The shoreline hissed beneath his boots, the tide retreating like it knew better than to touch him.
Dark walked slowly, his eyes scanning the twisted terrain ahead. This wasn't the Island of Tournaments anymore. This place didn't cheer. It didn't test. It didn't pretend to welcome.
It watched.
The trees were ancient, their roots clawing through blackened soil like broken fingers. The cliffs bent backward unnaturally, as if the island itself had snapped under some forgotten weight. Birds didn't sing here. Insects didn't stir. Even the wind held its breath.
And then it hit.
A pressure.
Not just spiritual—but existential.
It was suffocating, oppressive, deep. Deeper than the ocean around them. Stronger than Malik. Stronger than Raz. Stronger than Clum or Vel combined.
Dark's foot froze mid-step. The hair on the back of his neck rose, not out of fear, but instinct. His shadows recoiled slightly, not from pain—but respect. The kind that knew its place when something old was near.
But this wasn't Igor.
No.
It wasn't strong enough to be him.
Dark didn't raise his hand. He didn't shift his stance. He didn't prepare.
He just said the name.
Dark: Igor.
The soil cracked.
A sudden burst of shadow exploded beneath Dark's feet, spiraling outward in a jagged ripple that bent the grass and silenced even the wind. The ground beneath him responded, trembling like a heartbeat under pressure. From that fractured line of darkness—he rose.
Igor.
Not walking.
Not crawling.
Rising.
The earth made room for him, unwilling to resist.
A towering figure clad in sleek, obsidian armor emerged, piece by piece, as if forged from the bones of the night itself. His pauldrons bore jagged edges like broken wings, and every inch of him pulsed with a quiet, overwhelming aura—an ancient weight wrapped in iron and silence. His helm, horned and sharp, concealed his face in complete blackness, save for the faintest red glow deep within.
And yet, despite the monstrous pressure that clung to him like a second skin—he knelt.
Not a second wasted.
One knee down.
Fist to the earth.
Head bowed.
Igor: My Emperor.
Dark stood still for a breath, crimson eyes locked on the knight kneeling before him. His expression didn't shift, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly—just slightly.
Dark: I felt it too. You sense it?
Igor remained unmoving, but his voice echoed with a deep, metallic weight.
Igor: Yes. A force. Wild. Older than the waters that surround us. It slumbers... but it watches.
Dark's gaze turned slowly, scanning the mist-drenched jungle before them, where no path had yet been carved, where the trees leaned too far in like they were listening.
Dark: Good.
He stepped forward, coat trailing behind him, and the shadows bent with him, loyal.
Dark: Then let's go meet it.
Igor rose in complete silence, towering behind his Emperor, the earth groaning faintly beneath his armored boots. There was no need for weapons to be drawn yet. Not until it made the first move.
The instant the silence sharpened into danger, the ground fractured.
From nothing—through wind, dust, and heat—a massive figure blurred into existence, launching forward at impossible speed. Its fist, the size of a wagon wheel, thundered toward Dark's face with killing intent written in every inch of motion. No aura. No warning. Just raw, primal violence.
But it never landed.
A tremor cracked the island as Igor moved—no shout, no flourish. Just a blur of steel and shadow.
His armored leg shot out like a falling star, and the monster's body was blasted back through the jungle in a single earth-splitting kick. Trees splintered. Rocks shattered. A hill collapsed. The beast's scream was swallowed by the shockwave as its body ricocheted off the terrain like a ragdoll launched by a god.
Dark didn't move. Not even a blink.
The wind whipped past his coat. Then the silence shattered.
The monster returned.
Its body—tall as a cathedral, gnarled with spikes, flesh charred and pulsating with veins of glowing crimson—came tearing back through the jungle in a blur of rage. Its eyes were pure hunger. Its maw split into four jagged mandibles, dripping molten saliva that sizzled as it hit the broken ground.
It didn't wait.
It roared, loud enough to rupture stone, and lunged at Igor with two monstrous arms raised.
Igor met it halfway.
The impact lit the island in violent flashes—metal meeting muscle, steel clashing against supernatural bone. Every strike exploded with shockwaves that bent the trees backward and cracked the clouds above.
