"INCREDIBLE!"
The word cracked through the ruins like thunder. Birds tore from the forest canopy, fleeing the echo of something that wasn't meant for mortal throats.
King Vil loomed, one skeletal arm already shattered, bone fragments hanging loose from tattered robes. His hollow skull fixed on Kazel, pale fire burning in its sockets.
Kazel staggered, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. Sweat streaked down the bruise on his cheek, his lips split, his sword nothing more than a jagged half. And yet—his grin never faded.
"I have nothing but respect for you," King Vil said, his voice a resonant rattle that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. "Even as a reincarnate, you still managed to push me this far. At long last… a proper death!"
"I've had my fill," Kazel muttered, his eyes shifting—not to Vil, but to the crown resting behind him, gleaming faintly in the ruin's gloom.
The skeletal king tilted his head, his broken arm clattering at his side. Slowly, almost reverently, he raised his sword. "I see. So you knew… Tell me, how long did you notice?"
"Before yesterday's night ended."
Vil's skull tilted back, a hollow laugh spilling out like grinding stone. "And yet… you still chose to entertain me?"
"Don't twist it." Kazel's grin widened, sharp as a blade. "It was you who entertained me."
For the first time, the fire in Vil's eyes trembled. He clenched his remaining skeletal fist and roared, the ruins shaking with the weight of it.
"OOOOH! How I WISH! I WISH WE LIVED IN THE SAME ERA!"
King Vil's howl shook the stone around them. He lunged forward, skeletal body carrying weight it should not have, sword raised high in a final defiance.
Kazel straightened, forcing the ache from his battered frame. His half-broken blade gleamed faintly under the stormlight that spilled through the shattered roof. His grin widened, almost feral.
Their blades met—bone against steel, sparks scattering in the rain. Vil pressed with the fury of a king unyielding, his every strike heavy, desperate, filled with centuries of longing. Kazel parried with what little weapon remained, arms trembling, teeth clenched, his laughter breaking out between ragged breaths.
"YES! THAT'S IT! STRUGGLE! FIGHT UNTIL YOUR LAST BREATH!" Vil roared.
"Gladly!" Kazel spat back, twisting his broken sword to shove Vil's blade aside.
In that instant—he stepped in. Too close for Vil's swing. Too sudden for the hollow king to retreat. Kazel's jagged steel arced upward in a brutal slash—
CRACK!
The skeleton's neck snapped. The skull spun free, clattering across the stone floor until it rolled against the jeweled crown.
Vil's body staggered a few steps before crumbling into a rain-soaked heap.
Kazel stood panting in the center of the ruin, hair plastered to his bruised face, broken blade dripping with whatever essence had held the undead king together. His grin lingered, sharp and triumphant.
"…A proper death, indeed."
Kazel stood for a moment, chest heaving as the storm washed over the ruins. His gaze shifted to the side, where the weremole—loyal to the end—slumped unconscious, its massive form twitching faintly before falling still in the puddles of rain. The beast's labored breaths echoed faintly, a reminder that even monsters could show devotion.
Slowly, Kazel walked toward the fallen skull of King Vil. Each step rang against the broken stones, heavy but unhesitant. He bent down, picked up the crown first—its jewel glimmering dimly in the rain—and then the hollowed skull. His fingers brushed the bone with a rare weight of respect. With deliberate care, he set the skull atop the ruined throne, then placed the crown upon it.
He lingered there, staring into the empty sockets as if the king's will still burned within them. A faint smile crept across his bruised lips."You know," King Vil said quietly, almost conversational, "I never thought I would say it, but I am more than willing to give you whatever is left of my kingdom."
Kazel's eyes seemed to glimmer faintly, and a voice—resonant, detached, yet filled with strange warmth—echoed in the chamber. "I accept."
Kazel's eyes narrowed. "But I have questions."
"Ask away, Emperor Kazel," said King Vil.
Kazel crossed his arms, the broken half-sword still clutched in one hand. "Tell me, what am I doing here? Why are reincarnated beings drawn into this place?"
There was a long silence. Then the skull's voice replied, steady but regretful."I have no idea."
Kazel's brow furrowed, his blue eyes sharpening like blades. "Then how do you know reincarnation exists?"
"Because you are not the first."
The answer hung heavy in the storm. Kazel tilted his head, curiosity laced with suspicion. "Not the first…? Others like me have appeared?"
"Yes," said Vil, the hollow voice carrying the weight of centuries. "They came and went, their lives burning bright and brief. In my glory days, before this cursed eternity, I heard whispers of a beast—no ordinary spirit, but something beyond the known. A Mythical spirit beast, with the power to meddle with life and death itself."
"Mythical, you say?" Kazel asked, his voice low, his grin flickering back to life as though savoring the word.
"You never met one, I presume?"
Kazel shook his head, droplets of rain falling from his tangled hair. "No. So far, the highest grade I have faced was a Blue Phoenix. And it almost killed me." His lips twisted into a cruel smile. "But I poked out one of its eyes before it could finish me."
A rasping chuckle echoed from the skull, deep and amused. "Heh. That must be one hell of a story. Few can say they walked away from such a beast."
Kazel's eyes gleamed dangerously. "It was one hell of a fight."
