The Resurrection Of The Demon Lord

Location: High Council Surveillance Hall – Velvian Arena Citadel

The echo of high heels against polished stone broke the stillness of the surveillance hall. Dimly lit and buried deep beneath the roaring coliseum above, the chamber was cold, humming faintly with arcane circuitry and flickering Aether projectors. The walls shimmered with live footage of different tournament zones, some bloody, some silent, most now eerily empty.

Seraphina entered with quiet grace — dark velvet robes brushing the floor, her golden phoenix brooch catching the dim light. Her expression was composed as always, but her sharp eyes scanned the room like blades.

Elara, already at the center console, didn't turn to greet her. Her pale braid shimmered with strands of silver, arms locked behind her back in thought.

"Elara," Seraphina said softly. "Status report. Is everything stable with the completion of Round One?"

Elara exhaled through her nose and nodded slightly. "Yes. For the most part."

"And the death toll?"

Elara's tone remained cool. "Eighty-seven confirmed dead. Twenty-six missing."

Seraphina didn't flinch. "Expected. This is the 5K Tournament. Killing is permitted. Still…" she narrowed her eyes. "That's higher than usual."

"Much higher," Elara murmured.

Seraphina stepped closer to the glowing control panel, glancing at the maps of each terrain — Forest of Death, Obsidian Ruins, Sky Pillars. One section of the map blinked red.

"What's that?" she asked.

Elara tapped the panel. A crystal glyph expanded into a web of magical data streams — severed abruptly at their roots. Static, interference, null readings.

"That… is where it gets interesting," Elara replied. "Roughly two hours before sunrise, an enormous surge of unidentified energy was detected just outside the Forest of Death quadrant — beyond the tournament perimeter."

Seraphina turned, brows raising. "Outside the grounds?"

Elara nodded grimly. "Yes. Off-limits territory."

"Then why weren't we alerted?"

Elara's jaw tensed.

"Because someone destroyed the surveillance wards. Most of the security enchantments were wiped clean — burned from the inside."

Seraphina's voice turned cold.

"Sabotage?"

"Deliberate," Elara replied. "And I know who did it."

She gestured, and an image appeared: Nizara.

Face stoic, arms wrapped in lightning-singed bandages, his cloak billowing in the breeze of the Forest of Death. The timestamp showed him approaching one of the crystal pylons… just before the footage cut to static.

"Nizara," Seraphina murmured. "The Storm Aether wielder."

"He's been under 24-hour surveillance since the Tournament began. King's orders. His Aether patterns are too unstable. And frankly… he's too skilled for someone with no known lineage."

Seraphina frowned. "He destroyed our eyes."

Elara looked her in the eye. "We couldn't see anything that happened after that."

There was a long silence between them.

Then, Seraphina turned toward the glowing maps again, her voice firm. "I'll dispatch the Police Force to investigate the area immediately. I want scouts, Aether trackers, and at least one Enforcer squad. If anything's left there — bodies, magic residue, symbols — I want it recovered and brought here."

"And what about the contestants who left the grounds?" Elara asked pointedly. "Because Nizara wasn't alone."

Seraphina's eyes narrowed. "We know Zalthor left. And Elowyn. Which means the rest of Squad Z did as well."

"And someone else," Elara added. "A new face. Kairo Vale. His signature was recorded leaving the quadrant at the same time."

Seraphina went still.

"Kairo…?"

Elara brought up a flickering profile: wild hair, obsidian tattoos on his arms, red-and-black robes scorched with dark energy. A new contestant. No past records in the Kingdom. No origin point.

"He's dangerous," Elara said simply.

Seraphina turned sharply. "Then why was he allowed in?"

Elara's jaw clenched again. "The King's inner circle approved his application directly. No explanation."

Another long silence.

"Inform Isolde," Seraphina said at last. "Tell her what we've found. Don't mention the destruction of the wards — yet. Just that we're initiating a routine post-round investigation."

"And if she asks why?" Elara pressed.

"Tell her I don't like the fog. And I never trust silence."

LATER THAT NIGHT…

The halls of the surveillance citadel emptied, save for a single black-robed figure who entered the observation chamber long after the others had left. He moved with practiced silence — an Archivist.

He approached the crystal feeds, now archived, and tapped the corrupted logs.

From deep within the fractured static… something shimmered.

A single frame. Almost missed.

A towering figure made of cracked black stone, eyes glowing violet. Veins filled with corrupted Aether. Surrounded by hooded silhouettes bearing runes and burning robes.

Obsidian Reign.

The Archivist's breath hitched.

But then the image vanished — overwritten.

"They saw it," he whispered. "And they're not telling anyone."

He turned and left the chamber, sealing the door behind him with an ancient rune — not from the Kingdom, but from something far older.