CHAPTER 167: ACT II, SCENE I: THE KINGDOM OF SLEEP

The city was no longer the same.

Castella had changed quietly, like it had been turned inside out.

The buildings were still there, but wrong. Streets twisted upward like ramps. Towers hung upside down. Rivers flowed through the sky, glowing blue like strands of glass.

Lights floated in the air, soft and sparkling like stars. But there was no sun. No heat. Only the moon, stuck in place, and a night that would not end.

Everything felt strange.

Magic filled the air, heavy and thick, like fog. Space didn’t work right.

Nothing made sense, but somehow, it was still Castella. It looked like home, but it felt like a dream.

A quiet, waiting dream.

Regulus was petrified.

Broken pieces of stained glass were all around him. The moonlight above glowed through the shattered roof. The stars looked far too close. Too bright. Too perfect.

His eyes were stuck on the ceiling.

The jester puppet was still there.

Its limbs hung like bones on strings. One eye glowed white, staring straight at him.

Around him, the audience was still seated. Masks on. Watching him.

Regulus took a deep breath. Then exhaled.

A soft glow appeared at his feet. A magic circle lit up, and his wand formed from the air with a flash, taller than he was, wrapped in cloth, with a glowing crystal at the top.

He grabbed it without thinking.

Movement caught his eye.

People were rising from their seats.

But their movements were wrong, it was slow, stiff, like puppets pulled by invisible hands. Their arms shook, and their eads jerked.

"Stay back!" Regulus shouted.

But no one stopped.

He raised a glowing barrier, just in time.

One of them lunged and slammed into it. The sound echoed through the hall like a crash of thunder.

Regulus grit his teeth. He pointed his wand and cast a fire spell. It hit the attacker and burst into flame. The smell of burning cloth filled the air.

Then he heard something else.

A voice.

A low growl.

His eyes widened. He turned to the man he just attacked, and through his burned mask, he could see a terrified expression.

"Help..."

Regulus froze.

He looked closer.

Behind everyone’s mask, their eyes were wide with fear. One person held their arms, trying to stop themselves. Another whimpered, lips trembling.

They weren’t monsters.

They were people. Awake. Trapped in their own bodies.

Regulus stepped back, heart pounding, his skin cold with sweat.

The masked man in front of him stumbled again, arms reaching like he didn’t want to move but couldn’t stop.

"They’re... manipulated."

Regulus gripped his wand tighter.

"What kind of sick game is this?"

The masked audience began to twitch again.

Then they moved.

All at once, they jerked in perfect unison. Their limbs snapped upright. Their bodies twisted like dolls pulled by tangled strings.

Their moans echoed through the shattered Glass Garden, some low and broken, others high and afraid.

"Please..." one whimpered.

"It hurts..."

"Stop me..."

Regulus backed away. His chest rose and fell fast. Sweat ran down his face. He raised his wand again.

Then...

"You performed well, young Sacred."

Regulus froze.

His breath caught in his throat.

He looked up slowly, eyes wide with disbelief. The ceiling of the ruined theater seemed to stretch forever into darkness... and at its center hung the jester.

The puppet’s limbs hung loose, boneless and wrong, then the voice returned.

"Welcome to the show, Sacred."

A terrible cheer filled the rafters, bouncing between glass and stone.

Regulus’ fingers trembled on his wand.

His lips moved before he could stop them.

"You..."

"A splendid first act," it said. "But the curtain has only begun to rise."

Regulus clenched his teeth.

"What did you do to them?"

"I gave them purpose," the jester said simply. "Isn’t that what all pawns want? To witness their hero shine? To sit front row and never miss a scream?"

Regulus flinched.

"They are awake, Sacred. Every spark. Every cry. They see it all."

To prove it, the jester moved its fingers.

One masked man stepped forward. His legs shook with every step, barely holding him up. His body trembled, and his head jerked once, then again.

"Please," he begged, his voice raw. "Please, someone help me..."

Regulus watched, frozen. His knuckles trembled around his wand.

The man whimpered again.

"No, please... stop... Argh..."

Then... crack.

His neck began to twist. The sound was sickening, slow. A grinding of bone, tendon, and pain.

The man screamed.

"Please ! Please! Not this! Please!"

Regulus flinched, his jaw tight.

"Let him go!"

Snap.

The final break echoed through the chamber. The man collapsed at Regulus’ feet, limp and lifeless.

His mask rolled away, cracked and smoking.

The jester’s tone sweetened.

"Will you let me do it again? Or will you dance for them, Sacred?"

The others began crawling forward, moaning. Controlled. But conscious.

