Beside the throne, two shadowy figures stood still like statues. Their pitch-black cloaks covered them from head to toe, so wide and shapeless that one could not discern gender, age, or even stature. It was as if the night itself had torn off a piece of its own body and placed it there—motionless, breathless.
They did not stand like guards. They stood like beings who did not dare exist fully beneath the presence of the one sitting on the throne—the figure motionless at the heart of the darkened chamber, under the eternal gaze of the massive stone dragon above.
"Master."
A woman's voice, soft as a night breeze, yet chillingly clear, echoed from the entrance.
The newcomer was a slender silhouette in a black cloak. She knelt on one knee upon the cold, corpse-like stone floor and bowed her head deeply. Her voice resonated, frail yet unmistakable:
"The monsters have all gathered, just as you commanded."
A few seconds passed. Time itself seemed to freeze, surrendering to a suffocating silence.
The master of the throne remained with eyes shut. A young man—or at least one with a youthful appearance—sat there, motionless as if asleep. But then, a voice rose from that still figure—low, dry, and sharp like wind passing through a skull in an ancient tomb.
"...Is that so."
Another breath passed.
"Five minutes."
"Yes, as you will!"
The female voice responded as lightly as mist vanishing over a lake. She rose silently and retreated from the grand hall. Once again, the space was engulfed in a silence so profound that even the sound of drifting dust brushing against itself could be heard.
Two minutes later—
The young man's eyes opened.
Twin golden irises flared like hellfire. But what made one's skin crawl was not their color, but the vertical slits within—the kind only found in beasts.
They were not human eyes.
They were the eyes of an ancient dragon.
At that moment, a hidden door to the left of the throne opened without a sound. A large figure wrapped in shadow stepped forth, cloak heavy and dragging, footsteps deliberately soundless.
Upon nearing the throne, the figure knelt and presented an object with both hands, speaking respectfully:
"Master, please take a look."
In his hands was a jet-black stone—cold and sinister. Black mist leaked from it like poisoned fog. The air around the stone twisted, misaligned from reality.
With just a lift of a finger, the stone was pulled from his hands, drawn toward the throne by an invisible force.
No words. No wasted movement.
Magic surged in.
Crack!
Spiderweb-like cracks formed across the stone's surface. It trembled violently, as if trying to resist the overwhelming will pressing upon it.
But it was futile.
"Break."
One frigid word—and the stone erupted in blinding light. Suspended in midair, an illusion materialized.
It was Gerald. His movements, gaze, even his breaths were recorded flawlessly, as if the stone had captured his very soul.
"That gaze... it's different from those who've fallen here before."
The one on the throne tilted his head slightly, eyes shifting to the kneeling figure.
"...Still, he's merely a lost human. Surely you all could've handled this?"
His voice was not loud nor cold, but hearing it was like pressure on every vein in the body.
The cloaked servant bowed deeper and whispered: "I have failed you, Master."
Crack.
No anger. No rebuke.
Just... the stone shattered in his hand.
No wrath, no punishment.
He simply crushed it, and the black fragments scattered like ash into the air, drifting toward the bloodstained columns on the walls.
"Only one intruder?"
"Yes. Our scouts detected only him. He travels alone toward this place. He may arrive soon..." the subordinate replied reverently.
The one on the throne chuckled softly.
"Do you remember that mage from years ago? He too thought he alone could walk out of here."
He spoke while gazing up at the vaulted ceiling—etched with bones and ancient patterns, though part of it had been scorched by fire. Strange screeching echoed from deep underground, like the wails of sealed spirits. On the chamber walls, thousands of ancient runes bled endlessly. No one knew the source of the blood, only that it never dried.
After a moment, the young man waved his hand slightly.
The cloaked figure bowed once more and slipped back into the shadows from whence he came, as if he had never existed.
"Interesting."
The young man curled his lips.
"It's been so long since someone foolish dared set foot here... how many years has it been...?"
Just a few hundred meters from the palace, where darkness and majesty converged—
A creature resembling a lump of thick, glistening sludge crept slowly toward the grand palace. Beside it walked a silent, enigmatic black shadow.
"Seems... we're the last to arrive."
The swamp creature spoke, eyes glancing toward the plaza where nearly a thousand monsters had gathered. Its voice echoed sluggishly, deep as if from the bottom of a marsh.
It had no legs, its body sliding across the ground at an agonizingly slow pace, each movement as if time itself resisted it. Yet the shadow beside it—Shadow—walked calmly, without the slightest hint of impatience.
"No," Shadow answered softly, its childlike voice infused with a somber, unknowable tone.
"We... are not the last."
"...?"
The swamp creature turned in confusion, but before it could ask—
"Oh ho! Look who finally crawled in—the dung pile has arrived!"
A mocking voice erupted from the crowd of monsters, drawing countless eyes toward Shadow and the sludge.
"Go back to the trash pit where you belong!"
A massive creature stepped forward, eyes gleaming with contempt. It resembled a man, and if not for this being a monster gathering, one might mistake him for a heavyweight fighter. His body was bulky and muscled, clad only in fur-covered leather shorts. Wild mane-like hair and a tangled beard wrapped around his face like a savage iron wreath—his nickname needed no explanation: Lion Man.
Shadow thought, If this guy went to Earth, he'd probably crush every WWE wrestler with a single slap.
"H-hey... Shadow... let's go somewhere else," the swamp creature mumbled, tugging at its companion's hand as they quietly slid off to a distant corner.
"Hmph!"
Lion Man snorted with disdain. Were it not for being before the King's gate, he would've ripped the two to pieces.
"Lion Man, don't waste energy on those corpses, heh heh..."
