They gathered in a dim corridor just outside Medusa’s audience hall, where serpent carvings slithered across the walls and the stale air seemed charged with a hushed anticipation. Footsteps reverberated on the stone floor, each echo a reminder of how close they stood to another deadly encounter.
“We have three enemies in total,” Cyrus began, his voice tight with tension. “We’ll have to split into smaller teams—it won’t be easy. At the very least, Noah and Ava shouldn’t be paired up. They’re the least experienced in direct combat.”
A faint flicker of annoyance crossed Ava’s features, but she held her tongue. Cynthia rolled her eyes with mild exasperation. “Calm down, brother,” she said, brushing a stray wisp of purple hair aside. “Medusa herself won’t intervene unless it suits her. She has no real loyalty to the Crows. We can focus on those two intruders first, then deal with her. We’ll form teams of three.”
“I have a hunch,” Noah interjected, the set of his jaw betraying his resolve, “that it’ll be three separate rounds of six-versus-one. Blank will want to show off his companions individually.”
Adam folded his arms, the remnants of his ice-summoning energy still swirling faintly around him. “Makes sense. Blank’s cocky enough to trust that Jackpot can handle us all. Annoyingly, we know next to nothing about him. Even the wanted posters only mention the Wing of Envy in passing.”
Cynthia nodded, tapping her chin as she thought. “Blank is definitely planning something today. Normally, he brings his Wing of Gluttony to meetings with the Black Witch. The fact he brought Jackpot means there’s a hidden angle we haven’t considered.”
Ava’s expression hardened, her voice crisp with analysis. “Well, Blank’s own abilities are well-documented: heavy offense, extensive self-healing… If Jackpot’s with him this time, I’d guess it means he’s a defensive type—a tank. If that’s the case, he could be slow as a turtle. We can exploit that.”
Lucy, standing beside them, quietly adjusted the weight of her greatsword on her shoulder. “If Blank wanted raw firepower, he’d have stuck with Viper. Everyone knows that psychopath is an absolute force of nature. Jackpot must serve a different purpose.”
“Then it’s settled,” Noah said decisively. “All six of us work together, and we’ll claim victory. No matter how tough he is, we won’t back down.”
Ava stepped closer to Noah, her eyes bright with determination. “I’ll help you avenge your family and save Cyrus’s brother. That’s a promise.”
Noah managed a small smile. “Thank you,” he murmured, feeling warmth flood through him at her words. But before he could say more, Adam coughed, casting them both a knowing look.
“All right, lovebirds, I’ll say it again—save the romance for when we aren’t about to face three of the deadliest foes in the world.”
Ava laughed sheepishly, drawing away from Noah with a faint blush. “Fine, fine. There’ll be plenty of time for that when this is over.”
Noah gave a short nod and swallowed down the flutter of nerves in his stomach. “Everyone ready?” he said, voice quieter now but laced with conviction. One by one, they exchanged resolute glances, steels unsheathed, and spells prepared.
“Let’s go,” Cyrus said, clenching his first until his knuckles whitened. A final hush settled over them, the gravity of their mission lying heavy in the tense corridor.
Stepping forward as one, they moved toward the tall, looming door ahead—the threshold to the throne room where their destinies waited. The distant flicker of torchlight revealed only cold stone and snake motifs; what lay beyond the door was anyone’s guess. Yet the party’s resolve burned bright, forging hope against the darkness soon to come.
They stood just outside the towering doors to Medusa’s throne room, the flickering torchlight throwing long, swaying shadows on the stone floor. Heartbeats pounded in unison, and tension rippled through the group—then, in an instant, time froze.
All motion ceased: Ava’s outstretched hand paused in mid-gesture, Lucy’s cloak stilled in an impossible swirl, Adam’s clawed armor glinted motionless, and even the air itself seemed to crystallize. Only Noah remained free to move, his breaths echoing in the suffocating silence.
Something flickered on the edge of his vision, ghostly and incomplete. He spun around, eyes widening. A translucent figure, riddled with glitches and static, flickered into existence before him. Its shape was that of a young man—his face shrouded by distortion, but visible enough to reveal cascades of blood matting his long hair. A crimson fur coat hung from his shoulders, regal and tattered. A dented crown sat crookedly atop his head, as though any semblance of true nobility had long since decayed into memory.
