The forest was a shredded grave of uprooted trees and torn earth.
Night had fallen into silence—until Druvok roared.
His body split open like molten stone cracking under pressure.
Black ichor evaporated into silver steam as eight beating hearts thumped in unison, pumping raw dungeon essence through monstrous veins.
Six jagged horns erupted from his skull.
A third arm tore free from his ribcage.
A tail of serrated bone lashed behind him like a scythe.
This was his final state—the true form of a Sovereign-Tyrant Dungeon Lord.
But John only scratched his cheek and exhaled in disappointment.
"Man… I was hoping for something fun."
Alzwalt was already stretching his shoulders, bored.
"Same. He's slower now."
Druvok's eyes—eight of them—burned red with hatred.
"You mock me in my ascension…? I have eaten Sovereigns. I have crushed continents. I—"
John raised a finger.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Al, handle it."
Alzwalt blinked. "Just like that?"
"I'm bored. End it however you want."
A slow grin crept across Alzwalt's face—the grin of someone who had been waiting to hear those words.
He stepped forward, the ground cracking beneath each step. Then he rose… effortlessly, as if gravity itself bowed to him. The moon hung full above him, bathing him in white.
And behind him—
six golden wings unfurled.
Silent.
Majestic.
Terrifying.
The entire forest—and what remained of Druvok—fell into a hush.
Alzwalt lifted his right hand toward the moon.
"Revelations."
The sky split open.
A sword—no, a judgment—descended from the heavens.
A colossal blade of pure golden light, humming with the sound of creation's breath.
Druvok tried to scream.
He couldn't.
The sword struck the earth like a second moon falling.
BOOOOOOOM.
The world shook for miles.
Light swallowed everything.
When it finally cleared, Druvok was nothing but a smear of ash—and the dungeon gate he crawled out of had been completely erased, leaving a crater that glowed faintly with divine residue.
Alzwalt landed softly beside John, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder.
"That takes care of that."
John, still sitting on a rock, nodded. "Nice swing."
Alzwalt plopped down next to him, wings fading into particles of gold.
"You know, John… I had an idea."
John raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Shoot."
Alzwalt leaned back, staring at the torn sky.
"What if we play a part in the hero's progression? Not too much. Just… enough to keep things entertaining."
John smirked. "You mean Kaelen?"
"Obviously. He's got potential. But potential without pressure is wasted. We could… nudge him. Shape him. Throw some curveballs."
John chuckled. "You sound like you want to train him."
"I do. It's been too long since I had a student."
Before John could answer—
Someone was suddenly sitting between them.
No footsteps.
No presence.
No warning.
Just there.
Arata.
Amber eyes, calm smile, sipping tea like he'd been part of the conversation the whole time.
John and Alzwalt straightened instantly, bowing their heads.
"Creator."
Arata set his cup down on thin air.
"I like the plan," he said, voice soft but carrying the weight of worlds.
"It'll make things more… interesting."
John burst into laughter. "You're doing it for the plot, huh?"
Arata's smile widened, amused.
"Of course. Everything is for the plot."