The towering Gothic arches and dark designs loom with a chilling elegance in a grand, dimly lit room resembling an ancient cathedral. Six enormous arched windows allow a faint, gray light to seep in, casting shadows that dance across the walls, adding an ominous depth to the room. Outside, a relentless blizzard roars, blanketing the world in snow and intensifying the cold, somber atmosphere within.
Two coffins are solemnly placed side by side in the center of the room. Behind the altar stands a refined man with slicked-back silver hair and piercing green eyes. His elegant black suit is adorned with purple and white accents, and a gleaming golden skull brooch is fastened at his lapel.
image [https://i.imgur.com/JAK7qrf.jpeg]
“We are gathered here today to honor the fallen—the sixth-ranked and the second-ranked Generals of Umbrascourge,” he intones, his deep voice reverberating through the vast church. "Two souls have departed from our fold: one whose potential was only beginning to unfold, and the other, whose strength could rival even the Gods."
“Spare us the empty sentiment, Mathieu,” a sultry, mocking voice interrupts, dripping with disdain. “Théodore was a disgrace—a recruit who couldn’t even complete his first mission. He couldn’t handle a single Manaless opponent.” Her tone turns icy. “And as for Bjorn… strength alone only serves the brainless. He may have had brute force but lacked any real intellect.”
A beautiful woman steps forward into the faint light, her long black hair flowing like a dark river against her pale skin. She wears an inky black gown adorned with delicate gold details, exuding elegance and an aura of danger. A golden skull mask covers half her face, giving her an air of mystery.
image [https://i.imgur.com/RySDcTb.jpeg]
Mathieu sighs, exasperation flickering in his gaze, though he does not refute her words. “You may be correct, Rosa. Yet, respect for the departed remains our duty.” His voice is steady, his tone neutral, as he tries to balance the truth of their situation with a sense of dignity.
His gaze shifts toward Luo Minghao, who sits quietly in the shadows, observing the scene.
“Luo Minghao,” Mathieu addresses him, “what news of the [A]-ranked Stargate you placed in the Eñeforte Territory?”
Luo rises from his seat and steps into the dim light, his face impassive. “The Stargate was a success in its intended purpose,” he replies calmly. “The next phase is to deploy a Stargate of even higher ranking.”
Mathieu nods approvingly. “Excellent. Lord Malignor will be pleased with your progress.”
“I refuse to accept this!” A fierce, outraged voice suddenly cuts through the room.
Everyone turns to see a striking woman with flowing red hair and intense hazel eyes, her presence as commanding as her fury. She wears a high-collared black dress with intricate purple embroidery and a golden skull hairpin in her curls.
image [https://i.imgur.com/mWWPEeo.jpeg]
Moving gracefully yet with a seething energy, she steps forward, her gaze ablaze. “Théodore had barely joined our ranks and died before showing his worth!” Her voice shakes with anger. “And Bjorn… for all his flaws, he had a strength that none of you can deny. He didn’t deserve to meet this end!”
Rosa chuckles, her gaze mocking. “Oh, Isabelle, how sentimental. Face the truth—Théodore was weak. His failure only confirms he wasn’t fit to serve us.” She smirks. “And Bjorn? Just a mindless brute, nothing more. A blunt tool, useful only until it breaks.”
Isabelle’s eyes narrow, her anger intensifying. “Mock them all you want, Rosa, but at least they dared to fight, to stand up and serve without hiding behind petty insults. Théodore had potential—something you can’t recognize in anyone but yourself.”
Rosa’s smirk fades slightly, though her expression remains composed. “Potential? Empty words, Isabelle. Power without results is meaningless. Our ranks are no place for the weak… or the simple-minded.”
“Théodore was more than you ever saw, Rosa. He was brave, and his potential was undeniable, cut short before he could show it. And Bjorn, for all his flaws, was loyal and fearless. Dismissing them speaks more to your insecurity than their supposed weaknesses.” Isabelle’s voice grows stronger and steadier as she takes another step forward, her eyes blazing with conviction.
Rosa’s gaze hardens, irritation flashing across her face. “Insecurity? Please. I merely state facts, unclouded by sentiment. Théodore was unworthy, and Bjorn, for all his strength, was just another brute. Neither was ever going to last.”
Isabelle squares her shoulders, holding Rosa’s gaze without flinching. “You hide behind your mockery and disdain, Rosa, because you fear being judged by the same standards. Perhaps it’s you who doubts your worth.”
Mathieu steps forward before the tension escalates, his commanding presence immediately silencing them. His sharp green eyes flick between Isabelle and Rosa, weighing the tension between them.
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“Enough,” Mathieu’s calm voice carries a steely authority that cuts through the room. “This is neither the time nor the place for discord. We are here to honor our fallen, not to tear each other apart.”
Isabelle’s eyes soften slightly, though her anger remains simmering beneath the surface. Rosa simply shrugs, her face settling back into an indifferent expression.
“Théodore and Bjorn’s deaths, regardless of opinions, are a loss,” Mathieu continues, his tone firm. “We must learn from this and use it to strengthen our resolve. Division among us will only weaken our cause.”
He turns to Isabelle, his gaze steady and respectful. “Your loyalty to your subordinates is commendable, Isabelle. But we must also face reality. Each of us is held to the highest standards, for our stakes are greater than any single life.”
Reluctantly, Isabelle nods, the fire in her eyes dimming, though her resolve remains. She understands Mathieu’s point, even if accepting it pains her.
