Eliana’s voice cut through Maloi’s self-doubt like a blade.

  “If you’re doubting yourself, then there’s only one solution,” she said firmly. “Become so powerful that you never have to doubt yourself again. And here—” she gestured to the endless white courtyard around them, “—this is the first step. You’ve risen in rank not because you got stronger… but because others died. It’s time for you to earn your number.”

  She leaned closer, her words ringing like a commandment.

  “Show the world that even if Number One were to disappear right now, Ignir would still be protected.”

  Maloi blinked, stunned for a moment, before a slow smile crept across her face.

  “You’ve grown so much,” she said softly.

  Eliana smirked. “I’m older than you, you know.”

  ---

  Hours Ago

  The Dark Chamber was still.

  The moment Cry seeped into its walls, the room erupted into chaos.

  Many of the masked nobles screamed in agony, clutching their heads as their veins bulged beneath their skin. Some collapsed to the marble floor, writhing like insects under a boot. These were the wealthy and influential — aristocrats who had bought their way into the chamber to watch the carnage.

  But among them… sat those who didn’t flinch.

  Those who didn’t even move.

  They were the ones at the very pinnacle of Yilheim — creatures so feared that no nation could subdue them, no court could summon them, no army could capture them.

  This wasn’t just a viewing chamber. It was a recruitment ground.

  For the nobles, the competition was entertainment.

  For these titans, it was something else entirely.

  A hunt for new blood.

  ---

  The Titans of Yilheim

  They sat in silence, radiating a suffocating authority that made the cries of the nobles seem distant and irrelevant.

  The Eternal Pharaoh

  Towering at twenty-one feet, the Eternal Pharaoh leaned back on his obsidian throne. His golden serpent mask, encrusted with hieroglyph-like runes, glimmered faintly in the brazier light. Twin slits revealed glowing eyes that seemed to pierce the soul. He hadn’t moved since entering, yet his presence alone dominated the room like a tomb sealing shut.

  The Orken Warlord

  To his right sat a mountain of flesh and armor — the Orken Warlord. Thirty-one feet of muscle and malice, his iron jaw-plated mask was decorated with tusk-like protrusions, curving upward like an executioner’s grin. Two massive horns jutted forward from his jawline, and another pair rose from his forehead. Even seated, he dwarfed everyone, arms crossed as if restraining himself from tearing the room apart.

  > “That fool Balling is running his mouth about things he shouldn’t,” he growled, his voice like rolling boulders.

  The Mermaid Sovereign

  On the opposite end, a twenty-two feet tall Mermaid Sovereign coiled her massive serpentine tail around her throne, her shimmering coral-encrusted mask making her look like a living relic of the deep. Pearlescent fins fanned behind her head like a crown, each flick of her tail deliberate — like the ocean’s rhythm before a storm.

  > “Give him a break,” she said softly, her voice flowing like water. “He’s the reason we have so many challengers.”

  The Hemoid Matriarch

  Beside her, looming at twenty-four feet, sat the Hemoid Matriarch. Her smooth, obsidian-black mask was completely featureless save for a single vertical slit glowing red at its center — like an unblinking eye. She said nothing. She didn’t need to. Her very stillness was a threat.

  The Green Masked Predator

  Several seats away, a 13-foot man remained perfectly still. His green-and-black lacquered mask was carved into the likeness of a fanged beast, its emerald eyes glowing faintly as he stared at the Seer projection of Valerius and the silver-haired woman.

  > “One heart?” His voice was low, curious. “To think I would find not just one… but three like you. Pungence… this world is getting interesting.”

  The Gluttonous Baroness

  Further down the row, sprawled in a reinforced throne, was a twenty-five foot tall woman whose frame could only be described as monstrous in size. Her pink porcelain mask was painted with smiling lips, and her massive jeweled dress strained against her colossal form as she fanned herself idly with a fan of feathers.

