Chapter 11: A King Too Weak to Rule
While Gajeel learned of a certain shinobi clan in the waking world, Albion drifted elsewhere—far from the flooded corridors and clashing magic of Phantom Lord.
He floated endlessly.
The space around him resembled water, yet it felt entirely wrong. It moved like a heavy current and pressed against his skin with the crushing weight of a deep sea, but its color was an absolute, suffocating black. It was an ocean without a horizon, sky, or sign of life.
Yet, inexplicably, he could breathe.
"Is this the end for me?" Albion murmured.
His voice sounded small, swallowed almost immediately by the silent, predatory sea. He wasn't speaking to anyone. He was simply letting his thoughts drift alongside the current.
"When that other me started bad-mouthing Mother..." His brow tightened, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes. "Why did I react like that?"
The memory surfaced with terrifying clarity—the sudden, blinding surge of anger, the desperate need to win, the instinct to crush the opponent standing in front of him, even if that opponent shared his exact face.
"The way I acted..." Albion muttered, his fingers twitching in the dark water. "It was the same way Gajeel acts."
He recalled the Iron Dragon Slayer's certainty.
"«I fight for the love of the game. Live for yourself. Your pleasures. Your hates. That's all that's real.»"
Albion slowly exhaled, a small trail of bubbles rising from his lips. "If I'm being honest... I admire him," he admitted quietly to the void. "Not just for his strength, but for his mindset. He knows exactly who he is."
More words surfaced from the dark depths.
"«Good. Use that anger. When someone gives in to their rage... that's when they're truly strongest. Compassion has no place in this world»"
Albion lowered his eyes. "Maybe that's how he survives," he whispered. "But that isn't who I am."
Slowly, he stopped drifting. His body tilted until his feet touched an unseen floor. Rising upright, he stood firmly within the abyss.
"Why don't I like fighting?" he asked in the empty space. "There was a reason... wasn't there?"
Before he could search his fractured mind for the answer, a cold, sharp voice cut through his consciousness. "«Look at you. Sometimes I wonder if we're even related by blood.»"
"«Now you're useless. Completely, utterly useless!»"
Albion stiffened, the words hitting him like a physical blow.
"«The only reason you ever mattered... The only reason I kept you alive... It was because I could sell you.»"
His breath hitched. His hands instinctively rose to his neck, his fingernails digging hard into his skin, dragging thin red lines across his throat. He scratched harder, his breathing shallow.
"Why did I get so angry...?" he whispered through gritted teeth, his frame trembling. "Why did I defend someone like her...?"
The irritation in his voice bled into something hollow.
"She sold me. She cursed me from the moment she adopted me."
The scenery of his mind shifted violently.
He remembered being exhausted, collapsed on all fours in a cold room, trying to make his small frame as insignificant as possible. He had been staring at the floor, sweat dripping onto stone. Standing directly in front of him, looming like an immovable shadow, was his mother.
Her right hand was clenched into an unyielding fist."That's right." Albion's eyes darkened. "How could I forget?"
He remembered the exact way she had looked down at him—not with explosive anger, but with something far worse: pure, cold disappointment. "I was a failure who could never meet her expectations."
Even after years of ceaseless training and endless physical punishment. "To her, I wasn't a son," he said softly, his voice stripped of all warmth. "I was just a tool."
A weapon meant to be sharpened, and discarded the moment it cracked. Ironically, that brutal upbringing had granted him something extraordinary—a lethal instinct for combat. Others called it "talent." But that talent meant nothing in the world he currently inhabited.
Because here, magic stood above everything else.
Reaching upward, Albion slowly rose from the depths. The moment his head broke the surface, he stepped onto the liquid, his feet pressing against it as if it were solid ground. Faint, concentric ripples spread out beneath his boots.
Using the strange surface to steady his frame, he stood upright.
"This place doesn't make sense," he muttered, his voice echoing across the expanse. "How can the surface be solid like ground... yet still behave like water?"
He looked toward the horizon. The endless sea of pitch-black liquid stretched in every direction. No land. No sky. Just the silent ocean.
"What is this place?" he wondered aloud. "Maybe it's just a dream..."
It felt logical enough to cling to. If this were a dream, it would explain why he had appeared here the moment he lost consciousness.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze toward the sky. A massive, hollow sphere floated high above the abyss. Its outer shell was a pure, blinding white—so intensely pale it hurt to look at directly. The center was completely empty, forming a circular void of nothingness.
Yet despite its unnatural structure, it remained the sole source of light in this dark world.
Encircling exactly one half of the hollow sun was a white Eastern dragon, its long body coiling through the air in a slow, eternal orbit.
The other half of the sun's path was not empty. Something shifted in the shadows. There was no defined shape or outline, yet its presence was heavy, unmistakable, and deeply predatory.
"Assuming this place is a dream... what does any of this mean?" Albion murmured, his mind attempting to process the environment. "The black water... the white dragon... the void."
He studied the serpent as it continued its rhythmic loop around the white shell.