The figure’s presence exuded an eerie majesty, a mix of grandeur and ruin. When he spoke, it sounded like a thousand distant echoes overlapped, straining to be heard through the static. “Tell me, young hero… what type of world do you desire?”
Noah blinked in surprise, his own heartbeat thunderous in this surreal hush. “The world I want?” He paused, conviction firming. “I want a world where I can be weak…a world that doesn’t need heroes, because it doesn’t rely on might. A world where people can stand on equal ground—relying on one another, not on strength or domination.”
A sudden burst of laughter—sharp and crazed—rattled from the figure’s lips. It began high and mocking, only to die down to a breathy chuckle. “A world where you’re not needed, you say? That’s both stupid and impossible. I like you, young hero.” He paused, the air around him crackling with static. “Idiots are my favorite. My last wielder was far too clever, but you—you have the best kind of stupidity. You’d rush headlong into any danger, throwing yourself to the wolves if it might spare even a single life, yes?”
Noah’s heart thudded. A strange combination of shame and pride filled his chest. “If that’s what a hero is,” he replied softly, “then yes. I’d sacrifice anything if it means saving someone—anyone.”
The distorted figure hummed, pleased. “Excellent. You’ll do nicely.” He flicked his hand, as if brushing aside an invisible curtain. “I have work to finalize before your trial. I won’t permit you to hear my true name yet, but I’ll grant you my title: The Lion King of the Endless Dawn.”
Time crackled around them like shards of shattered glass. The figure’s color flickered, and the glitches intensified. “Good luck… young hero,” the voice said, quieter now, fading into the static.
In the next blink, time rushed back like a crashed wave. Ava’s half-raised hand continued its motion, everyone exhaling as though they’d never stopped breathing. Noah gasped, reeling from what felt like a disorienting dream.
He caught himself murmuring the name: “The Lion King of the Endless Dawn…” It sparked a memory—King Arthur. The same constellation that once chose his father.
“Noah, did you say something?” Cyrus asked, noticing the distant look on Noah’s face.
Noah exhaled, holding his chest as if steadying his pulse. “I… I think I’m about to obtain a regalia,” he said, voice tinged with excitement and reverence.
Cyrus’s brows arched. “Shouldn’t we wait until you pass his trial?”
A grin tugged at Noah’s lips, half-laugh, half-vow. “That constellation loves idiots, and I’m ready to be the fool he wants. I’m done hesitating.” Gathering courage, Noah pressed both hands against the tall doors. “We’ve come too far to turn back now.”
Ava smiled at him, a spark of solidarity shining in her eyes. “Then let’s push forward,” she whispered.
In a single determined movement, Noah shoved the doors open, stepping boldly into Medusa’s throne room, buoyed by the lingering echo of that mysterious voice—and the knowledge that somehow, the Lion King of the Endless Dawn had singled him out as worthy of a new regalia.
They stepped into Medusa’s throne room—a vast, torchlit chamber where colossal columns coiled with sculpted serpents, and the flickering shadows danced across the polished floor like restless specters. Yet amid the grandeur, an undercurrent of dread hung in the air. As Noah and his allies entered, their eyes fell upon an assembly of foreboding figures, arranged before a towering throne.
At the center stood Medusa, regal yet unnerved, her eyes going wide the moment she recognized the newcomers. For an instant, her composure faltered. “C—Cynthia, as well? First Cyrus, now her,” Medusa stammered, her manicured hands trembling at her sides.
Beside her, Blank, wearing a self-assured smile beneath his plague doctor-style mask, stepped forward. “Oh dear, I didn’t anticipate this either,” he said calmly, waving off Medusa’s concern. “Don’t fret. We’ll handle it for you.”
Medusa swallowed, her anxiety palpable. “Th-thank you… B-but please, don’t harm them. They—”
She stopped abruptly as Blank raised a gloved hand.
“Jackpot,” Blank ordered, his voice curling with confidence, “please deal with th—”
In a rush of dark wind, Noah vanished from the party’s side. In the blink of an eye, he appeared directly in front of Blank, sword raised high with a shudder of black energy crackling along its edge.
“You won’t get the chance,” Noah hissed. He slashed for Blank’s head, but his blade found only air—Blank deftly dodged, his coat swirling with the sudden movement. Before Noah could recover, Jackpot sprang into action, thrusting a hand adorned with a tiny, shimmering blue crystal. In a split-second, it expanded into a forest of crystalline tendrils, each seeking to skewer Noah where he stood.
