Leonhart took a deep breath as he looked over the sprawling battlefield before him. The sight was far from unfamiliar—chaos, destruction, and smoke rising from the shattered remnants of what once was a thriving city. But this wasn't his world. This wasn't his kingdom. And yet, it was all too similar.
The world he had been thrust into, the 42nd Millennium, was nothing short of a nightmare. Machines that blared with fire and fury. Soldiers clad in power armor, their eyes glowing with the taint of war. The air itself seemed to hum with the tension of endless conflict, as if the universe had never known peace.
And there, amidst it all, Leonhart stood, watching as the world around him fell apart. Again. But this time, there was no home to return to. No kingdom. No crown. He was alone, a king without a throne, in a world where the concept of ruling was but a fleeting dream.
The rumble of engines echoed in the distance. Leonhart's eyes narrowed as he scanned the horizon. He wasn't alone. Not in this place.
From behind the ruined skyscrapers came a massive formation of vehicles, led by a towering figure in golden armor. The insignia on his chest was unmistakable: the Aquila, symbol of the Imperium of Man. Leonhart's gaze hardened.
"They're here already," Leonhart muttered. "The Imperium..."
He didn't know much about this Imperium, but what he did know was that they were the self-proclaimed rulers of humanity, and their rule was absolute. The thought of such an authoritarian system made his skin crawl. He had fought against many kingdoms, many powers, but the idea of being ruled by such a force—especially when they treated people as pawns—was something Leonhart could never accept.
As the soldiers dismounted from their vehicles, Leonhart instinctively reached for his sword. His Dungeon Core thrummed within him, and he could feel the power surging at his fingertips. These new warriors, these Imperial Guardsmen, would prove no challenge.
But it wasn't just any soldier that approached. The towering figure at the head of the group was none other than an Adeptus Astartes, a Space Marine. Leonhart's eyes locked onto him. He could feel the power emanating from this warrior, and for the first time since his arrival in this chaotic world, he felt something akin to respect. The Space Marine's presence was that of a being forged in the fires of war, someone who had lived for battle, much like Leonhart himself.
"Who dares to step foot on the soil of the Imperium?" The Space Marine's voice boomed from beneath his helmet, the challenge clear in his tone.
Leonhart's lips curled into a smirk. "I am Leonhart, King of the Fallen Kingdom. And this world is no different than the ones I have conquered before."
The Space Marine's gaze was unreadable through his helmet. "You are no king here. In this galaxy, you will bow to the Emperor, or you will perish."
"Bow?" Leonhart laughed coldly. "I am no servant, and I do not bow. You may have your Emperor, but I have my army, my power, and my will. I do not need the approval of anyone."
The Imperium's soldiers raised their weapons in unison, ready to strike down the supposed king who dared to defy them. But the Space Marine raised his hand, signaling for them to halt.
"This one is different," he muttered, eyeing Leonhart with suspicion. "There is power in him, something... unnatural."
Leonhart's Dungeon Core pulsed again, the magic responding to the challenge before him. He didn't need to use his full strength, not yet. But he would make them understand.
"Then come," Leonhart said with a cold grin. "I'll show you what power truly is."
With a flick of his wrist, the ground trembled. From beneath the earth, undead soldiers began to rise, followed by demons and creatures from the depths of his Dungeon. His army was a reflection of his will, of his kingdom that no longer existed but lived on in the darkness he commanded.
The Space Marine's eyes widened slightly as the creatures emerged, but his composure remained unbroken. "You summon beasts? Pathetic."
But Leonhart's eyes gleamed with malice. "You'll see just how 'pathetic' they are."
As Leonhart watched his summoned forces clashing with the Imperium's soldiers, something strange happened. The Warp—the immaterium—began to flicker around him. For a moment, he felt a presence, something ancient and powerful, staring at him through the cracks of reality. It was the kind of sensation that he had felt once before, when he was a mortal king, walking in the presence of the gods.
The Warp felt... familiar. This power was not unlike the one that had bound him to his Dungeon Core. But this presence... it was something darker. Something much more dangerous.
His soldiers fought valiantly, but the power of the Imperial Guard and the Adeptus Astartes was formidable. Despite his strength, Leonhart could see that the tide of battle would not be easy to turn in his favor. But he would not back down. The power of the Dungeon was his to command, and with it, he would find a way to carve his path in this hostile world.
After what felt like hours, the battle came to a standstill. The Imperial Guard had retreated, and the Adeptus Astartes had backed off, clearly assessing Leonhart's strength. The air was thick with the smoke of battle, but the world around them seemed eerily quiet now.
The Space Marine looked at Leonhart, his helmet tilting as if to consider him more deeply.
"This will not be the last time we meet, King Leonhart," the Space Marine said. "The Emperor does not tolerate those who defy his rule. You will be watched."
"I don't care for your Emperor," Leonhart said, his voice full of disdain. "I'll carve my own path through this galaxy. The question is... will you stand in my way?"
The Space Marine hesitated, then spoke, his voice softer this time. "I would advise against it. The Imperium is vast, and your power is nothing compared to the might of the Emperor. But... if you choose to challenge him, then you are truly a king of fools."