The two guards were only a few steps from the top when a streak of violet light tore through the air.

The purple-haired figure, who had stood silently beside the throne this entire time, vanished and reappeared before them, blocking their path with inhuman speed.

The guards didn't hesitate. Their fists flared with golden light as they charged forward in perfect sync, aiming for the figure.

But the attendant merely lifted a hand.

The air itself twisted, rippling like water under unbearable pressure. A dull hum rang out, then their attacks shattered against an unseen force.

The backlash sent both guards reeling, boots scraping against the golden steps as they barely caught their footing several paces below.

With that violet haired attendant present, the gap between them and the throne now felt like a chasm they could never cross.

"You should not interfere, that which is offered belongs to the Lord." The man before them said.

Below, Lina's voice entered every soldier's mind.

"Everyone, prepare for battle!" she said.

The hall erupted into motion.

Soldiers snapped into formation, armor clanging as runes along their weapons lit up one by one.

Mages spread out across the golden floor, their hands glowing as ancient chants rolled from their tongues, weaving together into a storm of magic.

"Marquis." Said the elder, his eyes meeting Reynold's.

Reynold turned his head, understanding instantly.

Their gazes locked for the briefest moment, no words, only intent.

Then they both nodded.

"Be careful, senior," Lina said softly, tightening her grip on her staff.

The next instant, his figure blurred and he was gone.

He shot forward like a streak of lightning, cutting through the golden air and leaving behind a trail of sword energy.

In the blink of an eye, he was out of the barrier and already scaling the stairway toward the throne.

The purple-haired attendant's eyes flicked toward the sudden movement, his hand twitching to intercept, but he was immediately forced back by the relentless assault of the two academy guards.

Their fists clashed violently against his barrier, creating sparks of mana that shattered the air around them.

Unable to move away from their combined assault, the attendant's expression hardened.

Reynold didn't look back. His eyes were fixed ahead, on the miasmic throne.

In a heartbeat, he was only a hundred meters away from the throne, when the air before him twisted.

From the swirling miasma, a figure emerged.

A familiar face. It was prince Vearos.

The one he had already slain.

"You," Reynold's eyes narrowed, his aura surging. "Out of my way."

His sword flashed once. A silver arc split the air.

In a single motion, the resurrected prince's body was cleaved apart, limbs, torso, and head scattering into fragments that disintegrated midair.

But before Reynold could take another step forward, the miasma around those fragments pulsed, pulling them together like liquid mercury.

In mere seconds, Vearos stood whole again, his mouth twisted into an inhuman grin, eyes burning with violet light.

"Do you see now?" the resurrected prince rasped. "Death means nothing before our lord."

"Then I'll cut you down until even your lord can't bring you back."

He raised his blade once more, but before he could strike, a shadow shot past him like a meteor.

The golden air boomed with the impact.

"Hold them. I'll retrieve the core flame!"

It was the elder.

His robes flared as he surged forward, his body wrapped in radiant light.

In a blink, he bypassed Reynold's duel and shot directly up the remaining stairs, straight toward the throne.

The elder was only a few steps from the top of the stair when the seated figure moved.

The ruin lord, shrouded in dense miasma, raised one arm with an almost lazy motion.

A tendril of darkness extended outward and sliced across the air in a wide horizontal arc.

The air vibrated. A slash of pure dark energy tore through the space between them, distorting, devouring light itself as it passed.

The elder's eyes sharpened. His body flickered and vanished, reappearing several meters to the side in a burst of golden light. The attack missed him barely.

But before he could breathe, the world behind him began to ripple.

His pupils constricted.

The very air the attack had passed through was rending apart, like glass cracking under invisible strain.

From the torn fissure, a viscous black liquid oozed out, dripping onto the golden floor.

Drip... drip... drip...

Each drop hissed as it touched the floor, spreading into ink-like pools.

Then, before the elder's eyes, those pools began to rise, taking form.

Twisting silhouettes clawed their way out of the spreading darkness. Some had limbs like beasts, others like humans, but their bodies were all formed from that same tar-like fluid, glistening obsidian in the flickering light.

Their hollow eyes opened, glowing faintly red.

A heartbeat later, they screeched and charged.

The horde rushed down the stairs, crashing into the coalition soldiers below like a tidal wave of shadows.

"Brace for impact!" a commander roared.

The sound of steel meeting flesh echoed violently. Swords clashed against dark claws, shields shattered, and the floor trembled beneath the chaos. Sparks of magic and light burst across the chamber as mages began chanting defensive incantations.

The golden hall was quickly drowned in chaos. Light against shadow. Man against ruin.

Reynold's eyes narrowed as he parried another blow from the resurrected Prince Vearos.

He could see the soldiers below being overrun, their formation fracturing. The number of ruin creatures were rising endlessly, he had to close that crack, but right now, he couldn't move, Vearos' undying body blocked his every path.

"I told you," the prince grinned, his body already stitching back together from another deep cut, "your struggle means nothing here."

Reynold was about to move once more, but just then, a sudden tremor rippled through the hall.

The ruin lord stirred once more.

The miasma around the throne began to twist violently, churning like a storm given life. Near the top, the tendrils snaked outward in every direction, swallowing everything.

Even the elder got swept in that storm of miasma.

The upper part of the stair vanished behind the swirling black mass, golden tiles disappearing under layers of roiling darkness.

The elder's form was still faintly visible, his hand raised, runes glowing brilliantly, preparing for the encroaching dark.

And then, just before the darkness completely enveloped the top part, Reynold froze.

There, at the heart of the miasma, a faint image appeared.

A girl's figure, half-formed from shadow and light.

it was Silica. His younger sister.

Her long hair drifted in the void, her once-gentle eyes staring down at him. But there was no warmth there anymore, only coldness.

"Silica…" Reynold whispered, his heart sinking.

For a fleeting second, her gaze met his. But there was no recognition, no emotion. Only emptiness.

Then the miasma swallowed everything.

The top of the stair was gone, buried under a pulsating sphere of darkness, like a devouring sun of shadow.