Ludwig's consciousness slammed into the memory like a battering ram hitting castle gates. One moment he was standing in the ruined Bastos Manor, the next he found himself imprisoned in a body not his own—trapped within the Knight King's armored shell, seated upon a throne carved from a single block of black volcanic stone. The seat was cold as death itself, its jagged edges biting into the King's armored thighs.
Gigantic statues made of stone adorned the walls of the throne. Each stood thrice the height of a man, their weapons—massive halberds and broadswords—crossed over the throne in a silent vigil. The air smelled of ozone and old blood, thick enough to choke on.
Then—BOOM!
The double doors exploded inward, torn from their hinges by some unimaginable force. A Tibarian knight stumbled through, his once-gleaming armor now dented and slick with black ichor. He collapsed to one knee, his breath coming in ragged, wet gasps.
