A soldier rushed into the throne room, his voice urgent. "My lord, the Astaran prince is on the verge of breaking free!" Intense and glaring sunlight bounced off his gleaming white armor, illuminating the crystal pillars of the chamber in a vibrant glow. A faint scent of incense filled the room, blending its sweet and earthy fragrance.

This news filled Lord Muchen's heart with anxiety as he murmured, "That cannot be..."

Lord Muchen, a middle-aged man, wore a long, white robe that signified his authority. His hair, tied back in sections and as black as night, allowed a few stray strands to frame his sharp features. Atop his head rested a golden crown, its twisted plant stem design symbolizing his connection to nature and his role as ruler.

Muchen's hands trembled without control. "Seal... that... demon," he urged in a strained voice, his teeth clenched to the point of almost shattering, his eyes bulging with fear. "Summon all the high gods. IMMEDIATELY!"

"Yes, my lord," the faerie soldier bowed, only to be interrupted by the ground shaking with great force. Both their eyes widened in shock.

"Hurry!" Muchen scowled in disdain. 'If Feng Deming roams free, our demise is inevitable.'

~*~

Deming tilted his head, regarding the faerie general with a cold stare as the general's breath hitched, sweat trickling down his forehead. Overwhelmed by fear, he could only meet the demon prince's sharp, menacing gaze with trembling eyes.

The demon's golden eyes now blazed fiery red, his dark aura pulsating and radiating eerie energy as he clenched his fists. Time froze, and in an instant, a violent eruption shook the dungeon.

The unfortunate faeries near him vanished in a cloud of smoke, the painful screams of hundreds echoing throughout the dungeon. The air filled with a strong, smoky odor of burnt matches and materials for those who survived the attack.

The general, overwhelmed, succumbed to the ruthless assault. Drops of blood trickled from his trembling lips as he muttered in confusion and fear, "What... what is he?"

"Make sure you prepare well for my return," Deming declared with a cold grin as he ascended into the air. Fierce black flames erupted from his back, forming broad wings that crackled and burned. A swirling cloud of black smoke surrounded him as he departed, leaving behind a bone-chilling nightmare for the witnesses.

~*~

The training room had quieted down. Meilin sat at her gaming setup, headphones resting around her neck, while her computer screen displayed a gentle shade of blue.

Ningshun entered the room with a document in hand, his demeanor composed. With a nod, he spoke in a low, smooth voice, "Good job today. You impressed the coach, and trust me, that's not easy to do."

"Thanks... Honestly, I, uh, some teammates almost got the best of me."

He chuckled. "Don't worry about getting tilted. It happens to all of us... Anyways, here's your offer." Stretching out his arm, he held the contract before her. "The coach will sign it as soon as you give the word. Just make sure to read through it carefully."

She took the contract and skimmed through it. "I owe this all to you," she confessed. "I know I wouldn't be here without you."

His expression softened, and he tried to find the right words. "You did the heavy lifting. I just noticed the potential," he murmured, his voice warmer now. His eyes shifted downward for a split second, then flicked back to hers before he added, "I'm glad you proved him wrong."

Meilin leaned forward and caught his scent—a mix of pine and something darker, almost musky. "Thanks for believing in me... You've changed my life for the better. I'll make you proud!"

"I'll make you proud, Father."

"By playing video games for a living?"

Ningshun blinked, shaken from a brief flashback of his father raising his voice. His eyes held hers as if he had something more to say, but he shook his head with a sigh. "I know you will."

~*~

Muchen and his soldiers stormed into the dungeon, their eyes sweeping over the dusty area with heavy hearts, taking in the remains of their loved ones reduced to ashes. Shock and grief gripped them, their jaws dropping as they struggled to comprehend the loss. Frustration and sorrow tightened their fists, some suppressing tears at the sight of their once-living comrades, now gone.

"L-Lord Muchen," the general clung to life, his voice a weak whisper.

Muchen, paralyzed with fear, snapped back to reality, turning his attention to the fortunate survivors. His eyes fell on the injured man lying on the ground who had spoken his name and recognized him. "Yize..."

"I... I failed in my duty." Yize's eyes narrowed in pain. Two of Muchen's soldiers knelt beside him, reaching out their arms to help him as he tried to get back on his feet.

Yet, before he could gather himself, Muchen's gaze froze him in place, like ice on a winter's day. He bowed his head in shame, bearing the silent disappointment of his lord.

In the middle of the wrecked dungeon, Muchen stood still for a moment, surveying the chaos. His eyes narrowed, calculating. "Hope is but a fragile illusion... Once he returns to us, Feng Deming will beg for mercy before the end," he murmured, his smirk unfurling like a serpent coiling around its prey, venomous and inevitable.