The crew moved silently through the cavern, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. Dark Don led the way, his presence steady and unyielding, until they came to a wooden door standing before them. It was a simple, brown door, worn at the edges and dotted with a few splinters, unassuming yet somehow imposing. The door was wide but modest in height, the kind one might overlook—but here, it felt significant.
Dark Don pressed it open slowly. A creak sliced through the silence, and a burst of light poured from the doorway, so brilliant that everyone instinctively shielded their eyes. The glow burned against their retinas, forcing them to step carefully into the unknown.
As their eyes adjusted, the sight that greeted them was breathtaking. The room was a library of impossible scale, walls lined with shelves stacked with books in every shape, size, and hue—red, blue, pink, yellow, black, and other colors that seemed to shimmer and shift subtly in the light.
Some shelves housed arches containing swirling blue portal vortexes, their golden trim glinting faintly. Above, countless cogs rotated slowly, interlocking in intricate patterns, while jagged, rocky barbs dangled from the ceiling like stalactites waiting to strike.
At the center of the room sat a grand table, massive and polished, with enough seats to host a dozen scholars. Lonnie Mae and Drake wandered among the shelves, eyes wide with awe.
"This is amazing!" Lonnie Mae squealed.
Drake lifted a book from a shelf—and a blue eye embedded in its cover blinked at him. "Okay… I've gotta admit, this is actually incredible," he said, a mixture of wonder and unease in his voice.
The rest of the crew scattered, exploring the library's labyrinthine stacks, while Dark Don stood back, arms crossed, expression grave.
Keyler crouched near a spider, his curiosity piqued. But this was no ordinary spider—it had sixteen legs instead of eight.
"I didn't know they had anything like this," he murmured.
Sophia frowned. "Double the legs, double the ugliness."
Dark Don's eyes swept the room. "The Forgotten Wizard should have arrived by now."
And then, a figure materialized through one of the blue portal vortexes.
He wore a crooked triangular hat and a flowing blue robe, adorned with faint, shifting runes that glimmered in the light. His long white beard swept toward his chest, pale, wrinkled skin hinting at centuries of knowledge, yet small, round spectacles perched crookedly on his nose gave him a slightly whimsical air. A wooden staff, topped with a glowing blue orb, pulsed with raw magical energy, casting flickering light across the library like a miniature sun. His shoes were scuffed and worn, his steps deliberate as he shuffled forward, relying on his staff for support.
He raised a gnarled hand in greeting, voice raspy but commanding:
"Hello, children… how are we today, hmm?" He coughed lightly, then squinted beneath his spectacles, sharp eyes assessing the crew with uncanny precision.
Magic crackled faintly along his fingertips, and with a subtle twist of his staff, several books floated slightly from the shelves, as if leaning closer to watch. Even Kai paused, sniffing the air cautiously before hopping onto Eldritch's shoulder, earning a low, gruff chuckle from the wizard.
"Looks like this one isn't hostile," Eldritch muttered, scratching his chin. "Who's raisin' him, I wonder?"
Sophia stepped forward, voice steady. "It was someone we lost… and we need to get him back, away from Incarceration's influence. Please… tell us how we can stop it."
Eldritch's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Ah… I've got just the thing."
He led the crew into a smaller section of the library, shelves packed tighter, dust motes floating in the air like tiny stars. After a few moments of searching, he produced a massive, ancient green tome, thick with dust and age. Blowing off the layer of dirt, he opened it with care, licked his fingers, and began flipping the pages.
He laid the book on the table, everyone leaning forward in anticipation. The page he stopped at read: "How to Make the Oligirath Potion."
The instructions were clear, five precise steps. Eldritch muttered a few arcane words, and with a flourish of his Magic Element, the ingredients appeared: two stacks of corn, a mouthful of Leviathan meat, two stacks of sugar, and water from the Gadian Sea.
He pulled out a massive metallic pot from under the table, poured in the ingredients, and stirred with a giant wooden spoon. At first, the mixture was a viscous, glowing blue slime. Slowly, as he continued to stir, it became more liquid, shimmering with faint pulses of magical energy.
When complete, Eldritch scooped a portion into a glass jar, and the liquid surged, glowing with life, pulsing with radiant energy from bottom to top. Handing it to Sophia, he said, voice steady and wise:
"Use this to help your little friend… and after that, help him fulfill that prophecy of his."
***
Incarceration crossed the blood-red runner without sound, like the room itself had decided not to notice him. The throne room of Foreshade compressed around his presence—marble muttering under his steps, banners bleeding moonlight, soldiers frozen mid-breath.
