The Multiverse Hunter

"All of you—out to the village. Now."

Ali's voice cut through the heavy air, an order with no room for hesitation.

The people kneeling in the courtyard didn't dare raise their heads. They rose slowly, backs bent, eyes cast down to the stone stained with the blood of their fallen house. In silence, they filed out of the castle gates like a beaten procession, leaving behind the shattered remnants of the Nolan line—two women clutching grief like a drowning man clutches driftwood.

Fiona stepped closer, her white dress fluttering around her ankles as she came to stand at Ali's side. Her golden eyes lingered on the departing villagers before drifting up to Ali, taking in the crimson splatters on his tunic, the dark ash smudged on his sleeves. He didn't look wounded—just marked by the ruin he'd wrought.

She tilted her chin up slightly, the sunlight catching the hidden gold strands in her hair. "Did everything go well?" she asked softly, her voice gentle, yet edged with curiosity only someone so close to him could risk.

Ali's cold black eyes fell on her—sharp, unflinching. He gave her a long look, studying her from her worn leather shoes to the gentle sway of the simple white fabric that hugged her hips. A flicker of something—almost like amusement—touched the corner of his mouth.

"You look good in white."

The compliment, plain as it was, made Fiona's lips part in a bright, genuine smile. She let her hands lift her skirt slightly as she spun, the hem catching the breeze, the faint flower print at the back twirling around her ankles like falling petals.

"I was given it by the village chief," she said, her soft voice carrying despite the distance between her and the broken women behind them. "It belonged to his daughter… It's the only nice dress I have."

The small, tender moment between them stood in brutal contrast to the scene behind: Lady Nolan kneeling in the dirt, her fingers buried in her husband's severed hair; Thomas's wife hunched over half a corpse, her tears soaking into the blackened soil.

Ali's eyes turned from Fiona back to the two ruined women. His steps were slow, deliberate, boots scraping the blood-streaked stone as he approached. He stood so close that Thomas's mangled torso brushed the edge of his boot.

Then, with a simple flick of his wrist, he lifted his fingers—two raised like a judge passing final sentence. Invisible force coiled around the women's necks, compelling them to raise their heads. They resisted at first—sobbing, trembling—but the pull was inexorable.

They looked up at him, at the monster who had crushed their legacy. To them, his face—unscarred, handsome —was a mask of horror, something that should not wear human skin.

Ali blinked—once—and the black void of his left eye deepened, swallowing the light. The right eye… was no longer human at all. It was draconic, slit-pupiled, shining with that unnatural, dreadful purple that matched the abyssal shape looming behind him.

His voice cut through the courtyard like a blade through flesh. "The only reason you're still breathing is because of her." He tilted his head slightly toward Fiona. "You will live your miserable lives out of sight, forgotten. Let me never hear your name cross my path again." His tone dipped lower, a venomous promise. "My pet—" Shadow's vast silhouette loomed closer, teeth glistening behind him—"has developed a taste for your bloodline."

As if on cue, the Force that held their heads slackened, and they crumpled forward, noses brushing the dirt, unable to look him in the eyes any longer.

Ali turned, dismissing them like fading ghosts. Fiona stepped in to meet him, her soft hand brushing his elbow to steady him as he passed. "They're all yours now," Ali murmured as he moved by her, his draconic eye dulling, flickering back to pitch-black human.

"Thank you," Fiona said quietly, dipping her head in a respectful nod, though her eyes never left the two broken widows. Behind her, Eldora shifted, the sweep of her wings sending a warm gust that tugged at Fiona's hair and made her skirt dance around her ankles.

"Hey!" Fiona scolded playfully, swatting the dragon's glittering green scales with the flat of her hand. Eldora's nostrils flared, and the emerald beast let out a soft rumble that made the ground quiver.

Outside the castle gates, the village had gathered like sheep before a wolf. Hushed voices rippled through the crowd—murmurs of disbelief, fear, reluctant submission. But the edge of rebellion that once sparked in whispered prayers for revenge had died the instant they saw the kneeling trainees and guards—warriors surrendering with heads bent low.

When Ali appeared at the gate, the crowd stiffened—hundreds of heads lowering instinctively. They stole glances through lowered lashes, drinking in the vision of the man who'd conquered everything they'd ever known. His presence alone devoured hope.

Shadow rose first, a black tide of scales and fangs, lifting from Ali's own shadow like a monster dragging itself free of a grave. Ali stepped onto the beast's enormous snout, his boots pressing into the living nightmare's smooth scales as it rose higher—hoisting him above the heads of every villager kneeling in the dusty street.

Above him, Eldora spread her wings, blocking the sun like a living banner of green flame.

Ali's voice rolled over the hushed crowd, calm yet carrying iron. "There will be change here," he said, and his words settled on their bowed heads like the weight of iron chains. "Your lives will change—whether that change is good or ruinous depends on you."

