The academy at night was a different world.
Gone were the bustling halls, the endless chatter of nobles, the sharp gazes of instructors watching for the slightest imperfection. The grand chandeliers dimmed, casting long, twisting shadows across the marble floors. The air was still, suffocating in its silence.
Dark walked alone.
Something had drawn him here.
It wasn't curiosity. It wasn't a dream.
It was a pull.
An invisible thread winding around his mind, his senses, his very soul, guiding him step by step through the labyrinthine corridors of Godwick's Academy. His footsteps barely made a sound against the stone, yet with every step, he felt something change.
The walls seemed older than before, their carvings deeper, more pronounced. The torches flickered, their flames twisting unnaturally as if recoiling from his presence. The deeper he went, the less real everything felt—like he was walking into a place forgotten by time itself.
Then he saw it.
A door.
Not just any door.
It was massive, carved from obsidian and adorned with symbols he didn't recognize—yet somehow understood. The engravings pulsed faintly, the light within them shifting like liquid gold.
Two keyholes.
One on each side.
Dark's breath hitched.
He didn't remember ever seeing this door before.
But it remembered him.
A name surfaced in his mind, unbidden. A whisper from something older than his current self, something buried beneath layers of false memories and forgotten truths.
The Throne Beneath.
His fingers twitched at his side.
He shouldn't be here.
But at the same time, he was always meant to be here.
Dark exhaled sharply, stepping forward.
The moment his hand touched the door—
Everything changed.
The massive door creaked open by itself, its sheer size making the motion feel impossibly smooth. Dark instinctively took a step back, his breath catching in his throat. A cold gust of air slithered from within, carrying with it the scent of ancient stone and something else—something unplaceable.
The door opened fully.
Dark hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward. His footsteps echoed through the vast chamber as dim, flickering lights ignited in a cascading motion, illuminating the enormous room before him.
At the far end of the cathedral-like hall stood a grand throne—empty, unclaimed. But what stood before it was something else entirely.
A knight.
Frozen in time.
Its armor was unlike anything Dark had ever seen—ancient, towering, and encrusted in layers of what appeared to be hardened stone or frost, as though it had been trapped in stillness for countless millennia. The knight's posture was rigid, one knee bent as if locked in eternal servitude. Its hands gripped a massive great longsword embedded into the ground, its entire being aimed directly toward the entrance—as if it had been waiting for this moment.
Dark moved forward, his footsteps slow and deliberate. The air around him grew denser with each step, the weight of the place pressing down on his shoulders.
Then—something shifted.
A sound.
A crack.
A small fragment of stone broke away from the knight's plated shoulder, shattering into dust upon the ground. Another piece followed. Then another.
Dark's breath hitched.
Then—he felt it.
A presence.
A monstrous, suffocating force flooded the cathedral, slamming against him with the force of a tidal wave. It was unlike anything he had ever encountered. The air itself turned thick, almost solid, as if reality was bending under the sheer weight of what was awakening before him.
A swirling aura of black, red, and streaks of pale white began to unfurl from the knight's form, twisting like spectral tendrils of death itself. The very concept of power shifted around them, no longer something measurable by mere mortal understanding.
Dark's knees buckled. His vision blurred.
Too much.
Dark: (thinking) What... is this...?
His body trembled involuntarily, his heart pounding so hard it felt as though it might burst from his chest.
Then—the knight moved.
It was subtle at first. A slow, almost mechanical shift of its shoulders as its form straightened. The grip around its sword tightened. Then, with the sound of ancient metal grinding against itself, the knight rose.
The weight of its presence doubled. Tripled. Became something far beyond logic.
Dark gasped as his legs gave out, forcing him to the ground. The marble beneath him cracked from the sheer force pressing down upon his body. He clenched his teeth, struggling to lift his head.
Dark: (thinking) Every part of me is screaming to run...
The knight's helm, faceless and menacing, tilted downward.
It took a single step forward.
The effect was immediate.
The entire cathedral shook beneath its movement, the walls groaning under the force of its presence. The energy around it condensed further, turning into a nearly tangible storm of pure malice.
Dark: (thinking) Is this... what it means to stand before something greater than death?
He clenched his fists, forcing himself to stay conscious.
