In front of them, a few kilometers away, floated the silhouette the map had marked so zealously. Uriel sharpened his vision, a smile of anticipation playing on his lips as he imagined his new flying citadel: a floating island crowned by a majestic temple and, at its heart, the gate that would solidify his dominion.
But as Gunlaug approached, the smile faded, replaced by an uncomfortable confusion that quickly turned into growing annoyance.
The "island" was nothing more than a colossal piece of earth and rock, torn from some mountain range and kept afloat by an ancient and unstable network of gravitation enchantments. There were no temples, no structures, not even a gate. Just rocks, arid land, and strange grayish vegetation clinging to the cracks.
"A piece of floating debris," murmured Uriel, his flat tone laden with disappointment.
Gunlaug landed with a dull thud on the uneven surface, shaking dust and loose stones. Uriel dismounted, his boots sinking into the dry ground. He took a deep breath, trying to contain the irritation already boiling in his chest. He had dedicated days, fought a Corrupted Terror, a Tyrant, and then a Titan that Gunlaug killed, all for following a map to... this piece of floating rock.
Uriel had no more time to lament.
Right in front of them, the ground sank with a sickly crunch, opening a dark chasm from which emerged, with a grotesque agility for its size, a creature that froze the air.
It was a spider.
A monstrous spider at least twenty meters tall, its body composed of pale and gloomy white bone, as if sculpted from the remains of an ancient giant. Eight legs ending in points as sharp as spears dug into the ground, and from its cephalothorax, five pairs of eyes of a deep, inhuman black—five knots of pure darkness—fixed their gaze on the intruders. He perceived it immediately: a Tyrant, and a powerful one. Around it, with a whisper of scraping legs, dozens of smaller spiders, each the size of a grown man, emerged from cracks and burrows, surrounding them in a circle of chitin and hunger.
For a second, there was silence, broken only by the distant hum of the winds surrounding the floating islet.
Then, Uriel laughed. It wasn't a laugh of joy or triumph, but a short, rough laugh laden with a wrath that finally found an outlet. The laughter ceased abruptly, and when he looked up, his eyes, which had reflected disappointment, now burned with a glacial, profound hatred.
"Seriously?" his voice said, calm yet sharp as a razor's edge. "I waste days chasing a flying rock. I face nightmare creatures. All for... this piece of dirt infested with bugs."
He clenched his teeth so hard they creaked. All the frustration from the useless journey, the accumulated fatigue, the memory of the difficult battle against the Terror—everything condensed into a single, burning intention: to erase from the map these creatures that had the misfortune of being in his path at that very moment.
In his right hand, black sparks swirled, forming the Wyvern Fang. No orders to Gunlaug were needed. The black and gold dragon caught his master's fury, and a guttural roar, a promise of destruction, rumbled in the still air.
What followed wasn't a battle, but a one-sided massacre.
Uriel moved like a dark lightning bolt, his sword tracing arcs of pure energy that shattered the lesser spiders as if they were made of glass. There was no elaborate technique, just pure destructive efficiency and violent release. Each of his strikes was a controlled explosion of rage, slicing off legs, splitting the joints between head and thorax, and reducing the creatures to piles of shattered chitin and black sap.
Beside him, Gunlaug was an unleashed force of nature. A torrent of black fire enveloped entire groups of spiders, carbonizing them instantly. His claws, as large as logs, crushed and tore, and his tail was a maul that sent monstrous bodies flying through the air like broken dolls.
The bone-white spider Tyrant tried to counterattack. It launched threads of unbreakable, acidic silk, and its legs slashed the air with fury. But it was facing a greater fury.
Uriel, dodging a direct blow, channeled his essence through the sword and released a concentrated slash that impacted one of the joints of the creature's front leg. The white bone, resistant as steel, yielded with a dry crack. Gunlaug took advantage of the opening, sinking his fangs into the spider's flank and shaking it with beastly strength.
