Yillhowyen found himself standing in a field—open, endless, unnaturally serene. A soft breeze rolled over the tall grass, carrying with it petals from violet and gold flowers that scattered into the air like ash. He turned his head upward—and froze. Towering above the plain, casting a nightmarish shadow across the landscape, was the Serpent King. Its titanic body loomed like a god fallen from the sky, scales glinting faintly with menace.
"No... no, that'sssss not posssssible!" Yillhowyen's voice cracked with panic as he snapped his gaze to Winter, standing calmly across the field. "How did you do that!? It ssssshould not be posssssible!"
Under normal rules, it wasn't. When one invoked a personal reality—whether a Hellscape, a Heavenly Paradise, a Soul Chamber, or any of their equivalents—it became a brutal tug-of-war. If both fighters invoked their personal realities, the one with the better mastery usually came out on top. But what Winter had done wasn't just dominance—it was overwriting. Yillhowyen's Hellscape hadn't been pushed back or shattered.
It had been absorbed.
Winter had brought Yillhowyen into his Soul Chamber. And dragged the entire Hellscape with him.
"Should it not be possible?" Winter asked mildly, shrugging. "I'm doing it right now, aren't I? So yeah... clearly it is."
Yillhowyen's fangs clenched. "It doessssn't matter! Even if you usssse your petty Ssssoul Chamber, the Sssserpent King will kill you and dessssstroy everything!"
The massive serpent began to slither forward. Its bulk rippled like a tidal wave, fangs glinting, eyes locked on Winter. But Winter didn't move.
He didn't need to.
Without warning, a dozen transparent swords plunged into the Serpent King's side from nowhere. They glowed a ghostly blue, phasing straight through its scales like they weren't even there—and yet blood poured out like they had pierced real flesh. The beast recoiled, screeching, its colossal body writhing from the pain.
With a sharp pull, the blades were yanked back—drawn cleanly from its flesh and streaked with its blood.
Yillhowyen's eyes snapped to the side, following the swords as they withdrew—and then he saw him.
A man. Fully formed, humanoid in every detail, but ghostlike—his entire body faintly glowing blue and transparent, edges blurred like mist. The swords hovered behind him, their tips still dripping. He stood silently, gazing at the serpent as if awaiting the next move.
"Issss that your Ssssoul Chamber's ability!?" Yillhowyen shouted. "A ssssingle apparition!? Meaninglesssss! The Ssserpent King will not losssse!"
Winter looked at him—calm, unbothered.
"He's not the only one here."
And then Yillhowyen saw them.
One by one, more apparitions began to materialize across the field. Men and women of all kinds, each as vividly detailed as the first—some glowing red, others green, gold, violet. Different ages, different weapons, different bearing. But they all had one thing in common:
They were transparent. Ghostlike. And they radiated power.
"My Soul Chamber: Fallen Ones," Winter said. "It's pretty simple. You get dropped into a battlefield where every Chosen One who's died... fights you. All at once."
Yillhowyen recoiled, eyes wide, breath stalling. "Chosssen Onessss...?" His voice cracked. "Wait... no. That'sss not possssible! You're—"
The realization hit like a blade through the chest. His breath hitched.
Winter smiled faintly. "Took you long enough. I figured I'd have a reputation down there." He stepped forward, placing a fist over his heart.
"I am Winter Firmin. The Chosen One. And the one who stopped Demon Lord Ercale."
Yillhowyen's soul quivered, dread flooding every fiber of his being. He stared up at the Serpent King with wide, trembling eyes and whimpered, "Ssss-save me..."
The colossal beast let out a piercing hiss, its body coiling forward to answer his plea—
—but it barely slithered a few meters before a rapier shot up like lightning and buried itself into its right eye. The Chosen One By Blade stood at the end of the thrust, her transparent form poised and elegant, unmoved as the serpent screeched in agony.
The beast reared its head back to howl—
—but its skull never made it far. A deafening crack followed as a massive warhammer slammed down onto the top of its skull, smashing it into the dirt. The Chosen One By Necessity loomed overhead, his ghostlike figure stoic as he pulled the hammer free.
It barely had time to twitch before pain returned tenfold—
The Chosen One By Faith plunged his greatsword into its back and broke into a sprint, dragging the blade down the length of the creature's spine. Its flesh split in a long, gaping line from shoulder to tail, blood and scale bursting in a trail behind him.
It thrashed wildly now—but even that was short-lived.
The Chosen One By Prophecy descended from above, his arm twisted into the form of a dragon's claw. With a brutal slash, he raked open the beast's side, talons carving deep into muscle and rib.
And then—
Silence.
From the line of specters, one stepped forward. He wore no armor, no flair—just simple robes, aged and worn. The First One. The Beginning.
He moved without a word, leapt into the air, and with a single, clean motion—severed the Serpent King's head from its body.
The corpse crashed to the ground.
Yillhowyen collapsed backward, breath caught in his throat as the transparent Chosen Ones—all of them—slowly turned their gaze toward him.
Winter stepped forward. Calm. Steady.
"They all speak, you know," he said quietly. "Only I can hear them."
He kept walking, eyes never leaving Yillhowyen.
"The voices in my head keep telling me I'm going to die. That I'll be one of them soon."
Now he stood directly above him. A shadow over a broken man.
"I tell them they're wrong." Winter knelt slightly, meeting Yillhowyen's panicked eyes. "They call me insane."
He leaned closer, voice low. Cold.
"But even if they're right... I'll make sure you never take this world before I do."
He straightened—
—and raised his foot.
That was the last thing Yillhowyen ever saw.