressed tight.
Elara: "You want me to trust food cooked in this palace?"
Midas's eyes softened.
Midas: "What use have I for poison when the world itself bends at my will? I do not kill my guests at the table. It is tradition."
Her stomach growled loudly, betraying her. She clenched her fists beneath the table, biting her lip until it nearly bled. For a moment, she thought she could resist.
But then—
The scent overwhelmed her. The gnawing hunger, sharpened by every blast of her awakening, broke past her will.
Slowly, she reached forward.
First a grape. Then a slice of bread. Then she tore into the meat with both hands, hunger overtaking hesitation. Within moments she was devouring everything in reach, breathless, almost animal.
Midas watched with quiet amusement, his smile never faltering.
Midas: "There. Better."
Elara stopped, breathing heavily, wiping juice and grease from her lips with her sleeve. Her eyes sharpened again, her shame burning into defiance.
Elara: "Don't think this means anything. I just needed the strength back."
Midas chuckled, his golden fingers steepling before his mouth.
Midas: "You remind me of the city I once ruled. Hungry. Defiant. Beautiful in its struggle."
Elara leaned forward, voice sharp.
Elara: "Then tell me the truth. The Golden City. The Dead Lands. The palace was carved into the mountain. I've heard the rumors. I've read the files."
Midas's smile dimmed, though his eyes still gleamed.
Midas: "And what is it you think you know?"
Elara's voice dropped, each word edged with suspicion.
Elara: "That the King in Gold rose from death itself. That you turned your kingdom into ash. That you were once a ruler… and now you're a Soul Reaper."
The air grew heavier. Even the golden droids lining the walls seemed to stiffen.
Midas did not deny it. Instead, he tilted his head, studying her like a jewel under light.
Midas: "The Dead Lands are not my shame, Elara. They are my monument. A city must die for its king to be remembered."
Elara's fists tightened on the table, her pulse hammering.
Meanwhile… The Halls
Henry sprinted down another corridor, the fight against Ravenous long gone from his mind—he had only his fists and his lightning-fast feet.
The first wave of droids came from the walls, arms splitting into blades. Henry ducked low, his fist glowing faintly as he drove it through the chest of the closest machine, sending sparks scattering.
But for everyone he felled, two more dropped from the ceiling.
Henry (snarling): "Fine. Let's do this."
He surged forward, turning into a blur of blue light—Shooting Star. His fists and feet slammed through them, denting steel and shattering optics. Their golden husks littered the floor.
But the palace responded; sections of the walls shifted, sealing doors behind him. More droids poured from the shadows, weapons glowing, surrounding him in a circle.
Henry skidded to a stop, sweat dripping, chest rising and falling hard. His knuckles bled, but he lifted his fists higher.
Henry: "I'm not dying in some gilded tomb."
The circle closed in.
Meanwhile…
Elara's breathing steadied as she met Midas's gaze. She wiped her mouth clean and straightened her back, refusing to look smaller than him.
Elara: "You're not just a Soul Reaper, are you? You're their plan. Their king."
Midas's laugh was soft, but there was no warmth in it.
Midas: "I don't control them; you can't put ten different kinds of wild animals into one cage and hope that they work together peacefully. You need someone that oversees them, someone who has the grip to control them. The others scheme in shadows. But me?" His eyes flashed brighter. "I do not plan. I decide."
Elara: "And that someone is you."
Midas: "No… someone else has placed himself in that role."
He leaned forward, resting his chin on a golden knuckle.
Elara: "The hidden number… the one sitting on the shadow throne…"
Midas: "We call him Null, and I despise him with all my heart. He is an anomalistic force who can't be controlled, and if there is something I can't have, it is that something can't be controlled."
Midas chuckles, his eyes glancing at Elara.
Midas: "And now you sit at my table. That makes you mine to decide upon."
Elara forced herself not to flinch. She stared straight back at him, fury igniting in her chest.
Elara: "I'll never be yours."
Midas's smile curved like a blade.
Meanwhile… The Halls
The droids struck all at once. Blades, guns, and cannons unleashed in a single symphony of destruction.
Henry roared. His aura ignited, heavenly blue bursting from his body. He blurred into movement, fists striking like meteors, tearing through the circle one after another.
He smashed one droid's head into the wall, swung another by its arm into three more, and leapt into the air to slam down, energy exploding outward.
The corridor shook with the impact, walls cracking.
Henry stood panting in the wreckage, smoke rising from his fists. But even as he caught his breath, more metallic footsteps echoed from the depths of the palace.
Henry: "Just how many are there?"
He gritted his teeth, eyes blazing with fury.
Henry: "Elara… hold on. I'm coming."