Chapter 92 – Molten Judgement
Chapter 92 – Molten Judgement
The first sign was a tremor — low and resonant, as though the heart of the world had skipped a beat.
Deep beneath the Shindo castle, hidden in its icy basement, a vast network of runes pulsed with cold blue light. Magic circles sprawled across the floor like frostbitten spiderwebs, each one carved painstakingly by trembling hands.
At their centre stood Nellisa, her frost-pale hair whipping around her face in an unseen wind. Her eyes were wide and feverish, her voice echoing through the chamber in guttural chants that scraped against the walls like icy claws. Around her, the last of her loyal Storm Wizards knelt, arms outstretched, their fingers glowing as they poured the last scraps of their life force into the ritual.
Their breaths crystallized in the freezing air, their skin pale as the moon. One by one, they slumped forward, collapsing into the magic circles as their energy was consumed.
Nellisa’s voice rose higher, ragged and wild, until it snapped into a final scream:
“Shindeon! Infernal Warden of the Underworld! Break free of your chains! Burn the world above with your judgment!”
As Nellisa’s final scream split the cavern air, the runes below erupted in blinding frost-blue light that warped into a crimson blaze — and from that searing womb, a monstrous claw burst forth.
A shockwave tore through the foundation — deep and resonant, like a titan’s groan echoing from beneath the world’s skin. The ground shuddered violently; cracks spiderwebbed across the marble floors and radiated outward into the winding streets of Shindo.
Shindo’s towering castle, once the proud heart of the kingdom, trembled as though seized by an invisible fist. Chandeliers swung wildly, crashing against ornate pillars with metallic screams. Walls moaned and buckled, ancient tapestries torn from their hooks, fluttering like frightened ghosts before they fell into churning lava seeping upward.
Then, from deep below the castle’s foundation, a monstrous claw burst through the throne room floor, molten lava gushing up around it in thick, glowing torrents like blood from a gaping wound. Another claw followed, rending marble columns apart as if they were paper, shattering stained-glass windows into a storm of sparkling shards.
A horned head emerged slowly, crowned in jagged obsidian ridges veined with burning magma. Eyes like twin infernos flared open, casting an orange glow so bright it reduced statues and woodwork to instant cinders. Each breath from this monstrous maw sent tidal waves of molten heat across the ruins, turning stone to flowing slag and igniting anything even remotely flammable.
The castle’s upper halls imploded under the growing pressure. Towers cracked like brittle bones and collapsed in a chain of thunderous detonations. The grand spires — once symbols of Shindo’s unchallenged authority — crumbled into rolling avalanches of ash and flame. As Shindeon’s massive shoulders forced their way into the open air, the entire palace disintegrated, centuries of devotion reduced to rivers of lava and mounds of smouldering rubble in moments.
With every upward surge, more of the kingdom’s pride was annihilated, each tremor echoing across the now-lightless streets. His rising body looked like a living volcano clad in shifting plates of infernal armour — each piece pulsing with crimson veins that spat sparks and molten droplets into the air.
Lightning crackled between his curling horns, jagged streaks arcing skyward as though the heavens themselves raged in protest. Molten rivulets streamed down his arms and pooled at his clawed feet, hissing violently as they scorched the earth below.
Finally, with one last earth-splitting thrust upward, Shindeon stood fully revealed — a towering titan dwarfing every remaining structure, a living cataclysm whose very existence was an insult to the natural order.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Soldiers and any straggling townsfolk who hadn’t fled scattered like insects before a wildfire. The sky turned crimson, stained by the searing glow emanating from his form. Even the air itself seemed to tremble and warp in waves of suffocating heat.
A triumphant, thunderous roar erupted from his throat — a sound so deep it made bones vibrate and hearts shudder. The shockwave rippled through the streets, flattening entire rows of houses and shattering windows far beyond the castle walls.
In that single, echoing bellow, it was as though Shindeon was announcing his rebirth to the world, his rage pouring into every corner of Shindo.
The earth rumbled beneath his feet. The night sky flickered as if trying to flee from the storm he carried within. His horns gleamed with demonic brilliance, arcs of electricity dancing between them like the wrath of a vengeful god.
