[Oliver's PoV]

  “You won’t be enough.”

  The creature’s voice reverberated through the vast hall, its lipless grin stretching wider.

  But Oliver didn’t flinch.

  This was his moment.

  'Light and heat. Those are its weaknesses,' he thought, locking onto the creature’s golden eyes. 'Then I’ll burn this bastard to ash.'

  Ignoring the System’s flashing red warnings, Oliver launched himself forward, Energy surging through his arms. The floor cracked under the force of his acceleration, golden fire erupting around his legs.

  He hit fast and hard.

  His first kick connected with the creature’s midsection, the impact sending a shockwave through the room. The black ooze that coated its body splattered outward, sizzling where it met the heat of his flames.

  Oliver didn’t stop.

  He twisted midair, bringing his heel down and striking the creature’s head. Then another kick, then another. Each strike was faster, heavier, his movements blurring into streaks of gold.

  Every hit seared through the Sovereign’s body, burning holes in the corruption that clung to him. The ooze evaporated into ash, filling the air with the acrid scent of scorched oil.

  But despite the relentless assault, the creature didn’t falter.

  It didn’t even flinch.

  Its head turned slightly, tracking Oliver’s movements with those cold eyes. The smile never faded.

  Oliver landed, sliding backward across the cracked floor, his boots grinding against the stone. His breath came heavy, sweat beading along his forehead.

  The creature stood untouched.

  Not a single mark.

  The black ooze that had burned away was already reforming, crawling back across its body like living armor.

  “You’re wasting your strength,” the Sovereign said, his voice low and resonant.

  Oliver’s jaw tightened. “We’ll see about that.”

  Before the creature could respond, Mordred moved.

  He darted forward, his crimson eyes blazing. The shadows beneath his feet rippled like liquid, expanding outward in jagged patterns that crawled across the floor and up the walls.

  [Shadow Barrage]

  The darkness rose.

  From the ground, spikes of shadow erupted one after another, sharp and fast. They pierced upward, slicing through the air toward the Sovereign.

  Mordred raised his hands, and the shadows obeyed. From his palms, bolts of darkness shot forward. Dozens of them, each one twisting and converging on the target.

  The hall shook under the onslaught.

  The barrage hit like artillery fire, explosions of black Energy rippling across the Sovereign’s body.

  For a moment, the creature vanished in the chaos.

  But when the dust cleared, he was still there.

  Standing.

  Unmoving.

  Untouched.

  Katherine moved next.

  The moment Mordred hesitated, she darted forward. Her blood strikes came fast, precise, each one cutting through the air with surgical intent.

  And yet, nothing worked.

  Each hit struck the False Sovereign’s body with the force of thunder, but the creature didn’t even stagger. The black ooze that coated his skin rippled faintly, absorbing the impact like water disturbed by a pebble.

  Katherine pressed harder, shouting as she swung again and again, her movements growing desperate.

  Then came Alan, Astrid, and Isabela.

  One by one, they attacked—some with blades, others with bursts of Energy or Boons. The hall became a storm of light and sound.

  And one by one, they fell back.

  Their weapons stopped. Their Energy faltered. Their breaths came ragged, each of them realizing the same terrible truth.

  Nothing worked.

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  The False Sovereign stood at the center of the chaos, untouched.

  “Are you finished?”

  The words were calm, almost gentle, but they struck like a hammer.

  Oliver’s stomach twisted. His fists clenched so tight that his knuckles ached. He didn’t move, didn’t blink. Every muscle in his body screamed to react, to prepare, to anticipate.

  Because he knew what came next.

  The creature’s grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.

  Then he swung.

  The motion was effortless. One wide arc that cut through the air, sending a wall of pressure roaring through the hall. The blade didn’t even touch the ground, yet the sheer force of it shattered the stone beneath their feet.

  The wind that followed was a weapon in itself.

  It slammed into them like a hurricane, flinging debris and shards of rock in every direction.

  Oliver threw up his arms, shielding his face.

  When the wind finally died, he looked up just in time to see the Sovereign move.

  It was fast, too fast. One instant, he was standing across the room; the next, he was at Mordred’s flank.

  The creature’s sword came down in an instant, the black metal singing through the air.

  Mordred barely had time to react.

  He threw up his hands, summoning what shadows he could. They surged upward like a wall, forming a dark barrier just as the blade struck. The impact shattered it instantly, the shadows exploding into a storm of black mist.

  The force of the blow sent Mordred flying.

