Chapter Title Part 1: Chains Beneath the Throne
⸻
The first sound was a hiss.
Long. Deep. Layered with something almost melodic beneath the menace.
It echoed inside a vast subterranean chamber—an underground cave forged from jagged black stone. Moisture clung to the ceiling in trembling droplets, dripping every few moments with the sound of falling coins. The space was massive, stretching wider than a cathedral, but it wasn't empty.
It was filled with pillars.
Thirty-six of them, carved from obsidian and scarred with ancient glyphs. Each one rose from the cracked floor like a forgotten god's spine. Around every pillar: chains. They twisted like veins, black metal pulsing faintly with forbidden energy.
And at the center of it all—in the deepest ring of those chained monoliths—something moved.
A silhouette in the shadows. Chained.
The air around it distorted slightly. Not from heat. But pressure.
Heavy. Tense. Silent.
Below, on the cave's second tier, footsteps clicked against polished black stone. A shimmer of golden scales slithered ahead—long, fluid, and elegant.
Princess Egle descended with slow, measured grace. Her gown shimmered in the torchlight, each fold sewn with threads of gold and venom. Behind her moved her companion—Saharan, the golden-colored snake, its body longer than most dragons, its eyes burning with quiet cruelty.
They reached the throne chamber below.
There, seated in eerie stillness, was Lord Arcade.
The throne wasn't grand. It was crude—sculpted from a single block of black marble—but its presence bent the air around it. Lord Arcade sat cross-legged, one elbow propped on the throne's arm, his fingers curled against his cheek. His eyes were open—but they did not see the room.
They saw beyond.
Above. Outward. Across the world.
He watched Greenland.
Every movement of every warrior—every soul of his that where blessed shifting position, taking breath, striking or retreating—played out in perfect clarity in his mind's eye.
Princess Egle stopped ten paces from the throne.
She bowed, low and elegant. Saharan coiled beside her, fangs exposed even in rest.
"My Lord…" she said, voice velvet and poison. "When shall my pet feed?"
There was a pause.
Lord Arcade's eyes twitched, barely acknowledging the voice in the room.
His fingers shifted.
Then, slowly, his gaze returned.
"Things… are not going well for us."
His voice echoed slightly. A layered resonance. Half in this world, half in another.
"You will go to Greenland. Join Warlord Shiva there."
Princess Egle rose slowly from her kneel, her golden pupils shimmering. "You need not worry," she said, her voice layered with something almost maternal. "I will turn the tide in our favor."
Lord Arcade gave a small nod. "I expect nothing less from you."
Then he tilted his head.
"How was your raid?"
Egle smiled faintly. "Successful."
"Very well, then," Arcade said. "Begone."
Saharan let out a long hiss. Egle's body flickered. Her outline twisted, like heat waves dancing across the surface of a blade. She and her snake blinked once—then vanished.
Silence returned to the chamber.
Lord Arcade stared at the far wall for a moment longer, then spoke again—this time to no one in particular.
"This name… Sakamoto…"
His fingers drummed the armrest.
"Ichabod Remains . Interesting."
The wind at the edge of Antarctica whispered like something trying not to be overheard.
Draven still sat on the stone, his eyes half-lidded, gazing down at his open palm. The red lightning had faded now, leaving only faint echoes that shimmered briefly between his fingers.
He spoke without looking up.
"Kenzy… how's the treatment going?"
Kenzy exhaled, visibly slouched, both hands on his knees. The serpent-limbs had retracted, leaving Bjorn bandaged by layers of regenerative skin.
"I'm tired," he grumbled, contorting his face into an exaggerated grimace. "And grossed out."
Then his expression sharpened.
"But seriously? That guy…" He jerked his chin toward Bjorn. "He should be dead. I don't mean like maybe-he-makes-it dead. I mean clinically, no hope, call-the-priests dead. The kind of damage he took—most bodies would've liquefied."
As if hearing his own obituary, Bjorn twitched.
Then he coughed.
The sound was wet. Harsh. Violent.
Blood splattered from his mouth and spattered onto his chest, dark and sticky against pale skin. His fingers clenched slowly. Eyes fluttered open—clouded at first, then focused.
