The trio stepped off the train, their boots meeting the cold, metallic flooring of the station. As they took in their surroundings, they were immediately met with a long line of people, all waiting in a seemingly endless queue that stretched toward the massive gate ahead. The Black Gate. The entrance to the infamous Theatre.
Belial narrowed his eyes at the sight.
The air buzzed with the murmurs of countless beings, each waiting for their turn to pass through. He folded his arms, his tail flicking behind him in irritation as he gazed up toward the sky. Above them, the dark void of space pulsed with strange lights, and just then, another train emerged from the deep abyss.
It was sleek, its design far more refined than the one they had arrived in. It slid through the air with an eerie grace before coming to a halt at a separate docking station. As its doors hissed open, figures began to step out, each one exuding an aura of unmistakable power.
The Dragon Race.
Belial's violet eyes took in the newcomers as they moved with effortless confidence. Their forms varied—some bore gleaming scales that reflected the dim station lights, their reptilian features betraying their noble heritage. Others had massive wings folded against their backs, taloned hands flexing as they adjusted to the station's atmosphere. Some among them even appeared fully human at first glance, but their vertical-slitted eyes shimmered with the wisdom and power of an ancient bloodline.
Despite the vast differences in their appearances, one thing was clear: these beings belonged to a race of warriors, rulers, and creatures of immense strength.
The Dragons were respected, even feared, in many circles. And yet, here they were, stepping through their own designated path, completely bypassing the long line of other races waiting to enter the Theatre.
Belial clenched his jaw.
He had begun to notice a pattern.
Each race seemed to have its own means of entering the Black Gate, a direct path that allowed them swift access to the Theatre. The Dragons had their train, moving through the cosmos with effortless superiority. Other races likely had their own designated Trains as well. Yet, where were the Demons' passage?
His fingers curled into a fist at his side as frustration boiled within him. He knew, without a doubt, that demons would have had the same privilege—had it not been for that damned angel. That wretched being who had ensured that their kind would always be seen as nothing more than invaders, outcasts, undeserving of any freedom.
The elven receptionist, her emerald eyes calm yet calculating, regarded the trio before her with an air of quiet authority. When it was their turn, she leaned forward slightly, her voice smooth as silk, carrying an otherworldly elegance that seemed to resonate in the very air around her.
"Your preferred names, and how will you be paying?" she asked, her lips moving in an unfamiliar pattern, her speech flowing in an elegant, alien tongue. Yet, the words emerged in perfect Slyvaic, a strange phenomenon that none of the trio questioned. It was as if the language itself bent to her will, translating seamlessly for their understanding.
Raven stepped forward, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He reached into the folds of his dark coat and produced a sleek black and red card, its surface gleaming faintly under the dim glow of the overhead lights. The moment the card caught the light, the receptionist's poised demeanor faltered. Her emerald eyes flickered between Raven and the card, widening slightly as recognition dawned. She inhaled sharply, a barely audible gasp escaping her lips, before she straightened immediately and bowed her head, her voice softening into something tinged with reverence.
"There's no need to pay, you three are together right?" she asked, her tone now carrying a note of deference. "May I get your names?"
Belial hesitated, his instincts flaring. Using his real name was a risk, one he had avoided for years. He could feel the weight of unseen eyes in the room, the subtle glances and lingering curiosity of those around them. A low profile was always safer. A faint grin curled at the edge of his lips, masking the rapid calculations running through his mind.
"Nero,"
"Raven,"
"Xin,"
At their answers, three metallic lozenge-shaped devices floated up from behind the counter, their surfaces shimmering with an otherworldly sheen. The devices moved with a fluid grace, as if guided by an invisible hand, and affixed themselves to the trio's wrists. The moment the cold metal touched their skin, a peculiar sensation coursed through their veins—not pain, but something deeper, as if the devices were bonding with them at a molecular level.Xin flexed his fingers, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the device.
Interesting, he thought. If this is elven technology, it's...likely connected to our neural pathways. A lot of functionality for something so small.
The receptionist's voice broke through his thoughts. "Here you go," she explained, her tone now brisk and professional. "These will display your status and information when you say 'status window.' A screen will appear with your current status. They also function as an inventory system and translator."
Xin's lips twitched into a faint smirk. A translator, huh? No wonder she could speak Slyvaic so flawlessly. He glanced at Belial and Raven, noting the subtle tension in their postures. None of them were entirely comfortable with the situation, but they had little choice but to move forward.
The receptionist motioned toward a door on the left, her emerald eyes flicking to the growing line behind them. "Wait in room 777. That'll be your cadre until you reach the Safe Zone."
Belial blinked, his brow furrowing slightly. "Wait… where exactly is this?"
"The Theatre," the receptionist replied, her tone crisp and final. "You can ask one of the other hunters on this floor for details. There's a long line behind you, please and thank you."
As they walked down the hall, Belial exhaled through his nose, his mind racing. "Did we get on the wrong train?"
"Yeah…" Xin muttered, his shoulders slumping slightly as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "This doesn't feel right."
Raven, his expression unreadable as ever, spoke in a measured tone. "It was my incompetence. I apologize."
Belial waved him off, his grin returning. "It's fine. We'll just get to the Safe Zone, right? Can't be that difficult. Plus we've gotten too far to stop now."
They continued down the corridor, the air growing heavier with each step, until they reached a heavy metallic door labeled 777. The moment they stepped inside, Belial felt his breath catch in his throat.
The room was vast—far beyond what the simple doorframe had suggested. It stretched out like an arena, easily the size of a football stadium from the demon realm. The ceiling soared impossibly high, embedded with glowing orbs that mimicked a night sky, their twinkling lights shifting in hues of blue and silver. Rows upon rows of people filled the space, numbering well over a thousand. The air buzzed with hushed conversations, nervous whispers, and an undercurrent of tension that was almost palpable.
Xin's eyes widened, mirroring Belial's own shock. What the hell is this place? he thought, his sharp gaze scanning the crowd. The sheer scale of the room and the number of people within it were overwhelming. Before anyone could voice their confusion, the heavy metallic door behind them slammed shut with a resounding clang, sealing them inside. It seemed they were the last to arrive.
Xin's eyes darted around the dimly lit chamber, his senses on high alert. The walls pulsed faintly, as if breathing, and the air carried a strange, electric charge. He turned to one of the Emergents, a man clad in tattered robes with an unreadable expression.
"Where are we?" Xin asked, his voice firm but edged with unease. "And what should we expect?"
The Emergent next to him glanced at him, then merely shrugged. "Every 0th Act is different," he said, his tone almost indifferent. "Even I don't know."
Xin frowned. That wasn't the answer he wanted. "So we're just walking in blind?"
The man gave a small, almost amused chuckle. "Pretty much."
Xin exhaled sharply through his nose. Great.
A low, humming noise rippled through the air, causing an unnatural stillness to settle over the crowd. The tension in the room thickened, and the chatter died down to an eerie silence. Then, in the center of the room, space itself seemed to distort, bending and twisting like ripples in water. A moment later, a massive, glowing structure materialized before them.
It was a monolithic gate, towering over everything in the room. Runic symbols spiraled along its surface, shifting and rearranging themselves in a mesmerizing dance of golden light. A deep, resonant chime echoed through the space, vibrating through their bones and sending a shiver down Belial's spine.
Then, a voice—ethereal and omnipresent—spoke, each syllable pressing into their minds with undeniable force.
"Welcome, Emergents."