A soft echo of dripping water and distant rattling chains filled the air as Noah and his party pressed on through Medusa’s sprawling castle. They traversed a long, torch-lit hallway where the walls seemed to breathe with an unsettling life of their own—occasional flickers of serpent motifs danced across stone carvings, confirming they neared the heart of Medusa’s domain.
Suddenly, a lone figure stepped into view, his posture tense with terror. He had curly orange hair and uneasy, crimson eyes. A simple black butler’s uniform clung to his slim frame, but it was marred by a sinister collar around his neck—its snake-patterned design matching the black shackles circling his wrists. Blades jutted from the jagged ends of the broken chains, glinting ominously in the torchlight.
“E-excuse me, intruders.” The man’s voice shook, his eyes wide in fear. “If you… if you leave now, you won’t be harmed. Please, go.”
Noah raised a hand, motioning for his companions to stay calm. “It’s clear you don’t want to fight,” he said gently, his gaze steady on the trembling butler. “Just step aside. We won’t hurt you.”
A flicker of hope crossed the butler’s face before it faded. He swallowed hard, gripping the edges of his sleeves so tightly his knuckles whitened. “I can’t do that. This collar injects black mist into my body if I disobey Lady Medusa. It’ll kill me. Please, I’m begging you—go, before it’s too late.”
“No can do,” Noah replied, resolve firm in his voice. “We have our own mission, and we can’t turn back. But I promise, we’ll try to help you.”
For a moment, the man’s red eyes shone with wavering desperation. Then he squeezed them shut, as though resigning himself to fate. “Then the only way you can h-help is by dying.” His breath hitched, and his voice cracked as he whispered, “Ability activate: Jazz King.”
A pulse of murky energy rippled through the corridor, and a hulking, light-purple form manifested behind the butler. It wore what might have once been a crown—its gold tarnished with eerie dark flecks—atop a featureless head dominated by a yawning, black void of a mouth. The creature possessed no eyes, just a gaping emptiness. Its long, mechanical fingers ended in holes where a nail, attached by chains, hung loosely, rattling as it moved. Intricate tattoos of musical notes etched across its arms, which jutted from a ruined torso; twisted ribs protruded around the center of its chest like a broken cage. Lodged within that open cavity was a strange, archaic record player that clicked and whirred. A tattered tail of purple flesh stretched behind it, merging seamlessly into the butler’s spine, suggesting the two shared life and pain.
Noah’s party froze in alarm, and each member was on high alert. An oppressive aura seeped into the hallway, heightening the tension. The monstrous figure radiated a disconcerting power that made the hair on the backs of their necks stand up.
The man—Rio, as the collar’s nameplate read—trembled, his voice trembling with him. “I-I’m sorry, but I won’t let you pass.”
Darkness pulsed from Jazz King, faint, discordant music emanating from its chest. A record hissed on the turntable, as though warming up for some ghastly performance. Noah and his companions braced themselves, instinctively recognizing that another grueling battle lay before them—and a life hung in the balance.
“Let us listen,” Rio said, his voice quavering but resolute, “to the music of the dead.”
A horrific shriek shattered the tense silence. It burst from the Jazz King’s gaping mouth—a sound so raw it felt like needles stabbing into everyone’s ears. Its record player churned ominously in the open cavity of its chest, the needle scratching across something far worse than vinyl.
In the dank hall, three ghostly flames—each glowing a different color: violet, cyan, and orange—drifted into view. Their flickering light cast dancing shadows on the stones. As they neared the Jazz King, each flame coalesced into a shimmering disc, morphing seamlessly into records. One after the other, the Jazz King greedily devoured them, a droning echo reverberating through its entire form.
The record player within its torso sputtered, unleashing a macabre “tune”—a discordant blend of tortured screams and screeching static. Each screech set the party’s nerves aflame, making their skin crawl. The jagged nails on the Jazz King’s hands began to jerk and flail, as if attempting to rip free from the chain links that bound them to its knuckle joints.