King Dreadixz sat as if the throne had grown out of his spine. His smile was thin. Practiced. Dead behind the eyes.
"Tell me," Dreadixz said. Calm sharpened into a weapon. "Did you place the gem?"
Incarceration stopped at the foot of the dais and inclined his head once. Not respect. Accounting.
"I buried it in the forest," he said. "Lured the Grolian Beast. Set the path. When I returned, the beast was butchered—and the gem was gone."
A flicker crossed Dreadixz's face. Gone as fast as it came. "Scourge Don fought Dark Don and the beast within the same hour," he said. "Efficient." His gaze narrowed. "Then why do you look… disappointed?"
Incarceration smiled.
It wasn't big. It didn't need to be.
"Our arrangement ends here."
The words slid out softly, but the room reacted like it had been struck.
"Don't seek me again," Incarceration continued, stepping closer. "Not until you prove you still matter."
The throne groaned as Dreadixz stood. "You dare—" His voice cracked against fury. "Incarceration. What are you saying?"
Incarceration raised a finger. Just one.
"I'm done dragging dead weight through destiny." He closed the distance until Dreadixz's face lost the light. "Your obsession with spectacle cost you an army. A kingdom. Scourge Don will kneel to me. And when he breaks, I will discard him." A pause. Surgical. "Just like you."
Something in Dreadixz snapped.
"INCARCERATION!" His roar fractured the air. Metal unfolded from his arm with a predatory shriek—twin triangular blades, veined with crawling red-black energy. He fired once at the throne. Once at the ceiling.
The chamber detonated in crimson light. Stone screamed. Lanterns shattered. Debris rained like judgment.
"GUARDS!" Dreadixz snarled as his form twisted—scales splitting through skin, posture collapsing into something feral.
Dragon-formed soldiers poured in, wings tearing the air apart, spears leveled, loyalty blazing in their eyes.
Incarceration watched them approach.
"Guards," he murmured. Amused. "How quaint."
He raised his weapon.
The room answered in screams.
Red bolts tore through bodies with obscene precision. Soldiers dropped mid-flight, mid-charge, mid-prayer. Loyalty bought them nothing. Impact after impact bloomed black and crimson until the chamber drowned in silence.
When it ended, the floor was unrecognizable.
Blood lacquered the stone. Corpses lay folded wrong.
Dreadixz stood alone.
Incarceration walked forward until the throne was behind the king and nowhere else existed.
Dreadixz gathered lunar darkness in his hands and hurled it—thick, radiant shadow screaming across the room.
Incarceration stepped aside like it was expected. Then he launched.
The collision was violent and intimate—fist, blade, bone. Dreadixz caught him, spun, and slammed him into the floor. Incarceration rolled, rose, struck again. Steel sang. Stone burst. The night tore open as Dreadixz's sword hurled him through the wall and into the rain.
Incarceration hit hard.
Rain drenched him. Blood streamed. His breath came ragged—
—and he smiled.
He charged back in like a storm refusing to die. His blade became motion itself, carving silver lines through the air, through flesh. Dreadixz parried, countered, bled. Neither yielded. For a heartbeat, the world balanced on violence.
Then Dreadixz abandoned the sword.
Talons replaced hands. Moonlight poured off him as he ripped forward—claws shredding armor, backhand crushing bone, a lunar-charged blow that emptied the air from Incarceration's lungs and sent him flying through the outer wall in an explosion of ruin.
Dust swallowed everything.
Incarceration sat in the wreckage, blood-slick, vision swimming.
Dreadixz loomed. "Pathetic," he whispered, contempt disguised as calm. "You call yourself a Zenith?"
Something cracked.
Not bone.
Reality.
Incarceration vanished.
He reappeared inches from Dreadixz's face, the world drowning in red-black energy that poured from him like an eclipse made flesh. The throne room bent inward. Color fled. Meaning failed.
The strike came down with the certainty of fate.
Dreadixz was launched—a king reduced to debris—body smashing through stone and rain until the night swallowed him whole. The crimson light died at Incarceration's command.
Silence reclaimed Foreshade.
Dust fell like ash.
Incarceration stood alone among the dead, energy cooling along his weapon. He looked at the bodies. At his hands. Satisfaction curled into hunger.
He turned to leave.
Scourge Don was still unfinished. Still useful.
Incarceration's next words were not spoken aloud. They were a verdict aimed at the future.
Find him.
Bring him to Celestia.
Then let the world fall.