He blinked.
And then he saw Draven.
A weak, cracked laugh escaped his lips. "You came back…"
He chuckled once more, wheezing between coughs, and managed to raise his upper body an inch.
"Impressed you managed to escape my Mjolnir trap. That wasn't… an ordinary feat."
Draven stood from his stone seat slowly, brushing the dust off his cloak with a calm sweep. "That?" he muttered. "Wasn't a big deal for me."
Kenzy turned toward him, eyebrows raised. "Wow. No gratitude, Viking head?"
Bjorn groaned softly. "Don't bother. I'm already dead. There's nothing you can do to save me at this point."
His voice dipped into something almost peaceful. "But thank you… I've been holding on for your arrival, Draven."
Draven's eyes narrowed.
Gansu's gaze sharpened as well.
"…Why?" Draven asked, voice low.
Bjorn coughed once more, weaker this time. "Because… he asked me to."
Draven's pupils tightened. "Who?"
Bjorn coughed again, and this time, blood trailed down his chin.
"Your brother. Shiki."
Draven's expression darkened instantly.
Kenzy's eyes widened. "Shiki?!"
Even Gansu, usually stone-faced, blinked hard. "Shiki…?"
Kenzy pointed an accusing finger, half in disbelief. "Draven killed Shiki a long time ago. Are you seriously saying he asked you to wait here? What kind of dead-alive, back-from-the-pit story is this? You been sipping poisoned ice?"
Draven's jaw tensed.
His shadow stretched unnaturally across the snow.
"I don't intend to kill a dying man," he said slowly, "but for one who disrespects me…"
The air warped.
A violent Shen exploded outward from Draven's body—a storm of sheer presence and pressure that cracked the ice beneath his feet. Red lightning surged along his right arm like a chained beast uncoiling.
Kenzy backed away instantly, sweat breaking across his cheeks.
Gansu's hands clenched, knuckles tight.
Bjorn didn't flinch.
"You should calm down… and listen."
He wiped the blood from his mouth, eyes now crystal clear.
"Shiki is alive."
The red lightning that coated Draven's arm didn't vanish—but it steadied.
Bjorn's voice remained calm, like he was talking from beyond a great river. "The day you fought your brother… it wasn't him."
Draven didn't speak.
"Just a replication. A clone. A fraction of his will ."
Bjorn shifted his weight, wincing. "Shiki didn't want to fight you, Draven. Because if he had—he would've killed you at the beginning I mean at the get go"
The words struck hard. No force. Just truth.
"He wanted to test you. To see how far you'd grown. And maybe…" Bjorn's eyes drifted upward, clouding. "…to show you the truth about your family if you would listen"
The wind in Antarctica shifted—low and cold again. Draven's Shen aura pulsed once, then began to fade.
"During that fight, your brother wasn't even there. He was watching from a distance. His clone was doing all the work. He didn't lift a finger."
Kenzy's brows were still furrowed. "You're saying Shiki just—what? Let Draven beat a decoy?"
"He gave you a fake victory," Bjorn said softly. "He hoped it would stop you. End your revenge crusade. It didn't."
Shiki had made two gambles and one was the first thing I told you letting you own a victory and the second was different.
Gansu crossed his arms, his eyes unreadable. "That's a dangerous gamble."
Bjorn nodded once. "It was. But it wasn't the only one he made."
Draven stepped closer, the red lightning gone now, his voice quiet. "What do you mean?"
Bjorn looked up at him, eyes no longer blurred. "After you fought… information reached him. Lord Arcade had returned. Fully. The resurrection was complete."
He coughed again—blood leaking through clenched teeth.
"And you were no longer needed as a vessel,he knew the Ten had used you as a pawn"
The silence was sudden and complete.
"During our fight He let himself get captured. Voluntarily," Bjorn continued. "He infiltrated the Ten… to protect you. To find you and to stop them from ever using you again."
Draven didn't blink.
Bjorn laughed, but it came out hoarse. "He figured… someday… you'd come looking for him just incase you managed to leave the ten or survived the after effect of housing Arcade in you . So he left me here. To wait and let himself be captured"
Kenzy shook his head slowly. "Man. That's… that's insane. But who else would've trusted a Viking as a messenger?"
