With the heavy steel door forced open, the stench of old magic and rot drifted into the corridor like a warning.
Fenrir stepped into the dim, lifeless chamber with calm steps.
His boots echoed faintly against the stone floor, and the soft hum of the mana-draining machinery built into the walls vibrated through his bones.
The prison was not guarded, and that spoke volumes. They were not expecting anyone to come here.
Or rather, they believed there was no point.
Zerg had been sealed, drained, and discarded like an old relic no longer of use. That misplaced confidence irritated Fenrir more than he cared to admit.
He reached the final chamber—a thick metallic door inscribed with divine glyphs that would have stopped any normal intruder.
But Fenrir was no normal intruder. His regained divine authority surged through his palm as he placed it on the seal.
The glyphs tried to resist, but they faltered quickly, flickering out like dying embers. The system responded instantly.
