The air vibrated. The space itself seemed to twist under the pressure of the mana. In what remained of the rank S dungeon — now reduced to a smoking crater — Rays and Ethan were gasping on their knees. The mana escaping from the rift was not merely dense. It was corrupted, burning, toxic. An invisible poison for the weak.
Then, a roar. Ancestral. Primordial.
The ground opened up. The sky darkened.
A creature emerged from the abyss.
Gigantic. Two golden, inhuman eyes fixed on the two young men like insects. Its scales were so purely black they seemed to swallow the light. It was not a dragon… it was something more. A divine aberration. A being that had no place in this world.
— I am the Message.
Its voice resonated, multiplied, as if gods were speaking all at once.
— The Ten Guardians are dead. I have come for the succession.
Behind it, in the air, floated ten coffins. Suspended in the void like trophies. Ten bodies, human in form, but haloed by an overwhelming aura of grandeur.
Rays gritted his teeth, swaying, his face bloodied. He murmured, his throat dry:
— These are… the former Guardians?
The dragon slowly turned its head toward him.
— Beings who defied death, the laws, fate. Sacred entities. And yet… they were defeated. This world is doomed if it does not choose its new pillars.
Ethan growled, trying to keep calm despite the fear that was crushing his insides.
— And… what do you want from us?
The dragon advanced, imposing, inevitable.
— My Eye of Truth sees all. And you two… you are compatible. What is impossible. One Guardian per generation. One per continent. Two chosen in the same place… would create a paradox.
It paused.
— So, I will let the fire choose.
Ethan screamed:
— Wait! It's not like that—!
Too late.
The dragon opened its jaws. A sea of flames surged forth.
A breath from another plane. Incinerating space. Devouring reality.
And at the last moment… Rays moved.
He threw himself in front of Ethan. Pushed him back with all his strength. And yelled, a smile on his lips:
— It's my only chance to say thank you… for everything.
The fire engulfed him. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air.
Ethan screamed, torn, running through the flames despite the pain. He fell to his knees beside a charred body. Melting. Deformed. Unrecognizable.
— Rays! NO! You can't… Not like this…
He emptied his potions, his hands trembling, unable to accept.
— COME ON! Come on, damn it! YOU CAN'T DIE! NOT YOU!
But there were only ashes left.
And then, something broke inside him.
He stood up, screaming, drew his sword, and charged at the dragon, drunk with rage.
— I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!
But he never got there.
A claw rose.
And the world stopped.
Time froze. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
— See.
A system opened up before Ethan. A black interface. Bright. Speaking in a fragmented, echoing voice.
— Are you ready to take on the role that awaits you?
— Go fuck yourselves… Save Rays… save him…
He fell to his knees.
The dragon observed. Longingly.
Then murmured, coldly:
— It is not him. He is broken.
It turned its head toward Rays' corpse.
— Forced implantation… initiated.
A summoning circle etched itself around the charred body. Dozens of runes began to glow, pulsating like a beating heart.
A golden light pierced the darkness.
---
Outside — The Apocalypse
All over the city, the dead were waking up.
The dragon's mana had contaminated the monsters. Goblins had become kings. Nightmarish creatures were being born in the streets. Hordes. Abominations.
The army was mobilized. Tanks, missiles, fighters.
Rank S Hunters rushed in.
And at the top of a building, a man screamed into his phone.
Black suit. Cold gaze.
— BRING MY SON BACK! shouted Blackwell.
— IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO HIM, THE ASSOCIATION IS DEAD!
On the other side, a calm voice responded.
— Mr. Blackwell. This is no longer a mission. It's a war.
Leonard Cain. President of the Association. Strategist. Killer. Visionary.
— Ten S-rank dungeons have just emerged simultaneously worldwide. This is not a coincidence. It's an execution.
Blackwell shouted again.
— It's Rays! That cursed kid!
Leonard Cain closed his eyes.
— I remind you that without him, your two sons would be dead four years ago. He has lost everything. And he has just sacrificed himself.
He hung up.
— Prepare my gear. I'm going into the field.
---
Last Scene
A portal formed in the rubble.
Ethan staggered out, clutching Rays' lifeless body to him. Behind him, dozens of monsters walked slowly... protecting him.
— Order of the Dragon, said a voice.
— Don't let anything happen to the Guardian.
He wobbled. His arms trembling. His gaze blank.
He took out a dagger. Pointed it at his own throat.
But agents surged in, disarmed him, subdued him.
— Blackwell Junior found. He's still breathing.
His father, in his office, fell into his chair. Crushed. Sweating. He took his pills. Closed his eyes.
Meanwhile, Leonard Cain leaned over Rays' body, which the agents were leaving behind.
— You're abandoning him? He's injured, damn it.
He lifted him. Carried him to an ambulance.
— Treat him. I'll pay. And if he survives… let them build him a legend.
— At your command, Mr. Cain!
The chapter ended with two images.
That of a burned, disfigured hero, but perhaps… still alive.
And that of a power heir, Ethan Blackwell, whose gaze… contained nothing anymore. No hatred. No love.
Nothing. Just emptiness.