Unrivaled in another world

[: This chapter might be a little bit too much for the readers as it contained scenes that might be uncomfortable :]

[: 3rd POV :]

Once Alzimar had been completely erased, Daniel stood in the silence that followed.

His eyes scanned the shattered chamber.

The echoes of chaos still lingered in the walls, yet the overwhelming presence of the abomination was no more.

Without a word, he moved deeper into the compound.

Behind what remained of the building, Daniel uncovered a concealed corridor, a passage of stone and bloodstained metal.

The deeper he went, the colder the air became, saturated with despair and the lingering stench of suffering.

Magic seals and crude mechanical locks lined the walls, remnants of cruel security meant to keep people in, not danger out.

One by one, he opened the doors.

Each room revealed a darker truth.

Cells, cramped and inhumane, lined the halls like silent coffins.

Inside, men, women, and even children sat in silence, thin, bruised, and broken.

Their eyes flickered with fear at the sudden intrusion, unsure if the nightmare had truly ended.

Daniel stepped inside without hesitation.

"It's over," he said, voice soft but clear. "You're free now."

Some cried.

Some collapsed.

Some simply stared in disbelief.

Daniel didn't expect gratitude—only their survival.

He reached out, breaking their chains, dispelling curses, and disabling the brands etched into their skin.

But not all rooms held survivors.

Some rooms held corpses which he could only bit his lips in frustration.

Some were execution chambers—still warm with the remnants of violence.

Others were torture cells, their walls soaked with screams long faded.

And in one, he found the torturers.

A group of them—arrogant, drunk, and unaware that their god had fallen.

They looked up, startled, sneering as they reached for their tools and weapons.

"Who the fuck are you," one of them spat.

Daniel said nothing.

What followed wasn't a battle—it was judgment.

It was swift.

Cold.

Unforgiving.

Not a single torturer lived to see the sun again.

When it was done, Daniel stood among the ruins of the dark empire—his hands stained not with blood, but with execution

At some point during his descent through the complex building, Daniel came across a door unlike any he had seen thus far.

It was massive, twice his height—and crafted from shimmering obsidian laced with threads of gold and silver.

A heavy, oppressive aura surrounded it, but not one of torment or imprisonment—it was regal, lavish and almost… sacred.

It wasn't the kind of door built to restrain suffering.

Daniel narrowed his eyes.

He could feel it—something was wrong.

With a single gesture, he destroyed the locks, and the golden enchantments flared one last time before dissolving into dust.

The door shattered inward, a force of void splitting it apart.

What lay beyond rooted Daniel to the spot.

His breath caught. His hands trembled.

Everything—his senses, his instincts, his thoughts—collapsed into stillness.

His body refused to move.

It wasn't fear that struck him.

It was something far deeper.

Daniel clenched his fists.

He finally took a step, but even then, he staggered—his Void Authority rippled uncontrollably around him, reacting to the oppressive spiritual aura in the room. Whatever had been done to her… it was beyond vile.

He whispered to himself, almost in disbelief.

"…What… is this?"

It was a vast room, larger than any before—adorned with velvet curtains, golden chandeliers, and carpets woven from silken thread.

But no amount of wealth could mask the stench of depravity, cruelty and inhumane that permeated the air.

Dozens—perhaps more—of masked figures filled the space.

Men and women, clad in nothing but gold and ivory masks, lounged across luxurious beds and cushioned platforms.

Their bodies were naked, their movements lewd, but what truly churned the air was the cruelty.

They were laughing—drinking wine from skull-shaped chalices.

But his eyes fell upon the beds—those luxurious, oversized beds that lined the edges and center of the room like altars.

But what was happening upon them was anything but sacred.

There were women and men—some barely clinging to consciousness, others already gone in spirit though their bodies remained.

They were naked, restrained with glowing chains, collars, or etched runes that pulsed with cursed magic.

Their eyes were hollow, red from tears that had long since dried, yet the trauma continued.

Daniel's expression darkened.

Many of the victims were young.

Far too young.

Their frames were fragile, trembling beneath the weight of violation and pain.

They weren't just prisoners.

They were tools.

They were entertainment for those masked people to play with.

They were victims who had gone through undeniable trauma.

The masked figures didn't stop even when he entered.

In fact, the screams, the whimpers, the choking sobs—it all seemed to excite them further.