A skeleton draped in tattered robes stepped forward, holding a staff that glowed with eerie purple light. His face was nothing but exposed bone—an undead dark mage once buried by quicksand on the fourth floor of the Dungeon a century ago. Before death, he sacrificed all flesh in a ritual of resurrection, and returned as a Lich.
"Damn skull!" Lion Man roared. "You're nothing but my midnight snack!"
"Heh heh! We'll see who eats whom, you mangy lion!"
The skeleton mocked, laughter brittle like wind scraping a graveyard.
Shadow stood silently, arms crossed, watching like an outsider. It tilted its head and asked the swamp creature: "When... does it begin?"
"Uh... probably soon," the sludge replied, still watching the unruly crowd.
Not long after—
From afar, three figures approached.
The atmosphere grew heavy like crushed stone, thick with the scent of old blood embedded in every cracked tile. Overhead, the massive dome was cloaked by the stone dragon, its core glowing with eerie light—like a moon in a skull-hunting night.
Across the plaza, over a thousand monsters stood shoulder to shoulder—each one a nightmare born of shadow. Some towered four meters tall; others crawled like giant worms with jagged teeth; some defied definition, stitched together from the remains of the long-dead.
Tension pulled tight like a bowstring. All eyes turned to the newcomers: a silent Shadow, a bound Orc, and finally—Gerald, the old mage in a dusty, tattered robe.
He stopped. One slight lift of his head made ten nearby monsters instinctively step back.
Then he spoke, his voice ringing like a bell from a ruined church:
"Who... is King here?"
A simple question. Yet it struck the crowd like boiling oil poured into a pit of fire.
To the left, a group of Goblins flinched and whispered wildly. An Ogre snorted, chuckling like he'd heard a stupid joke. Three snake-men hissed, exhaling poisonous vapor and speaking in ancient tongues not meant for mortal ears.
Laughter erupted—distorted, maniacal, spreading across the plaza.
"HA HA HA!!!"
"HEH HEH HEH!!"
"GUH GUH GUH!!!"
"THAT CRAZY OLD MAN THINKS HE CAN SEE THE KING!!!"
A skeleton in rusted armor laughed until its jaw cracked, rolling on the ground. Undead creatures cackled like fingernails scraping across dry tiles.
It had been too long since anyone dared enter the heart of the monster empire... and lift their head to ask for the ruler.
"Hey... Shadow," the swamp monster tilted its head. "That other shadow... is it one of you too?"
Shadow gave no answer. But had its face been visible, it would be smiling.
Gerald did not waver. He stepped forward and tapped his staff against the stone. The sound echoed—a challenge.
Then, from within the crowd, a grotesque creature emerged.
Nearly five meters tall, its body was a gray mountain of muscle. Twisted horns spiraled back from its forehead like inverted blades.
"You... dare step here, among my thousand troops, seeking death?"
Gerald did not move. His eyes narrowed.
The creature roared and charged.
"[Thunder Spiral]." Gerald raised his hand.
A spiraling bolt of lightning screamed down from the sky and pierced through the creature before it could scream.
The air solidified. Laughter stopped. Monsters growled—predatory instinct awakened.
Lion Man charged, roaring flames as his mane ignited.
Gerald leaned aside, calmly casting: "[Super Fire Ball]."
A burning miniature sun formed in his hand and shot forward like a meteor.
BOOM!
The explosion sent Lion Man flying, crashing into five other beasts and igniting in a second blast.
[Super Fire Ball] — an evolved spell from [Fire Ball] at level 10. If [Fire Ball] was a simple blaze, [Super Fire Ball] was a miniature sun incinerating all.
A distant cluster of monsters burned, writhing and screaming. Those nearby tried to retreat, but the crowd behind pushed them forward. Chaos broke out, like maggots thrown into a skillet.
"KILL HIM!!!"
"CRUSH HIS BONES!!!"
"TEAR HIM APART!!!"
They roared. Thousands of voices crashing like a flood.
They surged.
Gerald stood firm, his eyes growing cold.
"[Super Fire Ball] x 5."
"[Thunder Spiral] x 3."
Five blazing fireballs rose into the sky, shining like five suns. Three lightning bolts tore down from above, obliterating twelve giant monsters.
Explosions thundered, lightning punished like divine wrath.
Lesser creatures were blown away, falling shattered. A wide gap opened in the center of the square.
"Magnificent!"
A childlike voice rang out—Shadow.
The swamp creature flinched—beside it, another Shadow had appeared.
This was the third Shadow—the one who had gone west.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Two Shadows stood side by side like puppet actors in sync, applauding as if watching a flawless performance.
Right then—
"STOP!"
A sharp female voice barked.
A figure emerged from the palace entrance.
She wore a black cloak embroidered with silver runes. When she raised her head, Gerald saw her face hidden behind a horned mask.
She lifted her hand—arm covered in gray scales like a dragon, claws glowing red like molten metal.
"[Dragon Storm]."
The air screeched. A spiraling storm formed in her palm, growing before blasting out like a tempest.
WHIRL... HOWL...!!!
The storm swept away surviving monsters, cleared the blood and ash. Gerald cast defensive magic—[Defensive Light]—a golden divine barrier encased him but still pushed him back five steps. His robe tore in places.
The Shadow tied up by Gerald's spell was also blown away, then scrambled to rejoin the other two.
Gerald's hair tousled. A trickle of blood slid from his lip.
"Are you... the King?" he asked.
"No," she replied calmly. "I am the Gatekeeper—one of the Four Dragon-Winged Guardians."
But then—
Another voice cut in—cold and indifferent.
"I am the King."
Gerald looked up.
All eyes followed.
Atop the massive stone dragon, a figure sat cross-legged—long black hair drifting in the wind, chin resting on hand, eyes half-lidded as if watching a play he's seen too many times before.
No one dared speak.
No one knew... how long he'd already been there.