Sleep took him.
And brought him back.
The throne hall rose from darkness — black marble beneath a ceiling swallowed by shadow. Crimson banners hung between pillars. Blue flames burned without flicker.
At the far end stood the obsidian throne.
And on it sat Angelo Fool.
The Bloody Emperor.
Before him stood five guild leaders — the last alliance formed to end his reign.
Rosalia — leader of Midnight Rose, Mirror of Fate hovering at her side.
Brett — leader of the Berserkers, gripping the Halberd of Death.
Oliver — leader of Little Grass, sword steady in hand.
Daric — leader of Solid Stone, iron knuckles covering his fists.
John — leader of Dark Swamp, black nunchaku spinning lazily.
Rosalia stepped forward.
"You didn't rule Pelegon," she said coldly.
"You enslaved it."
Angelo remained seated for a moment.
Then he smiled faintly.
"Enslaved?" he repeated softly.
He rose.
"I killed Gert Keller — the Supreme God of this world."
A faint crimson pulse flickered around him.
"I crushed Grey Moll, the Demon Overlord."
He descended one step from the throne.
"I didn't destroy the world."
He looked at Rosalia.
"I replaced its government."
Silence.
"I removed gods who hoarded power. I stripped the five dominant clans of their monopoly."
His gaze moved across all of them.
"You're angry because you lost control."
Brett growled. "You're twisting reality."
Angelo tilted his head slightly.
"Am I?"
He looked back at Rosalia.
"Little one… you ruled half the market through backroom alliances."
Her eyes flared.
"Don't you dare—"
"You're furious," he continued calmly, "because I took from you what you called 'order.'"
Daric's voice rumbled.
"You replaced it with tyranny."
Angelo gave a light shrug.
"Tyranny? Or transparency?"
John spoke quietly. "You thrive on chaos."
Angelo's eyes sharpened.
"No," he replied. "I thrive on honesty."
He spread his arms slightly.
"You hide behind morality. Behind 'balance.'"
His voice cooled.
"You are more hypocritical than I ever was."
Oliver stepped forward.
"This ends now. Step down."
Angelo looked at him for a long moment.
"In a game?" he asked softly.
His aura began to thicken.
"This world was designed for domination."
The crimson mist gathered around him.
"It's just a chessboard."
Rosalia's voice cut through the hall.
"And you really think you're the emperor?"
"No."
His eyes glowed red.
"I'm the final boss."
The air turned heavy.
Crimson threads formed from his aura — thin at first, then dozens, then hundreds — snapping outward violently.
They shot toward the five leaders.
Rosalia raised the Mirror of Fate. It flared, deflecting multiple threads in sharp arcs.
Brett cleaved through others with brutal swings of his halberd.
Oliver cut precisely, slicing strands midair.
Daric stepped forward, crossing his iron knuckles. The threads struck his gauntlets with sparks and were knocked aside. He pushed through and drove a crushing punch into Angelo's ribs.
John slipped into shadow, nunchaku spinning fast, striking aside thinner threads before darting closer.
Angelo intensified the assault.
The blood threads thickened, coiling around pillars, slicing stone, cracking marble.
The hall trembled.
But the five advanced together.
Rosalia deflected.
Brett forced space.
Oliver found the rhythm.
Daric broke through the outer layer and struck again.
John appeared behind Angelo, nunchaku snapping against his shoulder, disrupting the aura.
For a brief second, the crimson field flickered.
That was enough.
Brett's halberd pierced Angelo's side.
Oliver's blade drove into his chest.
Rosalia's mirror flashed — reflecting one of Angelo's own blood threads straight back through him.
Daric struck once more.
John's weapon cracked across his neck.
Angelo stood there, impaled, surrounded.
His aura dimmed.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"So," he murmured, "this is your version of justice."
The throne hall shattered into darkness.
He woke abruptly.
Dark room. Zurich. Silence.
His breathing was steady.
"What a ridiculous dream," he muttered.