  He hit one of the massive stone pillars, the structure cracking under the impact. For a heartbeat, it held. But soon it collapsed, crumbling in a cascade of dust and debris.

  [ALERT]

  [I REPEAT]

  [YOU CANNOT DEFEAT HIM]

  [RUN]

  The warnings flashed across Oliver’s vision in violent red bursts. But he ignored them all.

  His focus was locked on the creature and the next move that would decide whether he lived another second.

  'There’s nowhere to run,' he thought bitterly. 'No way out of this.'

  He wanted to shout it at the System, to tell it to shut up, but there was no time.

  The creature’s golden eyes turned toward him, slow and deliberate, almost curious. For a fraction of a second, Oliver thought it might speak again.

  Then it vanished.

  The world blurred.

  Oliver’s mind screamed, trying to track the Sovereign’s movements. However, he seemed to be everywhere at once, left, right, above, behind.

  He could feel the air shift beside him.

  And then the impact came.

  The Sovereign’s fist slammed into his ribs.

  Pain exploded through Oliver’s body. The breath was ripped from his lungs as the world spun violently around him. For an instant, everything was silent. Then came the sound of his own uniform scraping against stone as he was hurled across the throne room.

  He hit the ground once, twice, then crashed into a wall.

  The impact was brutal.

  The stone shattered, cracks spiderwebbing outwards. The shockwave rippled through the chamber, its sound echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

  Oliver’s vision flickered. The taste of blood filled his mouth.

  He tried to breathe, but his chest seized up, a stabbing pain radiating from his side. Broken ribs. Maybe more.

  For a moment, he couldn’t move. The edges of his vision darkened, his body refusing to respond.

  He tasted iron again and spat, the blood splattering across the cracked floor. His breathing came ragged, each inhale a knife to the chest.

  'I can’t stop,' he told himself.

  He couldn’t.

  With two staggering steps, Oliver emerged from behind the curtain of smoke and dust.

  The throne room, once grand, was now chaotic.

  Mordred had returned to the fight. Beside him, Alan stood firm, his gravity field flickering weakly. They were both exhausted, their movements slower, their attacks less precise.

  And yet, they were the only ones still truly standing.

  Katherine was barely holding her ground. Her arms trembled as she conjured another barrier—a wall of blood as it absorbed another of the Sovereign’s attacks. Each impact pushed her back a few more meters.

  Isabela was down on one knee, her body battered and bleeding from wounds that hadn’t healed since before the battle began.

  Astrid clutched her right arm, which hung limply at her side. Her other hand still held her axe, but she couldn’t raise it.

  And Khan…

  Khan was still buried in the crater his body had made when he hit the wall.

  Or so Oliver thought.

  The mercenary hadn’t moved since the Sovereign’s strike had sent him flying. His soldier, the one who had followed him into this madness, was pressed against the massive gate at the far end of the hall, frantically scanning for a way out.

  Oliver’s eyes flicked to the others, then back to the False Sovereign.

  His hands clenched. He still had one card left to play, one last, desperate measure.

  A technique he’d used before. One that had nearly killed him. The power was there, waiting to be unleashed. But the cost…

  'No.' He shook his head, sweat dripping down his brow. 'There’s no other way.'

  If he couldn’t even track the creature’s movements, he couldn’t see its weakness. Then it didn’t matter how strong he was.

  He’d die without understanding why.

  But before he could act, movement caught his attention.

  The rubble that had buried Khan shifted. The mercenary stood up.

  “Pathetic.”

  The False Sovereign’s voice rumbled through the hall. The creature stopped mid-attack, lowering his sword. His golden eyes swept over the eight battered figures before him.

  “You should all come at once,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain. “Perhaps then, you’d stand a chance.”

  Khan’s voice broke that silence.

  “You see,” he said, coughing as he stepped forward. His helmet was fractured, one side shattered, and he held it in place with one hand, refusing to let it fall. “This isn’t the first time I’ve faced a Sovereign or something that thinks it is one.”

  The Sovereign tilted his head, amused. “Is that so? Then tell me. Why are you still alive?”

  Khan stopped a few meters away, straightening as much as his battered body would allow. His voice was calm, his tone almost conversational.

  “Simple.”

  He raised one hand, pointing at the creature.

  “Sovereigns are beings who have mastered Energy. They’ve transcended the physical realm. But there’s something they always forget.”

  The Sovereign’s golden eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest trace of curiosity flickering through the glow. “And what would that be?”

  Khan’s lips curved into a faint, defiant smile.

  “They’re weak against magic.”

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