Igor's greatsword appeared in his hand like a summoned execution. He swung once—clean, horizontal, controlled.
Blood sprayed the air in a black arc.
The monster screeched and slammed both fists down—Igor vanished. In the blink of an eye, he reappeared above, twisting in midair as his blade descended from the heavens like divine judgment. The creature raised an arm to block—
It lost the limb.
A geyser of corrupted blood erupted into the sky, coating the battlefield like rain. The limb thudded into the ground, twitching violently before disintegrating.
Dark watched, unmoving, eyes narrowed. The presence was stronger than he expected—but not stronger than Igor.
The monster shrieked in fury, its remaining arm swelling with grotesque power. Spikes jutted from its shoulder, its ribcage tore open, revealing a pulsing orb of energy—the source of its madness.
It charged again.
Igor didn't flinch.
He dashed forward, faster than sight, faster than air. His blade was a blur, each movement honed by millennia of silent war. He ducked beneath a clawed strike, planted his heel into the monster's kneecap—and shattered it.
The beast roared in pain, staggering backward. Igor spun, rising with an uppercut swing that cleaved its chest open, exposing glistening bone and boiling muscle. Gore splattered the trees. The air reeked of rot and sulfur.
The creature fell to one knee, snarling—but it wasn't done.
Its body twitched. Regenerated. Pulsed.
Then it stood.
Larger.
Thicker.
Twice the size it was before.
Its flesh writhed like worms beneath its skin, spikes growing, twisting, protruding from its back. It grew wings—ragged, sinew-laced things that beat once, launching it into the sky.
It descended like a meteor.
Igor raised his blade.
Time seemed to freeze.
Then—
Collision.
The island quaked. A mountain in the distance cracked and caved in from the force. Trees within a mile radius were flattened. A blinding explosion of black-and-red energy swallowed the jungle.
Then silence.
The smoke parted slowly.
Igor stood over the creature's twitching form—his blade buried to the hilt in the monster's skull. The body convulsed once... then stopped.
Dark finally stepped forward, shadows drifting around his boots like waves meeting sand.
He looked down at the ruin. What was left of the creature was unrecognizable—just torn muscle, broken bone, and twitching failure.
Dark: I expected worse.
Igor pulled his sword free in a clean, silent motion. No blood clung to the blade. The corpse behind him crumbled into black ash, burned from the inside out by whatever ancient power Igor had unleashed.
Dark turned his gaze toward the jungle beyond. More would come.
They always did.
But for now?
This one was done.
He glanced toward Igor and gave the faintest nod.
Dark: Good work.
Igor said nothing. He bowed his head once and stepped back into the shadow—vanishing, swallowed by the veil that held him.
The wind returned.
And ahead, through the shattered trees and smoldering hills, the next path waited. Seven hearts. One punch. A new threat. A new island.
Dark stepped forward slowly, his boots pressing down into the still-smoking earth. Around him, the remnants of the island's jungle quivered in silence, as if nature itself was holding its breath. Smoke coiled lazily from the craters. Tree trunks snapped in half smoldered at the edges. The air was thick with the scent of sulfur, blood, and something... older. Something unspoken.
His crimson eyes scanned the battlefield, then drifted to the path ahead—winding, fractured, veiled in a faint fog that clung to the air like breathless whispers.
Dark: (thinking) That wasn't the source.
He could feel it. This island wasn't done yet.
From beneath his coat, the shadows stirred, pulsing gently in rhythm with the heartbeat of the island. Deep within that abyss, Igor returned to rest—but not alone. The others stirred faintly, sensing what Dark sensed.
Something else was here.
Something worse.
Dark raised a hand and snapped his fingers once.
The shadows responded immediately. They rose like smoke, fanning out across the treeline, searching, listening, mapping every inch of corrupted life across the terrain.
Dark: (calmly) Whoever's behind this... better be worth my time.
His voice held no malice. Just truth. Because now, anything less than monumental was beneath him.
The deeper he walked into the island's heart, the stranger the environment became. The soil turned darker. The vegetation pulsed with unnatural color—muted reds, deep purples, the green of life corrupted by something raw and arcane. The trees had eyes. The air had voices.
