The spiral staircase descended deep into the volcanic bedrock, driving them relentlessly toward the heart of the Tower
Nathan led the primary assault group down those ancient, groaning steps. Moonlight was already drawn, the polished wood gleaming in the heavy, ambient gold light bleeding up from the depths. The Tower’s heartbeat was no longer just an echoing sound; it was a physical, seismic force—thrum-thrum-thrum—vibrating violently through the stone and shivering deep into his marrow. The air was suffocatingly hot, thick with the metallic tang of sulfur and the heavy, sweet scent of ancient magic.
Behind him, twenty-two Climbers descended in absolute silence. They were the battered, bloodied survivors of eleven consecutive floors of Elite Class warfare. Captain Seraphine marched at the head of Silver Drake’s vanguard, their heavy shields dented and scorched but unbroken. Captain Torren’s Red Dragon strike team followed, their massive Salamanders coiled tight, venting anxious steam into the dry air. Derek Stone led Goldcrest on the flank, the jagged pale scar on his cheek stark in the golden gloom, his expression locked in quiet, iron determination.
And holding the center was Celestial Peak. Garrett leaned heavily on Volcan, Red padding faithfully at his heels. Dillon’s Storm Striders hissed with erratic ozone, Cloudy spiraling restlessly overhead. Elise walked with perfect posture, Aurora’s Heart acting as a walking staff, while the towering Frost Golem mirrored her steps.
At Nathan’s right hand walked Mirko. She remained in her armored humanoid form, her heavy D-Rank sword drawn, her pink eyes sharp and unblinking. At his left was Kuro, her shadow-forged daggers already materialized, her dark, analytical gaze piercing the gloom.
On Nathan’s wrist, the Capacitor hummed—fully recharged from their brief rest in the ruined temple above. The Leyline Ring pulsed steadily against his finger. The experimental compression charms Vex had given him were entirely spent, reduced to inert dust in his pouch, but they had bought him the crucial margin of survival through the inner sanctum.
His mana reserves were full. His resolve was absolute.
Master, Mirko whispered across their mental link. Her voice was unusually soft, almost reverent. The air down here... it is different. It feels terribly old. This... is his cage.
Vorlagrath, Kuro added smoothly. The Last King. His presence permeates the stone. It is not overtly hostile, but it is crushing. Like standing beneath the ocean.
According to the Tower’s lore, he has been chained to this floor for centuries, Nathan replied quietly. Forced to relive the annihilation of his kingdom on a loop. He is exhausted. And tired kings are the most dangerous.
The staircase abruptly ended. The threshold to the throne room opened before them.
The chamber was a staggering cathedral built of flawless white stone and molten gold.
Massive, fluted pillars, intricately carved into the likenesses of soaring dragons, reached up toward a ceiling lost entirely to the shadows. The floor was a sheet of polished volcanic glass, a flawless black mirror that reflected the thick, glowing veins of gold pulsing across the masonry. The atmosphere was dead still and blisteringly hot, saturated with the smell of ancient fire.
And at the far end of the sanctuary, resting upon a colossal throne fused from dragon bone and raw volcanic crystal, sat Vorlagrath.
He was monolithic. Fifty feet from his scarred snout to the tip of his heavy tail, his scales were the color of dying embers, bleeding from a charred crimson into a brilliant, terrifying gold at the edges. His massive wings were folded tightly against his back like the heavy cloak of a ruined monarch. They were tattered, torn by centuries of endless combat, yet still vast enough to blot out the chamber if fully extended. His claws, each the size of a greatsword, sank deep into the crystal dais. A crown of jagged obsidian and bone curved back from his heavy skull.
When he opened his eyes, Nathan saw twin, dying suns. They burned with a weary, golden fire, and as that gaze swept over the gathered Climbers, the sheer, crushing weight of his history forced the air from Nathan’s lungs.
He was not merely a monster at the end of a dungeon. He was a king.
The primary assault group instinctively fanned out, forming a massive, interlocking defensive perimeter. Weapons were drawn. Summons were primed. Seraphine’s griffin paced aggressively, its feathers flared. Torren’s Salamanders dug their claws into the glass floor, hissing. Derek’s elite Salamander remained eerily still, its eyes locked onto the ancient dragon with a quiet reverence—fire recognizing a superior flame.
Vorlagrath spoke.
His voice vibrated straight through the floor and into their teeth.
"So."
The single syllable hung in the sweltering air like a guillotine.
"You have finally arrived. Another batch of executioners who would attempt to end my sentence." The ancient eyes slowly swept the perimeter, deliberately lingering on Mirko, on Kuro, and finally locking onto Nathan. "I have waited centuries for this intrusion, rotting within the shackles of Babel. I have watched entire civilizations rise and crumble beyond these walls. I have slaughtered countless hopefuls who sought to carve out my heart. Some were formidable warriors. Most were arrogant fools. All were found lacking."
The colossal head lowered, the golden eyes narrowing as they focused entirely on Nathan’s summons. "But you... you are an anomaly. You carry the scent of the ancients. The Demi-Beasts. The Shepherd’s most hated adversaries. The proud few who refused to bow, even as the sky shattered above them."
The ambient temperature in the chamber violently fluctuated. Nathan suddenly felt an immense, crushing pressure press against his mind. It wasn’t an attack; it was a demand for entry. An intelligence so vast and ancient it felt like a collapsing star was knocking at the door of his consciousness.
Let me speak with you, Vorlagrath’s voice echoed directly into the minds of Nathan, Mirko, and Kuro. Let me show you the truth of what was stolen. The others will not hear. This is for you alone, Summoner of the Fallen Kin.