Uriel gave no quarter. With a jump propelled by darkness, he landed on the arched back of the Tyrant. Ignoring the creature's attempts to dislodge him, he raised his sword with both hands and, with a muffled cry containing all his frustration, plunged it with overwhelming force right into the center of the cephalothorax, between those five pairs of black eyes.
A sharp, metallic screech filled the air. The sword penetrated, releasing darkness in the form of sharp spikes.
The black eyes blinked once, with fury, and then their light went out.
The enormous body of white bone shuddered violently, the legs buckled without strength, and it collapsed onto the ground with an impact that shook the entire floating islet.
Silence returned, deeper now, broken only by the crackling of the last embers of black fire and the dripping of the creatures' viscous fluids.
Uriel breathed heavily, not from exertion, but from the intense, contained emotion. He took a step back, his sword disappearing in motes of shadow. His clothes were speckled with dust and a few dark stains of spider blood. He walked slowly toward the still-smoking corpse of the Tyrant and, with an almost lazy movement, sat on its head, right where his sword had left the mortal wound.
He sighed, a long sound that dragged with it the last remnant of his anger. The spider's blood, a thick, purplish liquid, stained the gray ground around him, forming a dark puddle.
"A waste of time," he murmured to himself, looking at the desolate landscape of the islet. "Days of travel for this. A Terror, a Titan, and a Tyrant... for a piece of rock."
However, even in his anger, his practical mind was already evaluating the results. He had obtained soul fragments from another Tyrant. And the Spell's voice, discreet but clear, had whispered in his consciousness at the moment of the spider's death.
He had obtained the Echo of a Titan for his collection, turning it into his fourth dark creature.
A hint of a smile, small and somewhat cynical, touched his lips. At least Shade, sleeping in the sea of souls, had earned a genuine rest after the previous epic fight. He had been the one who truly sweated for the major reward. This... this was just the final cleanup.
He stood up, lightly shaking the dust from his clothes. The spider's blood on the ground seemed like a grotesque signature of his passage.
"I guess Shade earned it," he thought quietly, with a tone of resigned acknowledgment.
With a gesture, he dismissed Gunlaug. The dragon, also marked by battle but stoic, dissolved into a whirlwind of golden and black sparks, returning to the sea of souls to rest and recover.
Uriel took one last look at the floating islet, at the scattered corpses, and at the useless piece of land. It wasn't even worth it as a temporary refuge. Almost seven full days had passed since he left the waking world.
"Enough wasting time here," he said to himself.
Uriel focused for a few minutes until he felt the familiar sensation of leaving the Dream Realm.
An instant later, Uriel opened his eyes to the familiar quiet of his place in the waking world. The air was different, lighter. His hellish week was over.
...
A few days passed where Uriel did nothing more than eat, sleep in, watch movies, or simply play video games or fight in Dreamscape for a while.
After the fiasco of the Sky Island, discovering it was just a floating piece of rock, he was disheartened, but then he got over it. His plans to obtain a flying citadel hadn't changed; he would simply have to search more tirelessly until he found one and claimed it.
After that, Uriel didn't have much to do. He had sent the last hundred chapters of Naruto for the next hundred weeks recently. And he had no intentions of returning to the Dream Realm for the moment.
Also, Aiko had sold all the transcendent soul shards to the Maharana Clan of the Song Domain, which increased the number of zeros in his bank account as well as giving Aiko a large amount of money. She had started having conversations for the bicycle project, looking for more reliable investors.
So he had a lot of free time.
'I guess I'll indulge one of Shade's whims,' he thought to himself.
Taking out his communicator, he began to research nightclubs in NQSC. After a while, he found an exclusive club where only the rich could afford to attend the parties.
It only took him about two days to get a VIP section pass to the club.
That same night, he was dressed elegantly and discreetly in dark tones like gray and black. Looking at himself in the mirror, he sighed; he was undoubtedly attractive, especially after going to a stylist to get his hair cut.
"Not bad, for someone twenty years old," he said to himself. It was strange to be twenty again, but it wasn't as if he cared. Mentally, he had thousands of years in scattered fragments, which he destroyed from time to time to avoid going insane.
