Ethan waited until his Generals returned to their chambers before beginning his exploration.
The throne room had a secret—he knew it did, because he'd designed it. Behind the massive throne was a wall that looked identical to every other wall in the castle, but if you approached it from exactly the right angle while triggering exactly the right condition, it would reveal a hidden passage.
The condition was supposed to be "defeat Azrael in under 15 minutes." Since he WAS Azrael, he was hoping proximity might count.
It did.
The wall shimmered and dissolved as he approached, revealing a spiraling staircase descending into darkness. Crimson crystals embedded in the walls provided dim illumination as he descended, his armored footsteps echoing endlessly.
The hidden archive awaited at the bottom.
Ethan had designed this room as an easter egg, a reward for speedrunning guilds who wanted lore about Azrael's backstory. It contained journals, artifacts, and a magical viewing pool that showed scenes from the Eternal Emperor's past.
What he hadn't expected was for those scenes to be REAL.
The viewing pool activated at his approach, and suddenly he was watching something that had never been in his design documents.
The vision showed Earth—his Earth—but different. The sky was purple. Cities were in flames. Massive creatures that defied description moved through the smoke, consuming everything they touched.
"The Void Collective," a voice narrated. Ethan recognized it as his own voice, but older, wearier. "They came from between dimensions, drawn by humanity's technological signature. We had no defense. Within six months, 90% of Earth's population was gone."
The vision shifted to a laboratory. Scientists worked frantically on a massive machine, a portal of some kind.
"Elysium Terminal was never meant to be a game. It was a lifeboat. A digital dimension where human consciousness could be preserved, protected by barriers the Void couldn't breach. The game elements were camouflage—a way to make the training simulation palatable to the billions we needed to save."
Another shift. The portal activated, and streams of light poured through—human souls being uploaded into the new world.
"But preservation wasn't enough. We needed warriors. We needed humanity to evolve, to become strong enough to fight back. So we created challenges. Monsters. Dungeons."
The vision focused on a figure standing in the half-constructed throne room: Azrael, the original Azrael, without a soul yet.
"And we created the final test. The Eternal Emperor would push humanity to its limits, forcing players to develop the skills and coordination needed to survive the real war. When they finally defeated him, they would unlock the dimensional weapons needed to take the fight back to the Void."
The narration paused. The older Ethan's face appeared, weary beyond words.
"But the Void is patient. They discovered our sanctuary. They've been probing our defenses, searching for weaknesses. In approximately eight months from the creation of this recording, they will launch a full-scale invasion."
"Eight months."
"And humanity is nowhere near ready."
"If you're watching this... if somehow my consciousness survived the transfer and found its way here... you need to accelerate the timeline. Push them harder. Make them stronger. Whatever it takes."
"The game is real. The stakes are real. And if you fail..."
"There's nowhere left to run."
The vision faded. Ethan stood frozen in the archive, his mind reeling.
Elysium Terminal wasn't a game. It never had been.
It was humanity's last refuge from an alien invasion. The players weren't players—they were refugees, their original bodies long dead, their consciousness preserved in digital immortality. The "real world" they logged out to was just another layer of the simulation, designed to give them a sense of normalcy.
And he was supposed to be the final exam.
Ethan staggered to a stone bench and sat down heavily, his armor clanging against the ancient rock. His mind raced through the implications.
The players who died in raids—they weren't respawning in their apartments and houses. They were respawning in simulated apartments and houses. This entire dimension was their afterlife, their preservation, their only remaining existence.
And in eight months—no, less than that, the recording could have been made weeks ago—the Void Collective would come to destroy it all.
"I need to warn them," Ethan said aloud. "I need to tell everyone what's coming."
But even as he said it, he recognized the problem. He was the final boss. Players were conditioned to view him as an enemy, an obstacle, a target. If Azrael suddenly appeared in the main city spouting warnings about alien invasions, people wouldn't listen.
They'd assume it was an event. A quest hook. A trap.
How do you save people who think you're trying to kill them?
More importantly—how do you train an army when your only interaction with them is trying to murder them forty at a time?
Ethan pulled up the recording's timestamp. It was made approximately four months before his arrival.
That left four months until the invasion.
Four months to transform casual gamers into interdimensional warriors.
Four months while trapped in a throne room, bound by boss scripts, unable to leave or communicate directly.
"This is impossible," he whispered.
Then he straightened on the bench, his claws clenching into fists.
"No. I designed this world. I know every system, every mechanic, every exploit. If anyone can find a way to break the rules, it's me."
He returned to the viewing pool and began searching through Azrael's archives more carefully. There had to be something useful here—some authority or ability he could leverage.
Hours later, he found it.
═══════════════════════════════════════════ BOSS ABILITY: PROPHETIC DECLARATION ═══════════════════════════════════════════ During combat, the Eternal Emperor may speak dialogue lines that are remembered by all witnesses. These declarations are recorded in the Elysium Chronicle and spread through player communication. Purpose: Lore delivery and atmosphere. Restriction: Dialogue must occur during active raid encounters only. ═══════════════════════════════════════════
Players would hear whatever he said during boss fights. They would record it, share it, analyze it.
If he couldn't leave the throne room, he would turn the throne room into a classroom.
And his "villain monologues" would become lessons in survival.
[END OF CHAPTER 4]