The Necropolis was silent.Not with the silence of death, but with the silence of anticipation — as if the stone itself knew this was farewell.
Kael stood at the heart of the great courtyard, the runic circle beneath his boots pulsing with crimson-black light. It was no mere spell array; it was a scar in the world, a gate clawing open toward something deeper, darker. The Final Abyss awaited.
For two years this fortress had been his shelter, his crucible, his kingdom within the abyss. He had built its towers with kobold hands, raised its gates with treant roots, forged its weapons with beastman smiths, and defended its walls with goblin steel. Here, his summons had laughed, fought, evolved, and bled.
Now, it would become memory.
Kael exhaled slowly, raising a hand. His voice carried not through sound but through the bond that tied him to every summon.
"Return. Summon Space."
The courtyard rippled.
One by one, the armies vanished — not in smoke or light, but in the smooth folding of reality. Kobold miners lowered their picks before fading, treant sentinels folded like seeds into the earth, beastmen tightened the grip on their spears and saluted before blinking away. The goblins, tens of thousands strong, thudded spear to shield in a final war-cry before dissolving into motes of green flame.
Only the sovereigns and leaders remained.
They were titans. They were gods.
Pyraflame, Flame Sovereign Drake, wings unfurling like curtains of molten rivers, each beat shedding sparks that scorched the flagstones.
Aquara, Tidecaller Spirit, veil of water shimmering like a living tide around her ethereal form.
Luminara, Seraph's Dawn, halo blazing, six radiant wings stretched in defiance of shadow.
Umbra, Shadow Stalker, tendrils crawling across the stones like liquid night, eyes glinting with predatory hunger.
Terrathorn, Earth Sovereign Colossus, body sculpted of granite and root, each step a muted quake.
Voltra, Lightning Sovereign Storm, arcs of stormfire dancing across skin, hair snapping like thunder.
Zephyros, Wind Sovereign Gale, translucent wings unfolding in a storm of cutting zephyrs.
Graknar, Goblin Overlord, hulking, armored in black-iron plate adorned with trophies of fallen lords, his war axe crackling with bloodlust.
Eight sovereigns. Eight pillars of his empire.
Kael lowered his hand to his shadow. It stirred.
Darkness rippled outward, eyes opening within its depths. Then, like corpses clawing free of a grave, they emerged: hulking forms of thirty mini-bosses and ten slain bosses, twisted by necromancy but bound to Kael's will. Their roars tore through the Necropolis, shaking the stone walls.
Even in death, their power was his. Thirty-five titans bent knee.
The last five bosses had been devoured by the abyss before necromancy could claim them, a bitter wound Kael would not forget.
Still — thirty-five abyssal lords answered to him now.
Behind him, his Sovereigns stood. Before him, the teleportation circle pulsed like a heart about to burst.
Kael closed his eyes. The fortress's stones breathed with memory — laughter of goblin warriors, the ceaseless pick of kobold miners, the chanting of beastmen shamans, the resonance of treant roots entwining to protect.
He whispered softly, words meant for no one but himself.
"I will return."
And then, more firmly, "Forward."
The Sovereigns stepped first. Pyraflame's molten wings blazed against the crimson void, Aquara's tide folded into the light, Umbra slipped in like a shadow consumed, Luminara's glow burning a hole in the darkness. Terrathorn and Graknar thundered forward, Voltra and Zephyros following like storm and gale.
The necrotic bosses marched behind, dragging corpses of power into the circle. Their howls dissolved into silence as the circle devoured them.
Kael was the last. He stepped onto the runes, cloak sweeping across the cracked stone.
The circle swallowed him whole.
The world shattered.
Light vanished. Air thickened, burning like oil and ash. Kael staggered as his boots struck a floor not of stone but of obsidian flesh, the ground pulsing faintly as though alive. Around them stretched a battlefield without end — black spires stabbing upward like ribs of a dead god, rivers of abyssal flame carving canyons through the ground.
At the far end of the chamber stood the throne.
It was carved from jagged crystal and shattered stone, woven with the skeletons of beasts long dead. And upon it —
The dragon.
Its wings were folded mountains, each scale a mirror of void-fire. Eyes snapped open, twin furnaces that burned without warmth. Breath leaked between teeth larger than fortresses, dripping with corruption that sizzled as it touched the ground.
The system screamed into Kael's mind:
[ Final Boss Revealed: Abyssal Dragon, Sovereign of the Depths ][ Abyssal Throne: Sealed until Dragon is defeated. ]
The beast rose. The throne cracked under its weight, obsidian shards spiraling outward. Its roar shook the chamber, not sound but force, collapsing spires and boiling rivers of corruption in its wake.
Even Pyraflame, sovereign of flame, trembled. Even Luminara's light flickered under that abyssal gaze.
Kael's hand drifted to his weapon, his eyes narrowing as his Sovereigns shifted around him. Umbra's tendrils writhed, Aquara's tide surged, Graknar's war axe glimmered with killing intent.
The Abyss had crowned its king.
And Kael had come to slay it.