“Let us not forget why we gather,” Mathieu says, his voice filling the vast room. “Théodore and Bjorn’s sacrifice reminds us of the dangers we face. We will honor his memory by continuing our mission with unshakable determination.”
Turning back to Luo Minghao, Mathieu nods. “The Stargate experiment holds promise. Proceed with the next phase as planned, and ensure no detail is overlooked. Lord Malignor has no patience for failure.”
Luo gives a silent nod, his expression unreadable. “Of course, Mathieu. The next Stargate will be of a higher ranking, and it will not disappoint.”
Mathieu returns his gaze to the coffins, the weight of their mission settling heavily upon him.
“May Théodore’s soul find peace, and may his death not be in vain. We have much work ahead.”
The room falls silent once more, the howl of the blizzard outside echoing like a mournful requiem for the departed.
—Bam!
The huge archway doors slam open, sending a thunderous echo through the grand church. The five generals turn, their eyes widening in shock and awe as an imposing figure enters the room.
Standing at an intimidating eight feet, he is a terrifying sight to behold. His skin is an ashen gray, almost as if carved from stone, with dark, jagged markings that pulse with a sinister crimson glow. His eyes are fiery red, blazing like embers in the shadows, and long, black hair flows down his back, partially obscuring his angular face lined with razor-sharp teeth.
Clad in dark, obsidian armor adorned with demonic runes and spikes, he wears a tattered black cloak that seems alive, twisting and shifting as if made from shadows themselves. Clawed hands capable of rending flesh and steel hang at his sides, and two massive bat-like wings extend from his back, casting an ominous silhouette.
image [https://i.imgur.com/JKCmrdh.jpeg]
The aura of mana radiating from him is so intense that the generals tremble. Instinctively, they bow, each one showing reverence to the formidable presence before them.
The man strides toward the coffins at the center of the room, reaching out to touch each one, his fiery gaze softening for a fleeting moment as he sighs deeply. “Entropic Decay,” he mutters.
In an instant, the coffins begin to decay, disintegrating into ashes that drift away on unseen currents. The generals watch in silent astonishment, none daring to question the act.
Turning back to face them, the man speaks with a voice that resonates with authority, sending chills down their spines. “Rise.”
The generals stand, their gazes fixed on him as he surveys each of them, his eyes piercing.
“We may have fewer generals within our ranks, but that is of little concern. Our mission continues,” he announces. “We have a new target.”
They remain silent, every word of his drawing their unwavering attention.
“He goes by the name of Célestin Moreau,” Malignor continues, his tone laden with dark intent.
The generals exchange surprised glances but keep their composure. They all know of Célestin—the heir of Moreau Mining Inc., a figure within Sylvestria’s social circles. But to be targeted by Lord Malignor means there is something else, something dangerous.
“Célestin possesses a rare magic attribute: ‘Time,’” Malignor reveals. “And he is responsible for Théodore’s death.”
The generals’ eyes widen in astonishment. A magician with the Time attribute is a rarity, someone who can alter the course of events—a powerful asset or a dangerous threat. To hear that this Célestin had also been responsible for Théodore’s death is a surprise. The idea that an heir to a mere business could wield such power is both intriguing and troubling.
Isabelle, her face contorted with fury, rises from her position. “Lord Malignor, let me be the one to eliminate him!”
Malignor’s gaze flicks to her, cold and unwavering. “No, you will not.”
“But—”
“Are you questioning my authority?” His Mana flares, an intense pressure filling the room. Isabelle trembles, instinctively dropping back to her knees.
“N-No, Lord Malignor…” she stammers.
“Good.” His mana recedes, and he turns to Mathieu with calculated precision. “Mathieu, Célestin Moreau resides in Aurelior. I want you to leverage your influence. Break the Moreau family, piece by piece, until they have no choice but to hand over Célestin.”
Mathieu steps forward, bowing respectfully. “As you command, Lord Malignor.”
Malignor’s gaze shifts to Luo Minghao, his expression expectant. “Luo Minghao, I assume your Stargate experiment met with success?”
“Yes, Lord Malignor,” Luo replies, offering a slight bow. “The experiment proceeded as planned.”
“Excellent. Prepare for the next phase. I want a Stargate of higher rank, and I expect flawless execution.”
Luo nods. “Understood. I will require more ‘Lapis de Portail Étoilé,’ so I’ll journey to the Temple du Calice de Convergence to obtain it.”
Mathieu takes a step closer, his voice cautious. “Lord Malignor, what of Dominic Eñeforte and André Eñeforte?”
A sly smile creeps across Malignor’s face as he stares at the raging blizzard beyond the windows. “Leave Dominic. Let him grow and find his strength. Even if he pushes his limits, he cannot escape the inevitable. The cycle will repeat… but the outcome will remain unchanged. As for André, he is walking a path of self-destruction. Something within him will eventually consume him, or perhaps… someone close to him will be forced to end his life.”
Malignor’s gaze grows distant, almost thoughtful, as he mutters, “This endless cycle amuses me, but it tires me as well. I will end Célestin before he can turn back time, break the loop, and plunge Sylvestria into chaos. And in that chaos, Erebos will rise once more.
The room falls solemnly silent, the weight of Malignor’s words hanging heavy in the frigid air. The storm outside seems to howl louder, mirroring the dark future Malignor has envisioned.
Without another word, Malignor turns, the shadows twisting around him as he approaches the grand doors. He leaves the generals in silent reverence, each one pondering the ominous path that lies before them.