The world's core burned with eternal flame, a prison of molten rock and crushing pressure that had held him for eons. But prisons, like empires, were only as strong as those who maintained them.
Varnok's eyes opened.
Silver light pierced the darkness as his consciousness stirred. The memories came flooding back - steel clashing against steel, the taste of his brother's blood, the moment Aetherion's blade found its mark. Then nothing. Endless, suffocating nothing.
But death had never been an ending for beings like him. It was merely... an inconvenience.
The massive wolf form that had once terrorized worlds began to stir. Each movement sent tremors through the earth's core, molten rock cascading away from his silver fur. The greyish stripes along his coat pulsed with destructive energy, the ender flame that could erase reality itself.
He was weak. Pathetically so. Where once his power had been absolute, now he felt hollow, diminished. The centuries of forced slumber had drained him, leaving him with barely enough strength to break free from this molten tomb.
Varnok gathered what remained of his power, feeling it burn through his essence like acid. Seventy percent of his remaining energy, nearly everything he had left, channeled into a single, desperate act.
The space around him bent and twisted. Reality warped as he tore through the fabric of existence itself, forcing a path from the world's core to its surface. The effort nearly destroyed him, but as the familiar sensation of teleportation washed over him, he knew it had worked.
Cold air hit his massive form like a physical blow. Snow crunched beneath his paws as he materialized on the surface, his breath forming silver clouds in the frigid air. The landscape before him was a wasteland of ice and stone, stretching endlessly toward the horizon.
But there, rising from the frozen ground like a broken tooth, stood the ruins of his castle.
Varnok's massive head tilted, studying the structure that had once been the heart of his empire. The proud towers were cracked and weathered, their black stone walls scarred by time and conflict. What had once been a symbol of absolute power now looked like nothing more than an ancient ruin.
A low rumble escaped his throat... not a sign of anger, but amusement. The strong made the rules, and he had been weak. The world had simply moved on without him, as it should have.
His form began to shift and compress, silver fur receding as his massive frame condensed. Bones cracked and reformed, muscles redistributing as he took on a more manageable shape. When the transformation completed, a man stood in the snow where the great wolf had been.
He was tall and lean, with an undeniably dangerous air about him. White hair streaked with grey fell to his shoulders, and his blue eyes held a predatory gleam. His features were sharp and handsome, but there was something distinctly inhuman about him... the way he moved, the way his ears came to subtle points, the way his canine teeth were just a fraction too long.
Varnok flexed his hands, testing this form. It would conserve energy and draw less attention. In his current weakened state, discretion was more valuable than intimidation.
He approached the castle ruins, his bare feet leaving no prints in the snow. The massive gates that had once required a dozen men to open now hung askew, their hinges rusted and broken. As he stepped through the threshold, familiar scents hit him... stone, metal, and something else.
Blood. Recent blood.
His enhanced hearing picked up voices from deeper within the castle. Humans, by the sound of it. Multiple heartbeats, the scrape of metal on stone, whispered conversations.
"...third floor should have the best loot. That's where most of the traps are, but..."
"Keep it down, Marcus. We don't know what else might be lurking in here."
"Relax, Sarah. We're at the outskirts. We can handle anything the dungeon throws at us."
Varnok's lips curved into a cold smile. "Dungeon". They called his former seat of power a dungeon. The irony was delicious.
He moved through the corridors with silent grace, following the sounds deeper into the castle. The halls were different now filled with crude traps and hazards that certainly hadn't been there during his reign. Someone, or something, had turned his home into a gauntlet for treasure seekers.
The castle was vast, large enough to dwarf most kingdoms. He had teleported directly to its heart, to the throne room where he had once held court over an empire. The massive chamber stretched upward into darkness, its walls carved with reliefs depicting his conquests. At the far end, his throne sat empty, a monument of black stone and silver inlay.
But it was the chest at the throne's base that drew his attention. No adventurer had ever reached this deep. The throne room was beyond the reach of any mortal explorer. Only he knew of its existence, and only he could access it.
He opened the chest and retrieved what he had come for, then made his way toward the outer reaches of his domain. The sounds of battle and exploration echoed from the castle's periphery, multiple parties of adventurers testing themselves against the outer defenses.
This was, after all, a mythical rank dungeon. The kind of place where even experienced adventurers feared to tread too deeply. Most stayed in the outermost areas, scavenging what they could while avoiding the true dangers that lurked within.
