The ancient hall lay in near darkness, its towering pillars stretching toward a ceiling lost in shadow. Dim blue flames flickered within braziers of black iron, casting eerie reflections against the polished stone floor. This was the Hall of Shadows—the heart of the Death Knights, where only the strongest dared to step.
A lone figure moved through the vast chamber, his steps heavy with purpose. His tattered cloak trailed behind him, edges frayed by countless battles. Armor, darkened by age and blood, clung to his towering frame. The weight of his presence sent a shiver through the kneeling warriors who lined the hall's edges.
The Great Elder had returned.
At the far end of the chamber, seated upon a throne of jagged black stone, was the man he had come to see. His posture was relaxed, one arm resting on the throne's armrest, yet his mere existence exuded a force that made the air itself feel heavier. His black robes, lined with silver threads, bore an insignia—a sigil of a dragon devouring a dying star.
Ling Chen, the Patriarch of the Death Knights.
The Great Elder knelt before the throne, his voice a low rumble. "I have returned, my lord."
Ling Chen's eyes, as cold and depthless as the abyss, regarded the elder with quiet intensity. "You are late."
The Great Elder bowed his head, unshaken by the rebuke. "The storm is coming. The factions have gathered. Phoenix Cry, Emerald Sovereignty, Obsidian Shadow... all their young elites stand before the Gates of Ash."
Ling Chen's lips curled into the barest hint of a smirk. "So, the hunt begins."
He rose from his throne, stepping down with deliberate ease. The very ground beneath him seemed to yield to his presence.
"Tell me," Ling Chen said, his voice like distant thunder, "of the ones who are worth my time."
The Great Elder lifted his gaze. His voice remained steady, yet there was an undeniable weight in his words.
"The Phoenix Cry Empire has sent its finest."
Yan Feiyan, the Blazing Fan – "Her Death Arms, the Blazing Fans, absorb and reflect power. She holds her ground like an immovable flame, unpredictable and relentless."
Yan Xifeng, the Flaming Sky Archer – "Her arrows burn the very air, striking with uncanny precision. If she is given distance, she can control the battlefield alone."
Xue Mor, the Frost Widow – "A venom unlike any other. Cold as death, but laced with something more... something unnatural."
Ling Chen listened without interruption, his expression unreadable.
The Great Elder continued.
"The Emerald Sovereignty arrives as wild as the forests they claim."
Feng Lieren, the Verdant Tyrant – "Raw, unchecked strength. He does not fight—he dominates. His presence alone forces warriors to yield before they can lift their blades."
Qiao Ling, the Viper in Bloom – "The unseen dagger, the creeping poison. She kills not with strength, but with inevitability."
Bai Xu, the Whispering Gale – "A ghost with a bow. No movement is wasted. No enemy sees his strike."
Ling Chen let out a quiet hum of interest. "They sent him?"
The Great Elder nodded before continuing.
"The Obsidian Shadow Empire lurks, waiting for their moment."
Hei Xu, the Lord of the Hidden Night – "Their leader. A phantom of absolute control. His mastery over the void arts allows him to erase his presence, slipping between reality and death itself."
Yan Mei, the Wraith Blade – "Swift, silent, and precise. There are no wasted movements. She kills with surgical precision, untainted by emotions."
Muramaki Jin, the Shadow Fang – "The third in command. A sword that drinks blood. If he is here, he will carve his legend in bodies."
Ling Chen finally let out a quiet chuckle. "How poetic."
The Great Elder's voice lowered.
"And then... there is the unknown."
Ling Chen's gaze sharpened.
"The ones who do not belong to an empire. The wanderers. The stormwalkers. They are the ones who will shift the tides."
Shinryu, the Silver Tiger – "A warrior unlike any other. He wears no crest, but he carries the weight of the heavens in his steps."
Raikai, the Storm Serpent – "If the Azure Dragons had a son of war, he would be it. His chains bind, his lightning devours."
Shin Aoren, the Draconic Spear – "Not a single strike wasted. A tempest within a single thrust."
Shin Keilan, the Shadow Scale – "A phantom even among assassins. They will not see him coming."
Torra Yun, the Diamond Fangs – "An iron body that will not break. He does not dodge—he simply endures."
Meilin Zhen, the Ghost Talon – "Death in the form of a whisper. Her needles strike from angles unseen."
Silence filled the hall.
Ling Chen finally exhaled, stepping forward until he loomed over the Great Elder. His lips curled into the barest hint of a smile.
"The gates of the Death Knights will not open for the weak." His voice was soft, but within it carried the weight of an executioner's decree. "But if they wish to pass… we will see who is worthy."
"All these titles given to these brats who are just at the beginning of their cultivation journeys. These powers behind these juniors always give them the biggest of egos, then send them to us to grind away." He chuckled.
His fingers traced the armrest of his throne. "Send the sentinel. Let them know what it means to face the Death Knights."
The Great Elder bowed.
And far beyond the Hall of Shadows, the storm began to rise. The tension crackled like the calm before a great storm. The Great Elder withdrew, his steps as silent as the shadows around him, but the weight of the task he was given was not lost on him. Ling Chen's words hung in the air like a dark promise, one that would be realized soon enough.
As the Great Elder exited the hall, the atmosphere shifted. The flickering blue flames in the braziers cast long shadows across the ancient stone, as if the very walls were watching, waiting for the bloodshed to begin. Ling Chen's eyes glimmered with an unsettling anticipation, as if he had already seen the fate of the would-be challengers in his mind's eye.
The storm that had gathered outside—the metaphorical storm that would soon meet the fury of the Death Knights—was not only a threat to those who dared step into the Hall of Shadows. It was a warning. A reminder of the wrath that awaited those who believed they could defy the darkness.
Ling Chen's mind swirled with thoughts of the coming battle, of the young warriors, of their potential, and the sharpness of their ambitions. He was not impressed by their titles, nor was he swayed by their reputed abilities. The true test of power was not in titles, not in words, but in what was forged through the fires of combat.
The Death Knights had been waiting for this moment, honing their skills in the shadows, sharpening their blades in silence. Ling Chen's chuckle reverberated through the empty hall.
"Let them come," he muttered under his breath. "Let them test their mettle against the true shadows of the world."
Far beyond the ancient hall, the forces of the Phoenix Cry, Emerald Sovereignty, and Obsidian Shadow Empire stirred. The storm of warriors and ambition would soon converge at the Gates of Ash, and only the strong would endure.
Ling Chen would be watching—waiting—when they arrived. The games of the Death Knights were about to begin.