Without warning, the Jazz King lifted both arms and drove the nails straight into its own skull-like head. A wet, sucking noise followed, and a putrid, greenish goo oozed from the wounds, dripping down to the floor in viscous globs. Where the slime landed, it congealed, twisting and thickening until three distinct shapes took form.
The party’s eyes widened in horror as Azio, Celeste, and Evander—the previously defeated servants of Medusa—emerged from the gelatinous mass. Their bodies looked just as they had at the moment of their deaths: faces twisted in agony, clothes still bearing the wounds that ended their lives. Yet their eyes were glazed over, their movements jerky, more puppet than person.
“This music”—Rio’s voice wavered—“it can’t be stopped… not unless the Jazz King is destroyed first. So long as it plays… these three are indestructible.” His words were almost an apology, his orange curls trembling, the fear in his eyes betraying a longing for a mercy no one present could grant him.
All around, the maddening tune escalated—screeches, scratches, and the faint rattling of ghostly instruments layered in a sickening symphony. They stood aghast, stomachs twisting at the nightmare unfolding before them. The reanimated Azio, Celeste, and Evander lurched forward, each step accompanied by a shriek of static from the Jazz King’s tormented record player.
“We’ll have to split up for this one,” Noah shouted above the eerie strains of the Jazz King’s ghastly melody. He pointed across the corridor where three reanimated figures—a grim parody of Azio, Celeste, and Evander—lurched forward, moaning in sync with each discordant note. “Ava, Cyrus, and I will handle these… music zombies. We've faced them before. Lucy, Adam—you two focus on taking down the Jazz King.”
“Music zombies, really?” Rio blurted out, his voice a mixture of confusion and strained nerves.
Noah spared a quick glance at Rio’s trembling figure. “Unless you’ve got a better name for undead minions revived by cursed music?” he quipped, shrugging.
Rio opened his mouth to protest, then closed it, cheeks flushing. “N-no, but it’s still a terrible name,” he muttered. Yet the fight was on, leaving no room for small talk.
With that, the group split—Ava, Cyrus, and Noah dashing off to engage Azio, Celeste, and Evander’s twisted echoes in a far corner of the hallway. Lucy and Adam turned their attention to Rio and his towering monstrosity, the Jazz King.
Lucy's eyes narrowed as she readied her greatsword, its blade etched with faint runic patterns. A faint green aura flickered around her free hand. Adam Willow hefted his long crimson spear. A faint, shimmering aura around the weapon hinted at the unstoppable enchantment he carried—a spear that would always hit its target.
Across from them, Rio steadied his shaking breaths, gripping the blade-like chains attached to his shattered shackles. Each link rattled ominously, giving him a desperate, cornered look. Meanwhile, the Jazz King behind him stood, an unholy fusion of twisted music and nightmarish flesh. Its record-player torso churned, letting out dissonant, scratching sounds. With each beat, it looked ready to spew fresh horrors across the battlefield.
“Please… if you would just leave,” Rio implored, his voice quavering. Yet there was a trembling determination in his posture—he knew he had no choice.
The Jazz King’s mouth opened wide, releasing a barrage of compressed sound bullets that shrieked through the corridor. Their high-pitched whistle tore at Lucy’s eardrums, forcing her to duck low behind the thickness of her sword. Adam twisted to the side, letting one bullet zip past him. It burst against a marble pillar, exploding with enough force to crack the stone.
Adam’s eyes flashed. He spun his spear in a graceful flourish. “We can’t hold back here,” he said tersely, launching himself forward. The crimson spear glowed with an eerie brilliance, then launched from his hands like a living projectile. It curved midair, homing in on the Jazz King with deadly accuracy.
With surprising speed for a being of its size, the Jazz King lurched aside, but the spear adjusted its path instantly. Just before it could land the blow, Rio sprang into action, slashing with the chains at his wrists. The curved blades at the ends of his shackles whipped out, managing to deflect the spear’s tip with an earsplitting clang. Sparks flew, and the unstoppable spear careened past them, embedding in the far wall before zipping back to Adam’s waiting hand.
