Sleep took him.
And brought him back.
The throne hall rose from darkness. Black marble beneath a ceiling swallowed by shadow. Crimson banners between pillars. Blue flames burning without flicker.
At the far end stood the obsidian throne.
And on it sat Angelo Fool.
The Bloody Emperor.
Before him stood the five guild leaders — the final alliance formed to end his reign.
Rosalia of Midnight Rose, the Mirror of Fate hovering beside her.
Brad of the Berserkers, halberd resting against his shoulder.
Oliver of Little Grass, blade steady.
Daric of Solid Stone, iron knuckles encasing his fists.
John of Dark Swamp, black nunchaku spinning lazily.
Rosalia stepped forward.
"You didn't rule Pelegon. You enslaved it."
Angelo remained seated for a moment.
Then he smiled.
"Enslaved?"
He rose.
"I killed Gert Keller — the Supreme God of this world."
A faint crimson pulse flickered around him.
"I crushed Grey Moll, the Demon Overlord."
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He stepped down from the throne.
"I didn't destroy the world."
His gaze fixed on Rosalia.
"I replaced its government."
Silence stretched.
"I removed gods who hoarded power. I broke the monopoly of the five dominant clans."
His eyes moved across them.
"You're angry because you lost control."
Brad growled. "You're twisting reality."
"Am I?" Angelo tilted his head.
He looked at Rosalia again.
"You ruled half the market through backroom alliances."
Her jaw tightened.
"Don't you dare—"
"You're furious," he continued evenly, "because I dismantled what you called 'order.'"
Daric's voice rumbled. "You replaced it with tyranny."
Angelo shrugged lightly.
"Tyranny. Or transparency?"
John spoke quietly.
"You thrive on chaos."
Angelo's eyes sharpened.
"No. I thrive on honesty."
He spread his arms.
"You hide behind balance. Behind morality."
His voice cooled.
"You were more hypocritical than I ever was."
Oliver stepped forward.
"This ends now. Step down."
Angelo regarded him calmly.
"In a game?"
The crimson aura thickened around him.
"This world was built for domination."
Mist gathered, coiling around his frame.
"It's just a chessboard."
Rosalia's voice cut through the hall.
"And you think you're the emperor?"
"No."
His eyes burned red.
"I'm the final boss."
The air grew heavy.
Crimson threads erupted from his aura — thin at first, then multiplying, snapping outward.
They shot toward the five leaders.
Rosalia raised the Mirror of Fate. Light flared, deflecting several threads at once.
Brad tore through others with brutal sweeps.
Oliver cut precisely, slicing strands midair.
Daric pushed forward, iron knuckles striking sparks as threads collided against them. He broke through and drove a crushing blow into Angelo's ribs.
John moved like a shadow, nunchaku snapping, disrupting the thinner strands as he closed the distance.
The hall trembled as crimson threads sliced stone and cracked marble.
But the five advanced together.
Rosalia deflected.
Brad forced space.
Oliver found the opening.
Daric struck again.
John slipped behind Angelo and shattered the rhythm of his aura with a sharp strike.
For a fraction of a second, the crimson field flickered.
That was enough.
Brad's halberd pierced his side.
Oliver's blade drove into his chest.
Rosalia's mirror flashed — reflecting a blood thread back through him.
Daric struck once more.
John's weapon cracked across his neck.
Angelo stood impaled, surrounded.
His aura dimmed.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"So… this is your justice."
The throne hall shattered into darkness.
He woke.
Dark room. Zurich. Silence.
His breathing was steady.
"What a ridiculous dream," he muttered.
