The Dragon Valley trembled with fury.
"THAT DAMN FOOL!" Albion's voice cracked like a whip, his white aura flaring so bright it cast harsh shadows across the cavern. "NOW HE'S GONE AND DIED! OUR PLANS ARE RUINED BECAUSE OF HIM!"
Yinglong placed a hand on his arm, her touch gentle but firm. Her golden eyes held a weariness that spoke of centuries spent managing his temper. "You need to calm down. Anger will not solve anything now."
"Only a fool wastes his breath in rage," Qinglong muttered from his corner, not bothering to look up from the ancient text he was studying. His tone was flat, dismissive....the kind of casual cruelty that came from knowing exactly which buttons to press.
Tiamat's laughter cut through the tension like a blade. "HAHAHAHA... He called you a fool. Are you going to take that?"
Albion spun to face her, his composure shattering. "YOU THINK THIS IS A JOKE, HUH, TIAMAT?"
She rose to meet him, her red aura surging, flames licking at her skin. "What if I do? Then what?"
They moved toward each other, the air between them crackling with barely restrained violence. Scales began to form on their skin. Claws extended. The temperature in the chamber swung wildly between blistering heat and biting cold.
"Enough."
The voice came from the shadows...low, calm, absolute. It did not shout. It did not threaten. It simply... spoke. And the room obeyed.
A figure sat in a chair apart from them, his back turned, his face hidden. He held a book in his hands, ancient and worn, and he did not look up as he turned the page.
Both dragons froze. Their auras receded. Their claws retracted.
They had not forgotten who they served. And they knew better than to test his patience.
"My Lord," Albion spoke, his voice now measured, barely containing the frustration simmering beneath. "What do we do now? The Shadow Monarch will conquer the dungeon at this rate."
The figure closed his book with a soft thud. The sound echoed through the cavern like a death knell. He rose from his chair and walked into the light, his face fully revealed for the first time.
He was ancient....not in the way of the dragons, whose age showed in their scales and their eyes, but in a deeper, more profound way. His features were ageless, carved from stone and time. His eyes held the weight of millennia, and when he spoke, his voice carried the authority of one who had shaped the world itself.
"You are not the only precaution I have." He clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze sweeping across the gathered dragons. "There are still Dungeon Rexes inside. Five of them left. One of them far stronger than all of you in your dragon forms."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"Besides..." His lips curved into a smile that did not reach his eyes. "It is time our little Monarch gets to meet other Monarchs. Like him."
He vanished. No flash of light. No sound. One moment he was there, the next, nothing but empty space where he had stood.
The dragons were alone.
...
Every Monarch had once ruled their own world. They had been the absolute peak of their hierarchy...the apex of existence itself. Each of them had died by the Shadow Monarch's hand, on the orders of the Lord of Light.
But death was not an ending.
The Lord of Light had preserved their authorities, holding them close like a miser hoarding gold. And now, he had gifted them to his son.
Antares.
The Dragon King walked through the Dragon Valley, his steps slow and deliberate. He had traveled far from the cavern where the dragons hid....tens of kilometers, crossing through frozen passes and barren wastelands until he reached his destination.
A battlefield.
The ground was scarred. The stone was blackened. The air itself felt heavy with the weight of old deaths. It was here that two of the greatest Familias in history had fallen to the One-Eyed Black Dragon. The bones of heroes lay buried beneath the earth, their souls still lingering, still waiting.
Antares smiled.
"Great warriors of this era," he murmured, his voice soft, almost reverent. "Ahh... how wonderful."
He closed his eyes, breathing in the air.
"I can already sense it....your souls that linger here. filled with light. Servants of the gods."
His grin widened, cruel and predatory.
"But that light will not save you from what I shall do."
He reached into his robes and withdrew a small box. It was plain, unassuming...but the moment he opened it, six dark souls erupted into the air, swirling like hungry specters. They howled with silent rage, their forms writhing with barely contained fury.
"Monarchs..." Antares called out, his voice carrying across the desolate land. "Ahh... I sense it. Your rage and anger. That resentment."
He raised his arms, welcoming them like old friends.
"Tell me, Monarchs... all of you... do you wish vengeance upon the treacherous Shadow Monarch? The one who betrayed our way of life?" His voice rose, echoing across the battlefield. "Then smile and rise! For I call upon you again! Inhabit these bodies of the greatest heroes from this era, and wreak havoc in my name!"
The souls danced in the air, swirling faster and faster, before plunging into the earth like falling stars.
Silence.
The ground trembled.
A hand punched its way out of the dirt....pale, clawed, grasping. Then another. Then another. Bodies rose from the earth, at first appearing as the heroes who had died in battle...warriors in cracked armor, their faces frozen in final defiance. Then they began to change. Their forms twisted and grew. Their features shifted and warped.
Until they became the Monarchs themselves.
A massive figure rose first, his body covered in thick hide, his long hair wild and unkempt. He cracked his neck and let out a guttural growl.
"Monarch of the Fangs, King of the Beasts..." His voice rumbled like distant thunder. "Rakan answers the call."
A leaner figure followed...pale skin, white hair, a face weathered by centuries of cold. He stepped forward with the grace of a predator, his eyes scanning the landscape with cold calculation.
"Monarch of Frost, King of the Snow Folk... Sillad answers the call."
A third emerged, his form deceptively human. But his green eyes burned with hatred and greed, and his hands curled into fists, already aching for destruction.
"Monarch of the Iron Body, King of Monstrous Humanoids... Tarnak answers the call."
A massive hunk of a man rose behind them, tall and wide, a giant in name and size. His beard was thick, his arms like tree trunks.
"Monarch of the Beginning, King of Giants..." His voice was deep and blunt. "Legia answers the call."
A woman stepped forward next, her form beautiful and deceptively fragile. But the shadows around her moved...millions of insects crawling beneath her skin, waiting to be unleashed.
"Monarch of Plagues, Queen of Insects..." Her voice was eerily calm, almost pleasant. "Querehsha answers the call."
Finally, an elderly man rose, his gray hair thin, his light red eyes gleaming with ancient malice. A red blob-like symbol pulsed on his torso, and his presence felt wrong—like a wound in reality itself.
"Monarch of Transfiguration, King of Demonic Spectres..." His voice was raspy, dry as old bones. "Yogumunt answers the call."
Six Monarchs. Six forces of destruction. They stood in a loose semicircle, their eyes fixed on Antares.
The Dragon King smiled.
"Your lovely enemy lives there." He pointed toward the distant city—toward Orario, his voice thick with anticipation. "Oh... and since you all like to command certain types of monsters... it just so happens your opponent lives in a city where millions of monsters live beneath it."
Antares vanished.
The six Monarchs turned as one. Their eyes fixed on the distant city...They moved.
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