## **"Prey"**
After what feels like an eternity—
Arthur's eyes slowly open.
His first breath doesn't reach his lungs properly.
Breathing feels painfully heavy—
as if a massive stone has been placed on his chest,
crushing every attempt to inhale.
For a moment,
he doesn't move.
He just lies there,
listening to his own broken breathing.
Then—
with trembling effort—
he forces himself to look around.
The fog is gone.
But what replaces it
steals the breath from his lungs far more brutally.
It feels
as if the same nightmare has returned
to claim what it couldn't finish before.
Bodies are scattered across the ground.
Twisted.
Broken.
Motionless.
Blood stains the floor—
soaked deep into the cracks,
as if the ground itself is bearing silent witness
to an unspeakable massacre.
Arthur's vision shakes.
Slowly—
his gaze drifts toward the throne.
King Of Terror is sitting there.
Calm.
Still.
Watching.
As if the destruction,
the deaths,
the suffering—
are nothing more than entertainment.
Arthur's mind goes blank.
For a second,
he doesn't know whether to scream,
to run,
or to pretend this isn't real.
He forces himself to look away.
Joseph and Karaku are lying nearby.
Too still.
Too quiet.
Arthur's heart skips.
Panic grips him as he stumbles toward them,
dropping to his knees beside their bodies.
With shaking fingers,
he checks their pulses.
One heartbeat.
Then another.
A breath escapes his lips—
sharp and broken.
They're alive.
Barely.
How long they'll stay that way—
or whether they'll ever wake up—
Arthur doesn't know.
A faint movement catches his eye.
Durk.
And a few other adventurers.
Arthur rushes over,
helping Durk sit up after some struggle.
Durk's eyes are unfocused,
his breathing uneven.
"Wh… who's alive…?"
he asks,
his voice trembling like it might break apart.
Arthur opens his mouth—
but no sound comes out.
He doesn't trust his voice
to carry the truth.
One by one,
more adventurers begin to stir.
Joseph.
Karaku.
Arthur moves between them,
helping each of them up.
That's when he notices it.
Karaku is standing—
but something inside her is shattered beyond repair.
Alive on the outside.
Hollow on the inside.
Joseph isn't much different.
And they aren't alone.
Every adventurer who remains standing
has the same empty look in their eyes—
a gaze belonging to people
who have seen something
they can never forget.
Karaku's eyes are fixed on one spot.
Unblinking.
Arthur follows her gaze.
Gustav.
His body lies twisted on the floor.
Surrounded by blood.
Too much blood.
A moment later,
one of the women from Gustav's party stirs.
Karaku rushes to her,
helping her up carefully.
Tears slide down her face—
silently.
As if even the strength to cry
has been stripped away.
Then—
the room falls silent once again.
Not a peaceful silence.
But the kind
that presses against the ears,
against the heart.
Every gaze slowly turns—
toward the throne.
The figure seated there hasn't moved.
The **King of Terror**.
No one is in a condition to fight.
Bodies are exhausted.
Minds fractured.
Fear clings to every breath.
And yet—
no one steps back.
As if everyone understands—
from this place,
only one side will walk out alive.
Durk gives no orders.
None are needed.
Moments later,
the King rises from the throne.
With one hand,
she lifts the greatsword resting beside her
and settles it onto her shoulder.
Her footsteps echo
as she begins to walk forward.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Everyone tightens their grip on their weapons—
the calm before a storm.
The King raises one hand.
Above her palm,
a black flame forms.
It grows.
Swells.
Twists unnaturally.
Suddenly—
a mage from the side casts **Chain Binding**.
Then another.
Chains of magic wrap around her.
In that instant—
everyone charges.
Arthur steadies himself.
For a brief moment,
it feels as if everyone forgets what death means.
Skills explode into the air.
Spells overlap.
The room floods with power.
Arthur steps forward and shouts—
**"Sword Hurricane!"**
A violent tornado of blades tears through the space around the King,
leaving her no room to breathe.
From the opposite side,
Durk's devastating attack crashes in—
splitting the storm in two.
Dust rises.
The air trembles.
Then—
as the dust clears—
everyone freezes.
Arthur's blood runs cold.
The King stands there.
Unmoving.
Untouched.
Not a single scratch on her body.
As if none of their attacks
ever reached her.
Arthur's knees shake.
He forces himself to shout—
"**STOP!**"
His voice cracks.
"S-Stop being afraid…!"
Slowly,
his gaze lifts to meet the King's.
"The more you fear her…"
"…the stronger she becomes."
The moment the words leave his mouth,
his legs give out.
He collapses forward—
only to be caught by Karaku and Joseph.
"Th-thanks…"
Arthur mutters,
his voice barely holding together.
Karaku swallows hard.
"It's okay,"
she says,
then hesitates.
"So… do we have a plan?"
"How do we defeat her?"
Arthur stays silent.
Seconds pass.
Then—
"No," he says quietly.
"I don't have any idea. I'm sorry."
Karaku exhales.
"It's fine,"
she says,
forcing courage into her voice.
"There has to be something."
"We just… have to find it."
"…Right?"
At that moment—
the black flame above the King's head flares violently.
Wild.
Unstable.
As if something has been exposed.
The next instant—
she moves.
Straight toward Arthur.
Both hands grip the greatsword.
As if no one else exists.
As if her world has narrowed down
to a single target.
There's a madness in her movements—
like a beast whose intoxicating power is slipping away,
driving it into uncontrollable rage.
With every step,
deep cracks split the floor.
Adventurers rush forward to stop her—
but she ignores them.
Cuts through them.
Shatters spells and bodies alike.
As if her prey
is Arthur alone.
Mages cast **Chain Binding** again.
One after another.
The King tears through every restraint,
never slowing down.
Never stopping.
Arthur steadies himself.
He closes his eyes.
Takes one deep breath.
Then grips his sword with everything he has left
and stands firm.
Joseph and Karaku
step beside him.
No words.
No hesitation.
The three of them form a single line—
facing the—
**King of Terror.**
Waiting.