Using the cosmetic Memory he possessed, he changed his hair color to a dark blue tone, his eyes remaining equally black.
"Wow, why so fancy, Uriel?" asked Shade with amusement.
"I'm going to relax at a party for a while," he responded, looking at himself once more in the mirror.
"A party? Are you going alone?"
"Yes. The last time I went to a disco in a group, things didn't end very well."
Shade made a confused expression for a few moments before his eyes widened.
"Oh, that incident."
"Yeah. I never thought that guy would try to hit on the police chief's daughter; he was truly crazy."
"And even more so when it was a secret police raid. That was definitely quite something."
Uriel rolled his eyes.
"Anyway, I'm running late." Uriel left his room, closing the door behind him. Going down the first floor, he turned off the lights. After closing the door, he observed the night sky, and the next moment, he disappeared, moving through the deep darkness of the night.
...
After arriving at the club and entering, the noise of loud music, bright lights, and the smell of alcohol and the energetic atmosphere greeted him completely.
"Well, and now what will you do?" asked Shade.
Uriel entered his mental space.
"Oh, me, nothing. You will do it."
Shade raised a confused eyebrow, then his eyes widened.
"Wait, don't tell me that..."
"Yes. You keep complaining about the lack of girls and all that. Well, given that the island thing was a total fiasco, why not reward you? So, surprise. You can do whatever you want; this is your reward. So enjoy, champ."
Shade lifted his face, letting tears of joy run down his cheeks.
"Uriel, have I ever told you how much I love you?"
"No. Now get lost. Oh, and if you're going to hook up with a woman, use protection to avoid... well, you know all that."
Shade nodded.
"Leave it all to me." Shade took control of the body. A playful smile full of anticipation appeared on his face.
Walking animatedly, his gaze settled on a woman with black hair and a beautiful face, wearing a black dress that left her shoulders exposed. Next to her was a woman with silver hair.
'Alright, Shade, it's time to use all your tricks,' he thought as he walked towards the two women.
Uriel leaned back on the sofa. Through a record player, he began to play a soft melody.
"Well, let's resume reading The Golden Duke. Chapter one..."
....
The dawn light filtered through the thick hotel curtains, falling like a golden, painful scalpel directly onto Shade's closed eyelids. A muffled groan escaped his lips before he even opened his eyes. His head throbbed with a monstrous rhythm, as if a dwarf with a hammer had settled in his temples and was mining to find more brain. Every heartbeat resonated like a gong in his skull.
With a heroic effort, he cracked open one eye. The vision was blurry at first, then cleared to reveal an elegantly molded plaster ceiling. It wasn't his ceiling.
To his left, the black-haired woman, sleeping on her side, her naked, smooth back partially covered by the Egyptian cotton sheet. Her breathing was deep and serene, an insulting contrast to the internal whirlwind within Shade.
To his right, the silver-haired one, on her back, with an arm carelessly thrown over her forehead, like a goddess tired of the festivities. Also naked. Also covered only by the sheet, which had yielded ground, revealing the curve of a shoulder and the start of a side.
Memories of the night returned in bright, explosive fragments: muffled laughter in the VIP area, the sweet, treacherous taste of expensive cocktails, the music pulsing in his bones, the decision to take both of them or for them to take him, the elevator, the hotel door, more laughter, exploring hands, skin against skin...
A slow, foolish, and completely satisfied smile drew itself on Shade's face despite the headache. It was worth every damn beat.
With the grace of an injured feline, he slid out of bed, carefully avoiding disturbing his companions. Finding his clothes scattered around the luxurious suite was a small treasure hunt with a migraine prize. Finally dressed, he searched for paper and a pen on the desk. With handwriting he hoped was legible through his blurry vision, he wrote:
"It was an incredible night. Thank you. – S."
He left the note on the nightstand, next to the phone, and with one last look at the idyllic scene and a slight envy of the peace they were enjoying, he silently left the room.