Lucy used that moment to dart closer, her greatsword blazing with a soft green glow. “Decay,” she whispered, extending her free hand. From the cracks in the floor, vine-like tendrils burst forth, thick and twisting—and then, in an unsettling display, began withering in an accelerated fashion, rotting away into black sludge. The decaying vines served a dual purpose: they lashed at the Jazz King’s ankles, slowing its movements, even as they died, leaving behind a black, clinging resin that weighed it down.
Enraged, the Jazz King roared, its record spinning faster. In a blur of motion, it lunged with a powerful rapid-fire punch—fists whistling through the air like jackhammers. Lucy hastily brought her sword up, the clash reverberating through her arms. She skidded back, boots scraping the stone floor. Adam rushed in from the side, capitalizing on the opening. With a sharp grunt, he thrust his spear again, the unstoppable enchantment flaring to life.
But Rio intercepted once more, the chain-blade flashing as he parried the spear’s path. His face contorted with mixed terror and resolve—he was painfully aware that a single slip would cost him his life, thanks to the collar’s black-mist threat.
The Jazz King seized the lull to inhale deeply, the record in its chest crackling. A moment later, it spat another volley of shrieking sound bullets at Lucy. She gritted her teeth, summoning decaying vines from the walls to intercept the barrage. Each bullet impacted the twisting plant matter with explosive pops, pulverizing them and sending shredded leaves across the hall.
“It can’t keep that up forever,” Lucy panted, adrenaline coursing through her. “We just have to break that record, or silence it somehow!”
Adam nodded, eyes flicking between Rio and the Jazz King, both threats in constant motion. “We’ll handle it,” he said curtly. Raising his spear overhead, he invoked a swirl of red energy at the blade’s tip. The corridor glowed faintly, the unstoppable spear thrumming with lethal promise.
Rio’s eyes darted from Lucy’s vines to Adam’s spear, panic reflecting in his trembling posture. Still, he refused to relent, brandishing his chain-blades to guard the Jazz King’s flank. Each heavy breath from him carried a thread of sorrow, as though he wished for a different path but found none.
The Jazz King stomped forward, its tail-like lower body slithering behind it, fists cocked, record spinning faster and faster. A savage aura radiated from its entire being, threatening to subdue anyone in range with merciless flurries of sound bullets and savage swings.
The next moments of battle exploded with near-simultaneous attacks. Lucy, swinging her greatsword in a wide arc, conjured more vines to hamper the Jazz King’s arms, even if briefly. Adam launched his spear anew, the unstoppable projectile weaving around Lucy’s vines, barrelling toward the Jazz King’s chest.
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Rio lunged in to intercept again, chain-blades swirling around him in a frantic dance. Jazz King retaliated, spewing compressed sound bullets that shattered Lucy’s decaying growths and singing the surrounding stone.
Adam’s patience snapped. He gripped his crimson-tipped spear, eyes narrowing in fierce determination. “I’m sick of this,” he snarled. “Let’s end it. Soul Release.”
In one brutal motion, he stabbed himself through the chest with his own spear. A flash of crimson light erupted, and in that instant, the spear melded into him. A deep, feral transformation tore through his body. Sleek, bone-white armor coiled over his limbs, its surface glimmering like polished ivory. A dark, tattered cloak materialized around his shoulders and back, rippling with a life of its own—almost as though it were woven of living shadow and flames.
Black, razor-sharp claws sprouted from the fingertips of his gauntlets, their edges faintly smoking with the residual heat of his unleashed power. His green hair streaked with a sinuous crimson that snaked through each strand, and his pupils burned with predatory glee. Even his ears elongated into wolfish points, completing his animalistic visage. The very ground quaked in response, pebbles rattling across the floor as waves of primal power rolled off him in sickening pulses.
“However,” Adam hissed, voice echoing with newly mingled ferocity, “I’m not done—Trumpeter!”
