The stillness of the world shattered in an instant as chaos erupted.

Everywhere, people were shouting, their voices filled with confusion and fear.

The air buzzed with frantic whispers, creating a cacophony of disbelief.

"I was dreaming..." someone shouted, their voice trembling with shock. "But it changed. It changed so much."

"What the hell was that?" another person cried, their words mirroring the fear spreading like wildfire. "We all dreamt the same thing?"

The strangest part wasn’t the chaos itself, but the realization that every person had shared the same nightmare.

It was as if their minds had somehow been connected in a vast, horrifying illusion.

Faces once calm and composed were now twisted in confusion, eyes wide with the dawning horror of a shared experience that none could understand.

Among them was Mr. Thomas, a man who had always seemed so grounded, so unmistakably human.

But he wasn’t.

He wasn’t human at all.

“Damn it!” Mr. Thomas spat, clenching his fists as frustration and dread warred across his features. "I was trapped in that dream too."

His voice had changed—darker, almost alien.

The warmth that had once filled his eyes was gone, replaced by a cold, distant gleam.

An otherworldly presence now emanated from him, undeniable and chilling.

In truth, Mr. Thomas had never been the man he appeared to be.

He was a guardian, a being sent to capture something far more dangerous, Egos of Abbys.

Fragments of existence with immense power.

The truth was even more unsettling: this guardian had created multiple avatars of himself to hasten his mission, splitting his essence across many forms.

But this avatar—this Mr. Thomas—had become stuck in the very nightmare he was supposed to contain.

“I should have known,” he muttered to himself, his expression twisted with frustration and realization.

"That nightmare... it pulled me too deep."

Rigid with newfound purpose, Mr. Thomas turned to leave when a slim figure appeared in the doorway.

The figure moved with careful precision, each step deliberate. It was his assistant.

"My lord," the assistant spoke softly, bowing his head in reverence. "I have arrived."

Without hesitation, the being who had once masqueraded as Mr. Thomas stood taller, his presence commanding.

“Come,” he ordered sharply. “We have no time to waste. We must move quickly.”

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They stepped out into the open, but the instant they did, the guardian froze in place.

His eyes, so certain only moments ago, widened in horror.

In the distance, looming over the heart of the city, was a colossal cocoon.

Towering over buildings like a skyscraper, it pulsed with a sickly, otherworldly glow.

The cocoon seemed alive, its surface writhing and shifting as if something inside was struggling to break free.

"Shit!" the guardian cursed, his body rigid with alarm.

His assistant looked up at him, eyes wide with confusion.

“What is it, my lord?” the assistant asked, glancing nervously at the glowing cocoon.

The guardian’s expression darkened. “That cocoon... it’s already begun,” he growled, his voice tight with dread, his fists clenched at his sides.

"What has begun?" The assistant’s voice faltered, the gravity of the situation beginning to sink in.

“The ego we encountered—the one who manipulated reality within that dream,” the guardian began, his tone filled with urgency.

"He was the Ego of Nightmare. His power doesn’t just manipulate dreams; it can shape reality itself. Worse still, he has the ability to summon beings from beyond the veil through that cocoon.”

The assistant’s face drained of color as he followed his master’s gaze, locking onto the pulsating cocoon.

It seemed to throb more intensely now, as if something immense and terrible was about to tear free from its confines.

“My lord, if what you say is true...” the assistant stammered, struggling to keep his composure. "Then what... what is coming?"

The being who had once worn the guise of Mr. Thomas stared straight ahead, his gaze unwavering.

His voice dropped to a low, grim whisper, filled with the weight of terrible knowledge.

“A nightmare beyond anything this world has ever seen.”

And as his words lingered in the air, the cocoon pulsed again, casting a long, dark shadow over the city.

It trembled, throbbing with malevolent energy, ready to unleash a horror unlike any the world had ever known.

The assistant’s voice wavered as he spoke, urgency slipping into his words. “Then, my lord, I will quickly contact Mr. Zenith.”

“Yes, do it swiftly,” Mr. Thomas replied, his eyes locked on the pulsating cocoon in the distance. “I will notify my main body.”

They both carried out their respective tasks, but as they finished, a sudden shift rippled through the atmosphere.

