Berreta walked ahead, leading the way. Around them, countless Sidhe lined the paths of the corridor...silent, watchful, overwhelming in number.
Kifril glanced around, his expression quietly perplexed.
"Since when did their numbers grow this absurd?"
The last time he visited, there had been nowhere near this many.
Curious, he started a conversation with Berreta.
Beside him, the same small girl previously mentioned as the walked in silence, holding the edge of his cape as they moved, her ears perked attentively as she listened.
"Tell me, Lady Berreta."
Kifril asked, tone casual but probing.
"How has life been... under new rule?"
Berreta didn’t slow her pace.
"Despite surrendering to His Majesty, he has been mostly reasonable. Cruel when cruelty is necessary, yes... but even then, never without reason."
She paused, then added.
"So far, he has been a good king. He has improved this kingdom in many ways, faster than I expected."
Kifril let out a quiet hum, a slight smirk on his lips as he said.
"Hmmm... Is that so? How interesting."
As they continued walking, Kifril began to notice something odd.
He had been subtly memorizing the route from the Arena to the throne room, a habit born from centuries of navigating enemy territories during political meetings between monsters.
But something felt... off. With every step, the corridors seemed to shift. The walls moved, the ceiling warped slightly, and the turns didn’t quite line up with where they had just been.
It didn’t take him long to realize that the castle itself was warping around them.
Sometimes, they were only a few meters from the Arena. Other times, several miles away in an instant. The geometry of the place was fluid, non-Euclidean, as if space and distance were suggestions rather than rules.
A living maze, he thought, his eyes narrowing as he began to ponder deeper about it.
Worse, the corridor was moving, twisting itself like a massive clockwork mechanism. Yet none of the others around him seemed to notice.
That was when a small tug at his cape broke his concentration.
His Mistress once again clutched the hem of his garment tightly, her voice a silent whisper as she looked around with wide, uncertain eyes.
"M-My knight... was this place always ?"
Kifril didn’t answer right away.
He finally replied, his voice low and calm.
"Under Alustus, portals were usually used so we can make our way to the throne room. We have never had to walk through twisting halls like these."
His eyes sharpened as he glanced at the ever-shifting architecture.
"But this king... He is indeed different. He is not giving us the instantaneous treatment."
There was a thoughtful pause.
"Rather he is choosing to shift the entire structure, whether as a display of power or something else, I don’t yet know. But one thing’s clear...
"This new king is far might be very cunning."
But setting aside the shifting corridors and their bizarre geometry, the group eventually arrived at a towering, ornate set of double doors, the entrance to the Throne Room.
Berreta came to a halt just before it. With a graceful pivot, she turned to face the group behind her, her expression sharp and serious.
"We’ve arrived. But before we proceed, let me offer a warning."
Her charming but cold eyes locked onto Kifril’s.
"Lord Kifril, I strongly advise that you keep your subordinates in line. Unless you want another one of them to vanish like the last."
Kifril chuckled lightly at the remark, a playful yet cold glint in his eye. He turned to face his group, his smile fading into something sharper, more commanding.
"Of course. My men are well-behaved... right?"
The air grew tense as he swept his gaze across the vampires. That look in his eyes, icy, and unblinking, was enough to make several of them flinch. One by one, they responded with clear deference.
"O-Of course, my Lord."
"We live to serve. We are not that fool."
"Your command is law, my Lord. We shall not overstep our bounds."
Each response varied in tone, but the message was unified and clear: they would not be making the same mistake.
Kifril smirked and turned back toward Berreta.
"Well then... there you have it."
She gave a curt nod, then without another word, pushed open the great doors.
And that was when it hit them.
A monstrous surge of power spilled forth from within the throne room like a crashing wave of pressure. The sheer density of energy was suffocating, raw, primal, and oppressive. Both Kifril and the Mistress stared ahead, not out of fear, but with wide eyes and stunned silence.
It was the Monster Energy of the reigning King of the Sidhe. And it was unlike anything they had felt before coming from a place atleast.
The lesser vampires, however, weren’t so fortunate. As the wave of power swept over them, several dropped to their knees on instinct. Others buckled where they stood, overwhelmed by the sheer gravity of his presence. It felt like they were standing in front of a True Vampire, no, perhaps something even greater. A being on the level of a Family Founder or higher.
"W-What the hell is this?"
One of the servants gasped, her legs giving out as she collapsed.
Another gritted his teeth, voice trembling.
"I-I can’t move... Is this really the King’s power?"
Kifril and the Mistress remained largely unaffected, though even they could feel the gap, a pressure that made Alustus, the former king, feel like a shadow in comparison.
This was a different breed of monster entirely.
