To find Maru, Diego only had to look in one place. He knew his rival would be at his castle, but as he surveyed the scene he and his officials were causing, he hesitated. To avoid drawing unwanted eyes and to give his war party a reprieve, he decided on a pit stop.
Soul beings weren't known for needing rest—they could work for months without pause, a fact their masters rarely hesitated to exploit. Ordinarily, Diego wouldn't have thought twice about bringing his battle-worn entourage to Maru's doorstep. But he wasn't looking for a siege today, and he had no desire to return to the city only to be forced into a fight. So he gave the order to disband.
The relief on his officials' faces was immediate. As the soul beings exchanged curious glances and clattered amongst themselves, a lone skeleton knight broke rank. With rattling bones and weary steps, he hurried after Diego's retreating figure. Reaching out with shaking, bony hands, he rasped,
[What are... your... orders... M-master?]
Diego glanced back, startled by the touch, his gaze distant and hollow. He looked forward again and answered absentmindedly,
[Go and rest.]
Immediately, the soul being tailing Diego confirmed the words spoken by his master, and a wave of shock, relief, and gratefulness filled his skeletal face. They had been journeying non‑stop from outside the city to another planet, a relentless march that tested even their unnatural endurance. Although he and the other soul beings would gratefully obey any command their master assigned, the skeleton knight felt that what he was asked to do this time was far too much. Yet he and his comrades silently clasped their jaws, suppressing complaint, and executed every task with grim precision, even as the mental toll weighed heavily upon them. The journey they had endured was no ordinary passage; though the ride to another planet was relatively smooth, the moment they arrived on the base level of the world, the experiences became harrowing and shocking, a constant reminder that their demise was never far away. The planet—the supposed homeland their master had prepared them for—was nothing more than a death trap. Its very air could kill any living being, and even for creatures classified as the living dead, it was equally disastrous. The skeleton knight did not know how many times he had absorbed the corrosive cursed energy to rebuild his body, nor how often he feared the curse would tear him apart completely. Yet the events that followed proved to be more harrowing, more catastrophic, than anything he had ever dreamed possible, a nightmare unfolding in silence across the cursed land.
As if the ancient curse withering the land wasn't enough, they were suddenly confronted by a mysterious, sinister foe—one both formidable and intangible: a wraith. Although these soul beings knew better than to trust one another, remaining cautious strangers in a dying world, the wraith's sudden assault struck like a physical blow. A wave of disbelief washed over the gathered crowd; they failed to grasp the gravity of the situation until the air turned cold and the first strike landed. Within the chaos, a haunting question echoed: how could a member of the same spectral lineage attack his own kind? Especially now, as they all stood stranded, grasping loosely at the threshold of survival, why would he choose to hunt rather than help?
However, the true dread dawned when their seasoned leader began to struggle against the intangible horror. Their hopes had briefly soared when he employed an ancient, forbidden fighting method to contain the entity, lashing it with ethereal cords. As he began to absorb the chaotic essence leaking from the bound wraith, the tide seemed to turn—only for their spirits to plummet. Like a dark phoenix rising from the ashes, the wraith shattered its shackles, fueled by the wearing posture displayed from their master due to him draining the energy from within their master during the struggle. Though they were eventually saved by an unexpected "friend" of their leader, the psychological damage—the sheer weight of facing such a formidable adversary and the crushing realization of their own fragility—had already taken its toll.
So, with a heavy gaze, a lost expression, and a somber weariness nestled deep within his marrow, the skeleton knight retreated to his quarters. The silence of the halls offered a grim sanctuary; he and the rest of Diego's exhausted officials had earned this bitter, hollow rest.
Diego finally reached the castle of Maru of the Ritvegda. He pushed the heavy gates open as if no defenses were in place, strolling through the threshold with the casual confidence of a man entering his own home. A few of the castle's dormant defense systems hummed to life, pulsing with lethal intent, but Diego brushed past the whirring machinery like they were nothing more than bothersome cobwebs. As he entered the inner courtyard, the corridor leading to the throne room, several sand golems materialized from the dust, their grainy forms shifting to block his path. Diego simply wove his dark hands into blades of pure purple energy, slicing through the hexes and ancient binds holding the constructs together. Seconds later, the sand collapsed, returning to the earth as if it had never existed.
Next came the rock golems—smaller, perhaps, but far more dangerous. Though they appeared crude, their sheer numbers and the momentum of a coordinated stampede were designed to pulverize any intruder. To bolster their threat, ancient runes etched into their stone hides began to glow, siphoning energy from the very atmosphere to magnify the force of their limbs. Despite the encroaching swarm and their mysterious, power-absorbing abilities, Diego maintained a bleak, uninterested expression, his eyes reflecting a profound boredom.
The swarm lunged. Even as the stampede clashed against him with the weight of a falling mountain, Diego's pace never wavered. He bore the damage head-on, moving through the crushing wave of stone like a ghost through a storm. The rock golems, driven by a primal, magical directive, refused to yield. They attacked in escalating waves: first one by one, then in groups of ten, only to be shattered before they could even graze his suit.
Sensing his indomitable will, the golems seemed to shake with a programmed fear, yet they stood again with grim determination. They surged forward a hundred at a time, and for a fleeting moment, Diego was a mere 0.0001 seconds slower in dismantling them. Emboldened by this perceived weakness, they unleashed a thousand golems per second, a relentless cycle of slamming granite and crushing force. Yet, Diego simply waved his hand, and thousands fell into oblivion, disintegrating into fine silt. Under the overwhelming power of a single apprentice soul vampire, their numbers dwindled from thousands to hundreds and from hundreds to tens, until, with a final, dismissive flick of his wrist, the last golem vanished into nothingness.
Diego stopped for a moment to survey the mess the golems had made of his black suit. He fastidiously dusted the mud from his lapels and straightened his cuffs, his movements precise and cold. With his attire restored to a semblance of order, he pressed forward; however, before he could leave the inner courtyard, he would have to face one final, towering boss that stood between him and the throne.