“I was once a Master, too."

  The words hung in the air like smoke. Xalgrymos had been a Master.

  The very being before him, bound by chains, a god of demon fire and chaotic abyss, had once walked the same path Kael now walked.

  Xalgrymos's voice rumbled through the heat and smoke, heavy with the weight of centuries, as though he had not spoken in a long time, and now the words were spilling out all at once.

  "I used to be a Master," the god said. "And when I was at the peak of my strength, when I was the greatest among them, something happened—something that very few Masters would ever know."

  Kael’s breath hitched, his mind reeling from the god’s admission. What secret would be revealed by this god?

  "When a Master ever beats the All-Time Kill Record, they are given a gift," Xalgrymos continued, its voice lowering. "A wish. Any wish they desire. Anything.”

  Kael’s mind churned as he processed the words. A wish?

  "I was foolish," Xalgrymos said, his voice soft now, almost regretful. "I was young, hungry for more. The power of the wish—it was mine. I wished to become a god. To rule over all, to become more than I was. I had summoned many demons, used them for my conquest. And when the wish was granted, the demonic power coursed through me like wildfire."

  Xalgrymos had used the demons, and Kael—slimes.

  "But the moment I flexed my power," Xalgrymos continued, "the chains formed. Shackles, shackles made of my own power, wrapped around my arms, tying me to my domain. I was no longer the Master of my square. I was no longer even a mortal. I was a god shackled, bound to my own creation."

  The realization struck like a hammer blow, rattling Kael to his core. The fire that surrounded him, the burning inferno that crackled and roared, the molten lake of lava, had once been Xalgrymos's square. This was once his domain. A Master’s domain. Now a God’s domain.

  Kael’s gaze met Xalgrymos’s, unflinching, and he asked the question that had been nagging at him after that revelation.

  "Was your name ever on the All Time record for kills?" Kael asked.

  Kael heard of the Dread Architect and its record of fourteen billion kills but not of Xalgrymos. Was Xalgrymos older than the Dread Architect?

  Xalgrymos sighed, the very ground beneath his feet seeming to groan in response.

  "Yes," Xalgrymos said. "It was several millennia ago, I was undefeated, the most powerful Master to ever walk the lands. I had my domain, my creatures, my spells, my summons—everything. Eight million kills in a week was my record."

  "But others came," Xalgrymos continued. "Other Masters, hungrier, more desperate. They beat my record, one by one. They would surpass me. And I was forced to watch, powerless, as my title slipped from my grasp. My name faded, and with it, my influence."

  "And then," Xalgrymos’s voice dropped, growing heavier, almost resigned, "the Dread Architect came. His record was so impossibly high that no one could break it. No one. And with it, the wish became unattainable."

  "For the better," the god mused, almost to himself, as though contemplating the path he had taken, the choice made long ago. "The wish was a trap. A fool’s bargain. A Master, thinking they could attain divinity, but the truth is the wish was never meant to be a gift. It was a leash. A way to keep us in the system, locked in a never-ending cycle. We were granted power, yes, but not freedom."

  "Do you see now?" Xalgrymos said. "The very system you seek to climb is the same one that shackled me. The same one that keeps us all locked in place, slaves to ambition, to power, to a cycle that will never end."

  Kael had fallen silent from Xalgrymos's revelation. The weight of the god's words pressed against him, suffocating in its intensity. A wish—the idea of it, the power of it, was intoxicating. But the price of overreach, too much power, that had binded the former Master to eternal servitude.

  What would he wish for, given the chance? What could a mere Master like him desire with such a power? More strength? Control over his enemies? Or perhaps something even greater? Something that could transcend the system itself?

  Xalgrymos, watching him with a strange intensity, spoke once again, breaking Kael from his thoughts.

  "You are the first to whom I have revealed such things, Kael," the god rumbled. "I have not divulged this to any other mortal. Except one—the one who became the Dread Architect."

  The words hung heavy in the air, the truth of them settling like dust in the vast expanse. The Dread Architect knew. And proceeded to set an impossible record. Was it to stop others from getting trapped in the system? Or a selfish ploy to keep power to himself?

