~SHAKE~
Stark opened his eyes as he was being shaken by the [Superior Clone].
“Ah?!” he actually got startled as the first thing he saw was a crimson light in his face, then the massive mischievous smile of the clone soon after, “Fucking hell…”
It had been around three hours since he had woken up, and thanks to his injury being healed with the potions, his HP was now fully maxed again.
“Thanks,” he got up and looked around, it seemed like the [Superior Clone] hadn’t fought anything, though he noticed that the last few statues that had been standing after the battle were now all destroyed, “Got bored?”
“=)” the clone shrugged.
“Oh well,” Stark didn’t have anything to do, and so he went back on the path, followed closely by his close as they faced the giant red door before them.
Stark stood before the ominous red door, its surface pulsing like a heartbeat, shadows dancing along its edges, flickering with an energy that sent a shiver down his spine.
He glanced at his clone, whose crimson aura shimmered, ready for whatever lay ahead, that carefree smile on its face: as long as the original survived, then it was good.
“Here goes nothing,” Stark muttered, stepping forward, and the clone walked right next to him.
~FWISH~
But right as they passed the threshold of the door, a strange sensation washed over Stark.
“…!” it was weird, unlike anything he had ever felt before in a rift.
There was no silver fog this time, which actually quite strange, but Stark felt it in his bones that this was it… and soon enough, a panel appeared.
[Last Zone: Reaper’s and Lother’s Grave]
The sensation Stark felt while walking past the door was something even he didn’t know how to describe, though it strangely still felt familiar to him.
Dread? Fear? Anxiety?
No… it was none of these, Stark wouldn’t be scared from that, he hadn’t been even in the face of death several times after all.
“:l” and to prove his point, even his clone had stopped smiling.
The fourth zone was… special.
And as he looked around, Stark noticed that he had stepped into an arena, its vastness swallowing him whole.
The ground beneath his feet felt cold, with a smooth stone surface and black mist reaching only up to his feet.
Surrounding him were towering walls engraved with ancient runes and weird drawings depicting something Stark couldn’t understand, each flickering with a deep glow.
And even then, even with that setup and appearance, this wasn’t what surprised Stark the most.
Because as soon as he looked up…
“What…”
Above the circular walls that delimited the zone of the giant arena were thousands upon thousands of undead spectators looking down at him.
Their forms varied: skeletal warriors clad in tattered remnants of armor, rotting corpses wearing decaying robes, spectral figures, gargoyles, ghosts… and many more.
It was… a spectacle, and surely nobody would believe Stark if he told them what he saw at the end of the [Death Rift], not that he cared to anyway though.
“What the fuck…” Stark’s eyes widened.
Some of the undead brandished rusty weapons, clattering them against one another in a frenzied rhythm, while others raised their hands in the air and clapped, while the rest just pointed their fingers toward Stark as if asking him to head toward the center of the arena.
But right as he was about to walk deeper inside the arena, since he had only stopped at the very edge of the entrance to observe his surroundings…
~CLANG~
He heard a sudden noise, and the giant red door that was previously opened right behind him a few seconds ago closed out of nowhere, trapping him inside here.
“=)” but the clone went back to smiling, which reassured Stark: it meant that it was still confident in their victory.
Stark wasn’t particularly impressed except for the massive amount of undead seemingly “spectating” his moves, as he was worried that they would all jump down at once toward him, and there was no guarantee [Crimson Purification] would save his ass this time with this many undead.
~TAP, TAP~
Not seeing a reason to stop, Stark continued to walk toward the center of the arena, and the closer he got to it, the more the cheers of the undead crowd escalated.
Stark pressed forward, the sound of clattering bones and rusted metal filled the air around him, echoing like a taunting song.
And the arena pulsed with a dark energy, the spectators leaning closer, their hollow eyes fixed on him, hungry for the show that was about to occur.
“Why the hell are you all cheering?” he muttered, glancing around.
And at that moment… he finally reached the center of the arena, where a giant incantation circle made with blood could be seen.
“Huh-” it didn’t take more than five seconds since he stepped inside the circle for it to suddenly begin glowing with a dark light, “SHIT!”
~FWISH, THROW~
A vortex of darkness was forming around the circle, and it was surely going to suck Stark in if he didn’t escape.
But thankfully enough, his clone had stayed behind, and immediately grabbed the boy out of the range.
“Thanks,” the clone was thankfully still alive, and Stark got up, taking dozens of steps back since the vortex in the middle of the arena grew more and more.
And then, after a minute…
~THUD~
The ground trembled slightly, and a hush fell over the undead as a figure emerged from the shadows at the center of the arena.
“…!” Stark’s eyes widened even more than before.
And that’s when he finally understood the emotion that had washed over him before: it was… the feeling of knowing that death was close, which is why it felt familiar to him.
[Reaper, The Undead Puppeteer (Godless Demon Apostle)]
The figure was giant, at least ten meters in height, and it was wearing a dark long robe that flowed downward.
It seemed to be floating in the air though, as it had no feet, and the robe stopped right before the ground, meaning you could clearly see there was nothing there.
It was wearing a dark cloak on top of its head, but even then, you could still see its face: it had a skeleton face, emotionless and hollow, only a small white dot in its eyes showing that it was alive.
And as for its weapon… as you might have guessed… it was carrying a scythe with its two skeletal hands.
“GAKKRKAK!”
“KSKSKSKS~”
The sheers of the undead crowd reached their peak as Reaper appeared, and the skeleton apostle actually seemed to enjoy the praises as he lifted one of his arms upward and nodded his head while looking at all his “fans”.
But after that quick break, he immediately went back to serious mode, pointing his scythe toward the human, and a voice coming out of its skull.
“Let the fight begin, human, and do not disappoint them, for if you do, a fate worse than death awaits you,” Reaper obviously couldn’t change expressions since, y’know, his head was a skull, but Stark felt that in his voice was a mix of both calmness, confidence and… anger.