Dark: (thinking) I wonder... is Ace stronger than this?
Something in him rebelled against the thought of fear.
His instincts, his body—they had been weak for so long. But not anymore.
He gritted his teeth and forced himself upright. His legs felt like lead, but he planted them firmly against the fractured ground.
His hand moved.
His sword unsheathed.
Dark: Bring it on.
For a split second, nothing happened.
Then—
The knight vanished.
Not with a sound. Not with a blur of movement.
It simply ceased to exist in front of him.
And before Dark could react—
A hand gripped his shoulder.
His body tensed, but it was already too late.
A force yanked him backwards. At the same time, something solid swept his legs out from under him.
Dark barely registered his own body falling.
Then—impact.
A bone-rattling force slammed him into the ground with terrifying precision.
Dark coughed blood.
His mind reeled from the sheer speed of it all.
Dark: (thinking) What... just happened...?
Above him, standing as though it had never moved at all, was the knight.
Its armored fist, which had just sent him crashing into the ground, slowly unclenched.
It was no longer merely menacing.
It was unfathomable.
A voice, deep and filled with untold weight, resonated through the cathedral.
Igor: Dark. Future Emperor of the Multiverse.
Dark's breath caught in his throat.
Something clicked in his mind.
A feeling—no, a memory.
A fragment of something lost.
Dark: What... did you just call me?
Igor: Why have thou come back?
Dark's mind spun. Something about those words—come back—felt wrong.
Dark: What do you mean?
Igor: Not long ago, you did a reset upon thyself. You planned to live in a new world. As a new you.
Dark's pulse hammered in his ears.
Then—
It hit him.
Memories flooded in.
His past.
His power.
His purpose.
Dark's hands clenched into fists.
Dark: (quietly, realization dawning) ...Guess I came back after all.
A grin stretched across his face. Not of amusement. Not of arrogance.
Of understanding.
His aura flared.
Igor knelt.
The air in the cathedral twisted as Igor's armor began to change—turning into something darker, sharper, more refined.
A transformation.
A new allegiance.
Dark: Awaken.
Igor's form shifted, blackened steel overtaking his once-ancient frame, his eyes burning with deep crimson light.
Dark's smirk didn't fade.
Dark: What year is it?
Igor: Emperor, it is the year 2031.
Dark: Just as planned.
Igor: Indeed.
Dark: When I did the reset, were you there?
Igor: No. I was burying you... in another world.
Dark exhaled sharply.
Dark: So I truly did disappear completely...
Igor: You may not be the Emperor Dark that I knew, but you are, without doubt... more powerful.
Dark: Good to know.
Then—footsteps.
Dark turned slightly.
Someone was approaching.
Slow. Controlled.
Familiar.
Dark: (thinking) No way...
A shadow stretched across the cathedral floor.
Ace.
Dark: Ace... which one are you?
The figure stopped, the dim light illuminating the smirking face beneath the hood.
Ace spun in a full circle, his iconic jester mask forming from nothing, his presence unmistakable.
Ace: Long time no see.
Dark's smirk widened.
Ace barely had time to react before Dark was already in front of him.
A punch flew towards Ace's face.
Ace dodged—effortlessly.
Dark kept swinging, his movements fluid, aggressive.
Ace danced around the attacks, barely needing to move more than inches at a time. Left, right, forward, backward—his reflexes were untouchable.
Dark stopped.
Dark: Alright. Yeah, you're the Ace I knew.
Ace chuckled.
Ace: Hahaha, of course it's me. Who else would try being me?
Dark: A clown.
Ace spread his arms dramatically.
Ace: Exactly!
Dark's smile lingered, but inside, his thoughts churned.
Dark: (thinking) This man took down a city I once loved... and here I am, talking to him like we're friends. Damn it.
Ace tilted his head.
Ace: You're thinking too much again.
Dark exhaled.
Dark: Yeah. Maybe I am.
He lowered his fists.
Dark: So tell me, Ace.
Dark's eyes gleamed.
Dark: What happens next?
Ace's smirk grew.
Ace: Oh, Dark. You already know the answer to that.
Dark: (grinning) ...I fight.
End Of Arc 5 Chapter 3.