Bjorn smirked. "Apparently, your brother."
Draven stood perfectly still, his gaze lost somewhere between rage and realization.
No words.
No reaction.
Just the sound of distant wind sweeping across dead ice.
The cold hung heavier now, as if the truth had chilled the air further.
Kenzy finally broke the silence. "So, wait… who did this much damage to you? Who nearly turned you into frozen jerky?"
Bjorn's voice was low—flat with memory. "Princess Egle."
Both Kenzy and Gansu looked up sharply.
Bjorn's breath rasped. "The Mother of Snakes. One of Lord Arcade's warlords. Fought her for five days and five nights."
Gansu gave a slow nod. "I see."
Draven's voice was steady again. "So… my brother is with the Ten."
"Yes," Bjorn said. "And he still wants what's best for you."
Bjorn's eyes locked onto Draven. "He wants you to fight for the right side. To stop this war before it consumes everything."
Draven said nothing.
He turned his back to Bjorn.
"Let's go," he said flatly. "Our work here is done."
Gansu stepped forward, his boots crunching ice. "What do we do about him?" He tilted his head toward Bjorn.
Draven didn't turn. "He's done for. Poisoned. Vital points destroyed. Hanging between life and death in a void."
He paused.
"Whoever that princess is… she's dangerously strong."
Kenzy shrugged. "Oh well. The boss says we go, we go." He turned to Bjorn. "What's your name, Viking ghost?"
Bjorn smirked, blood on his teeth. "You've got your own crew, huh? You're no different from him."
He looked past Kenzy at Draven. "Call me Bjorn."
Kenzy nodded. "Fair enough."
As they turned to leave, Bjorn croaked, "Hey. Dra-head."
They stopped.
The warhammer on the ground beside him—sleek and brutal with a rectangular head—lifted slightly, as if tugged by invisible strings.
It floated.
Then dropped at Draven's feet with a solid, echoing thud.
"That right there," Bjorn rasped, "is Mjolnir. A weapon. A tool. You'll need it."
Draven stared at it.
"Make a contract," Bjorn said. "Now. Before I vanish for good."
Gansu stepped beside him. "He's fought that princess. You're going to need everything you've got to defeat her if we get to come across her."
Draven reached down and gripped the handle.
Instantly, iron spikes shot out from the hammer's grip—piercing into his palm, burrowing into his skin.
Blood ran down.
The hammer pulsed once—deep and resonant, like a sleeping giant exhaling.
Bjorn's final breath came with a whisper no one could hear.
Then—
"Transfer Seal completed."
Mjolnir glowed faintly red. Draven lifted it easily over one shoulder.
And without another word, they started walking.
Toward Greenland.
The winds over Greenland were different.
Sharper. Harsher. The battlefield was alive with tremors echoes of distant clashes, flashes of power strobing across the skies. The war wasn't just coming; it was already here.
Sakamoto's boots hit the cracked stone, and in a blink, he leaped again one motion, one breath. Beside him, Sir Caelum moved with mechanical precision, sword still sheathed, legs fluid like liquid metal.
Together they surged upward, closing in on the front.
Then the light vanished.
No thunder.
No build-up.
Just darkness—instant and absolute—as though the sun had been swallowed.
Both men froze mid-air.
Something moved.
There was no time to track it—no warning, no flash.
Just sound.
A slicing whip through air—
Then a wet, final snap.
A golden blur slithered past.
And Sir Caelum's head—
Was Gone.
His body landed hard, limp and empty, while his severed head hung inside Saharan's massive jaws. The snake's golden scales glinted with blood as it coiled with haunting grace.
From the darkness, she emerged.
Princess Egle.
She walked forward, unhurried. Elegant. Regal. Her gown didn't drag; it slithered.
Saharan's body twisted behind her, swallowing the last of Caelum's head with a sickening gulp.
Sakamoto dropped to the ground in stunned silence.
His eyes locked on the warlord before him.
His fingers twitched.
His face was unreadable—but the silence around him screamed.
The air tightened like it had been soaked in venom.
Princess Egle smiled faintly.
"You dropped something."