  Next to her, a 12’5 woman sat cross-legged, her white ceramic mask painted with a faint, serene smile. Her arms and legs were wrapped in flowing silks like a dancer mid-performance, though she hadn’t moved once. Yet her presence felt like a blade ready to cut at any second.

  ---

  These were the unsubduable.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  The Binding Hand had tried to capture them countless times — and failed every single time.

  They were the reason the Enforcers were created.

  ---

  The Observers

  And near the back, cloaked in ceremonial white and gold, stood the World Order Observers — faceless arbiters of law. They watched in absolute silence, their mirrored masks reflecting the entire room. They were not participants but monitors sent by the Binding Hand, ensuring that the chaos of Plunder Island didn’t spill into the wider world.

  They too had felt Cry — and they too had remained unmoved.

  ---

  While the nobles screamed and writhed, these titans simply watched the Seer.

  Silent.

  Patient.

  Judging.

  Like gods deciding who would be worthy to live in their world.

  ---

  In a chamber surrounded by dirt and rock, a Pesterio walked through the long corridor and stepped into the central hall. He stopped near a jagged wall and called out, “How long till the island is finished?”

  From the floor, the ground itself shifted. A patch of rough stone rippled and twisted until it formed the shape of a head — an Elf’s head — as if the earth itself were alive. The texture changed from cragged rock to pale skin and sharp, Elven features.

  “Do you have any idea how big this island is?” the Elf snapped, his voice muffled yet sharp. “It’ll take hours to fix it!”

  “Well, hurry it up,” the Pesterio replied coldly. “The competition continues tomorrow. And make the island harder too — we’ve got powerhouses here.”

  The Elf’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding me? I’m being overworked here! I demand a raise!”

  “I’ll call the high ups and tell them then,” the Pesterio said flatly as he pulled out his strek.

  “Hey, hey, hey — wait, wait!” the Elf quickly backpedaled, his tone suddenly sweeter. “I was just talking, man. It’s between me and you, yes? No need to bring them into it.”

  “Get to work,” the Pesterio said, unamused.

  The Elf rolled his eyes, and his head sank back into the ground with a grumble. But a second later, it popped up again.

  “What the hell was that a while ago?” he said, his voice more serious now. “It felt like… like I was gonna die.”

  “I don’t know,” the Pesterio muttered, staring off into the darkness. “I’ve never felt anything like that either.” He turned away. “Get to work.”

  He left the chamber and began climbing the endless staircase — a narrow, winding ascent that seemed to stretch forever.

  ---

  At ten feet and four inches tall, Balling strolled casually through another corridor, humming a tune only he could hear. The dim lights painted his deep red skin in flashes of gold and shadow as he moved. He spun in midair with surprising grace, landed with a soft thud, and kept walking — sideways, then backwards, then crouched low as if in a dance. He stretched his arms wide, gliding forward as though walking on air, pointing left, then right, keeping perfect rhythm.

  Tiny streks in his ears pulsed with music. He tilted his head dramatically with each beat, lips curling in delight.

  Finally, he reached a tall white door. With a flourish, he pushed it open and entered his room.

  It was beautiful — a vast chamber with a large bed, a tall mirror framed in polished gold, and an enormous window. Beyond the glass, clouds drifted past in the night sky, as though the room itself sat high above the world.

  On the bed, a Dragoon woman lay on her stomach, naked beneath a silk blanket. Her orange hair spilled over her shoulders like a waterfall of shadow.

  Balling grinned. “Ahhh, my darling! Balling is baaaack!” he sang, throwing his arms wide.

  The woman stirred, her wings shifting beneath the blanket as she sat up. “Balling?” she said softly, tilting her head toward him. A sly smile touched her lips. “I see you enjoyed yourself.”

  Balling placed a hand on his chest dramatically. “Enjoyed? Pah! Balling lived, my love. These challengers — ohhh, they are spicy little morsels. So much chaos, I could eat it for breakfast!”

  He removed his shoes and flopped onto the bed with a thud.