"The Eastern dragon likely represents order... or harmony," Albion reasoned softly. "But what about the dark side? Why does the dragon only circle half of the sun's path?"
His gaze shifted to the empty arc the dragon never touched. "Maybe the unseen half represents an unknown presence." He let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. "I have no way of proving that."
He looked back and forth between the dragon, the sun, and the water. Then, he brought both hands up and sharply slapped his cheeks.
"The black water, the hollow sun, and the dragon..." he realized aloud. "None of them are being governed by a ruler. They exist independently of one another—like different forces of nature."
A shiver ran down his spine.
"Ruler...?" Albion muttered. "Why does that sound familiar...?"
A sharp shard of memory sliced through his mind. "«Hey there, King.»"
"That's right," Albion said quietly, his pupils shrinking. "That other me... he called me a King."
His gaze lowered to the glossy surface beneath his feet, where his pale reflection stared back through the black water. "Does a King just mean the sole ruler of this place? Or... if this place really is a dream..."
His thoughts ground to a halt as a darker theory struck him.
"If this place is a dream... Why haven't I woken up yet? What if there are two Kings? What if two distinct consciousnesses in this world are capable of claiming the throne? And if two entities are trying to rule..."
Albion's breath hitched. "Then either one could drag the other down into the dark."
A silence settled over the sea.
"You really are smart." The voice materialized directly behind his left shoulder.
Albion's entire body froze.
"To figure out so much... after only witnessing this world a single time."
A slender figure stepped out from the shadows behind him, lazily coming to a halt at his side. White looked out over the black ocean, his demeanor calm, composed, and lethal.
"King," White said softly.
The moment Albion spun around, White moved. Both of them clashed in the exact same second.
A sharp, echoing crack rang through the empty world. Albion violently leaped backward, his feet skidding across the surface of the black water, leaving heavy ripples in his wake.
White barely had time to reset his posture before a sharp pain shot up his left arm. "My hand." His crimson eyes lowered to his wrist. It was bending at an unnatural angle. "He dislocated it."
Without flinching, White grabbed his fractured hand with his right fingers and twisted it back into place.
POP.
The bone slid back with a dull snap.
In that single moment of contact, White had attempted a decisive strike. But Albion's combat instincts had reacted instantly—slipping past the blow, driving his palm into White's wrist to shatter his alignment, and using the momentum to jump back.
White flexed his fingers, a cold curiosity washing over him. 'Interesting.'
Meanwhile, Albion took another defensive step back, his muscles coiled like a spring. 'Where did he come from?!'
His thoughts immediately shifted toward survival.
'I can't win. I'm not like Gajeel.'
His mind flashed back to their fight in the guild—how overwhelming the Iron Dragon Slayer had been, how easily his defenses had been dismantled.
'Am I going to lose again...?'
Without realizing it, Albion's fingers drifted back to his throat. He began scratching at his skin, thin lines forming under his nails.
'Lose...'
"Look at you." White's voice materialized right beside his ear. "Getting completely lost in your own thoughts."
Before Albion could pivot, White's hand shot forward like a striking viper. He grabbed Albion by the throat, lifting him into the air, and drove him straight down into the surface of the water.
A wave of force knocked the air from Albion's lungs.
"GHK—!" He gasped violently for air, his vision swimming. Before he could recover, White planted his foot firmly against the center of Albion's chest, pinning him to the floor.
"Only one King can exist at a time," White explained calmly. "This place is your Inner World." He gestured lazily toward the vast black sea. "Within it, there are two beings capable of claiming the title. Despite how it feels, this isn't a prison."
His red eyes shifted back down to Albion.
"Either one of us can pull the other into this domain whenever we choose. When that happens, the physical body on the outside becomes still."
He paused, watching Albion's eyes. "The throne is never permanent. It can change hands at any second."
White tilted his head upward toward the hollow sun and the white dragon.
"This realm is the direct manifestation of your psyche. Your consciousness, your memories... your emotions. Everything that exists here is a reflection of something inside you." His smile sharpened. "As you grow... so do I. It isn't a matter of who is fundamentally stronger. It's simply a question of who proves more worthy of becoming King."
White's tone dropped. "But don't get it twisted."
He threw his head back, letting out a short, harsh laugh that carried no joy. When he lowered his gaze again, his red eyes locked into Albion's.
"Once I officially become King... that woman will be the very first person I hunt down. Because unlike you... my heart won't waver. I'll make her pay for what she did."
"Please... stop..." Albion's hands shot to his neck, his fingers scratching frantically. His voice trembled. "You don't understand..."
"I understand perfectly!" White snapped, his calm demeanor twisting into sharp venom. "The way you are right now... you're far too weak to keep holding the title of King. You're a half-baked, naïve little puppet who doesn't even know how to think for himself!"
White's foot shifted, pressing heavily against Albion's throat to cut off his airway.."A puppet that only knows how to live for other people," White hissed. "I refuse to play servant to a weak King. Hesitation like yours will get us both killed."
Albion's eyes widened, tears pooling at the corners before spilling over. His face twisted as he struggled beneath the boot.
