Chapter 60: The Annoying Dark Room

Chapter 60: The Annoying Dark Room Ragnar Vhagar, Demon King and newly appointed grandmaster of two-player chess, leaned so far forward on his throne. His entire focus was on the holographic map projected over the stone table. Two distinct teams, clusters of glowing green icons, were making steady, brutal progress deep within enemy territory. Isabelle’s Wrecking Crew was a sledgehammer, methodically smashing through the outer defenses of Gorgon’s old mall. Chloe’s Shadow Strikers were a scalpel, slipping deep into the crystalline heart of Queen Alyssa’s territory. It was a beautiful, two-front war, and he was the maestro conducting the symphony of violence from his Throne Room. "Status report, Pixia," he said, his voice a low purr of satisfaction. He didn’t take his eyes off the map. "How’s my favorite elf doing? Pixia zipped over to his shoulder, her own miniature holographic screen flickering with data streams. "The Shadow Strikers have successfully bypassed Alyssa’s outer perimeter, my Lord. Their infiltration was flawless. However, they have encountered a... spatial anomaly." Ragnar’s gaze snapped to the corner of the map representing Chloe’s feed. The clear, sharp lines of the crystal fortress dissolved abruptly into a swirling, impenetrable fog. It was a perfect, silent black, a patch of digital void on his map that seemed to drink the light and scramble the sensors. The icon for Chloe’s team was halted right at its edge, pulsing with a faint yellow light that indicated uncertainty. "What is that?" Ragnar asked. The lazy satisfaction vanished, replaced by the familiar, sharp focus of a gamer encountering a new, and probably very annoying, game mechanic. "Did she install a localized black hole? That seems a bit extra, even for a drama queen who lives in a giant diamond. Is this a bug? A rendering issue?" "My analysis suggests it is a high-level illusion field, my Lord," Pixia explained. "Likely combined with a spatial distortion effect. Any subordinate entering that field would become disoriented, their senses overwhelmed by phantom whispers and false visual data. The intent is to scatter an invading force, separating them from their commanders and picking them off one by one. It is a strategically sound and exceptionally cruel trap." "A dark zone. A classic dungeon gimmick," Ragnar mused, a flicker of grudging respect for his rival entering his mind. "Clever girl." He watched as Chloe’s team held their position at the edge of the unnatural darkness. They were disciplined. They wouldn’t charge in blindly. Their training, and Chloe’s cold logic, was holding them in check. A moment later, a frantic beeping drew his attention to Isabelle’s feed. The same phenomenon was happening there. Her Wrecking Crew had reached a large, open atrium on the second floor of the mall, an area that should have been a clear path to the next sector. Now, it was filled with the same swirling, sightless void. "She has them in both locations," Ragnar breathed, leaning back in his throne and steepling his long, pale fingers. "This isn’t just a defense. It’s a statement. She’s trying to bog down any potential invader, turning her entire domain into a giant, frustrating maze. She’s playing defense on a massive scale." "How do we proceed, my Lord?" Pixia asked, her voice tight with concern. "The statistical probability of a squad successfully navigating the field intact is less than 3.7%. The risk of losing a Bloodkin to disorientation and ambush is unacceptably high." Ragnar leaned back further, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. "She thinks we’ll charge in like idiots. She thinks she can break our formation with a cheap parlor trick," he said. "But she has made one critical, fatal error." "And what is that, my Lord?" "You find a loophole and exploit it until the game engine cries for mercy," Ragnar said. He opened a direct mental channel to both Isabelle and Chloe, his command a cool wave of logic washing over their own tactical concerns. "Commanders, new strategy. Disregard any instinct to ’push through.’ Do not enter the dark zone as a unit. You will form a chain. One of you will act as a physical and mental anchor at the entrance. Send one subordinate through at a time, maintaining constant verbal contact. Once they are through, they become the new anchor. You will leapfrog your way across. It will be slow. It will be boring. It will be the most mind-numbingly tedious thing you have ever done. But it will work. Go." The process was as agonizing to watch as he’d predicted. One by one, a single monster would step into the swirling darkness, their form swallowed by the void, connected to the outside world only by the sound of their comrade’s voice counting out their steps. On Chloe’s side, Grunt the Kobold Warlord, a creature of pure, straightforward violence, went first. His massive form vanished. The silence stretched. Then, his gruff voice echoed faintly back. "...ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred. Am through. Place is weird. A minute later, he emerged on the other side, looking slightly dizzy but otherwise unharmed. On Isabelle’s side, Fenris the Werewolf was the first volunteer. The proud, ferocious beast took a deep breath, his black fur melting into the oppressive shadows. When he reappeared a moment later, he shook his massive head as if to clear it of phantom whispers, a low growl of annoyance rumbling in his chest. It took the better part of an hour. An hour of Ragnar watching his elite, god-killing forces play a high-stakes game of Red Rover. Just as Lillith, the last of Isabelle’s team, stepped gracefully out of the darkness on the other side, a satisfied smile on her face, something else happened. The dark zone behind her shimmered, not with the entry of one of his own, but with a different energy. And from it, stumbled five figures clad in the unmistakable, tragically generic armor of the Hero Guild. They looked young, barely out of their teens, their faces pale with exhaustion. Their leader, a boy with a determined jaw and a sword that was probably worth more than Ragnar’s old apartment, looked around, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and bravado. "We made it!" he exclaimed to his team, his voice cracking with relief. "The ’Whispering Labyrinth’ is behind us! The guild masters were right, that was the final trial! Now we find the source of this mall’s corruption and..." He stopped. His triumphant speech died in his throat. His eyes, and the eyes of his four companions, locked onto Isabelle and her team of monsters, who had turned to face the newcomers. The young hero’s face went through a rapid, comical series of emotions: triumph, confusion, dawning realization, and finally, a pale, horrified white. "Look!" he yelled, pointing a trembling finger, his voice an octave higher than before. "It’s her! The traitor! The Fallen Saint! And... and those are the monsters from the news reports! This isn’t the Demon King’s throne room! It’s an ambush!" Ragnar leaned forward again, a fresh bucket of dried cave-fungus popcorn appearing in his hand as if by magic. "Oh, this is going to be good," he purred, a dark, delighted chuckle rumbling in his chest. "An unexpected crossover episode. My favorite."