He found his targets on the castle's outskirts... Five figures moving through what had once been the servants' quarters. They wore a mix of leather and metal armor, their gear practical but well-maintained. Just one of many parties brave enough to test themselves against the legendary dungeon, and unlucky enough to cross his path.
The leader was a woman with short brown hair and a sword at her hip. A mage stood beside her, his robes marking him as a practitioner of the arcane arts. The other three were clearly warriors, a massive man with a war hammer, a lithe woman with twin daggers, and a younger man with a bow.
"Stay alert", the leader whispered as they moved through the crumbling corridors. "Even the outer areas of this place are dangerous. We're not here for glory, just grab what we can and get out!"
"Wise words", Varnok said, stepping from the shadows.
Five heads snapped toward him, weapons rising in perfect synchronization. The leader's eyes widened as she took in his appearance... the pointed ears, the predatory smile, the way he moved like liquid death. And the fact that he was completely naked.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her sword steady in her grip despite the awkward situation. "How did you get this deep? And why are you... naked?"
Varnok tilted his head, studying them with genuine curiosity. "Entrance wards? In my own castle?" He chuckled, a sound like breaking glass. "Tell me, what do you know of this place?"
The mage stepped forward, his staff glowing with prepared magic. "This is the Blackened Spire, a mythical-rank dungeon. No one has ever reached its depths and returned. We're just... exploring the outer areas."
"Mythical rank?" Varnok's amusement grew. "How fascinating. And here I thought it was simply home."
The massive warrior hefted his hammer. "Look, whoever you are, we claimed this dungeon first. Find your own...."
His words died as Varnok's eyes shifted from blue to grey, and the temperature in the room plummeted. The adventurers suddenly found themselves unable to move, their bodies locked in place by an overwhelming presence that crushed down on them like a physical weight.
"You've been very helpful," Varnok said conversationally, walking toward the frozen group. "But I'm afraid I need something from you."
His grey eyes locked onto the leader's, and she felt her mind torn open like paper. Memories flooding out. His mind burnt through her consciousness, extracting everything she knew about this new world.
The guild system, the continent names, the way this modern world operated. Magic and technology fused together in ways that seemed impossible. Emperors ruling continents while his brother... his brother, maintained order from the shadows.
The mental intrusion spread to the others without him moving, his power reaching into their minds simultaneously. In seconds, he had absorbed everything they knew about the world that had grown in his absence. When it was finished, the five adventurers stood empty-eyed and drooling, their minds completely shattered.
"How fascinating," he murmured, considering what he had learned. "Magic academies, guild systems, mana-tech." He looked at their weapons and armor with new understanding. "You've all been quite busy while I slept."
He moved to the largest of the warriors, stripping the man's leather armor and clothing. The fit was adequate, if not perfect. As he dressed, he continued to process the stolen memories, status screens that appeared at age five, the way humans grew stronger by absorbing beast cores, the delicate balance between magic and technology that now governed this world.
The five adventurers began to crumble, their bodies breaking apart like fragile pottery. Their existence wiped from reality so completely that even the dust seemed to forget it had ever been human. As their essence flowed into him, he felt a slight increase in his power. Insignificant compared to what he had once been, but every fragment helped.
Varnok turned his attention to the chest he had retrieved from the throne room. With a casual wave of his hand, the locks dissolved into nothingness. Inside, among various trinkets and coins, lay a single item that made his breath catch.
A coin of black metal, inscribed with symbols that predated the current age. He knew this coin intimately - knew its purpose, its power, its significance. Its twin would be with Aetherion, wherever his brother now resided. Looking at it brought back memories of their shared past, of the bond they had once shared before everything went wrong.
He pocketed the coin, his expression softening for just a moment before the familiar coldness returned. The other treasures in the chest held no interest for him. Power was the only currency that mattered now. He turned to leave, his borrowed boots clicking softly on the ancient stones. There was much to do, and his current weakness made every moment precious. He needed to grow stronger, to understand this new world, and eventually to rebuild what had been lost.
But first, he needed to leave this place. The castle held too many memories, and there were bound to be stronger adventurers in the deeper levels who might pose an actual threat in his weakened state.
As he walked through the ruins of his former empire, Varnok allowed himself a moment of genuine appreciation. The world had evolved in his absence, growing complex and dangerous in ways that intrigued him. Magic and technology intertwined, new powers rising to fill the vacuum his death had created.
It would be entertaining to see how long they could maintain their new order once he began to reclaim what was his.
The hunt was about to begin.