He let his gaze drift over them, from trembling fathers to mothers clutching children—every last one of them his now, whether they realised it or not.

"You chose life over a grave alongside your old lords. Good." He lifted his chin, the cold glint in his eyes mirrored by the dragons flanking him.

"Serve me well—serve me completely—and you may live a prosperous life. Fail—" Shadow growled low, his fangs glistening with the last bits of Thomas Nolan's blood— "and you'll learn what it means to be prey for my dragons."

"From now on there is no more Castle Nolan and no more Tolka."

Ali's voice cut through the tense hush like an axe through green wood. The words fell heavy on the villagers' backs, snapping a few heads up in disbelief as the meaning settled in. Their home, their name—erased in a single sentence.

"This place will be renamed The Knight Academy," Ali continued, his tone calm but absolute.

"The castle will serve as a place for young, ambitious, and hungry warriors to learn the sword so they can fight for me and my people when they are ready. The village surrounding the castle will become part of the academy. The residents will work to feed the knights. New professions will be introduced to fulfil every need of the academy—from forging weapons and armour to tending fields that will feed both knight and family."

Murmurs stirred, but none dared break into open talk while his voice carried. Ali let the words sink in, then spoke again, his deep voice unwavering.

"Every villager will be paid more than what they were making before—and they will be exempt from paying tax for a year. Every villager can choose whether to learn a craft or trade—free of charge. Or, if you wish to continue your work, you will be relocated to Stork Village—also free of charge. The farming here will be sponsored by me. Every farmer will have their fields expanded and improved at no cost—and you can keep every bit of the increased harvest."

He scanned the rows of bowed heads, his sharp gaze sweeping over fathers clutching children, weary women who hadn't dared look him in the eyes until now. He could see it—hope flickering like a fragile flame where there had only been dread moments ago.

"All of your families will be protected equally by the academy's knights, who will sacrifice themselves to defend you. But hear me—those who cower will either be expelled… or executed. And to all villagers: there will be new rules under my rule. If you break them, the punishment will be severe."

A tremor of hushed voices rippled through the gathering.

"Is this real?" a young man whispered, hope trembling in his voice.

"No taxes? Free land? He must be lying… right?"

"I heard you'd pay a fortune to learn blacksmithing in the city—he'll teach it for free?"

Small glimmers of excitement cut through the fear. Where older men still looked cautious, the young—especially the young—were looking at Ali like he was some dark promise of glory and power.

"Silence."

Ali's single word was quiet, but it snapped through the whispers like thunder. The courtyard fell still again.

He turned his eyes to the kneeling rows of knight trainees, their shoulders squared now, their spines ramrod straight. Some still trembled, but others clenched their fists in barely contained anticipation.

"Now—onto the knight trainees. You will be getting new teachers very soon. Everything will change from what you did before. From now on, your training will be taken to the next level. You will feel pain like you never have before. But for those who work hard—there will be rewards."

He watched their young eyes widen at that promise.

"There will be weekly tournaments. Those who stand at the top will earn weapons, armour, and special personal training to strengthen your aura. Effort will always be rewarded in this academy."

Some of the older trainees lowered their heads further, but the youngest among them lifted their eyes, fire blooming where despair had reigned hours ago.

"From now on," Ali went on, his tone steady as iron, "there will be missions to hunt down monsters in the forests around this academy—missions with corresponding rewards. It will be your job and your responsibility to keep the lands clear of beasts and to protect the commoners with your lives. These missions will make you stronger—and they will prepare you to become strong knights."

He let that hang, his voice echoing into the silence. Then he finished—curt and final.

"That will be all for now. More detail will be given by your teachers."

Without a moment of delay, the trainees—young boys and older teens who had once looked to Lord Nolan for orders—lowered themselves fully in a respectful bow, the steel of their discipline reforging in Ali's shadow.

Far from the castle and the village that had just been stripped of its old name, the sun was crawling toward the horizon over Obidos.

The great mining town perched at the feet of the mountain breathed uneasily. Narrow cobbled streets curved up the hillside to the imposing stone bulk of the Cinder castle—its banners still fluttering though the men who wore them were long dead or soon would be. Obidos was thriving on the veins of copper, coal, and iron clawed from the mountain's belly. Miners in grimy tunics trudged back from the shafts, traders haggled in the squares over lumps of raw ore and iron tools. But beneath the usual clatter of a town whose wealth flowed from the earth's bones, there was a tension—unspoken, yet heavy enough to weigh on every doorstep.

No messenger had come riding down the road. No knight's pennant had fluttered back through the gates to proclaim victory or warn of loss. The people of Obidos waited—breath caught in their chests, eyes on the sunset—as the shadows crawled longer over their cobbled streets.

They didn't know yet. But soon, they would.