He kept walking.
Until he saw them.
Bodies.
Six of them.
Hung from broken stone pillars, armor shattered, weapons rusted, mouths frozen in silent agony. Their hearts had been torn clean out—not ripped, not exploded. Removed with surgical brutality, the chest cavity sealed behind them like the island itself had stolen the organs and left the rest for display.
Dark crouched near one of the corpses, his shadow curling upward to trace the edges of the wound.
Dark: One strike.
He looked at the others. Same thing.
Dark: One punch.
He stood.
Dark: So where's the seventh?
And then—he felt it.
A ripple through the earth.
Not a tremor.
A heartbeat.
The trees snapped backward as if recoiling from a god. The clouds twisted, the sky dimmed, and from somewhere deep beneath the jungle floor, a presence stirred.
Stronger than Vel. Stronger than Clum, Raz, Malik—all of them combined.
Not Igor. But dangerously close.
Dark didn't hesitate.
Dark: Igor.
The ground cracked open.
From the soil itself, a burst of shadow exploded upward—and Igor emerged, fully armored, cloaked in black wind and iron.
His helm gleamed, even in the absence of light. His greatsword, already in hand, pulsed like it was alive—ready to be unsheathed again.
He said nothing.
He didn't need to.
The moment Igor stood beside Dark again, the world around them recoiled, like prey recognizing a predator it had forgotten to fear.
Dark didn't take his eyes off the jungle floor.
Dark: Someone... or something... killed six warriors with a single strike each. Took their hearts. Hung them like trophies. And it's still here.
He paused. The wind around his coat stilled, then stopped entirely.
Dark: Let's go meet the seventh.
He walked forward. Igor followed like a silent executioner.
They crossed the threshold into the inner jungle—and the temperature dropped.
Trees faded.
Sound vanished.
Even the wind dared not follow.
Ahead, a massive open field of glass-like earth stretched into a perfect circle. In its center, a single man stood.
Or rather—
Something shaped like a man.
Seven hearts floated behind him. Suspended in glowing red crystal. Rotating slowly. Each pulse sent waves of pressure through the ground, each breath he took cracked the glass beneath his bare feet.
His skin was pale, nearly white, covered in inked markings of languages that didn't exist anymore. His long hair trailed like ink in water. His eyes were hollow, void-black pits, with a single speck of red in each.
When he saw Dark, he smiled.
??? : Another one.
He didn't shout. Didn't growl.
Just whispered.
And the sky shook in response.
Dark stopped at the edge of the field, Igor standing exactly one step behind him.
Dark: You the one who killed them?
??? : They weren't worthy. I was looking for the one.
He tilted his head.
??? : You might be him.
Dark: I'm not someone. I'm the last thing you'll see.
The man raised his arm—and pointed a single finger.
??? : You'll give me your heart.
Dark: Try.
The moment the word left his mouth, the man vanished—
And so did Igor.
The air bent.
In the blink between blinks, a monstrosity tore through the veil of reality, a hulking blur of claws, teeth, and unholy geometry, sprinting with one singular goal: erase Dark.
Its arm lunged, wide and wild, the punch so massive it pulled the surrounding wind with it, turning the terrain into a cratered blur. The force should've reduced anything in its path to blood mist.
But it never reached him.
A metallic echo thundered.
Igor's armored leg crashed into the beast's side at an angle so perfect it could've been etched in divine geometry. His boot, blackened steel infused with runes that whispered death, connected with the creature's jaw, sending its twisted form flying sideways like a discarded god.
It tumbled through the trees beyond the shoreline, demolishing a line of them like paper—then stopped mid-air. Not by impact. Not by resistance.
By choice.
The beast twisted. No broken bones. No hesitation. Seven hearts beat in eerie unison now, orbiting tighter around it. Its real hearts—nested inside—raced with unnatural rhythm.
And its eyes locked back on Dark.
Igor landed silently, his sword materializing in his hand in a slow draw that split the surrounding air. His stance wasn't one of urgency—he wasn't protecting Dark out of necessity.
He was enjoying this.
The monster hurled itself again, claws spinning in erratic spirals, bones extending mid-attack, reshaping into blades. It darted past Igor, aiming straight for its target: the one who stood calmly, arms crossed, gaze tired.