A sharp snap of ice rang out: Cyrus stepped in, conjuring a tall wall of ice that shattered against the crystalline onslaught, shielding Noah in the nick of time. Cyrus’s expression darkened as he intoned, “White Trickster of the Solstice, Jack Frost—Soul Release!”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
An icy haze enveloped Cyrus, his form becoming a silhouette wreathed in crackling frost. At the same time, Ava held her shortbow aloft, quietly chanting, “Awaken, Phantom Rebel of the Masses—Robin Hood!”
A swirl of emerald light consumed, the shape warping into a more refined, regal design. A hooded cloak of phantom fabric settled around her shoulders as her eyes glinted with steely resolve.
From across the throne room, Adam Willow, still recovering from his previous Soul Release, spoke with calm determination. “Dual Soul Release, then,” he said, stepping forward, the faint glow of his transformation gathering around him once more.
Lucy, resolute as ever, took a firm stance. “Awaken—Slayer of Terrors and Beasts, Beowulf!” Her greatsword pulsed with golden runes, its edges scarred yet majestic. Where the blade met the hilt, a snarling wolf’s head took shape, glowing eyes flickering in the throne room’s half-light.
At that moment, Cynthia advanced. “Awaken—Yamata no Orochi,” she declared. Her segmented whip-blade unfurled, each portion shimmering in a venomous black-green sheen, coiling like a serpent poised to strike.
One after another, the cacophony of Regalia being summoned echoed in the chamber: frost crackled around Cyrus, shadows and illusions rippled around Ava, arcs of primal power glowed around Lucy, and eerie serpent-like mists emanated from Cynthia’s Orochi. The air itself throbbed with tension, as if the throne room braced for a collision of unstoppable forces.
Blank’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, and Jackpot rolled his shoulders, the crystalline growths around his fingertips glinting ominously. Medusa, still perched upon her throne, eyed them all with growing unease. In that moment, a silent understanding passed among the heroes—No more words, only action.
Thus, as the faint smell of ozone and swirling ice pervaded the chamber, the next battle poised to erupt in all its devastating fury. Surrounded by the grandiose serpent motifs and under Medusa’s disquieted gaze, each warrior brandished their awakened regalia, hearts pounding in unison, ready to do whatever it took to claim victory.
“It’s only been a few days,” Blank called out, his voice reverberating like an echo in the colossal throne room. “Yet you’ve already come to find me, young hero. How adorable. Just your luck—I’m in the middle of a very lucrative deal.” He laughed heartily, then sprang backward with effortless agility, distancing himself from the fray.
Noah surged forward, determined to chase after him, but a wall of solid blue crystal erupted from Jackpot’s fingertips, blocking his path with gleaming facets. The wall looked impenetrable, each crystal reflecting the torchlight in shards of dazzling brilliance.
“Excuse me,” Jackpot said calmly, “but I’m your opponent. Please take this seriously.” With practiced nonchalance, he slipped off his cloak, revealing a simple yet immaculate outfit: black dress shoes, tailored pants, and a crisp white dress shirt paired with a black tie and suspenders. His light purple hair, slicked back, added a surprising elegance to his otherwise menacing aura. Leather gloves covered his hands, the faint gleam of crystals dancing along his fingertips.
“Now,” he continued, stretching his arms wide as though welcoming them to the slaughter, “I’d like to request that all of you come at me—except for that armored gentleman.” He cast Adam a half-lidded glance. “I promise none of you will be killed.”
Adam’s eyes narrowed beneath his helm. “And why am I singled out for death?”
Jackpot rolled his shoulders with a theatrical shrug. “It’s nothing personal, friend. I have a strict policy not to kill women or children—barring special requests such as sparing Cyrus. That makes you the only fair target for a little...‘cleanup.’ Purely moral considerations, you see.”
“How noble,” Adam remarked dryly. Without pause, he tore out strands of his own hair, imbuing them with deadly force as they elongated into spears. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the newly formed spears at Jackpot.
Simultaneously, from the opposite side, Noah darted in, his sword brimming with dark energy. He aimed a decisive slash at Jackpot’s flank, determined to cut him off before he could conjure more fortifications.