The journey back home was an odyssey. Every ray of sun pierced his eyes, every sound of the waking city was a hammer blow to his ears. When he finally crossed the door of his house, he collapsed onto the living room sofa with a sigh that was half relief, half agony.
"Good morning, conqueror," Uriel sang in a voice full of amusement from the other end of the sofa.
Shade cracked open an eye. Uriel was sitting there, impeccable, with a steaming cup of tea in his hand and a grin from ear to ear that made Shade's headache intensify.
"For the love of all that is sacred and dark... lower your voice," Shade moaned, bringing his hands to his head.
"My voice? This is my inner voice, champ. The one resonating directly in the skull that you yourself filled with cheap alcohol and questionable decisions," said Uriel, his tone full of malicious glee. "But what decisions! Two, apparently! A three-player game, quite intense from what I could sense before... discreetly withdrawing. I must say, I'm impressed. Or at least, your passion impresses me. It's definitely worthy of being a porn star."
"First, it was expensive alcohol," corrected Shade, his voice hoarse. "And second, it was very expensive."
"Even worse! You paid a fortune for this suffering. So, tell me, who initiated the... diplomatic trio? Was it the black-haired one, with that look that promised trouble? Or the silver-haired one, who seemed the most serious but was probably the wildest?"
"Uriel, I swear to God, if you don't shut up, I'm going to..."
"Going to what? Vomit on the carpet? Please, don't; it cost me a lot to get it. It's hard to clean. I'm just saying it's good to see you using that audiovisual experience you usually watch for something more than gathering human reproduction data. Or mocking me... oh, let's not even talk about..."
"Shut up already."
Shade buried his face in a cushion, emitting a sound that was half growl, half plea. Uriel's mocking happiness was almost as unbearable as the hangover.
Finally, with the dignity of a man who had fought titanic battles but was defeated by his own brain, Shade stood up and dragged himself to the bathroom. A long, hot shower helped afterward. Comfortable clothes—sweatpants and a loose t-shirt—were a blessing. In the kitchen, he prepared with trembling hands a secret hangover brew he had learned in some past life in a luxury brothel that one of his old companions had invited him to—well, invited Uriel, but since they were technically the same, it counted as a single experience. Shade opened the refrigerator and began taking out various items: tomato juice, Tabasco, salt, pepper, and a raw egg. He looked at it with repulsion for a second before drinking it in one gulp. The effect wasn't immediate, but it promised.
It was at that moment, while clinging to the edge of the counter, waiting for the brew to work its magic, that the front door opened.
Looking towards the door, he sighed, feeling his headache increase.
"Hey, Little! I see you're back!" Effie paused for a moment in silence. "What happened to you? You look like shit."
"Effie, please, lower your voice. My head hurts."
"And what exactly is your head hurting from?" asked Sunny, also entering Uriel's house, observing with curiosity how the house was emptier than his own.
"Oh, our dear conqueror was having a wonderful party," commented Uriel, approaching the duo. "Don't you want to know the things he did?"
Effie's eyes shone with malevolent will. If there was something she loved, it was gossip, especially when it embarrassed one of her friends; she could torture them for months.
"Oh, of course I do!" Effie suddenly fell silent, sniffing the air.
"Ahhhhh," she said, elongating the sound with delight. "It smells like... victory. Expensive perfume. Two different expensive perfumes, to be exact." She stepped back and gave him a wide, sly smile. "Well done, tiger! Was one silver? The other scent has notes of jasmine and... success?"
Shade rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, begging for patience. "Effie, no..."
Sunny, genuinely confused, looked at Effie, then at Shade. "What is she talking about? Perfume? Victory?"
Effie laughed, giving Sunny a slap on the back that shook the young man. "Never mind, innocent! Our dear Shade here has simply been... expanding his diplomatic horizons. Right, Shade?" she said, winking as she spotted Shade's jacket thrown on a chair.
Shade sighed, a deep, sorrowful sound. The brew was starting to settle, but now he had Effie as a new source of torture. "Can I offer you coffee? Or better yet, can you leave and come back in, say, two weeks?"
"No."