The Heart Of Chaos

The commercial airships descended gracefully onto one of the jagged mountain peaks, it's engines creaking to a halt.

From its deck, three figuresdisembarked, all in black cloaks. Before them lay a fortress that looked like paradise, the Drakon Keep came into view.

Towering over a sea of swirling storm clouds and jagged peaks, the Keep seemed both majestic and foreboding. Its stone spires jutted into the sky like claws, supported by massive chains binding floating mountains around it.

Beneath those floating isles, rivers of magma carved their way through the ash-strewn landscape, illuminating the perpetual twilight that surrounded the Drakon territories.

One of the figures lowered his hood, revealing long, silky hair that ended in seven distinct locks, whipping in the howling hot wind. His eyes glowed crimson—a stark contrast to the golden, draconic gaze of the Drakons. Abaddon's calm expression betrayed little as he and his two companions began their approach toward the fortress.

The volcanic winds tugged at Abaddon's cloak as he gazed up at the familiar spires. Six years had passed since he last stood before this place, yet it remained unchanged—grim, unwelcoming, and filled with memories that were as heavy as the stone walls.

Behind him, Fatty and Jane took in the grandeur of the fortress. Fatty's wide grin betrayed his awe as he rubbed his gloved hands together, adjusting the magic pillar strapped to his back.

"What a fortress… Massive, luxurious, and drenched in prestige. Home sweet home, eh? Bit dreary, but it's got charm. Nobles sure live the good life."

"Save the jokes, Orin"

Jane muttered, rolling her eyes as she delivered a sharp kick to his leg.

"You're not the one walking into a pit of vipers."

Abaddon allowed himself a faint smirk but said nothing. The pit of vipers she referred to was his family, and she wasn't wrong.

As they neared the gates, their path was blocked by the imposing figures of the Dragon Guards. Four men clad in resplendent golden armor stood in formation, their helmets shaped like dragon heads, and each wielding spears adorned with the Drakonic crest of the Von Drakon Royal Family.

"Who dares approach Drakon Keep unannounced?"

Boomed a rough voice. A bulky man with an eyepatch stepped forward, scrutinizing the group. Fatty's smirk widened as he leaned closer to Abaddon and whispered.

"Boss, these guys are just Platinum stage early rank, same as we were yesterday. We could take them if you say the word."

Abaddon chuckled softly, waving off the suggestion.

"Do that in this noble house, and 'beheading' would be putting it mildly."

The eyepatched guard, arms crossed, sneered as he repeated his question.

"What business do a pack of children have at the Keep? Do you value your lives so little?"

Abaddon stepped forward, his sharp gaze locking onto the guard's. In a low, calm voice that carried the weight of authority, he spoke:

"I see you've been doing well, Grand Marshal Kwesi. Have you grown so comfortable in your position that you've forgotten the sixth son of Kaedryn? It is I, Abaddon Von Drakon, and I have returned from the dead."

The declaration left Kwesi stammering, his face pale as the other guards exchanged confused glances. That name—Abaddon Von Drakon—had been declared dead six years ago. Yet, here he stood, unmistakable despite his glowing red eyes, a stark contrast to the golden dragon eyes of the Drakon bloodline. The tattoo of the Drakon mark etched on his back, a birthright of royal lineage, left no doubt about his identity.

Panic overtook Kwesi, who bolted into the Keep, leaving the others frozen in disbelief. Fatty and Jane burst into laughter, amused by the sight of Abaddon being treated like a ghost.

Moments later, the massive gates of the Keep groaned open, granting them entry.

Inside the Keep...

The sprawling courtyard stretched out before them, as majestic as Abaddon remembered. Banners of House Drakon—black dragons entwined with crimson flames—waved proudly, a testament to the legacy of his bloodline.

Grand statues of dragons lined the courtyard like an open museum, each radiating a tangible heat that made the air shimmer. Fatty wiped his forehead, already drenched in sweat.

"Whew! Boss, is this some kind of hell? Feels like we're being roasted alive!"

Abaddon's lips curved into a faint smile.

"We are descendants of true dragons, the most powerful beings in myth. Our bodies are attuned to fire. That's why we live in the Eastern part of the Empire capital, ruling over six regions of the Eastern lands. Even our brown skin reflects the fiery nature of our heritage."

Fatty nodded, barely paying attention. He was too distracted by the stares of the servants and guards. Whispers spread like wildfire, questioning who these outsiders were and why commoners had dared step foot into the Royal Regent Estate.

"Boss, they're looking at us like we're ghosts"

Fatty muttered uneasily.

Abaddon remained unfazed, striding confidently toward a structure at the far end of the courtyard. The massive bridge before them, suspended by thick iron chains, connected the courtyard to a floating island shrouded in clouds.

At its heart stood the Hall of Flames, a towering edifice forged from obsidian and gold, its walls etched with glowing runes. Two colossal dragon statues flanked the iron gates, their menacing forms a reminder of the power House Drakon wielded.

"Halt! The noble family is dining. No one is permitted to enter"

Barked one of the dragon guards, eyeing the group with disdain.

To him, they looked like beggars or mere commoners. With a sneer, the guard demanded.

"Who allowed such rabble into the royal Keep?"

Before he could say another word Abaddon snapped his fingers. Fatty smirked and cracked his knuckles. In an instant, his massive frame loomed over the guards. With a single iron grip on their shoulders, he squeezed so tightly that both men paled, one groaning in agony.

"How... how is this possible?"

One guard stammered, struggling against Fatty's grip. Despite being a Silver Rank, he couldn't even budge under Fatty's strength.

Unbeknownst to the guards, Fatty and Jane had ranked up significantly three days prior during their adventures in Doomswood. Fatty had absorbed the Skeletal Beast Armor, toughening his body and reaching the late Golden Stage. Jane had advanced to the peak Daimon Stage after mastering her shadow mantra energy. However, No'el had cloaked their true ranks with a Primordial Scripture, making them appear as mere Bronze Rankers.

Without sparing the guards another glance, Abaddon stepped past them and placed his hand on the iron door, its dragon motif gleaming in the firelight. Slowly, he pushed it open and stepped into the hall.

Into the Hall of Flames...

The inner halls were as grand as the Keep's exterior. Massive obsidian columns rose to the ceiling, their surfaces engraved with glowing runes that pulsed rhythmically. Fires burned in suspended braziers, their light casting flickering shadows across the polished stone floors.

As Abaddon approached the dining hall, he paused before the golden gates. He could hear faint voices from within, and his mind raced.

'Six years... I've endured six years of torment to return here. The place where my so-called family condemned me to hell. Once I step through this door, there's no turning back.'

His eyes burned with unbridled rage, their red glow reflecting his resolve. Taking a deep breath, he placed his hand on the gate and pushed it open.

The hall fell silent as all eyes turned to the entrance. A haughty voice demanded from within.

"Who dares disturb the noble dining?"