Chapter Twenty Seven: Harbingers of Fate

The aftermath of the Altar of Flesh was silence.

No more wet sounds of regenerating flesh. No more guttural roars or crackling necrotic magic. Only the soft drip of residual gore and the quiet settling of dust remained in the ruined hall.

The Tyrant Unit began their ascent.

Raiden led the way, greatsword resting across one shoulder, still marked with the blackened remains of the Abyssians. Yumi moved quietly at the flank, eyes sharp. Kai and Sora followed close behind, both still processing what they had witnessed. Zero walked near the rear, his expression unreadable, the deep maroon circuits along his armor dimmed to a low pulse.

When they emerged back into the city of Sendai Daikannon, the reaction was immediate.

Stunned stares.

Utter silence.

Citizens and demi-humans who had been going about their business stopped mid-step. Conversations died. Market stalls fell quiet. The group of heavily armed Delvers — and the silver-haired man who had walked into their greatest shame and destroyed the Master of Flesh — were met with a mixture of awe, fear, and something close to disbelief.

High Rune Lord Kalvire De’Tar was already waiting near the gate that led back toward the surface. His usual composed expression had tightened. He said nothing at first, only gestured for them to follow as a small escort of city guards formed up around the unit.

Being led out under guard left the Tyrants slightly unnerved.

They had entered as invited problem-solvers. They were leaving as something else entirely — people who had witnessed a Class 5 Prisoner carve through a Lich that the city’s own forces had been unable (or unwilling) to face.

Raiden glanced sideways at Zero as they walked.

“You good?”

Zero’s gaze remained fixed ahead.

“…Yeah.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. The victory over Kralikan had settled something in him, but it had also reopened older wounds. The name Kael Vorrack still echoed in the back of his mind like a brand that had never fully faded.

The city remained silent as the Tyrant Unit was escorted toward the outer gates.

Whatever report would reach Commander Hanzo and Central HQ, one thing was already clear to everyone who had watched them leave:

The man once called Zero was no ordinary Delver.

And the Master of Flesh would not be the last servant of the Architects to learn that lesson.

As the Tyrant Unit made their way back to Wakayama HQ, they were met with an unexpected reception.

A full procession of Elite Delvers stood in formation near the landing platform. At their head waited Shogun Akira Hanzo himself, flanked by members of his personal elite unit. The moment the transport vehicle came to a halt and the rear ramp lowered, the atmosphere tightened.

The Tyrants disembarked.

Hanzo stepped forward, his presence as commanding as ever.

“Tyrant Unit. Your report?”

The words were short. Direct.

Raiden straightened and gave a crisp nod.

“Shogun. The matter has been resolved. We encountered an undead Sidhe.”

The mood shifted instantly. A cold stillness settled over the assembled Elites.

Hanzo’s brow furrowed slightly. He scratched his chin, clearly turning the information over.

“An undead Sidhe? I was under the impression that once they die, they either become nothing… or are reborn as something else entirely.”

“No,” Zero said, speaking up for the first time.

All eyes turned toward him.

“A Sidhe who dies without glory becomes a Shade. Those Shades can later become Wraiths. And if the Priesthood of Fate desires new Flesh Masters, they elevate certain ones further — turning them into what you just faced. Flesh Priests. Liches bound to their will.”

The explanation hung in the air.

Hanzo studied Zero for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose and gave a slow nod, as if the pieces had clicked into place.

“Seems we have a rather intriguing development then.”

He glanced across the Tyrant Unit, then back to Zero.

“A Lich of that caliber appearing inside a Zero Delve Zone… and being put down by a provisional Class 5. Central will want a full accounting. For now, get cleaned up and rest. Formal debrief at 0800 tomorrow.”

His gaze lingered on Zero a second longer.

“And Zero. We’ll speak privately afterward.”

With that, Hanzo turned and began issuing quiet orders to his elite unit. The formation parted, allowing the Tyrants to pass into the HQ proper.

Raiden shot Zero a sideways look as they walked.

“Flesh Priests, huh?”

Zero’s expression remained unreadable.

“They’re just another link in the chain.”

And somewhere far beyond the walls of Wakayama HQ, the Architects of Fate had just lost another piece on the board.

In the pockets between worlds, far beyond the reach of any single realm, the Council of Fate gathered.

They were twelve in number — each a survivor and conqueror from a world already claimed by the Architects. Only those who had proven the worth of their species were elevated to this rank. Around them stood their Sidhe cohorts, silent and attentive, as the council convened in a vast chamber of shifting void and pale starlight.

The twelve seats formed a perfect circle.

At the center of their circle floated a pale, featureless representation of the Architects’ will — a silent observer that required no name.

The air grew heavy as the first among them, Veythrax the Scaled, unfurled what remained of his wings and spoke.

“The Master of Flesh has fallen… and the Failed King walks free once more.”

Draven Solcull was the first to break the silence.

“Foolish Sidhe,” he said coldly. “They should have killed him when his rebellion ended — when the Chorimere invaded his kingdom. Leaving a Fatebreaker alive was always a mistake.”

