I have no intention of breaking the seal of the Cursed of Rostos yet," Leo said, his voice cold and calculated. "You are not to release the legions. Simply take me to the gate. Lead me to the heart of the prison where the demons dwell."
Rostos bowed, his massive plate armour grinding like tectonic plates. "As you wish, My Sovereign. If it is slaughter you seek, the Abyss is more than willing to provide."
With a sweep of his hand, Rostos chanted an incantation in a tongue that sounded like breaking glass. "By the blood of the first jailer, let the Gates of the Bound be flung wide!"
The space in front of them tore open. It wasn't a door, but a jagged wound in reality, bleeding purple light. Without a moment's hesitation, Leo stepped forward and threw himself into the swirling portal.
The Landscape of Ruin
When the world stopped spinning, Leo found himself standing in a place that defied logic. At first glance, it looked like Earth—a desolate, grey version of it—but the physics were warped. The sky was a bruised crimson, and instead of skyscrapers, there were gargantuan, organic structures that looked like the Burj Khalifa reimagined as a twisted, skeletal tree.
But the most striking thing wasn't the scenery. It was the corpses.
Thousands of them.
The scene shifted, skipping over the hours of carnage that had clearly taken place. We see Leo now, sitting atop a mountain of literal monsters. He was perched on a throne made of the tangled limbs and severed heads of Cosmic Demons—creatures that could devour stars, now reduced to a pedestal for a single man.
Leo looked dishevelled, yet majestic. His long British-cut overcoat was splattered with ichor and dark blood, and he casually wiped a smear of red from his cheek. In his hand, he held a shard of a broken blade, tapping it rhythmically against his knee.
Suddenly, a shadow detached itself from the crimson fog. A demon, taller and darker than the rest, its skin the colour of a starless night, drifted forward. It didn't attack. It smiled, showing rows of obsidian teeth.
"Leo..." the demon hissed, its voice a cacophony of whispers. "It has been many aeons. You haven't changed. You still smell of arrogance and celestial fire."
Leo didn't even look up. He just sighed, a bored, weary sound. "And you... you are the last one left. The others were quite disappointing."
The Secret of the Empty Jail
Meanwhile, back in the shifting halls of the palace, Rostos stood before a shimmering pool of water, conversing with the mysterious, disembodied voice that had first greeted Leo.
"The Jail of Rostos is about to fall silent for the second time in history," Rostos murmured, his eyes reflecting the destruction happening in the dimension below.
The voice trembled, a flicker of panic in its tone. "The second time? But this prison was built to be eternal! Tell me, Great Warden... who was the one who emptied the jail the first time? Who possessed the power to clear the Abyss before Leo?"
Rostos leaned in, whispering a name so ancient and so heavy with power that the air around them froze. The viewer cannot hear the name—it is lost to the wind—but the effect is instantaneous. The mysterious voice let out a strangled gasp, the ghostly vapour of its form nearly dissipating in sheer, unadulterated terror.
"Him?" the voice choked out. "You mean... it was Him?"
The Falling Kingdom
At that exact moment, the ancient Cursed Seal shattered.
A sound like the world snapping in half echoed through the dimensions. The foundations of the Great Palace began to crumble. Massive spires of silver and obsidian, which had stood for millennia, snapped like twigs and began to plummet from the indigo sky toward the cracked earth below.
"The Palace is falling!" the voice screamed as the floor beneath them began to tilt into the void. "Everything is being destroyed! What will become of us? What will become of the legacy of Rostos?"
Rostos stood firm, even as the ceiling collapsed around him. He looked out at the falling debris with a strange, prophetic calm.
"Be patient," Rostos commanded. "The cycle of this prison is written in blood. This palace falls so that it may rise stronger. As soon as the Jail of Rostos is filled once more—as soon as the Master brings new souls to be shackled—the magic will surge. The palace will shine brighter than any star in the firmament, and the power of Rostos will be absolute."
As the palace plummeted toward the ground in a spectacular display of ruin, Leo stood up from his throne of corpses in the distance, his eyes fixed on the horizon of Earth. The prison was empty. The path was clear.
The Sovereign was coming home.