  "Do you seek any further knowledge, Kael?" the god asked.

  Kael paused, his breath steady as he considered the question. He had learned much already, more than he had anticipated.

  He let out a slow breath and shook his head. "I’ve learned enough today," Kael replied.

  Xalgrymos, perhaps sensing his resolve, straightened in its throne, its fiery eyes narrowing slightly. "Very well," it said, the fire around them flickering in response. "But knowledge alone is not enough to leave this place, Kael. You must prove yourself worthy.”

  A snap of the god’s fingers echoed like the crack of thunder, and the air seemed to ripple with power.

  From the sea of fire and lava, a shape emerged. Tall, humanoid, its form shifting with the light of the flames. The creature’s scales were a deep, blood-red hue, its body rippling with the sinewy strength of a predator. In its hand, it wielded a spine-shaped blade.

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  A Skara. Kael recognized it immediately.

  It was a smaller version of the massive Skaras he had faced in battle, the ones with greatswords and battle axes. This one, though, was different. It was leaner, more agile, but no less deadly.

  "Defeat it," Xalgrymos’s voice rumbled.

  Kael’s hand tightened around his sword. His breath came in slow, controlled bursts as he eyed the creature before him. Neither made a move yet. Both waiting, calculating, like two opponents sizing each other up before the first strike.

  Kael’s mind raced, recalling the techniques from his training. Without warning, Kael lunged, unleashing the Flurry of Strikes, his body flowing in a series of rapid, sharp attacks. His sword sliced through the air, each strike coming fast, calculated, a blur of motion.

  Kael was too far.

  The distance between them was too great, the attacks harmlessly swinging in the air. This was not him practising techniques in the square. This was real.

  Battle was not simply about technique or speed. It was about timing, about placement, about knowing exactly when and where to strike. Timing, he thought. Distance. The foundation of every true fighter’s skill. Not something read in a book.

  The Skara grinned at Kael’s attempts, mocking and taunting him.

  Kael, unfazed, took a deep breath and jumped. As far as he could. He could feel the space between him and his opponent shortening. His sword was raised high, and he came down with the full force of his weight behind it.

  Impact Drop.

  The sword cleaved downward in a vicious arc, aimed directly at the Skara’s skull, a strike meant to end the battle with one decisive blow. But the Skara was ready. With a swift, practiced movement, the creature raised its spine sword to meet Kael’s attack, the two blades locking with a violent clash.

  Kael stumbled back but the Skara was already countering. he spine sword came slashing at him in a series of strikes, each one faster than the last. Kael’s sword met each attack with a block, his muscles screaming from the effort as he pushed his body to its limits.

  The sword trembled in Kael's grip, his knuckles white as he swung it in the air with all the strength he could muster. The blows came fast, powerful, each one meeting the Skara’s spine-shaped blade with a harsh clang, but the creature was relentless.

  He could feel his inexperience in every strike. Each movement was too slow, too awkward. His body reacted without thought, each strike lacking the fluidity of a trained fighter.

  In the duel with Ryan, the swordsman, he had relied on strategy, on outwitting his opponent through taunts and tricks. This was different. The Skara was a creature of brutal violence and savagery. The tricks Kael had relied on before had no place here.

  But Kael refused to stop.

  Kael’s sword swung again, this time catching the edge of the Skara’s blade. But it was a weak blow, a desperate one. He felt it—the disconnect. The disjointedness of it all.

  But then—something changed.

  Combo. It was the word that had entered Kael’s mind without him fully realizing it.

  Kael’s hand tightened around the hilt of the sword, and for a brief, fleeting moment, everything clicked. There was a rhythm to it now, something Kael’s body had learned in the heat of battle.

  With a deep breath, Kael closed the distance between them, his feet shifting with purpose as he surged forward, his sword raised in a thrust. The tip of the blade came at the Skara like a spear, a direct, unrelenting force.

  Impact Thrust.

