CHAPTER 512: SHACKLES V

The stairway seemed endless, each step carrying them higher into a silence that thickened like fog. The spire’s light glowed brighter, but the air grew colder, pressing against their lungs with every breath.

At last, the stairs ended.

They stood inside a vast circular chamber. No ruin. No chains. No moss. Only smooth black stone, polished like glass, stretching out in every direction. In the center stood a single chair—no, a Throne.

It wasn’t carved or forged. It looked as if the world itself had given up a piece of its foundation and shaped it into a seat. Its edges bled faint light, its surface veined with cracks that pulsed like veins of molten iron.

And sitting upon it—

Kar’veth.

Not a statue. Not an echo. But the full presence of the Shackled Sovereign. His chains trailed into the stone floor, vanishing as if they had no end. His faceless helm tilted upward, acknowledging Leon’s arrival.

"You have carried three weights," his voice thundered, layered with echoes of judgment. "You have not broken."

The chains rattled faintly, like anticipation.

Leon’s team instinctively tightened formation around him. Naval’s trident glowed faintly, Milim’s wings twitched with energy, Roselia’s hand hovered near her heart-sigil, and Roman’s fists were already clenched.

But Kar’veth raised a hand—not in attack, but in decree. The chains froze, suspended in the air.

"This is not theirs," Kar’veth said, voice colder than stone. "It was never theirs. The shard chose you. Only you."

Leon’s chest ached, but he stepped forward. The pull was undeniable. The shard inside him resonated, screaming in recognition of the Throne.

Kar’veth leaned forward. His faceless helm loomed larger, shadows pouring from his form like smoke.

"Then speak, shard-bearer. Before the clash, you will answer."

The chains tightened around the chamber’s edge, enclosing the group in a prison of iron and silence.

Kar’veth’s voice struck like a gavel:

"What law do you carry into my domain?"

The words weren’t just sound—they pressed against Leon’s bones, demanding an answer. His Shell pulsed violently, each layer straining to respond.

Tripart Echo hummed like clashing notes.

Karmic Loop beat like a drum of inevitability.

Absolute Return surged like a tide breaking against itself.

And deep beneath them all, the unstable core of Fracture Requiem shivered.

Leon clenched his fists, blood dripping to the polished floor. His breath came ragged, but his voice was steady.

"...A Throne commands. But I—" his eyes locked on the Sovereign, blazing through exhaustion, "—I decide what echoes remain."

The Throne chamber trembled. Kar’veth rose from his seat at last, chains whipping outward in every direction, blotting out the spire’s light.

"Then come, Flamebreaker." His voice thundered like judgment itself. "Let us see if your echo can silence a Sovereign."

The duel with the Throne had begun.

The moment Kar’veth rose, the chamber’s weight doubled. The very air thickened, dragging against skin and bone as though the Throne itself had declared: You are beneath me.

The chains lashed out. Not one, not ten, but a storm—thick as iron rivers, crashing down from every angle. They weren’t just weapons. Each one carried a command: Yield.

Leon’s body staggered under the first impact. His gauntlet rang as he caught one chain, then another, but the weight behind them was monstrous. The ground beneath his boots cracked. His knees trembled.

Naval stepped forward, trident raised—but the chains curved, striking the floor between him and Leon, barring the way. The message was clear: This was not his battle.

Leon gritted his teeth. His Shell flared. Tripart Echo rang out, his gauntlet resonating with multiplied force. The chains that struck him shivered, their rhythm disrupted. The tempo bent—if only for a heartbeat.

Kar’veth tilted his helm. The chains froze mid-air, suspended like serpents waiting to strike again.

"...You fracture outcomes," the Sovereign intoned, voice rolling through the chamber. "A defiance of decree. A refusal of inevitability." His chains rattled, sharp and eager. "But echoes fade, shard-bearer. Law remains."

The pressure spiked. A single chain slithered forward, slow, deliberate, until it hovered inches from Leon’s chest.

Then Kar’veth’s voice became command:

"Kneel."

It wasn’t a shout. It wasn’t forceful. It was absolute. The chain struck—not with iron, but with law.

Leon’s legs buckled instantly, his body screaming to obey. His Shell cracked inside him, resonance scattering like glass. The fractures spread—his arms shook, his breath choked in his throat.

But deep inside, Fracture Requiem stirred.

Not yet, Leon thought, blood dripping from his nose. Not the full Requiem. If he unleashed it here, it might kill him outright.

Instead, he forced Absolute Return to life. The command slammed against him, demanding submission. He seized it, twisted it, and hurled it back.

For a moment, the air itself bent—the command of Kneel rebounded toward its source.

Kar’veth’s helm snapped slightly downward, his chains dragging for the first time. He did not kneel, but the law faltered, cracking like ice under strain.

Leon’s voice tore through the chamber, hoarse but unyielding:

"...I don’t kneel."

The chains screamed, striking all at once.

And Leon’s Shell Reverb exploded outward, meeting law with fracture.

The storm came.

Chains rained from every direction, not wild or chaotic, but precise—each one an executioner’s stroke, meant to bury Leon beneath inevitability. Their edges cut deeper than steel, their weight heavier than mountains.

Leon braced, but the first impact sent him skidding across the polished floor, boots carving gouges in the black stone. His gauntlet sparked as another chain slammed down, nearly driving him to his knees.

"Leon!" Roselia’s voice broke against the walls, but the barrier of chains held her back. She and the others could only watch, powerless.

Leon’s Shell screamed within him, each layer straining to hold against the Sovereign’s decree. He forced them into motion, weaving them together in a desperate rhythm.

Tripart Echo—his gauntlet multiplied its strikes, catching three chains at once, their force shattering against his rebound.

Karmic Loop—a chain recoiled mid-swing, dragged back into the moment it had begun, tangling against its own arc.

Absolute Return—two more chains whipped down, only to have their weight snap back, slamming into the floor with the Sovereign’s own force.

For a moment, Leon stood, battered but holding.

But Kar’veth’s helm tilted, chains rattling in eerie amusement.

"Fragments. Tricks. You scatter what cannot be scattered." His voice deepened, vibrating with law. "But law does not break. It binds."

The next wave fell. Heavier. Faster. The chamber itself groaned as fissures split the ground, black stone bleeding faint light.

Leon’s arms burned, fractures spreading through his body like cracks in glass. Each movement felt like shoving against the weight of the world itself. His Shell staggered on the edge of collapse.

The Fifth Pulse writhed inside him. Fracture Requiem. Unstable. Suicidal. But it was the only thing sharp enough to cut through the Sovereign’s decree.

Blood blurred his vision. His breath came ragged.

If I use it wrong, it will kill me.

Another chain slammed into him, tearing across his side. Pain flared white-hot, his body almost folding.

Leon forced his eyes up, meeting the faceless helm. His voice came out like a rasped oath.

"...Then I’ll fracture the binding itself."

He drove the Fifth Pulse outward.

The chamber screamed. Reality cracked like a mirror struck with a hammer. The chains wavered, their command faltering as the law of binding itself began to splinter under Leon’s Requiem.

Kar’veth froze, chains thrashing wildly around him. For the first time, the Throne’s helm tilted—not in disdain, but in recognition.

"Ah..." his voice rumbled, heavy with something between wrath and awe. "So you would even fracture law."

The clash of Sovereign decree and Requiem split the chamber into shards of possibility.