The air grew thick with an ominous pressure, the stillness before a storm.

All eyes turned to the cocoon.

Cracks began to form along its surface, jagged and black, spreading like a plague across the towering structure.

“My lord,” the assistant’s voice trembled as he stared at the cracking cocoon, “it seems… something is coming out.”

Both watched intently as the cocoon began to split open, the cracks widening with each second.

The once solid barrier now seemed frail, ready to break.

And then, with a thunderous crack, it shattered.

From the broken cocoon, a figure emerged—tall and imposing.

His skin was a pale grey, his long, matted hair falling down his back like a veil of ash.

His face and body were covered in deep black cracks, as if his very form was fractured by dark magic.

In his hand, he held a black scythe, its blade gleaming with malevolent energy.

Two twisted black horns crowned his head, giving him a monstrous silhouette.

The air itself seemed to recoil from him, and an ominous aura of death and decay radiated from his body, choking the life from the surrounding environment.

"Why the hell is he here?" Mr. Thomas muttered under his breath, his eyes widening in recognition.

The assistant turned to him, fear lacing his words. "Who is he, my lord?"

“He is Elderieth, the Ego of Envy,” Mr. Thomas replied grimly, his voice heavy with dread. "One of the 13 demons."

Elderieth descended to the ground below, his piercing gaze sweeping over the humans gathered around the cocoon.

His lips curled in disdain.

"It's still sickening," Elderieth muttered, his voice dripping with disgust.

Without hesitation, he raised his hand into the air.

The assistant’s breath caught in his throat. “What is he doing?”

Mr. Thomas’ voice was cold, filled with an ancient weariness. “He is also known as the Demon of Death.”

As Elderieth’s hand lifted, the earth beneath him began to tremble.

The ground cracked open, releasing an inky black aura that spread like wildfire across the land.

Darkness oozed from the cracks, covering everything in its path.

And then, from the blackness, they rose.

Zombies—grotesque, decaying bodies, their skin rotting and eyes hollow. Skeletons, their bones clattering with unnatural movement.

They clawed their way out of the ground, an army of the dead, rising in answer to Elderieth’s call.

“Come forth, my soldiers,” Elderieth’s voice echoed across the city, “and plunge this world into annihilation. For the freedom of our lord.”

The black aura continued to surge, creating more and more undead as it spread.

Zombies attacked anyone in their path, their ravenous hunger insatiable.

With each bite, another human was turned, joining their ranks in a mindless frenzy.

The dead, whether from wounds or terror, rose as skeletons, marching alongside the undead army.

Chaos erupted in the streets.

Screams filled the air, mixing with the grotesque sounds of flesh being torn and bones being crushed.

Death was everywhere—buildings toppled, fires raged, and the once-bustling city was reduced to a scene of carnage and ruin.

Above the devastation, the two watched from the sky, their expressions dark with understanding.

“What did Zenith say?” Mr. Thomas asked, his voice tight.

“He told us to retreat, my lord,” the assistant replied, his tone laced with tension.

Mr. Thomas clenched his jaw, his gaze lingering on the scene of destruction below.

"Then we have no choice. We must go back."

“But my lord,” the assistant’s voice was filled with uncertainty. “What about this world? Shouldn’t we try to stop him?”

The older being turned to his assistant, his eyes hard and unyielding.

“Don’t be foolish. Considering the system’s restrictions, only Zenith has the power to defeat him.”

The assistant hesitated, but the logic was undeniable. “Understood, my lord.”

With that, they both began to ascend, retreating into the sky.

But as they rose higher, their eyes were drawn back to the city below—a world crumbling beneath Elderieth’s wrath.

Buildings lay in ruins, entire streets swallowed by darkness, and the cries of the dying echoed through the once-vibrant city.

Blood flowed freely in rivers, staining the streets red, while the relentless march of the undead continued, claiming everything in their path.

As the guardians retreated, the weight of their inaction hung heavy in the air.

They had left the world to its fate—left it to the nightmare that now consumed it.

And below, Elderieth stood amidst the carnage, his black scythe raised high, a grim smile playing across his cracked, pale lips.

The world was his to destroy and there would be no salvation.