  The Skara was no fool. It saw it coming, and with a hiss, it swung its spine sword to deflect the blow, pushing Kael’s strike aside with ease.

  Kael didn’t pause. The moment the first strike was deflected, he exhaled sharply and followed up with another movement—quicker, faster, more fluid. Flurry of Strikes. The words came to him like a command, and his sword began to move in rapid succession, six strikes in quick, calculated fashion.

  The Skara’s spine sword whirled in the air, parrying each of Kael’s attacks with precision, its movements fluid, its stance unwavering.

  Kael pressed on. Without hesitation, he jumped, his body propelled by the momentum of the previous strikes. His sword arced downward with the full weight of his body, an attack that was meant to crush.

  Another Impact Drop. The technique came naturally now, the sword slashing down toward the Skara’s head.

  The Skara raised its spine sword again, the blade held horizontally in defense, just as Kael’s sword came down. The impact was brutal. The Skara’s sword clashed with Kael’s in a shower of sparks, the force of the blow sending shockwaves through the air.

  But Kael didn’t stop.

  As he landed, his body already shifting, he followed through with another set of strikes. His legs bent with the force of his landing, and before the Skara could recover, Kael was already in motion again.

  With a practiced fluidity, he swung his sword twice in quick succession, the strikes coming from opposite sides, aimed at the Skara’s flank.

  Double Slash. The cut was swift, precise, and with no room for the Skara to defend.

  The Skara’s spine sword was still raised high, the defense too rigid, too focused on blocking the earlier Impact Drop. It couldn’t react fast enough. The first slash caught the Skara’s side, the blade cutting through its scales with a deep, resounding crack. The second came faster, sharper, and with one fluid motion, Kael’s sword cleaved through the Skara’s torso.

  The creature let out a guttural hiss, its eyes widening in shock as its body split in half, the pieces falling to the ground with a sickening thud. The green blood spilled from the wound, hissing against the searing heat of the flames that surrounded them.

  The sound of clapping filled the air, a sharp, echoing crackle that reverberated through the flames. His eyes flicked to Xalgrymos who remained seated on his infernal throne, the chains around his arms rattling slightly with each movement.

  "Impressive," Xalgrymos rumbled. "You have proven yourself worthy. And for that, Kael, you shall be rewarded."

  Kael stood firm, his breath slowing, the adrenaline of the battle still tingling in his veins.

  "You will use this power wisely," Xalgrymos said. "The more kills you get with demons, the more knowledge and understanding of them will become available to you. Their secrets, their lore, all of it will be within your reach, if you choose to pursue it."

  Another snap of Xalgrymos’s fingers shattered the air, and Kael felt the familiar pull. A tug on the fabric of reality itself, as though he was stretching and distorting. The infernal domain seemed to blur as though they were made of light, the edges fading like a mirage.

  And then, just as quickly, the pull was gone.

  Kael blinked. His surroundings had changed, the fiery domain replaced by the familiar blue walls of lights.

  He was back. Back in his own square.

  He looked down at the spellbook that had appeared in his lap as he found himself leaning against the Arcane Anvil, the familiar dampness of his square’s mossy ground beneath him.

  Kael’s hand moved instinctively to the book in his lap, his fingers brushing over the cover. The runes etched into the surface felt different now. He could read them. He could understand them.

  He had unlocked something. A new language, an ancient tongue, the language of demons—Infernal.

  Kael’s mind raced as the letters on the cover came into focus. He read them aloud under his breath, the syllables foreign yet strangely familiar.

  Demonomicon.

  ******

  Square: Unknown

  Master: Kael

  Difficulty: Bronze

  Conclave: None

  Treasure: 1692 Gold

  Residents: 4 Ice Slimes Lvl 1

  6 Green Slimes Lvl 1

  2 Green Slimes Lvl 2

  1 Green Slime Lvl 3

  24 Will-o-wisp Lvl 1

  1 Steel Golem (Strength Specialization) Lvl 3

  1 Steel Golem (Complexity Specialization) Lvl 3

  Kills: 12