Dark didn't move.
Dark: (thinking) It's only targeting me... cute.
In a flash, Igor was there again. He intercepted the beast mid-lunge, parrying with such force that sparks erupted like a miniature sun. They clashed—twenty, thirty, forty times in seconds.
Steel met claw. Fist met armored forearm. Ground met fragments of monster limbs.
The terrain turned into a symphony of destruction. Blood sprayed across shattered stone. Trees uprooted. Waves from the shoreline burst upward as their fight dragged them across sand and salt.
And Igor—
He wasn't even breaking a sweat.
He was methodical. Elegant. Brutal.
Every slash cleaved inches from the beast.
Every parry chipped more of its jagged armor.
Every step he took looked like the beginning of its end.
But then—
The monster changed.
It roared, unhinged, and its movements broke logic. Its arms separated mid-spin, forming six more limbs—each with independent joints, all striking in chaotic flurries like a storm gone rabid. It was spam. Pure, unrelenting spam. Attacks that didn't aim with precision—just saturation. A relentless flood to crush Igor through sheer volume.
The air filled with claws. Every inch, every angle, every blind spot. Igor stepped, blocked, spun—but even he was beginning to stagger slightly. His armor cracked at the shoulder. His helm dented. He didn't bleed—but he was slowing.
Dark tilted his head slightly, still standing in the same spot, unimpressed.
Dark: (thinking) Damn thing just keeps swinging... like a toddler on fire.
Igor ducked one swipe, parried three more—only for the fourth to slam into his ribs. He slid back, boots dragging across earth. The monster didn't wait. Its seventh arm charged with glowing marrow, it lunged for the final blow—
A blow meant to launch Igor skyward and give it a clear path to Dark.
And it almost did.
Until time stopped.
The instant the arm was about to hit—
Dark was there.
Not in front of Igor.
Not beside the monster.
But directly in the path of the blow.
The creature's punch landed square on Dark's head.
Everything froze.
Perspective shifted. The camera panned.
From behind the monster, we saw its arm trembling—stuck in place, unable to move forward.
Then the shot rotated around.
Dark stood.
Unmoved.
One hand in his pocket.
The other?
Holding the monster's wrist between two fingers.
Dark: (thinking) You've wasted my time.
The camera zoomed in.
His eyes flicked upward—disinterested, cold.
And then his other hand moved.
He brought his fist forward—
And punched.
It wasn't flashy.
It wasn't exaggerated.
Just one clean strike.
But that punch didn't hit a body.
It hit existence.
Seven floating hearts exploded at once—each rupturing like balloons of gore, spraying blood across the trees, sky, and ocean mist.
Then—internally—
Seven real hearts shattered simultaneously, rupturing with a sound like snapping glass soaked in flesh.
The monster's body expanded for a split second, as if confused about whether it had just died. Then it collapsed.
No scream. No twitch.
Just silence.
Its body split apart into chunks, organs still steaming, bones crumbling to ash before they hit the ground. It fell backwards, disintegrating mid-air, leaving behind only a crater where its pride used to stand.
Dark exhaled.
Dark: Igor.
Igor stood tall once more, sword vanishing from his grip, head bowed briefly.
Dark: Return.
In a whirl of shadow, Igor dissolved, vanishing back into the veil.
The wind settled.
The forest went silent.
The island—once trembling—now feared what walked upon it.
Dark looked forward again.
Dark: (thinking) Seven hearts... one punch.
He glanced at the ocean.
Dark: Guess I'm warmed up now.
And then he walked forward, leaving the corpse of chaos behind him, his boots echoing like war drums across the broken shore.
The path ahead curled into a narrow ravine, carved not by water or time—but by something violent. The edges of the stone were melted, fused together like the earth had been torn open and cauterized by flame. Yet no fire remained. Only silence.
Dark walked through it.
His boots struck stone and ash, his coat trailing behind like a reaper's banner. The fog thickened, but not naturally. It pulsed, moved, recoiled. It knew him now. It remembered the blow that ended the seven hearts in one strike.
Still, the island didn't submit.
It adapted.