"This... this isn't supposed to happen..." A cold, familiar voice echoed from the dark corners of his memory.
"«Albion... It symbolizes purity and innocence. How beautifully ironic. A name so clean... forced into a life of absolute violence. I like that contrast.»"
White lifted his gaze away from Albion, staring out into the empty expanse. Following his line of sight, Albion forced himself to look as well.
"Memories that manifest within this realm behave like physical structures," White said quietly.
Right before their eyes, the black water stirred, rising and shaping itself. Within seconds, the rigid silhouette of a laboratory materialized from the liquid.
"You were raised inside a facility," White narrated smoothly. "You never learned how you arrived there, or why you were brought to such a sterile place. For as long as you could remember, those cold white halls were the only world you knew."
White looked out at the structure. "Those scientists studied you. Tested you day in and day out."
"H-how do you know about that...?" Albion choked out from beneath the boot.
"I am you," White replied flatly. He flicked his wrist, and the liquid walls shifted into the distinct figures of several faceless scientists.
"They did it willingly," White continued. "You had no friends. No family. That laboratory was your entire universe, Albion. And within those walls, you slowly developed a fragile sense of self. You were monitored. Experimented on.
They stared at you through glass for hours. They were searching for something sleeping inside you."
White paused. "Back then... you were nothing but a child. Then, one day, everything changed. The laboratory was attacked."
Albion's nails dug deeper into his throat, breaking the skin. Thin streaks of blood ran down his neck, staining the black water.
"You never learned why they came," White said. "There were three of them—two boys and a single girl. One of the boys wore clothing that reminded your childish mind of a ninja. The three of them defeated the facility's security with ease."
White's red eyes narrowed. "But then... the girl betrayed them. Without hesitation, she turned on her allies and killed them where they stood."
Albion's breathing grew heavy.
"After that, she approached your containment unit," White said softly. "She looked down at the child trapped inside. And then, she gave you a name. Albion."
He looked back down at the boy beneath his heel.
"From that moment forward, that woman became the person you called Mother. You had never known love or human kindness. So the very first person who acknowledged your existence became your entire world. That alone was enough for you. It was the sole reason you devoted your life to her."
White waved his hand, and the laboratory dissolved into mist.
"It's ironic when you think about it," White said, lowering his face until it was inches from Albion's. "All that talk about the value of life... about protecting people... was just your cowardly attempt to protect yourself from reality."
He pulled his foot away from Albion's throat and stepped back, letting out a short, dry breath.
"And that wasn't even the worst part."
The black water behind him churned, and another figure of Albion rose from the depths—a manifestation of his memory from the fight with Gajeel.
The imitation spoke in Albion's desperate, raw voice.
"«I can feel what others feel. But being human... taught me something much deeper.»"
"«What my mother gave me wasn't real love... I just desperately wanted to believe it was. I'm so lonely... and I don't want to be alone anymore.»"
"«I want to matter. I want to be needed. I want to know it's okay for someone like me to exist!»"
White flicked his hand, and that memory collapsed back into the sea, replaced by a new one set inside a quiet library.
"«So I guess... I just wanted to know if it's alright for me to keep living…»"
White's laughter cut through the quiet, shattering the memory with another wave of his arm.
"You were cursed by those scientists," White declared, his tone turning razor-sharp. "And you were cursed by the person you claimed to love most in this world!"
He stepped closer. "YOU are the true curse of humanity, Albion Ebonveil!"
Albion's shoulders trembled violently. At first, no sound escaped his throat.
"Hhh... hic...! Nnngh...!" Ragged sobs forced their way out of his chest. He lifted his head and slammed his forehead forward into the solid black surface beneath him.
Heavy ripples tore across the dark water as a memory echoed through his mind.
"«If you had never existed... maybe I could have actually become something. Maybe my life wouldn't have completely rotted away like this!»"
"Ahh... hh...! Hic...!" Albion slammed his head down again.
"«I curse the day you were born!»"
"«You should have never been brought into this world at all!»"
Albion stopped moving. Slowly, agonizingly, he lifted his bruised head. His fingers dug into his scalp, dragging through his hair. Tears streamed down his face, but a wide, unstable smile stretched across his lips.
"I can't handle it anymore..." Albion whispered, his breath shaking. "My mind... it's tearing apart."
"I want it all to go away. I want everything to just end."
White's smile vanished. The playful cruelty evaporated from his features, replaced by a quiet, intense focus.
"If being the King is too much for your fragile mind to bear," White said, stepping forward, "then I will gladly take the throne."
He closed the distance and extended an open, pale hand down toward him.
"I'll carry the burdens. All the sins. All the hatred. So your soul doesn't have to suffer anymore. If you fall... if you truly aren't fit to hold the throne..."
White looked down at him. "Then I'll fight for both of us. I'll protect both of us."
Albion stared blankly at the hand extended before him.
'If I can just say what I want... just this once...'
Slowly, hesitatingly, his hand lifted toward White's open palm.
'Then I...'
'I...'
And at that exact microsecond—a long-buried, pristine memory surfaced with clarity within the deepest recesses of his mind.