A low murmur of agreement rippled through the circle.

Gorrath Ironmaw grunted and leaned forward, massive tusks gleaming as he drank thick, dark liquid from a polished skull.

“I’ll send a Harbinger,” the orc-blooded warlord rumbled. “One of mine will crush this mortal’s skull and be done with it.”

Veythrax the Scaled unfurled the remnants of his mana-forged wings, crimson light flickering along the edges.

“The angels have already failed once. I will send my Harbinger.” His voice rolled through the chamber like distant thunder. “Let the Failed King learn what true scale and fire feel like.”

Another murmur of assent followed.

Then Thalorien the Eternal rose from his seat.

The High Elf’s movement was slow, deliberate, and somehow more commanding than the others’ displays of force. The chamber quieted almost immediately. Even among the Council of Fate, Thalorien’s presence carried a different weight — the cold, patient intelligence of a being who had watched multiple worlds fall and had never once been surprised by the outcome.

“Send one Harbinger only,” Thalorien said, his voice calm and precise. “I will have words with the Sidhe Elders. They overestimate their own abilities… and they continue to underestimate the Failed King.”

He let his gaze travel across the circle.

“His rage burns brighter than before. The priesthood stripped his name and sealed his power, yet he has already slain a Flesh Priest and a Herald-class amalgam. He is more dangerous now than he was at the height of his rebellion. We must tread carefully before we fully assimilate that world.”

No one immediately contradicted him.

Even Gorrath only grunted and sat back, while Veythrax’s glowing eyes narrowed in thought. Draven Solcull remained silent, though a faint flicker of calculation passed behind his cold human gaze.

Thalorien the Eternal remained standing a moment longer, the pale starlight of the between-worlds chamber reflecting in his ageless eyes.

“The Failed King is no longer merely a prisoner who escaped,” he said at last. “He is becoming a problem. And problems of this nature… require precision, not haste.”

The Council of Fate continued their deliberation as the void around them slowly shifted, already turning their attention toward the world that still resisted the Architects’ design.

Wakayama HQ was buzzing with unusual activity.

High above the compound, a massive flying battleship hovered in near silence, its hull marked with unfamiliar insignia. Magicyte engines hummed as a containment field lowered from the vessel’s underside. Three figures descended within the shimmering barrier and touched down on the landing platform with controlled precision.

The barrier faded.

At the front stood a tall, lithe woman with short-cropped blonde hair and sharp green eyes behind thin-framed glasses. She wore a long, sleek black dress that somehow still managed to look practical, paired with heels that clicked sharply against the reinforced concrete. Behind her, two heavily geared Elite Delvers stood in full face-concealing helmets and dark composite armor — American design.

She approached with measured confidence.

“Ah, Shogun. I was told you were here.”

Her accent was distinctly foreign, yet her Japanese was fluent and precise.

Akira Hanzo inclined his head slightly, though his expression remained guarded.

“Madam President. What brings you to our slice of hell?”

The woman — President of the American Delver Authority — offered a thin, humorless smile.

“Arthur and his unit have perished.”

The words landed like a blade.

Zero, standing among the nearby Tyrants, felt something cold settle in his chest. He had crossed blades with Arthur. Fought beside Merlin, Lancelot, and Morgana in the Dungeon of Angels. They had been skilled. Disciplined. Strong.

“According to the Euro King,” the President continued, “they were attacked inside the London Eye Dungeon by something… unnatural.”

Akira’s eyes narrowed.

“How so?”

“That’s the problem.” She adjusted her glasses. “The Codex couldn’t record the creature — whatever it was. The Euro Kingdom has closed its borders completely. No one in. No one out. From what the King managed to relay before communications were restricted, the creature wiped out Arthur’s unit and then vanished through a slice in reality.”

She paused.

“The only confirmed survivor is Merlin. The rest of Artemis Unit is dead.”

A heavy silence followed.

Raiden’s jaw tightened. Yumi’s expression remained unreadable, though her hand drifted closer to one of her blades. Kai muttered something under his breath. Sora’s usual calm had sharpened into quiet concern.

Zero said nothing.

But behind his eyes, the memory of Arthur’s golden armor and confident stance during their spar flickered briefly — followed by the colder realization that even elite warriors from another continent could be erased without the Codex managing to leave a proper record.

Akira Hanzo exhaled slowly.

“An unrecordable entity that can open reality tears… and it targeted one of the strongest units in Europe.”

The American President’s green eyes flicked briefly toward Zero, lingering just a moment longer than necessary before returning to the Shogun.

“We believe the situation is escalating beyond regional control. That’s why I’m here.”

The flying battleship continued to hover overhead like a silent warning.

Whatever had killed Artemis Unit had just changed the board for every major power still fighting the dungeons.

The American President’s expression remained composed, but there was a clear undercurrent of urgency in her voice.

“I know we have had our issues in the past,” she said. “Some of my generals have blown hot air and insulted you more than once. That ends now. We need to come together.”

She took a step closer to Hanzo, lowering her voice slightly though still loud enough for the nearby Elites and the Tyrants to hear.

