Talent Awakening: Draconic Overlord Of The Apocalypse

Alister’s grip tightened on the railing, the metal groaning faintly—crk. His gaze hardened, fixed on the rising sun, its warmth doing little to thaw the chill settling in his bones. Kai Li’s threat echoed in his mind, a specter of despair that refused to stay buried, and he knew this dawn marked the beginning of something far darker than he’d anticipated.

Suddenly, a sharp ding echoed, and a translucent red system window materialized before Alister, its edges crackling with static.

Bold, jagged text glowed at its center, framed by ominous brackets:

⫷『System Notification: House War Declared』⫸

Draven, bound to House Hazenworth, has engaged in conflict with House Oboros.

Celestial law recognizes this as a formal House War. All affiliated members are now subject to its consequences.

The window pulsed once, its crimson light casting a fleeting glow across Alister’s face, then dissolved into the air, leaving only the faint hum of mana in its wake.

Alister’s eyes widened, his breath catching as the words sank in. “House… Oboros?”

Memories began flooding in—a war, a game, a deal… that was never made.

“## ### end, this is all it led to. ## could have ### it all, #####, if only ### had listened.”

“### ## #### ## try again?”

“## #### make a deal, what do you say?”

FIZZLE

The memory was clarified.

“In the end, this is all it led to. We could have had it all, Architect, if only you had listened.”

His gaze lifted, drawn to a shadowy figure… a man in all black, radiating a foul black aura. Most of his clothing was shrouded in shadows.

Only one thing stood out.

A black skull mask… he didn’t know why, but he could tell it made him forget the face of the one who wore it… it was like knowing one forgot something but not knowing what it was.

And there were crimson eyes behind them.

Standing directly in front of him. Behind him, a colossal crimson eye, encircled by a golden halo, dominated the sky. It was the source of the strange red glow that bathed the wasteland in crimson.

The man extended a shadowy hand.

“Sorameck, why don’t we try again?”

“We should make a deal, what do you say?”

The answer he gave wasn’t his… no, it was a will buried within his very core, an instinct, a reflex, as if he were but a mouthpiece for a message buried deep within his very being.

“No.”

“It was never my desire to kill.

Only theirs to die.”

“You seek dominion. I seek silence.

You want to rule.

I want to rest.”

The man in the mask gazed in awe for a moment, as if relieved, as if he had found a lost friend—and yet, angered, like he felt betrayed, turned down. He gritted his teeth, as if the answer he wished to hear was yes… indeed, that was what he wanted. He craved it more than anything.

But why?

The man suddenly let out a bitter laugh, then said, “So be it.”

With a single stroke of his hand, he lopped off the Dragon Overlord’s head.

The flashback ended.

A sudden, visceral pain erupted around Alister’s neck—a sharp, phantom slice, as if an invisible blade had cleaved through flesh and bone.

He gasped, his gloved hand flying to his throat, fingers pressing against unmarred skin.

The pain pulsed once, twice, then faded, leaving his pulse racing.

“What the—?” he rasped, his voice hoarse, eyes wide with shock. He was fine—no blood, no wound, just the lingering ghost pain of agony.

Alameck’s presence flared violently in his mind, a guttural “Nngh!” breaking his usual composure.

“What was that?!” he snarled. “My neck—felt like it was torn apart, but I’m… intact?”

Alister steadied his breathing, his hand still pressed to his throat, the memory from moments ago flooding back with vivid clarity.

The wasteland bathed in crimson, the colossal eye in the sky, the man in the black skull mask with those piercing red eyes, offering a deal.

“Sorameck, why don’t we try again? We should make a deal, what do you say?”

And that answer—not just his, but something deeper, a will etched into his… no, their core: “No. It was never my desire to kill. Only theirs to die.”

He froze. “That wasn’t just my memory,” he said aloud, his voice low, almost trembling. “It was us—both of us, Alameck. We were there, speaking to that masked man. Those words… they came from both our mouths.”

Alameck’s presence stilled, a rare feeling of hesitation threading through his response. “You’re right,” he said, his voice quieter now with unease. “I felt it too—the wasteland, the eye, that… thing in the mask. His voice, his offer. And when we refused, I felt the blade, just now, like it happened again. But how? That wasn’t our memory—it can’t be.”

Alister’s jaw clenched. “It’s tied to this,” he said, his mind racing back to the system window, to Draven’s war with Oboros, to Kai’s impossible return.

“That man, the crimson eye, Oboros… they’re connected. And whatever we said to him back then, it’s why we’re still here—and why Kai’s back, reeking of corruption.”

“You think refusing his deal marked us?” Alameck asked, his tone sharpening again, though a trace of doubt lingered. “Or saved us? That pain… it felt like it wasn’t the first time we’ve experienced it. Does that mean we have disagreed before… and he did the same?”

For a moment there was silence between them. Then, for some reason, they gritted their teeth.

They had just witnessed a man trying to use them, and when they disagreed, he put an end to their lives.

He was looking down at them.

And had punished their defiance with death.

Because they said no?

Because they refused to be pawns in his game?

So he pointed his sword at them?

They felt immensely insulted.

Never had the both of them felt so in sync.

“That bastard,” Alameck spat, his voice a low growl that vibrated through Alister’s skull. “I can still see his smug face—those red eyes behind that cursed mask, staring at me like I were his plaything. Offering that deal like he had the right to command me!” Alameck said, as if it was his memory… perhaps it was theirs…

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