Tyrant's return: Reborn as a Good-For-Nothing Young Master

Zerg charged ahead with an energy that defied his age and imprisonment, tossing a boulder into a group of guards who barely had time to scream before being flung aside like leaves in a storm.

Fenrir followed at a slower pace, calm and composed, his hands glowing faintly with the signature shimmer of Master of Illusions.

With every step he took, shadows bent unnaturally, forming twisted images of enemies that didn't exist.

Some guards dropped their weapons and ran, screaming names of their comrades they believed had turned against them.

"Do they always panic this easily?"

Zerg asked, his voice echoing over the chaos.

"They're not used to real resistance."

Fenrir muttered, stepping over a fallen soldier who'd passed out from fear rather than injury. "The tower's control has made them soft."

Zerg leapt off another overturned cart, landing in a crouch before smashing his fist into the ground.

The floor cracked and sent a shockwave through a group of reinforcements that had just arrived. They scattered in every direction.

"I could do this all day."

Zerg chuckled, brushing dust off his coat.

"You might have to. Once we break into the prison, they'll send stronger forces."

Fenrir said dryly, eyes scanning the horizon.

Zerg straightened and turned to him.

"You mentioned Shelly Burns. Still alive?"

"She should be. Her mana signature still exists in the prison network. She's been moved around a lot, but I traced her last position to this floor. The authorities wanted to keep her isolated."

Fenrir replied.

Zerg's smirk returned.

"Shelly Burns… She was the one who almost killed that High Priest with her bare hands, right?"

Fenrir nodded once.

"That's her. She's dangerous, even without powers. They're likely draining her mana, but knowing Shelly, she's probably memorized every weak point in that prison by now."

Zerg grunted in approval.

"Then let's not keep her waiting."

The two continued forward, bypassing most of the defense checkpoints by weaving through alleyways and manipulating the illusions Fenrir placed in the air.

Zerg occasionally tossed debris or made noise to keep soldiers distracted, while Fenrir led the way to the massive dome-shaped prison near the center of the floor.

"Same prison layout as the one I was kept in. Guess they stopped being creative."

Zerg muttered, his expression darkening.

"Or they just got lazy. Doesn't matter. The structure is built for containment, not resistance. They didn't plan for anyone breaking in."

Fenrir replied.

They reached the outer perimeter, where four tall watchtowers formed a square. Each had a sniper perched on top.

"Leave them to me."

Fenrir whispered.

With a flick of his hand, mist rose across the area, thick and fast. From the guards' perspective, dozens of intruders had appeared, some scaling the walls, others sprinting toward the towers.

"Multiple targets—engage now!"

One sniper shouted.

The guards fired, but all they hit were shadows and illusions. In the confusion, Zerg broke through the entrance, flattening the steel-reinforced gate with one earth-powered punch.

They moved quickly through the corridors, avoiding attention where they could and incapacitating anyone who got too close.

It didn't take long before they reached the high-security wing, where the most dangerous prisoners were kept.

Fenrir reached out, letting his mana flow into the control system.

"She's in cell A-19."

He said.

Zerg didn't wait. He took the lead, smashing through hallway doors until they reached a thick containment chamber with reinforced barriers.

Inside, slumped against the wall, was a woman with dirty blonde hair, bruised arms, and glowing restraints on her hands and neck.

Shelly didn't lift her head until Fenrir's voice cut through the silence.

"Shelly. We've come to collect."

Her eyes opened slowly, hazy but still sharp. When she saw Fenrir and Zerg standing there, her lips curled into a faint smile.

"Took you long enough."

She rasped.

Zerg stepped forward and ripped the restraints from her wrists with both hands.

"We had to make a little noise first."

"I heard it. Thought I was dreaming."

She muttered, massaging her bruised skin.

Fenrir placed a hand on her forehead and poured a wave of healing mana through her body. The wounds didn't disappear completely, but her strength returned quickly.

"You can move?"

He asked.

"Damn right I can. Let's tear this place down."

She said, standing.

Zerg gave Fenrir a sidelong look.

"Two more left after this, right?"

Fenrir nodded.

"Two more. And then we go after the ones who put us here."

Zerg cracked his knuckles. "They're going to regret ever crossing us."

And behind them, the prison alarm finally sounded.

_____

The moment Shelly rejoined Fenrir and Zerg, a ripple spread through the tower's intelligence network like a shockwave.

Shelly Burns—infamous for her raw power and unmatched brutality—had escaped. More importantly, she had joined Fenrir's side.

The news spread like wildfire, from the lower floors to the very summit of the tower.

It didn't take long for the top 12 generals of the Divine Council to call an emergency meeting.

"He now has Zerg and Shelly."

One of the generals said, slamming their hand against the long obsidian table.

"What's next? He revives the entire original group?"

"We sealed him for a reason. And yet here we are, watching history repeat itself."

Another replied coldly.

The room fell silent as the weight of the situation pressed down on them.

No one had forgotten what Fenrir was capable of—not just in terms of power, but in how he bent the world to his will.

"This cannot be allowed."

Said a gruff voice from the far end. General Vortan, known for his bloodthirst and battle-hardened resolve, stood up.

"If we wait any longer, he'll gather every one of his companions. And then no one, not even the gods above us, will stop him."

Beside him, another figure rose. Sleek, silver-armored, with a calm but deadly aura—General Mira, a tactician as ruthless as she was efficient.

"I agree. Waiting is suicide. I'll go with you."

The others remained quiet. Some fearful. Some ashamed.

"Two of us should be enough. He may be regaining strength, but he's still rebuilding. If we act now, we can cripple him before momentum carries him further."

Mira added, turning toward the rest.

There were no objections. Everyone knew the truth—if Fenrir united his former allies, no force in the tower could match him.

"Then it's decided. We strike now. Before the twelfth floor becomes another victory banner for him."

Vortan said.

And with that, two of the Divine Council's strongest weapons began their descent—intent on crushing Fenrir and ending his resurgence before the tower itself fell under his feet once again.

As Vortan and Mira departed the chamber, the atmosphere among the remaining generals grew thick with unease.

Even the boldest among them didn't dare underestimate Fenrir Black. He was more than a symbol of rebellion—he was a calamity wrapped in a man's skin.

"He shouldn't have been able to break the seal. That alone means something's changed."

The idea hung in the air like a noose.

Meanwhile, word of the generals' descent spread to those monitoring the tower's flow. Spies, informants, and power-hungry guilds began repositioning.

If Fenrir and his allies were to clash with two of the top twelve, the aftermath could shift the balance of the entire tower.

On the twelfth floor, unaware of the hunters coming, Fenrir, Zerg, and Shelly kept moving forward—one step closer to reigniting a storm the tower had thought it buried long ago.