He manifested a large, spectral trumpet in his hands, its metallic gleam eerily mottled as if tarnished by centuries of decay. With a swift motion, he brought it to his newly fanged lips and played. A ghastly chord flooded the corridor, an unholy harmony akin to cracked bells and weeping violins.
Across from him, Rio clutched at his ears as blood seeped through his fingers, the vile music competing with his own Jazz King’s cacophony. Each warbling note echoed like a funeral dirge, stirring the air with a dreadful promise. Beneath everyone’s feet, the floor seemed to shiver, as if anticipating an otherworldly horror.
“Awaken, the Fourth Horseman—Death,” Adam intoned, a manic laugh escaping him.
Though no physical shape materialized for the others to see, something profoundly cold descended upon the hallway. The temperature plummeted, and an indefinable dread slithered into everyone’s minds, as though their souls had briefly glimpsed the finality of the grave. The scuffle of footsteps and ragged breathing fell into a tense hush, overshadowed by the intangible sense of mortality creeping in.
A ragged scream tore through the air—only Adam seemed capable of conjuring it. He thrust a clawed hand skyward, and moments later, his newly manifested summon, Death, contorted and took shape as a spear in his grip. It was long and curved, fashioned from a single spine, the bone glistening with a diseased sheen. At the sharpened tip, the vertebrae flared into a wicked, blade, and a small scrap of black cloth hung off it, fluttering with a silent, mournful sway.
Lucy took an involuntary step back, her greatsword lowered for just a heartbeat. She could sense the potency of Adam’s creation—a savage aura that roiled around him, making it feel like the corridor had grown smaller and more suffocating.
Rio gulped, tears of both pain and fear dotting his cheeks. His own summon, the Jazz King, let out a harsh mechanical whine, mouth parted as if preparing another volley of compressed sound bullets. Lucy and Adam locked eyes briefly, each resolved to push through the dread choking the hallway.
With a guttural growl, Adam spun this new spear—Death—in a swift, fluid motion. Even the slight turn of its blade carved fissures into the stone beneath him, a testament to the power now thrumming in his limbs. His feral gaze fixed on Rio and the Jazz King, while Lucy channeled her plant magic into her free palm, vines creeping up the surrounding walls.
Any illusion of calm shattered. The Jazz King raised its hideous mouth, unleashing a barrage of shrieking sound bullets, each trailing arcs of sonic distortion. Lucy slammed her gauntleted fist into the ground, summoning thick vines from below at her command to create a jagged labyrinth for cover. Adam, undeterred by the noise, hurled himself forward—his new spear scraping the ground, leaving blazing streaks of necrotic energy.
Rio, forced to stand his ground to avoid the collar’s lethal curse, clutched the shackles on his wrists. Their blades jutted out, chain links rattling, as he prepared to intercept Adam’s unstoppable charge. Yet terror bled through his red eyes, betraying the knowledge that one misstep could end his life.
The corridor descended into a storm of twisted howls, sonic blasts, thrashing vines, and the resounding clash of bone spear on steel shackles. Through it all, the newly awakened might of Adam Willow—his sleek armor, his eyes alight with madness, and Death incarnate in his grasp—stood front and center, driving the chaos onward, ready to annihilate any barrier that might stand between him and victory.
Adam Willow’s feral transformation commanded every eye, the lethal spear Death radiating an aura of finality. His white armor glistened in the torchlight, razor-sharp claws tapping against the stone floor in a steady rhythm. Lucy stood by his side, her greatsword raised, coiling vines snaking behind her. Across from them, Rio trembled, the black shackles on his wrists clanking with every uncertain step. Meanwhile, the Jazz King hovered in grotesque motion, record spinning with tortured screeches and howling static.
The beast’s tail-like lower body tensed, and its jaw gaped in a silent, menacing threat. The next barrage of sound bullets rocketed forth—shrill bursts of compressed noise tearing the air. Lucy thrust her free palm forward, chanting a low command to the plants. In response, sturdy vines—thicker and denser than before—erupted from the cracks in the floor. They twisted into a protective lattice, absorbing the brunt of the shrieking bullets with a thunderous series of impacts. Though some vines blackened under the sonic pressure, they were not fully destroyed.
