The Imperial Palace of Aethelgard was designed to overwhelm the human spirit. Its halls were too wide, its ceilings too high, and every inch of its white marble was inlaid with gold that hummed with a low-frequency solar hymn. But as Ren stepped through the shattered remains of the Great Gates, the hymn turned into a discordant shriek.
The gold wasn't humming anymore; it was weeping.
[Umbral Domain: Active]
[Effect: The Palace's 'Saintly Aura' is being suppressed.]
[Ren Thorne's Presence: Dominant.]
Ren walked down the center of the Grand Hall, the Void-Reaper clanking rhythmically against the floor. He didn't look at the thousands of soldiers lining the galleries above. They stood frozen, their hands trembling on their bows and spears. They had seen what happened on the bridge. They had seen the Golden Guard—the invincible elite—turned into a light breeze and a bit of dust.
"Ren," Lia whispered, walking half a step behind him. She was looking at the frescoes on the ceiling, depicting the first Emperor's victory over the darkness. "They're not attacking."
"They're waiting for permission to die," Ren said, his voice carrying through the hall with an effortless, terrifying clarity. "And I haven't given it yet."
At the end of the hall stood the doors to the Throne Room. They weren't made of wood or metal, but of a single, massive sheet of "Solar Glass"—a material so dense with mana that it was said to be harder than diamond.
Ren didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. He simply raised the Void-Reaper. The brass heart in the scythe's blade pulsed with a violent, violet light.
"Pulse-Shatter: Reality Breach."
He didn't swing. He merely tapped the tip of the scythe against the glass.
For a heartbeat, the world was silent. Then, a single spiderweb crack appeared at the point of contact. Within a second, the entire ten-ton door disintegrated, not into shards, but into fine, white sand that flowed around Ren like a parting sea.
The Throne Room was revealed.
It was a circular chamber, open to the sky. Above, the Shadow Veil Ren had cast over the city rippled like a dark ocean, but here, in the center of the palace, the Emperor had maintained a pocket of artificial daylight.
Emperor Alaric IV sat upon the Throne of Glass. He looked bored. He held a chalice of glowing amber liquid, swirling it slowly as he watched Ren approach. Around him stood the "Solar Council"—twelve mages of the Ninth Circle, their faces hidden behind masks of hammered gold.
"Thirteen chapters of struggle, and you finally stand before me," Alaric said, his voice smooth and cold. He didn't stand. "You look... different, Ren. The Void suits you. It's a very becoming shade of tragedy."
Ren stopped at the base of the dais. He planted the scythe into the marble, the dark energy eating a hole in the floor. "I didn't come for a fashion critique, Alaric. I came to close the account."
"Account?" The Emperor smiled, a thin, sharp movement of his lips. "You think this is about debt? You think I killed your father because I hated him? No. I killed him because he was a romantic. He thought the world could be saved with kindness and 'proper' mana management. I knew better."
Alaric stood up, and as he did, the Level 80 Golden Guards Ren had killed seemed like children. The Emperor's level didn't show as a number.
[Warning: Entity 'Emperor Alaric IV' detected.]
[Level: ???]
[Status: Avatar of the Sun.]
"The Void you carry is a beautiful tool, Ren," Alaric said, walking down the steps of the dais. "But a tool is only as good as the hand that wields it. You think you've conquered the Spire, the Forge, and my Legion. But all you've done is sharpen yourself for my use."
One of the Council mages stepped forward, raising a staff topped with a burning eye. "Sacrilege! Kneel before the Light, or be—"
Ren didn't even look at the mage. He simply flicked his fingers toward the man.
A localized "Singularity Point" appeared inside the mage's chest. In an instant, the man was folded inward, his body, his staff, and his golden mask collapsing into a sphere the size of a grape before vanishing into nothingness.
The other eleven mages recoiled in horror.
"The adults are talking," Ren said, his eyes fixed on the Emperor. "Don't interrupt again."
Alaric chuckled, a sound of genuine amusement. "A bit theatrical, but effective. Tell me, Ren, what is your plan? You kill me, the Veil stays up, and the Empire starves in the dark. You don't kill me, and you remain a runaway slave. There is no 'winning' for you."
"You're wrong," Ren said, reaching out to the Void-Reaper. The scythe flew into his hand, the violet heart beating faster, in sync with his quickening pulse. "I'm not here to win your game. I'm here to flip the board."
Ren's aura suddenly changed. The "Budding Phase" of the Void King was no longer enough. He felt the Heart of the Construct and the Fragment of the True Sun he had looted earlier reacting within his inventory.
"System," Ren thought. "Initiate the Eclipse Synthesis."
[Warning: Synthesis requires siphoning the life force of everyone in the room.]
[Do you wish to proceed?]
Ren looked at the Solar Council. He looked at the guards in the galleries. Then he looked at Alaric.
"Proceed," Ren whispered.
The Throne Room was suddenly plunged into a vacuum. The air was sucked out, and the golden inlaid floor began to liquefy. Ren wasn't just standing there; he was becoming a black hole in human form.
"Lia, get out of here!" Ren roared.
"No! Ren, you'll—"
"GO!"
The force of Ren's will pushed Lia back, a wave of gravity carrying her safely out of the chamber and into the Grand Hall.
Alaric's expression finally changed. The boredom vanished, replaced by a sharp, focused intensity. He raised his hand, and a blade of pure, blinding white light manifested in his grip—the Sword of the First Sun.
"So," Alaric said, his voice dropping to a predatory growl. "You want to see who can eat the other first? Very well, Ren Thorne. Let us see if your Void is deep enough to hold a star."
The Emperor lunged.
The collision of the Sword of the First Sun and the Void-Reaper didn't make a sound. It erased the concept of sound. A sphere of grey light expanded from the center of the room, disintegrating the Throne of Glass, the Council mages, and the very walls of the palace.
The readers had been waiting for the "Big Boss" fight. But they weren't expecting a total collapse of the setting.
[Level Up! 48 -> 55]
[Status: Evolving...]
As the dust settled, the palace was gone. Only a floating platform of shattered marble remained, suspended in the dark sky above the city. Ren and Alaric stood on opposite ends, both bloodied, both breathing hard.
"Not bad," Alaric panted, his platinum hair disheveled. "But look around you, Ren. You've destroyed your prize."
Ren looked down at the city. The Shadow Veil was cracking. The sun was trying to break through. He felt his mana running dry. But then, he felt a new connection.
Through the Shadow Network, he could feel the thousands of people he had "freed" from the tubes in the Spire. They were awake. And they were angry.
"I didn't come for the palace, Alaric," Ren said, standing tall despite the fractures in his ribs. He raised the broken hilt of his father's sword. "I came for the people you forgot were alive."
The thousands of freed captives began to channel their mana—not to the Sun-Forge, but to the Veil. To Ren.
[System Notification: Collective Faith detected.]
[New Ability Unlocked: The People's Abyss.]
Ren's scythe transformed one last time, growing to twice its size, the blade becoming a window into a universe of stars.
"End of the line, Alaric," Ren said, his voice echoing through the entire city. "The harvest is over."