The city never truly slept.
Its heart pulsed with neon veins and murmurs of power—secret deals whispered behind closed doors, silent wars waged in shadows, and the endless hunger of those desperate to claim a piece of the rising chaos.
Gabriel moved through this world like a ghost, unseen but felt.
His base had grown.
The old tech building now hummed with life—black market operatives brought him rare materials, underground alchemists tested Varn's concoctions, and spies traded secrets like currency.
The six shadows under his command—silent, humanoid, loyal—became the core of his influence.
Each one had a role, a specialty.
Aedan, the strategist.Ravyr, the combat tutor.The Chimera, brute force and intimidation.Vorgas, scout and infiltration expert.Varn, alchemist and poison master.And the newly acquired Lysar, a half-elf with unparalleled stealth.
Despite the growing power, Gabriel felt the weight of limitation.
His Domain was still weak, a fragile shell barely stretching beyond five meters. His unique ability—sealed. His Trait—the False Monarch—gave him presence but no true strength.
He could command fear, but not yet control.
One rainy evening, Gabriel convened his shadows.
They gathered silently, the air thick with tension.
"I want detailed reports on guild activities," he said, voice cold and precise. "Find weak points, allies, enemies. This city is a chessboard. We're moving our pawns."
Aedan bowed. "Already in motion, my lord."
Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "Remember—no mistakes. One wrong step and the whole plan collapses."
Days blurred into nights filled with preparation.
He trained harder, pushing his body beyond pain, perfecting his swordplay with Eclipse. The katana, already bonded to him, sang with promise—evolving silently as he did.
He tested his shadows, commanding them through complex maneuvers, their coordination improving with every exercise.
But Gabriel knew the path ahead was long.
In the city's political undercurrent, whispers of new powers surfaced.
Old guilds squabbled for influence. New alliances formed and shattered.
The Obsidian Throne remained a distant, looming force—elusive, dangerous, watching.
Gabriel had made no direct contact.
Not yet.
At night, he sat alone, pouring over maps and reports.
Plans layered like chess moves.
No one knew his true strength or ambitions.
But they would.
In time.
His thoughts drifted to the coming dungeon breaks.
The city's fragile peace would shatter.
Chaos would reign.
And from that chaos, he would rise.
But first—
He would build his foundation.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Mercilessly.