Megumi left Olympus without another word. He had no patience for the gods' council debates, no desire to linger in their halls of marble and gold.
His destination was clear—the depths beyond Tartarus, where even Titans dared not tread. If the original Fallen King existed, the answers would be buried there.
The journey was unlike anything Megumi had faced before. Beyond the River Styx, past the broken chains of Tartarus, there was no light. No sound. Only a void that stretched endlessly in every direction. Even his divine aura seemed to flicker and weaken in the oppressive emptiness.
Yet he pressed forward.
The air itself grew heavy, vibrating with whispers—thousands of voices, layered atop one another, speaking in languages older than man.
"Why did you take my crown…?"
"Return what was mine…"
"A throne carved in blood… a kingdom of ash…"
Megumi's eyes narrowed as his aura surged, burning away the oppressive whispers for a moment.
Then he saw it—a ruin.
Half-buried in the void was a colossal black throne, shattered into jagged pieces, as though struck by some unimaginable force. Around it lay the remnants of chains forged not of metal, but of light itself. Chains that still pulsed faintly with divine power, though cracked and weakened.
Megumi stepped closer, his hand brushing one of the broken links. It burned his skin, even through his immortality.
And then he felt it.
A heartbeat. Slow. Thunderous. Not his own. Not mortal. Not divine.
It echoed through the void, rattling the ruins of the throne. Each beat shook the emptiness like a drum of war.
Megumi froze.
"…He's waking up."
The black stone at the center of the throne pulsed with golden cracks of energy. Faint at first, then stronger, spreading like veins through the ruins. With each pulse came a surge of dread so powerful it made Megumi's own aura recoil.
For the first time in centuries, the Fallen King felt something he had nearly forgotten.
Fear.
⸻
He staggered back, drawing a sharp breath. His aura flared instinctively, divine power lashing out around him. But no matter how much he tried to push it back, the sensation only grew.
The whispers became clearer, one voice rising above all the others.
"You wear my name… my title… my curse."
A shadow began to stir within the throne's ruin, shifting like smoke but heavy as stone.
"When I awaken… you will kneel… or you will break."
Megumi clenched his fists, forcing himself to stand tall against the overwhelming presence. His voice was steady, but cold.
"I've faced gods. I've faced titans. I've faced death itself. I don't kneel to anyone."
The shadow pulsed once more before fading back into silence. The cracks in the throne dimmed, but not completely. The heartbeat remained—steady, waiting.
Megumi knew now.
This was no rumor. No myth. The Original Fallen King was real. And his awakening had already begun.