Standing there, wreathed in lava and black smoke, Shindeon no longer resembled a prisoner freed. He looked like the infernal god of calamity that legends had only dared to whisper about — the Infernal Warden of the Underworld made flesh, a nightmare that had slumbered too long and now emerged with boundless hunger for retribution.
In that instant, as all of Shindo beheld him through eyes blurred by tears, ash, and terror, it became clear:
The age of serene mornings and sunlit rooftops had ended. Shindo was now the crucible, and Shindeon — the harbinger of molten judgment — had returned to claim it as his throne.
The flames around Shindeon twisted higher, painting the broken sky in bloody streaks. Down the winding path into Shindo’s heart, a single figure stormed forward — each step loud, heavy, like thunder rolling across a battlefield.
King Wing.
His cloak snapped behind him, half-scorched and ragged from past skirmishes. His eyes, glinting like frostbitten steel, locked onto the smouldering ruin where his castle once stood. The grand marble gates that had once glittered in the morning sun now lay in molten heaps.
He sucked in a ragged breath, his gaze shaking as it swept across the horizon.
“My… my castle…” His voice trembled, more growl than sentence. He ground his teeth, fists shaking at his sides.
“My kingdom… my throne… everything that bore my name…!”
All around him, fleeing soldiers sprinted for the outer gates, tripping and scrambling in panic. Some threw away shields, others even their helmets, abandoning the insignias they once swore to defend.
King Wing ignored them. His world had shrunk to one singular, towering target: Shindeon.
He lifted his frost-wreathed sword, the blade shimmering with a cold light that cut through the crimson haze.
“I don’t give a damn if you call yourself a god or a warden from the depths!” he roared, voice echoing like a cracked war horn. “If you dare take from me… I will erase you, no matter who or what you are!”
His feet dug into the melted earth. He lunged forward with a primal scream, blade gleaming as he aimed straight for Shindeon’s heart.
Shindeon didn’t even flinch. The Infernal Warden tilted his massive head slightly, as if studying an insect crawling up a boot. Then, with a simple flick of his colossal wrist, his molten claw met King Wing’s slash head-on.
A shattering ring split the air.
King Wing’s eyes widened. The blade — his most trusted, his pride, his legacy — splintered like cheap glass. Fragments spiralled through the air, catching crimson sparks before clattering into the magma-slick ground.
There was a heartbeat of silence. Then, realization struck him like an avalanche.
His breath hitched. “A fake…?”
His trembling fingers loosened around the broken hilt. He laughed — a low, sharp bark of disbelief that turned quickly into a ragged, pained cackle.
“Heh… So it was you… Princess,” he spat, blood mixing with each hoarse chuckle. “Guess I underestimated you after all… should’ve clipped your wings sooner…”
His hand dropped the useless hilt. He stood there, eyes bright with manic frost.
“Fine… so be it!”
He slammed the hilt into the dirt, shattering it fully, and flung aside the last shards of his pride. His gaze snapped back to Shindeon — now towering silently, fists clenching and unclenching, relishing each molten breath as he stretched and tested the boundaries of his newfound freedom.
King Wing’s chest heaved. His arms twitched, blood dripped from reopened wounds — yet he lunged forward again.
“Strength… strength is everything!” he screamed, charging with bare fists, feet slamming into melted stones with thunderous echoes.
Shindeon’s tail snapped through the air, a living battering ram of volcanic might. It connected with a sickening crack, sending King Wing tumbling across the scorched plaza like a broken doll.
He rolled to a stop, coughing blood into the dirt. His fingers twitched weakly, clawing at the molten-slick stones as he forced his battered body to rise once more.
And yet, in that hellish silence, he staggered up again, breath hissing through bloodied lips. The world felt impossibly wide, the shadows deep as pits — but he would not kneel. Not while even a spark of pride smouldered in his chest.
Somewhere beyond the flames, an unseen presence drew closer. A final storm was coming. And as King Wing took his first limping step forward, it was as if all of Shindo held its breath to see if this battered tyrant would rise again… or finally vanish into the ash.