  The woman moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his wide frame and tapping his belly with a teasing smirk. “You really need to cut down on this weight.”

  Balling gasped loudly, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded. “Cut down? My love, this —” he patted his stomach proudly, “— is the sign of a good life! Only kings and legends carry such… prestige.”

  “Well, honey,” she said with a grin, “I don’t like it.”

  “Then,” Balling said, wiggling his eyebrows, “Balling shall simply grow even fatter until you have to love it. You cannot resist such luxury!”

  She swatted his arm with a laugh.

  Balling sighed dramatically and stretched out beside her. “There are people here with cry, you know,” he muttered, his voice suddenly softer.

  Her eyes flickered. “I felt it too.”

  They lay face to face in the stillness.

  “Lucky bastards,” Balling said with a grin, though his tone carried a hint of envy.

  She stared into his eyes. “Let’s end this life, Balling. I want to start a family.”

  Balling blinked, then smirked. “Ohhh, a family? With me? You want tiny little Ballings running around, causing trouble, stealing all my food? My dear, that is chaos I may not survive.”

  “I’m serious,” she said firmly.

  His smirk faded. “We haven’t even completed Mazorik yet.”

  “Do you really think we can complete Mazorik?” she asked, her voice heavy. “I’m tired of this life, Balling.”

  Balling stared at her quietly, then reached up, placing his hand gently against her cheek. “Just a few more years,” he said softly. “That’s all I ask. There are things I need to see… mysteries that need to be solved. Somehow, I feel it in my gut — they’re about to be revealed. I want to be part of it.”

  She turned, staring up at the ceiling. “We’ve been at this for over a hundred years now. What makes you think this time will be any different?”

  Balling chuckled, tapping his belly. “Because I feel it in my gut.”

  She exhaled slowly. “Well… a few more years isn’t that long.”

  Balling grinned, leaning closer. “Mmm. Spoken like a woman who intends to marry Balling eventually.”

  She rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny it.

  Balling stared at the ceiling with his hands tucked behind his head, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “So,” he said, voice playful, “what do you think we should call our kids? Hmm? Ballar… Ballina… ooooh, Ballinton. Rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it?”

  The woman groaned. “Absolutely not. No way they’re being named after you.”

  Balling turned his head, feigning offense. “Why not? Balling is a beautiful name. Strong. Memorable. The kind of name people sing songs about!”

  She smirked. “Did your father tell you that?”

  “Yh,” Balling said with utter sincerity.

  The woman laughed softly, shaking her head. “Your father named you after a ball, Balling. I won’t pass your cursed names to my children.”

  Balling gasped and clutched his chest as if struck. “For your information,” he said with mock dignity, “that ball saved his life. A name of great honor!”

  The woman chuckled and pulled the blanket tighter around herself. “Still not happening.”

  ---

  Far away, beneath the twin moons, Maloi and Eliana sat quietly, their eyes fixed on the silver glow washing over the night sky. The world around them was still, the air heavy with unspoken thoughts.

  Valerius strode up behind them, his steps slow and deliberate, before lowering himself to sit beside Eliana. He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Now,” he said casually, “why would a princess who has everything be here? Are you tired of living?”

  Maloi’s jaw tightened, but before she could speak, Eliana raised a hand, stopping her.

  She turned to him, her golden eyes steady and cold. “That’s my business,” she said simply.

  Valerius nodded slowly. “Yes, yes… your business.” He leaned back, supporting himself with one arm, his smirk faint but sharp. “Just thought I’d check up on you since you were having your ass handed to you earlier.”

  Maloi bristled. “You’re speaking to the Princess of Ignir. Mind your tone.”

  Vakerius waved dismissively, as if brushing away a fly. “Please. Who gives a crap about that? Out here…” — he gestured to the vast, op8en paved floor beyond them — “…you’re just like the rest of us.”

  His smirk widened, his voice turning mocking. “Your Highness.”

  Eliana’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t answer.

  To be continued…

  ---