“I truly do love fighting multiple opponents,” Jackpot said with a laugh that echoed across the walls. Moving in a blur, he brought up his left hand to meet Noah’s strike. Crystalline formations spread across his glove, reinforcing his grip so he could seize Noah’s blade. With his right hand, shimmering tendrils exploded outward, ensnaring Adam’s spears mid-flight and sending them crashing harmlessly into the walls.
A swift shove from his left hand knocked Noah back, dislodging his sword. Before Noah could regain balance, Jackpot reached down, grabbed his leg, and flung him like a rag doll. Noah crashed into Ava, who had cloaked herself in invisibility, knocking her out of her stealthy approach.
Jackpot turned, eyes dancing with amusement, and sprinted toward Lucy and Cynthia. “I’d recommend dodging now,” he advised, almost cheerfully. In an instant, a swirling vortex of sky-blue crystals erupted around him, a whirling tempest of shards. Lucy dug her feet into the ground, summoning up her vines for a hasty defense, but the crystalline whirlwind slammed into her, sending her airborne. Cynthia’s segmented whip-blade, Yamata no Orochi, lashed out to counterattack, but the storm’s force threw her back, too, arcs of green mist trailing behind.
Lucy, flung high above the battlefield, gasped as a chain of azure crystal snaked around her ankle. With a swift yank, she was hurled down the corridor, colliding with Cyrus just as he began channeling a powerful ice attack. Their combined grunt of impact reverberated in the grand chamber as they tumbled across the polished floor.
Across the throne room, the torch flames danced madly, reflecting off the shards of azure crystal and the scattered patches of black mist. In the midst of the chaos, Blank observed from a safe distance, crossing his arms and wearing a casual smirk. Meanwhile, Medusa, perched on her throne of twisted serpents, watched with flickers of hesitation in her eyes, torn between her alliance with the Crows and whatever trace of mercy she might harbor.
“That was a decent warm-up,” Jackpot declared, stepping away from the fray. The flash of blue crystals across his knuckles and forearms winked ominously in the torchlight. “But clearly, you’re all inexperienced as a party. For starters—Noah, you’re a lousy leader. Charging at Blank in a blind vendetta almost jeopardized your entire team. Ava, I heard your breathing the moment you tried to sneak up. Adam, your attacks were boring. As for the other three—” he gestured at Ava’s still-reeling group, “knocking you around was almost too easy.” He dipped into a theatrical bow. “Please do better.”
From across the expansive throne room, Blank sighed, arms crossed. “You know,” he drawled, “you’re not supposed to give them pointers. Just finish them off.”
Jackpot straightened, brushing a speck of dust from his immaculate black suspenders. “Ah, I’m aware,” he said breezily. “But I couldn’t help feeling pity for such… raw inexperience.” He offered a second, mocking bow.
Suddenly, Noah seized the moment. He dashed forward, sword crackling with dark energy—aiming to catch Jackpot off-guard during his arrogant posturing. Yet in a lightning-fast pivot, Jackpot spun around. Using his momentum, he drove a brutal kick directly into Noah’s jaw. A shockwave of force rippled outward, and Noah’s head snapped back as he staggered.
“Good tactic,” Jackpot remarked, his tone cool. “But I’ll have to educate you in proper combat.”
Around his hands, crystals formed into dense bracers, highlighting the edges of his fingers. Lethal shards glinted with potential menace.
He reached out, catching Noah’s collar before the younger man could collapse entirely. He helped him regain his footing, stepping back a pace with an unsettling politeness. “None of you interrupt, please,” Jackpot continued, addressing the entire party. “I’m teaching your friend a lesson.”
Noah found himself steady again, blinking away stars and pain. “What… do you even want?” he managed, voice tight.
“Just training this ‘young hero,’ so he might actually save the world one day,” Jackpot said, almost amused. “At least, not in his current pitiful state. Let’s start with the basics, shall we?” He tilted his head. “Drop your sword.”
An inexplicable calm emanated from Jackpot—no tangible malice, just a patronizing confidence. Warily, Noah let his blade fall to the ground with a clang. The tension in the air spiked; others, especially Ava, looked ready to intervene. But something about Noah’s stance—perhaps curiosity, perhaps anger—kept them in check.
Jackpot lunged, a crystal-laced fist streaking toward Noah’s face. Noah reacted on instinct, bending backward. The blow whistled over him, but as he straightened, Jackpot twisted his elbow with fluid grace. A jagged crystal spike formed near his forearm and rammed into Noah’s stomach. Noah gasped, folding to the ground in a spasm of pain.
