Chapter 4: The Ghost of the Founder

Years passed in silence and shadow. To the world, Argus was the brilliant, reclusive scion of House von Hess, a prodigy who had revolutionized the efficiency of the System that powered their peace. He was respected, admired, and left entirely to his own devices. No one saw the web he was weaving from the darkness, with Echo as his eyes and Seraphina as his hands. They moved through the kingdom's underbelly, identifying targets, gathering resources, and laying the hidden runes of a continent-spanning transmutation circle that would one day be the final act of their grand design.

Their research eventually led them to a ghost, a name buried so deep in the ducal archives it was practically myth: Dr. Aris Thorne. The man of science. The original architect of the System.

"He is alive," Echo's psychic voice resonated in Argus's mind, a cold, clear bell. "Hidden. Shielded by technology that mimics a mountain's heart."

The sanctuary was a marvel of impossible engineering, a laboratory carved into the core of a desolate peak. Argus, flanked by his two subordinates, entered not as invaders, but as auditors.

They found Aris Thorne in the central chamber, a man kept preternaturally young and vibrant by his own alchemical creations. He looked up from a complex console, his eyes bright with the arrogant fire of unchallenged genius.

“I was wondering when someone would finally follow the trail,” Aris said, a smug smile playing on his lips.

“Your work is impressive,” Argus stated, his voice a calm, analytical drone. He gestured to the humming machinery. “But flawed.”

Aris laughed, a sharp, barking sound. “Flawed? My boy, this is a trifle. A prototype. My grand plan is so much more.” His eyes took on a messianic zeal. “Humanity, Demons, Beastkin… they are all a plague. I will create a purifying agent, a magical virus that will scour this world of all sentient life. Only then can the planet heal. A complete, perfect, silent reset.”

“A total reset is inefficient,” Argus said, his voice flat. “You would destroy valuable resources.”

The critique, so calm and dismissive, enraged Aris. “You dare?!” he shrieked. With a gesture, the laboratory came alive. Automated defenses dropped from the ceiling, and in a flash of light, his ultimate ace was revealed: three perfect, bio-engineered clones of the legendary hero, Agus. Their faces were noble, their power a searing, holy light. “You cannot defeat the very concept of hope!”

The clones attacked. The air itself screamed as their holy swords cut through it.

Argus didn't counter. He moved, a fluid shadow, and for the first time in front of another, the mask came off. A manic, joyous grin spread across his face. This was not the cold logician; this was a predator let out of its cage.

“Hope?” Argus laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally in the sterile lab. “Let me show you what becomes of hope!”

He dodged a blade of pure light and thrust his hand forward, not at a clone’s body, but at its mind. The first clone froze, its face contorting in agony as Argus force-fed it the memories of the original Agus—the betrayal, the discovery of his dead love, the despair in the dungeon. The clone screamed, a sound of a soul tearing itself apart, and its own holy light turned inward, consuming it in a flash of corrupted energy.

One down.

The other two attacked in a frenzy. Argus met them head-on, his movements a blur of sadistic glee. He caught a holy sword on a blade of pure, obsidian force. With his free hand, he used his precise magic to systematically deconstruct the second clone. He calcified the bones in its sword arm, turning them to brittle chalk that shattered with a wet crunch. He boiled the fluid in its eyes, causing them to burst in clouds of steam. All the while, he whispered the sins of the kingdom it had died to protect.

He savored its screams.

He broke the final clone's legs, and as the hero's effigy fell to its knees, he leaned in close, his voice a sibilant whisper. "This is the fate of every hero. To be broken." He forced it to watch its own body disintegrate, molecule by molecule, until nothing was left but a weeping, broken thing, which he then casually erased from existence.

He turned to the corner where Aris Thorne was huddled, gibbering in pure terror, his genius and arrogance completely sandblasted away by the display of psychological warfare.

“You think this is my end?” Aris spat, a final, desperate act of defiance. “I will live on as an idea!”