There was no doubt about it now. Feeling this kind of power so directly, so perversely, only served to confirm what Kifril had long suspected.
"So... it wasn’t just a wild hunch after all."
He muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing.
"Someone from that family must’ve taken over this place."
His expression darkened as he pieced it together, though the pieces didn’t quite fit.
"But the Shinso Family is an all-female bloodline... or at least, that is how it’s always been. So what the hell is going on here? Unless...
His voice trailed off.
"Unless a new member joined recently... A non-female."
The truth remained elusive, cloaked in mystery. And yet, a single fact had become unmistakably clear, this power wasn’t normal.
But whatever the truth was, it wouldn’t reveal itself until they stepped fully through the door.
Kifril and the Mistress crossed the threshold with calm composure, but the vampires following behind struggled. The crushing pressure of the throne room clung to their bodies crushing them as they go along.
Yet despite the strain, they fought through it. Gritting their teeth, trembling, some even crawling, but inch by inch, they pressed forward.
Because no one wanted to be left behind.
And mostly because Krifil would kill them if they become ineffective in their duties.
"Now then let see who this really is."
Adam sat upon his throne, his eyes closed, his presence still yet impossibly heavy. The chamber around him pulsed faintly with a new power he was using.
To increase his presence he was using a Monster Energy technique called basically flaring up your Monster Energy to intimidate and show your power.
If use wrongly it can kill or straight up erase a person matter and soul from existence.
But that was not the only thing he was doing.
Even as he sat, unmoving, Adam was not idle.
Not through conventional means, of course. His awareness flowed seamlessly through the walls and halls of the Castle, like an extension of his will. The very geometry of the structure had bent to his authority, acting as his eyes and ears despite lacking either. Every corridor, every shifting pathway, was alive with his consciousness.
Before greeting these high-ranking vampires, Adam intended to get a better measure of them. Observation first...always. A King did not waste time on unknown variables.
His body remained on the throne, but his senses moved like a phantom, through the Castle like a living concepts, through the very eyes of the Sidhe that roamed these halls.
And through it all, he gathered intel.
Though Adam’s powers were, on paper, limited to what the Box of Worth had granted him, the truth was far stranger. The Box didn’t just hand out skill and fate, it twisted the laws of reality, especially time, in a way the box was above the Law of time and Fate.
That’s what happens when you’re devoured by the Box.
Alustus wasn’t simply killed. He was outright deleted.
Erased from the linear timeline of the universe body, soul, mind, and concept, so thoroughly that he no longer existed in the physical world. Yet paradoxically, history still remembered him. The battles he fought, the throne he claimed, the damage he did, none of that vanished as far as the world can tell or distinguish.
How? Because the Box didn’t remove him from time in a straight line.
Instead, it folded his existence inward, relocating it to a sealed locus, (Point B) which existed inside the Box itself. From the outside, it was as if he had never existed. But within the Box, his entire being was still suspended, like data in an encrypted file, readable only by its new owner.
And that owner was Adam.
Because of that, the paths Alustus could’ve walked, all the powers he would have unlocked during his life journey from antiquity to omega, the Box made them accessible to Adam. Not as predictions, but as inherited potential. Even future abilities Alustus would have earned were now grafted onto Adam’s soul like a parasite rewriting its host.
The Box did not only give him power. It devoured possibility itself, and gave Adam the right to claim all of it.
One such ability was a lore ability called .
A grotesque skill, yes, but effective. And now it was his.
A pained, wet gag echoed below him.
A vampire it would seem, and a familiar one at that had knelt broken at the foot of the throne. The very same fool who had dared to insult this kingdom mere minutes ago.
Adam’s right arm had twisted into something nightmarish, a tangled mass of black, slimy tentacles, each sprouting vivid crimson eyes that blinked erratically. The tendrils had already forced their way into the vampire’s body, through his eyes, his ears, his nose, even the pores of his skin and the follicles of his scalp.
The man could no longer scream. His throat was clogged with thick mucus, blood, bile, and tendrils.
His body twitched and jerked violently, each motion punctuated by a muffled cry of anguish. His face contorted, more fluid than expression now dripping with tears, saliva, vomit, and snot.
And still, the tendrils burrowed deeper and deeper.
They were feasting, consuming the man’s brain slowly and deliberately, extracting memories, knowledge, secrets.
From atop his throne, Adam absorbed everything mentally from this undead meat-bag.
He saw the vampire’s life laid bare, his past, his loyalties, his sins, his ambitions. Every truth and lie he has said, every action, every emotion, every thought and memories, and every oath, and every betrayal he has committed and and experience.
Nothing was hidden from him.
And when it was done, Adam opened his eyes, glowing menacingly.
Now he knew everything he needed, well everything that matters about this Krifil guy.