"Then heed this," said Vil. "Do not let yourself be fooled. Do not think that sheer size or majesty alone marks a creature as Mythical. Some may be titans that darken the skies, but others…" His bony voice softened, carrying something almost like reverence. "Others might walk among men, closer to human than you think. Their disguise, their subtlety, makes them all the more dangerous."
Kazel leaned closer to the crowned skull, eyes burning with anticipation. "Then I'll find them. Mythical or not… I'll tear out the truth from their throats if I have to."
The storm raged louder, as though the world itself trembled at the promise.
Rain stitched silver ribbons down the ruined vault as thunder rolled off the broken ribs of the ceiling. Kazel's grin stayed loose, predatory, but there was something else now — a calculation simmering beneath amusement. King Vil's hollow sockets watched him with a hunger that was almost human; the weremole lay curled and inert in a puddle of its own black blood, chest heaving but eyes dull.
"Would you give Rami a swift death? She is my most loyal companion, even through this state," Vil said, voice like gravel sliding across bone.
Kazel's smirk softened a fraction. He glanced at the weremole — at the way its massive head lolled, at the faint, slow breath. In the beast's flank the jagged greatsword had left a raw, smoking wound that would never heal. The creature shivered, and in that shiver Vil's fingers tightened against the crown.
"Are you sure?" Kazel asked.
"More than sure," Vil answered. "I have had her since I was a boy. Oh—how cruel fate must be, for her to be loyal to this old skelly oaf."
A brittle, almost tender laugh scraped from Vil's throat. The sound hooked at Kazel's chest for a second; it was strange to hear fondness from a thing that had once worn a kingdom and now fit into a skull.
"I know what you mean," Kazel said. "If that is your wish, I will give it to you. But I will have to use your jagged blade."
Vil's bony hand flexed. "It's yours. It has been with me through many battles."
Kazel nodded and hefted the rust-black blade. The metal felt wrong in the rain-slick air — as if it drank the light — yet it thrummed faintly at his touch, a pulse that answered something in his broken palm. He had fought a hundred things that hissed for his blood; this blade whispered of a hundred more.
"Another question," Kazel said, stepping closer so his voice dropped into the skull's ears. "How were you in this skeleton state?"
"It's the power of the crown," Vil said. "I put my soul into it, and then controlled the skeleton — my skeleton." His finger traced lines on the crown as if remembering the press of a ring. "It is not perfect. It is a bargain. Pieces of me linger there; pieces of me bind that which binds me."
Kazel's eyes narrowed. He had already felt it: that faint tug at the edges of thought when he stood near the crown. He had heard Vil's voice in the hollows of his own head, a thing both invasive and intimate. Now he probed further.
"How can you speak inside my head?" he asked.
"You… you don't know?" Vil cocked his skull, the motion creaking like a gate. "You can do that once you reach the Soul Resonance Realm."
Kazel laughed — short, incredulous. "Am I supposed to know?"
"Wait a minute—you… don't tell me you haven't reached that realm yet?" Vil's tone shifted from teasing to real surprise.
"Do I look like I've been talking without moving my mouth the entire time?" Kazel snapped.
Vil's voice softened into something like respect. "Well then, you must be one bloody genius. No — perhaps you are the best among them."
"I don't know about that," Kazel said slowly, feeling the slightest stir inside him, a coiling possibility. "Is that why you could put your soul into the crown as well?"
"Correct," Vil replied. "The Soul Resonance Realm could do that, but I wouldn't recommend having your entire soul integrated in such a relic." He nodded once, bone jaw working. "I did that because… of anguish."
The crown's jewel caught a raindrop and sent a slow bead clattering down its side. Kazel watched it fall, watched the drop shatter on the stone. Rain felt colder now in his lungs.
"To be honest," Kazel said, the grin returning and baring teeth that had tasted too much, "you are more valuable alive than dead to me now."
Kazel's lips curved into a cold, knowing smile. "You are dead, Vil. I killed you. That skeleton is nothing but rot. What lingers here is not a king—it's just a crown clutching at what's already lost."
The crown shimmered faintly, and a voice pushed into his mind, trembling with pride and denial. "And yet… I still am."
Kazel stepped closer, raising his voice with authority that filled the chamber. "No—you are not. King Vil of Astrea ended the moment my blade severed his spine. What you are now is nothing more than will bound to gold and jewel. But that doesn't have to be the end."
The skeletal figure twitched, empty sockets staring at Kazel with no flame, no soul. Only the crown gleamed faintly, whispering of the will bound within.
The sockets trembled, faint cracks running across the skull as though it resisted the truth. The crown's dim light pulsed, faint but alive.
Kazel stepped closer, his shadow swallowing the skeleton whole."Do you think I'd leave her? Do you think I'd let Rami, after all that suffering, vanish into nothing? No. She deserves more. More than pain, more than death. Even if she remains as a Spirit Beast, she will live—under me, and I will see her cherished."
The ground quivered, dust cascading off the bones. A low groan echoed, like a tombstone dragged across stone.
Kazel raised his hand, fingers stretched, his tone shifting from steel to promise."Your reign is over. But your will, your strength—those need not rot in the grave. Cast away the name of Vil. Stand again, not as a forgotten king, but as Caladbolg! Join me, and I will bind your crown to my banner, your soul to my cause."
The crown's light flickered, swelling, as if straining between denial and surrender. The skeleton's jaw rattled, then stilled, awaiting the choice.