“Get ready!” Lucy shouted, hoisting her greatsword. “I’ll bind him—just find an opening!”
Adam bared his sharpened teeth, bounding ahead with uncanny speed. Death’s curved tip left a trail of frigid energy behind him, chilling the very air. Each footstep thundered against the corridor’s floor, echoing above the vile melody from the Jazz King’s record player.
Rio stood firm, forced to engage or face the collar’s punishment. His chain-blades whipped up with startling reflexes, meeting Adam’s spear with sparks of black mist and shimmering frost. Yet with each clash, Adam pressed harder, the unstoppable nature of his spears weaving around Rio’s frantic defense. He advanced one measured step at a time, like an executioner closing in on his target.
“No—no more!” Rio’s voice trembled, but his eyes were fierce. The Jazz King roared in tandem, launching a savage rapid-fire punch aimed at Adam’s flank. Lucy intercepted, her greatsword flashing as she parried the monstrous fist. The recoil jarred her arms, but she held her ground, vines lashing from her back like serpents. One vine snapped around the Jazz King’s mechanical wrist, forcing it to swerve off course.
Adam seized the moment. With a howl, he whirled Death in a tight arc. A biting chill erupted from the spear’s tip, forming a swirling vortex of subzero wind. The corridor’s temperature plummeted instantly, frost crackling over the shattered stone tiles.
“This ends now,” he growled, driving the spear forward—not at Rio himself, but at the swirling black mist that bound his wrists and neck. The moment Death’s icy aura connected with the black shackles, the cursed substance began to crystallize in a spiral of frost, turning from a writhing shadow into brittle, glassy shards.
A shocked gasp tore from Rio’s lungs. He saw the black mist around his wrists freeze solid. The intangible doom threatening him seemed to waver, turning fragile. Lucy dashed in, capitalizing on the fleeting opportunity. She summoned a final surge of her plant manipulation, she channeled new growth laced with resilience. Thick, emerald-green vines unfurled from her palms, wrapping around the now-frozen black mist like a cocoon. The vines glowed with a soft, internal luminescence.
Rio’s collar hissed, trying to release more black mist, but it seeped only into the ice, becoming trapped. For a breathless second, the entire hallway fell silent—only the low static hiss from the Jazz King lingered, as though confused by the shifting tides of power.
“Ngh—!” Rio’s eyes flicked wide, realization, and relief coursing through him. The chain-blades at his wrists hung uselessly, their connection to the cursed collar severed. Panic coursed through him, but so did an overwhelming sense of freedom. He staggered backward, uncertain.
Adam exhaled a triumphant snarl, stepping away as Lucy tightened her vines around the newly frozen shackles. With the black mist locked in place, the collar’s lethal function was interrupted—Rio’s life was no longer forfeit to Medusa’s whim.
“I—I’m free,” Rio whispered, almost dazed. He glanced between Lucy and Adam, then at the Jazz King still looming nearby. A surge of conflicting emotions tore across his face—terror, relief, gratitude, and lingering dread. Without a word, he spun on his heel and tore off down the corridor, footsteps pounding in frantic retreat.
Lucy frowned, watching Rio’s figure disappear down the corridor. “He’s… gone. Guess he chose survival over obedience.”
“Let him run,” Adam rumbled, voice still tinged with the animalistic edge of his Soul Release. Vaguely luminescent steam curled from the white armor encasing him. “It saves us from dealing with him further. The main threat’s still around.”
As Rio vanished from sight, his Jazz King melted into a swirl of faded notes and purple haze, snapping free of this plane in an instant. At the same time, the grotesque shadows of Azio, Celeste, and Evander—his resurrected minions—dissolved like fog, their remnants trailing thin wisps of flames.
“Good work, you two,” Noah said, stepping forward. He looked to Adam, an eyebrow raised. “Though, I have to ask—why didn’t you tell us you had that ice ability in the first place?”