“Better dodge,” Jackpot observed, folding his arms behind his back. “But your stance weakened the moment you lost your center of gravity. Remember: movement without balance is an invitation to be struck.” He offered his gloved hand, hauling Noah upright again. Noah’s ears rang, but he forced himself to stand firm, refusing to surrender.
Glaring, he spat, “This—this is ridiculous. Why help me?”
Jackpot’s smile broadened, though the rest of his expression stayed inscrutable behind his partial mask. “Someone’s got to. Otherwise, you’ll remain a half-baked hero who can’t protect anyone—let alone yourself.” He paused, letting that sink in. “Let me show you a useful tactic for keeping enemies off-balance.”
In a flash, azure crystals spread along Jackpot’s boot. He swung his leg around for a sweeping low kick aimed at Noah’s side. Before it could land flush, a surge of draconic instinct rippled through Noah. Iridescent scales formed across his ribcage—a reflex of his Fafnir blood. The blow connected, but the scales absorbed the brunt of the force, leaving only a stinging bruise instead of a bone-breaking impact.
“Very nice,” Jackpot said, a genuine note of approval creeping into his voice. “Your instincts are clearly your greatest weapon, young hero. Refine them, and maybe you won’t need so many second chances.”
Noah dropped his arms, breathing ragged. Confusion, anger, and a reluctant sort of gratitude warred inside him. Their bizarre lesson hovered on the edge of conflict—somewhere between an act of mockery and a genuine tutorial. Meanwhile, the rest of the party watched tensely, prepared to leap in if the ‘lesson’ turned lethal.
For a moment, Noah stood—bloodied, shaken, and yet somehow still upright—glaring at a foe who paused his killing blow just enough to give him ‘pointers’. Around them, the throne room seemed to breathe with a dark vibrancy: the flickering torchlight caught on every raised weapon, every shattered fragment of stone, and every menacing glint of crystal. Blank and Medusa lingered in the periphery, watching with measured interest, evidently content to let Jackpot finish the job on his own terms.
Jackpot adjusted one leather glove, an air of bemused confidence about him. “While I’m nowhere near as skilled as the Fist King if we’re talking pure hand-to-hand,” he mused, “I’d still beat him in a fair fight if we were both allowed to use our regalias.”
At that, Noah’s gaze flicked to the shimmering blue constructs dancing around Jackpot’s limbs. “So those… crystals aren’t your actual ability?”
“Not exactly.” Jackpot let out a low chuckle, raising his hand for a clearer look. The azure sheen refracted faint torchlight in all directions. “Look closely, young hero. Each ‘crystal’ is actually thousands of tiny scales, woven together to form these shapes. This is my Regalia of Envy—Leviathan.” His voice dropped to a near whisper, as if he relished revealing the truth. “Now,” he added, suddenly brighter, “allow me to show you my actual ability. It is called, Godspeed.”
Before Noah could process the words, a sonic crack rent the air—Noah’s draconic instincts screamed danger, yet his body couldn’t react fast enough. In the span of a heartbeat, Jackpot unleashed a blinding flurry of punches. Twenty jabs hammered into Noah’s body from every angle—ribs, gut, shoulder, jaw—blows delivered so swiftly they felt simultaneous. Noah’s breath caught in his throat as he collapsed, the pain cutting off any chance to scream.
“Ah…” Jackpot paused, coughing into his fist. Tiny splashes of red dotted the floor beneath him, trickling from behind his mask. “Seems I’ve overdone it again. I always forget the cost of using Godspeed. Well…” He exhaled, steadying himself with a grimace. “Who’s next for some education?”
His voice carried across the hall, echoing against the vaulted ceiling. Noah lay sprawled on the cold stone, body throbbing with agony, heart drumming in his ears. Spots danced before his eyes, and a bitter taste of copper filled his mouth. Above him, Adam, Ava, Lucy, Cynthia, and Cyrus all stiffened, bracing for an onslaught. Yet in Noah’s mind, time seemed to stutter—sound dropped to a distant, muffled roar.
In that muffled silence, a warm thrumming stirred within him. Then, as though the world slowed to a standstill, an ethereal voice spoke, the words both distant and crystal-clear:
“It’s time for your trial, young hero.”