Begging.

"Or..."

The jester raised a skeletal hand.

"You can do nothing. Let them devour you. They live. You die. A fair trade."

Regulus didn’t answer.

He stood frozen as they crawled closer. Their hands dragged across the marble, scraping. Their masks wept with steam and tears.

"Help..."

"Please... Save me..."

Their voices were full of pain, begging for mercy that wouldn’t come.

Regulus couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Their eyes met his as they approached. Some reached out.

Above, the jester’s voice returned.

"And now, for the main event of our First Act... the Feast of the Damned. Starring our radiant guest... the Blue Star."

Regulus’ hand twitched.

He gently struck the base of his wand against the ground. The tap echoed through the hollow Garden.

A pulse of light bloomed.

It expanded fast, a dome of white fire that surged outward in every direction.

It passed through the crawling figures.

They didn’t scream.

They evaporated instantly.

Flesh turned to mist. Masks crumbled. Hands reached toward the light, then vanished before they touched it.

The entire garden was cleansed in a burst of heat and silence. No sound, except wind.

When the magic faded, ash drifted across the shattered floor.

The air was hot. Still.

Nothing moved.

Regulus stood alone in the center of his genocide, cloak fluttering in the aftershock.

He raised his head. His eyes burned.

The jester above was quiet now.

Regulus’ voice was low.

"Did you think I’d let you use them against me?"

His voice rose.

"You’re a demon. That’s all I need to know. My duty is simple."

Light blazed from his shoulders. His aura burst outward.

"I am the Sacred Warrior Regulus. And if I must burn every last one of them to stop you... then I will."

The jester laughed. A slow, clapping laugh.

"Such righteous genocide. Marvelous."

Dark pentagrams lit up across the floor.

"Then welcome, Sacred Warrior Regulus... to the Theatre of the Slumbering King."

Meanwhile, in another location, Kardrax stood alone in the middle of a broken coliseum.

Pale dreamlight washed over cracked pillars and floating stone.

The arena stretched wide, circular, like the inside of a forgotten god’s eye.

He tilted his head and clicked his tongue.

"Whose twisted mind cooked this place up..."

He walked forward, boots crunching over fractured tile. High above, ghostly lanterns drifted like stars.

One by one, they flared to life, casting a path of glowing light ahead of him.

At the center of the ring, a spotlight opened.

A figure stood in the middle of it.

Akedios.

The demon general from the siege of the capital. He wore the same tattered priest’s robe, black threads fluttering in a wind that wasn’t there.

A black bible rested lazily in one hand.

Akedios lifted his gaze, half-lidded eyes glowing.

"You’re just gonna stand there watching? Or can we move on?"

Kardrax raised an eyebrow.

"... You want my autograph, punk?"

Akedios stretched his neck until it popped. Then his back.

"We’ve got unfinished business. I told you you will meet your end by the King’s power, and I’m here to carry that."

Kardrax narrowed his eyes. He stopped a few steps short of the battlefield.

"How do I know it’s not a trap? Maybe you have some boyfriends hiding under the ground?"

Akedios yawned.

"Tch. Don’t waste my time. I asked a favor from the Slumbering King. Just this one thing. This moment. You’re mi..."

Before he finished the word, Kardrax appeared inches from Akedios’ face.

A grin split across the Sacred’s face.

"Oh? You went that far for a lovely little date with me? Are you into me or something?"

Akedios frowned.

"How tiresome," he muttered, voice flat.

In another location...

Bel, Airi, and Crest were atop a floating bridge, suspended high above a surreal skyline.

The city twisted in impossible ways. Buildings bent like paper, lanterns drifted above like glowing fish, and rivers flowed through the air. The moon hovered still, casting everything in pale blue light.

Airi stumbled forward, catching herself. Her eyes were wide.

"This... what is this place?"

Crest stepped back slowly, his gaze climbing toward the bending skyline.

"Is any of this... part of the show?" he asked, voice shaking.

Bel knelt, pressing a hand to the bridge’s surface. He rubbed the crystal dust between his fingers, eyes narrowing.

"This isn’t the real Castella. The texture... This world... is fake."

He stood.

"I think we’re in another dimension. A copy of Castella."

Airi looked at him, startled. Crest stepped forward.

"Another dimension?! Are you saying this was an attack? You... how do you know all this? Did you know this would happen?"

His voice rose.

"Did you say nothing on purpose?!"

Bel stayed silent. But his eyes were locked on Crest.

"Answer me!"

"Crest! Shut up."

Airi stepped in front of Bel, shoving her finger into Crest’s chest.