Adam let out a low, raspy chuckle, the last embers of his transformation dimming. “Ah, my ability’s complicated. I can summon one of four invisible creatures, each representing an apocalyptic force. It takes a lot of focus just to pick which one appears. Got lucky it was the right one this time.” The comedic undertone in his laughter clashed with the sinister transformation still rolling off him.
“Well, you definitely came in handy,” Ava remarked, her face brightening with relief. She clapped her hands together. “Now come on, we’re close to the throne room!”
Before they could move on, Cyrus stiffened. A visible tremor ran through his fingers as he closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses. “Wait. Hold up,” he said, a quiver of tension in his voice. “I can sense something incredibly powerful up ahead. Almost familiar.”
Lucy pivoted, concern etched across her features. “Cyrus… is it her?”
He swallowed, flicking a nervous glance in her direction. “Yes. She was never titled a witch, but she’s far scarier than some who were.”
Adam pulled back the last glowing shards of his Soul Release, stepping toward the group. “Let’s not get cold feet. We’ve handled everything up to now.” His gaze slid from Ava to Noah, studying their resolves.
Noah offered a steady nod. “We’ve come too far to back down, no matter who or what waits for us.”
“That’s absolutely right.” Ava’s tone turned playful as she looped an arm around Noah’s shoulder, hugging him warmly. “We can handle anything if we stick together.”
Noah’s cheeks colored, and he gave a flustered cough. “Y-yeah,” he managed, trying to slip free of Ava’s embrace. Adam, still half in his fearsome armor, quirked a faint grin.
“All right, lovebirds,” he drawled, “I’m sure I’ve said this before, but keep the public displays of affection on hold ‘til this whole mission is done.”
Ava patted Noah’s shoulder with a good-natured laugh, releasing him. “Fine, fine. But once we’re outta here, we have plenty of time to… catch up.”
Noah smiled sheepishly, adjusting the collar of his shirt. “R-right. Anyway, let’s keep going.”
They ascended a short flight of stairs and entered a dimly lit antechamber just outside Medusa’s throne room. Snake symbols wound across the walls, and an oppressive hush clung to the air, as though the ancient stone itself was holding its breath in anticipation. At the center of this waiting area stood Clementine, Medusa’s head maid, face partially concealed by the gentle glow of flickering sconces.
The moment her orange gaze settled on them, a crackle of tension spread through the hall. “Hello, brother… what took you so long, dumbass?” she said, her tone edged with a mocking chuckle.
Cyrus’s shoulders sagged with exasperation. “Cynthia,” he muttered. “Still as mean as ever, I see.”
Noah, blinking in surprise, cast a quick look between the two. “Wait—brother? You two know each other?”
A short, loaded pause followed. Then Cyrus gave a tight nod. “I sent my sister to infiltrate Medusa’s castle a few years ago. You may know her as Clementine, but her real name is Cynthia.” His gaze drifted toward the arched door behind her. “So… is the throne room in there?”
Cynthia let out a tired sigh, shrugging off the pretense of her maidly demeanor. “Of course,” she said coolly. “You took longer getting here than I expected. But look at you, dear brother—finally managing to scrape together some friends.”
As she spoke, her appearance shifted, the magic sustaining her disguise unwinding like loose threads. Her orange locks elongated and bled into a vivid purple, neatly gathered into a ponytail. Her eyes darkened to a regal violet, and she slipped the thick goggles from her face, swapping them for slender glasses. Even in the dim corridor, the power, and confidence radiating from her was unmistakable.
“Just so you’re aware,” Cynthia continued calmly, “Medusa’s not alone. She’s gained a few more… associates. Both the leader of the Crows and one of his Seven Sins—the Wing of Envy, Jackpot—stand at her side.”
At those words, Noah’s eyes narrowed with grim fury. Memories of the Crows’ violent assault on his home flared in his mind, fueling every clench of his fists. This was his chance to confront the one behind his family’s suffering—a chance he refused to squander.