And as Dark walked deeper into its wound-like core, something new stirred.
The shadows around him flexed uneasily, as if sniffing something wrong in the air. Not fear. Not even danger.
Deception.
Dark: (thinking) Something's watching.
He didn't stop, but his pace slowed.
And then he heard it—
Laughter.
Not loud. Not chaotic. Quiet. Sharp. The kind that danced on the edge of arrogance and madness. It echoed from above, but when Dark looked, there was nothing. Just fog and the twisted necks of trees.
Dark: (flat) Another clown.
Voice: Not a clown. A curator.
The fog split like curtains, and from the ravine wall, something stepped out—not climbed, not emerged. Stepped, as if reality was a door.
A figure, cloaked in layered black silk, embroidered with symbols that bent the eye. His face was covered by a smooth, pale mask, etched with seven crimson tears running down its left cheek.
Voice: You've broken the balance. My dear pet—my sweet experiment—wasn't meant for you.
Dark didn't stop walking.
Dark: And yet, I broke it.
The masked man tilted his head.
Masked Entity: You did. Which is... problematic.
He floated down—no wings, no gravity—just descent. Like falling through a thought.
Masked Entity: See, this island is mine. Every scream, every whisper, every corpse... curated. The Seven-Hearted Beast was act one.
Dark stopped a few feet away, expression unreadable.
Dark: Then let's skip to the finale. I'm not here for monologues.
The masked figure chuckled softly, stepping onto the stone as if the land made room just for him.
Masked Entity: You misunderstand. You are the finale.
Dark's eyes narrowed. He felt it before it fully emerged.
The terrain behind him twisted, warping space into a spiral of colorless void. Something crawled through it. No—not something. Many.
Dozens.
Dark turned slightly, watching as they slithered out of the tear—mockeries of the Seven-Hearted Beast. Smaller, sleeker, faster. Each one bore a single floating heart behind their back, wrapped in wires of black bone and stitched flesh.
Dark: (thinking) Replicas. Not clones... shadows of the real one.
The masked figure raised a finger slowly.
Masked Entity: Let's see how long you last without your knight.
Dark didn't flinch.
Dark: Bold. But stupid.
He raised his hand—and snapped.
The sound echoed like a war drum slamming shut.
And the sky answered.
From the heavens above, the shadows exploded downward like meteors.
Not Igor.
Not yet.
But dozens of new figures—soldiers wrapped in pitch-black armor, faceless, nameless, loyal only to the will of their Emperor. Hollow Shadows.
Dark: (cold) Let's see what my army has learned.
The Hollow Shadows collided with the replicas midair—blades clashing, bones snapping, blood spraying in sharp arcs. It was a ballet of pure violence, every movement silent, every kill efficient.
And Dark walked through it all.
Unafraid.
Untouched.
The masked figure's head tilted again.
Masked Entity: You've grown. These creatures used to devour empires.
Dark: Then your empires were trash.
The masked figure stepped backward once—and vanished into the stone itself.
Dark didn't stop walking.
He passed the battlefield without engaging, letting his shadows do the work. For every replica that dropped, another rose. But his hollows were endless.
He didn't just command shadows now.
He was building a legion.
Ahead, a new structure loomed.
Massive. Towering.
A broken cathedral, swallowed by vines and stitched to the jungle by roots that pulsed like arteries. Its spires were bent, twisted skyward like screaming fingers. Every window had been sealed with flesh. The front doors—twenty feet tall—bore no handles.
Only a symbol.
A perfect circle.
With seven cracks carved across it.
Dark stepped before it and placed his hand on the center.
And the doors opened—not by force.
By recognition.
He stepped inside.
The cathedral interior was a grave.
Rows of statues lined the hall. Each one represented a warrior who had fallen on this island—names carved below them in languages long extinct.
At the far end, a throne of bone waited.
Empty.
But not for long.
Dark: (thinking) This island wasn't testing me with the beast.
He looked around slowly.
Dark: (thinking) It was inviting me.
And above him, unseen by even his shadows—a single red eye opened in the cathedral's ceiling.
Watching.
Breathing.
Smiling.
To be continued...
End Of Arc 5 Chapter 15.