"You think yelling helps? If you have time to panic, use it to listen."

She turned to Bel, her voice calmer.

"You know more than us. You’re the expert here. What are we dealing with?"

Bel closed his eyes. He focused.

Nothing.

He opened them again, frowning.

"I can’t feel anything. No aura flow. No energy threads. It’s like... like nothing is here. I should be able to feel the others. But there’s nothing."

Crest blinked. He focused for a moment, and faint light glimmered from his aura.

"But... I can still use my power. There’s magic."

Bel looked at him. Airi did too. Then they looked at each other.

"Do you...?" Bel asked.

Airi shook her head.

"Nope. Nothing. Is that what you mean?"

Crest looked at them, confused.

Bel walked toward him slowly.

"Even this close... I can’t feel your energy. That shouldn’t be possible."

He reached out.

Crest flinched and stepped back.

Bel paused, eyes narrowing.

It was probably a normal reaction from Crest, even more than he could think. Bel’s power could destroy things on touch. Maybe it was safer not to touch.

Even though it was something he could control.

Airi scowled.

"Really, Crest?" She stepped beside Bel and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Her aura flared slightly. Bel looked at her.

"Anything?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Even through contact. Nothing."

Bel looked around the dreamlike space.

"We can act. But we can’t sense. That makes us blind. A demon could be standing behind a wall, and we’d never feel it."

He closed his eyes again. He tried to reach Novaria.

Nothing.

No tether. No answer.

"Hm?" he murmured. "It’s not just a teleport. We’ve been disconnected... We aren’t in our world anymore."

Airi patted the hilt of her sword and sighed.

"At least I had dinner before demon time this round."

Crest growled, his voice cracking.

"So what now? What do we do?! Bel, you look like you know something. You always does. And I’m starting to believe that you just said nothing and let us flail around! Maybe... Maybe you’re working with them after all!"

"Shut it, Crest," Airi snapped, whirling around.

"You’ve done nothing but scream since we got here. We’re trying to find a solution and you’re just making noise."

Crest opened his mouth, then shut it. Stung.

"Maybe," Airi added, "you should step aside and let the people useful lead for once."

She turned to Bel, more gently.

"Tell me when you’re ready to move."

Crest stared at her.

At them.

It was the same again.

The tone. Her stance. Her trust.

Memories rushed in.

Her walking ahead.

Her calling him dead weight.

Her turning her back.

His hand clenched around his sword. His breath shook.

This was a demon attack, so a chance of redemption.

His chance, no more words, action.

He stood taller.

No. Not this time.

He took a step forward. His eyes locked on both of them.

This time, he would make her eat every word.

Bel glanced back.

"Airi, what is your power."

She shrugged.

"Pretty much anything."

Bel frowned.

"I’ll need more precision."

She groaned.

"Seriously? I said I can do anything. That’s clear."

Above them, a soft shimmer cut through the dark sky.

All three of them looked up.

A mirror appeared in the air, opening slowly like a blooming flower. Its edges glowed, sharp and bright.

Without warning, it flashed and fired a beam of light.

The bridge cracked underneath. The blast knocked them back. Crest was dizzy for a bit, when he opened his eyes, he found himself under Airi’s arm.

Pieces of the mirror floated down, glowing like glass snow. The air buzzed with leftover magic.

A lazy, cold voice echoed from above.

"I was only trying to erase the useless one. Why save him?"

Airi growled through her teeth.

"This..."

From the broken mirror, a shape appeared, a demon wrapped in heavy robes, moving like smoke in the wind.

It lifted a hand, slow and casual.

"Especially you, Lord Ravager. My power can’t even hurt you. So why did you bother dod—"

The following instant, Bel was behind him, his hand gripping the demon’s severed head.

Airi’s mouth fell slightly open. She stared, eyes wide.

Crest didn’t speak, his brain stopping functioning for a moment.

The demon’s lips trembled, mouth twitching in disbelief. He couldn’t understand how fast it happened.

"I... Lord Ravager... I didn’t come to fight you... I just—"

"I did," Bel said quietly.

The head erupted into blue fire. He let it drop like trash.

Airi stared, then smirked slowly.

Crest was frozen, eyes wide.

Bel looked toward them, then sighed.

"If you had a chance to run... you should’ve stayed hidden."

Airi blinked.

"Wait... were you talking to me just... Huh?!"

Her eyes darted around.

Dozens of mirrors were floating above, spinning like wheels.

Each one showed a twisted reflection.

The demon’s voice came again, echoing from the glass.

"They say you’re bad with words, Lord Ravager... but this is even worse than I thought."