Inside a dimly lit room, candles scattered around served as the only source of light. Outside, the sun had risen in the sky, but an eclipse covered the once bright sun.
The hall stretched far from the entrance. At the top of the stairs leading to a throne, a man sat with his legs crossed. In his hand rested a black glass chess piece, a bishop, which his slim index finger played with absentmindedly.
The man had ashen grey hair that reached his shoulders. On his head rested a golden royal crown with a single blue jewel embedded in it. His skin was pale as snow, and his half-open eyes watched the door intently.
From the other side of the door, he could hear a man struggling for his life. He sat there, leaning back, his hand resting on the armrest as he rested his chin.
He scoffed. "Pathetic."
He would die soon enough, before reaching here. Just like the others.
He was already certain of it as his gaze fell on the once-blue carpet, now turned black. His eyes scanned the two figures on the floor, no longer living.
Their bodies were stiff and motionless, their eyes completely black. The skin was as thin as paper, green and purple veins visible beneath.
Just as he lost himself in thought, the door was kicked open and shattered. A young boy with dark blue hair tied in a long ponytail stormed in, his blue eyes blazing with rage.
Behind him, a group of soldiers fell, their blood seeping into the floor. Their bodies slowly turned to ashes, the scent of decay and burning filling the air behind the boy.
"Luke Daicamus Valenhart! Surrender now or feel the salvation of my blade," he said, lifting his sword and pointing it at Luke.
Luke remained unmoved, setting the chess piece back on the armrest with a glassy clink that echoed through the hall. "Why should I?" he said mockingly.
Mikhail's jaw clenched tightly. "You have already done enough damage. The world is in chaos because of your puppets roaming everywhere," he said, his voice rising in fury.
"You burned my village to the ground," he added, his voice strained as memories surged through him. His chest tightened with emotion. "You even turned them all into your mindless army."
A short laugh escaped Luke's mouth, a dry, cruel chuckle.
"My dear hero, Mikhail. The beloved star of guidance," Luke said sarcastically. "A winner is the one who enjoys, and the loser shall bow under my feet." He stood and knocked the chess piece off the armrest.
Before the glass could hit the floor, both men made their moves. Luke flicked his fingers as Mikhail dashed forward, swinging his blade close to Luke's neck.
CLANGG
The glass shattered it sound echoing across the massive room.
Luke stood calmly, smiling. "Too obvious," he said, clicking his fingers.
Suddenly, strings descended from the ceiling toward Mikhail. He dodged to the side, nearly tumbling down the stairs.
Luke took the opportunity to change the strings' direction. Mikhail stood quickly, cutting them with his sword. His fire burned brightly, as hot and fierce as the sun itself.
The threads attacked him endlessly, trying to turn him into one of the puppets like the others. Mikhail gripped the hilt of his sword, calling forth magic as sparks of fire ignited across his body.
He could feel the flames spreading over him, burning intensely, yet none of the threads could touch him. He charged forward toward Luke, who remained unmoved, the burned threads falling harmlessly behind him.
Luke's eyes widened as Mikhail approached. He flicked his finger, and one of the puppet servants darted toward him with inhuman speed.
With no time to react, Mikhail's sword pierced the undead's chest.
"KHUGHH!" Luke spat blood, his body trembling as his knees weakened. The weight of the fallen puppet pressed down, nearly toppling him to the floor.
As Mikhail drew his sword, his gaze met Luke's. Somehow, he could not hear any breath from him.
"I hope you burn in hell, witch," Mikhail said, as his blade cut through Luke's neck.
The movement was quick and painless, but the burn of the blade lingered, as if turning the wound to ashes. Even in death, Luke's rage seemed to burn.
Their eyes met for a brief moment, one dying, one full of disdain.
"AGHHHHHHH!"
Kieran screamed as he jolted awake, instinctively touching his neck. It felt as if it had been burned.
His body was covered in sweat, and his eyes were blurred with tears.
No, calm down. It was just a dream. It was just a dream.
He tried to reassure himself, even though his body still trembled violently. He recognized the scene well it was from the game he had played. Why had he dreamed it?
As Kieran regulated his breathing, he felt slightly calmer. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and adjusted his position, but something felt strange.
His seat felt harder than the usual chair in his dorm.
Huh?
He looked down and realized he was sitting on a built-in bench. When his vision cleared, he saw himself in an unfamiliar garden, the scent of Camellia filling his nose.
He stood and walked out of the gazebo, his eyes widening as he saw the massive castle.
"No way," Kieran whispered, his mouth dry with disbelief.
It was now clear he had been transmigrated. But who had he become?
He looked around and spotted a window, moving toward it almost stumbling. When he saw his reflection, he stand there in disbelief.
"I'm screwed."
The reflection staring back at him was that of the main villain: Luke Daicamus Valenhart.