In the most popular inn of Obidos, the main floor—packed every night with miners, traders, and travelling merchants—was dead quiet tonight. The only light came from a single oil lamp flickering above the largest table near the hearth, where a group of hooded figures sat shoulder-to-shoulder, shadows hiding their faces from the world and each other.

The innkeeper, Tess, moved about behind the counter. A woman in her early forties, Tess had the sturdy curves and warm face of someone who'd nursed half this town's drunks back to life more than once. Her dark brown hair was pinned back in a loose bun, a few strands clinging to her cheeks as she worked. The low cut of her blouse, drew the unwanted eyes of more than one at that table.

Whenever Tess leaned forward to place a fresh cup or jug, she felt it—those eyes crawling down her chest like greasy fingers. She hated it, but she pushed through it. She had to.

"A woman like you needs a real man, Tess. Someone strong—someone like me to keep you warm at night…" one of the hooded men drawled, his words oozing filth, a yellow grin barely hidden in the shadows.

Tess didn't even look at him as she straightened, wiped her hands on her apron, and turned back toward the counter. "The answer's the same as always: no," she said, her tone flat as steel. She walked away, hips swaying only because she couldn't help the shape God gave her.

The man clicked his tongue in annoyance. His fingers drummed the wood of his mug. Inside that motion was a threat—one Tess knew too well. He was one of them—the leeches who'd sunk their hooks into Obidos so deep that the town's veins bled silver straight into their coffers. He could have whatever he wanted. Any woman. Any mine. Any piece of this town.

He just hadn't forced her yet.

"I've already sent a letter to the viscount's advisor," another of the hooded men announced, his voice sly and nasal, the sort that always sounded like it was planning to sell you poison and call it wine.

One of the others shifted in his chair. "Think that old pig will meddle for us?"

A short laugh broke out around the table, ugly and sharp.

"Of course he will," said another voice, slick and confident. "The fat parasite would never let a chance like this pass him by. Two houses gut each other—he steps in, scoops up the scraps. He'll use us to hold Obidos for him until he comes himself."

"The mines, the taxes, the merchants—he'll want it all. And while he's busy playing lord, we'll bleed these fools dry," a woman's voice added, dry and venomous. She tapped a silver ring on the table. "We weakened House Cinder piece by piece. The poison's been eating the old man alive for months—his son's too wrapped up in his useless revenge to see it. And that free spirited Cinder girl fool—well, the adventurer's guild will finish what we paid for. One slip in the woods, one unlucky beast—and poof. Goodbye to House Cinder's last heir."

The man who'd harassed Tess chuckled, raising his mug. "All these years of patience—gone in a single cut. And we'll be the ones holding the knife. Ahaha—"

"But…" A gravelly voice at the end of the table cut him off. Older. Heavier. The laughter stilled, the tension snapping back like a bowstring.

"But what about the Dragon Rider down south?" the older man rasped. His hands, gnarled and scarred, tightened on the edge of the table. "Every man we send—gone. Not a word. Not a body. Our spies in Tolka, Stork—vanished. Something's wrong. We poke this beast the wrong way—"

"Relax, old friend," the mocking voice interrupted, dripping with smug reassurance. "In my letter, I asked for a second circle mage to come from IronPeak. He'll camp here, keep that freak show down south from thinking he can fly his lizards into our business. Once we make sure the viscount sees the Dragon Rider as a threat to his rule—he'll squash him like an insect. Everything is planned, old man. Everything…"

The circle of hoods raised their mugs in a quiet toast, shadows flickering over greedy smiles. They drank deep while Tess polished her cups behind the counter, back turned, teeth gritted so hard her jaw ached. She heard every word—every filthy word. Years of them speaking of their evil plans and deeds, every night wishing she could do something. But like everyone else in Obidos, she was theirs—bound up tight in debts and threats she couldn't outrun.

Outside Obidos, miles away on the winding dirt road north to IronPeak, a single carriage thundered through the dusk. Its wheels rattled over potholes as heavy chests filled with silver moved side to side, the driver flicking the reins hard to squeeze every ounce of speed from the foaming horses. Ahead of them, a lone armoured rider served as escort, scanning the shadows of the trees on either side.

The rider's horse snorted once—twice—then a roar split the night.

BOOOOOM

A ball of fire and shrapnel engulfed the rider in an instant. Flesh and steel and smoking ash sprayed the road and the hedges on either side. The horses reared in terror, the driver's screams lost under the thunder of hooves.

Then, through the ringing in his ears, the driver heard it—a low hum, like the growl of some unseen beast above him.

It was the last thing he ever heard.

BOOOOOOOM

Another blast ripped the night apart, turning the carriage into a shower of burning wood and charred flesh that rained down onto the lonely dirt road—no message would ever reach IronPeak.

All that was left was the solid iron chest that survived the blast and fire but suddenly something hooked into it and it was lifted into the air flying back down south.

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