“I believe an invasion is imminent. The tears in reality are becoming more frequent. Several of our major dungeons are already compromised. The Liberty Dungeon has been completely sealed off — we had to erect a full Magicyte dome over it. Twenty Elite Delver units are currently stationed there just to protect the surrounding populace.”

Her green eyes hardened behind the glasses.

“The Empire Dungeon in New York is in the same situation. We cleared and evacuated half the city and moved the civilians into the underground shelters for the time being. Whatever is pushing through these reality tears is no longer content with isolated breaches.”

Akira Hanzo listened in silence, arms folded, the weight of the report settling visibly across his shoulders. The loss of Artemis Unit, the appearance of an unrecordable entity, and now multiple sealed American dungeons painted a clear and escalating pattern.

Zero remained quiet at the edge of the group, but his eyes had sharpened. Reality tears. Unrecordable entities. Sealed dungeons. It all pointed toward the same force he had already begun to remember — the Architects of Fate tightening their grip.

Hanzo finally spoke.

“Then the board has changed for all of us.”

The American President gave a single, firm nod.

“It has. And if Europe has already gone dark… Japan may be next on the list.”

The massive flying battleship continued to hover overhead, its presence no longer just a diplomatic gesture.

“I have also heard rumors of a Class 5 Prisoner in your employ.”

President Clara Jackson’s sharp green eyes locked directly onto Zero. Without hesitation she approached him, heels clicking against the platform.

“You must be Zero. I am President Clara Jackson, Commander-in-Chief of the United American Delver Authority.”

Titles. Always titles with these people, Zero thought.

He met her gaze evenly and gave a slight nod.

“Former King Kael Vorrack. Call me Zero.”

He extended his hand.

Clara did not take it.

“I refrain from touching people,” she said simply, stepping back half a pace. Her eyes never left his. “My gut tells me, Akira, that this Prisoner is dangerous. By your own policy, Prisoners should be put to the blade. I wonder… have you really lost your nerve?”

The challenge hung in the air, pointed and deliberate. She was testing both of them.

Akira Hanzo only laughed — a short, dry sound that carried easily across the platform.

“Hardly. Why waste an asset when he has already proven exceptional in combat?”

Clara’s expression did not soften, but something calculating flickered behind her glasses as she studied Zero again. The two Elite Delvers behind her remained completely still, faceless and ready.

Zero lowered his hand without comment, the deep maroon circuits along his armor giving a faint pulse under the daylight.

The tension between the three of them — Shogun, President, and Failed King — settled into something heavier than simple diplomacy.

Far above, the American battleship continued its silent vigil.

Clara Jackson turned her full attention back to Zero, green eyes sharp behind her glasses.

“You claim to be a former king,” she said evenly. “Yet you stand here as a Class 5 Prisoner under Japanese authority. Explain that contradiction.”

Zero met her gaze without flinching.

“There is no contradiction. I was a king. Then the Architects of Fate decided my world was next. I rebelled. I lost. They stripped my name, sealed my power, and locked me in one of their tombs. Your people call those tombs ‘dungeons’ now.”

Clara’s expression remained controlled, but she tilted her head slightly.

“The Architects of Fate. You speak of them as if they are fact rather than myth. Most Delver organizations still treat them as unconfirmed theory.”

“They’re real,” Zero replied. “They’ve already taken more worlds than you can count. The dungeons aren’t random. They’re the method. Landmarks first. Then the rest.”

She studied him for a long moment.

“And the entity that killed Artemis Unit in the London Eye? You believe it is connected to these Architects?”

“Yes.”

“Based on what, exactly? Memory fragments? Instinct?”

Zero’s voice stayed flat.

“Based on having fought their servants before. Sidhe. Heralds. Flesh Priests. Reality tears. Unrecordable entities. It fits the same pattern that destroyed my kingdom.”

Clara folded her arms.

“You expect me to take the word of a man whose own Codex returns nothing but errors? A man who, by every measurable standard, should not exist at the level of power he demonstrates?”

“I don’t expect you to take my word,” Zero said. “I expect you to watch what happens next. The tears are increasing. Your Liberty and Empire Dungeons are already sealed. Europe has gone dark. If you wait for perfect proof, there won’t be anything left to protect.”

A faint breeze moved across the platform. Behind Clara, her two Elite Delvers remained motionless.

She regarded Zero in silence for several seconds longer, as if weighing every word against whatever intelligence the American Authority already possessed.

Finally she spoke again, quieter but no less sharp.

“If you are wrong, you are simply a dangerous unknown with a convenient story. If you are right…” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Then we are already further behind than any of us want to admit.”

She turned her head slightly toward Hanzo without fully looking away from Zero.

“I want him included in the joint briefing. I want to hear everything he claims to remember — under controlled conditions.”

Akira gave a small, acknowledging nod.

Zero said nothing more. He had already said enough.

The Harbingers were now moving with purpose, their invasion was preparing and their forces were gathering. The Council was now accelerating their assimilation of Earth and Zero, was the lynchpin.