Every cry of anguish brought laughter from their twisted audience, as if they were watching some grotesque play for their own pleasure.

Daniel's fingers twitched.

He felt something in him crack.

What stood before him was something that transcended cruelty.

It was the celebration of suffering.

The delight in total domination.

The ritual of forcibly being pleasured by the victims.

Some stood over bruised and bound figures, torturing them with glowing brands, chains, and knives made not of metal, but magic and malice.

Others delighted in forced performances—cheering, clapping, betting on who would break first.

It wasn't a gathering. It wasn't a cult. It was worse.

It was a celebration of power without consequence.

Daniel's presence went unnoticed for a moment—so consumed were they by their twisted amusement.

The masked ones assumed he was simply another guest… until the temperature dropped.

Until the void within him stirred.

Until silence began to devour sound.

It wasn't rage.

It wasn't sorrow.

It was the sound of a soul breaking open—of a dam collapsing under the weight of too much pain, too much silence, too much horror.

Somewhere in the room there was an Elf and beside her, a masked woman smeared gold dust onto cheeks while laughing.

"She's still alive! These highborn ones always last longer. Let's test how long before even her soul breaks."

Daniel didn't breathe.

His eyes shifted lower.

Children. Some no older than ten.

One had his limbs stretched out by metal braces, trembling uncontrollably as masked figures mocked him for not screaming louder.

Another girl—a fragile wisp of a thing—was curled up in the corner, naked, shivering, begging quietly.

"Please… please stop… I want to go home…"

A masked man reached down, grabbing her by the hair and dragging her back toward one of the platforms.

"You don't have a home. You are now in my home. Now scream for me."

Daniel stepped forward.

The man closest to him, chuckled and turned.

"Took you long enough. Pick whichever's still breathing. The winged one's reserved, but the rest—"

His words stopped mid-sentence.

Daniel's hand gripped his face.

There was no warning.

No pause.

Only wrath.

A soundless blaze of black flame erupted from Daniel's palm, devouring flesh, bone and soul.

The masked man shrieked—but only for a heartbeat—before turning into shimmering ash and scattering like dust in the wind.

Silence followed.

Then chaos.

The masked revelers screamed, stumbling over one another, shoving victims aside as they bolted for the exits.

"GUARDS! GUARDS!" one screamed, wine goblet still clutched in trembling fingers.

"He's mad! Someone stop him!"

"Summon the Overseer!"

Daniel stood still in the center of the room, void shadows flickering like wings from his back, his head lowered.

Then he spoke.

But it wasn't his voice.

It was older.

Deeper.

Wrought from ruin and born of silence that came before creation, and it happened for the 2nd time when Caelira face was burned.

"All of you," he said, eyes rising like twin abysses, "shall not return alive."

The air twisted.

The lights dimmed.

And the chandeliers shattered under the crushing gravity of his authority.

One masked figure threw a blade of fire at him.

Daniel didn't move.

The flame curved away midair, as though afraid to touch him, and vanished into the shadows behind.

Children screamed again—but this time in confusion as the runes that bound them cracked, one by one, freeing them.

Daniel stood amidst the chaos, the stillness of his presence contrasting with the screams and confusion that surrounded him.

His eyes scanned the room, cold, calculating, as the masked figures scrambled in terror.

They had no idea what they were facing.

"Eyes of Calamity: Omniscient Destruction," Daniel whispered, his voice low but thick with authority.

The room seemed to pulse, reality warping around the masked figures.

The air shimmered, distorting, as they were pulled into an illusion—an endless loop of torment.

Their screams died down as they found themselves within a different realm, a twisted mirror of their own reality.

Time was irrelevant in this space.

They were all trapped in a nightmarish eternity where they were being tortured, mutilated, and violated—by invisible hands, by their own twisted desires, turned against them.

They were shown every ounce of suffering they had inflicted upon their victims, replayed in an endless cycle of agony.

One masked figure staggered, clutching their head as their vision blurred.

"No... no, please... this isn't real!"

Another one shrieked in horror as she was bound, forced to witness her own hands ripping apart the victims they once tormented.

"Make it stop! Please!"

But her voice was swallowed by the never-ending torment that had been inflicted upon her.

The others writhed and begged for mercy, but there was no escape.

Then, Daniel's gaze sharpened.

"Eyes of Calamity: Final Judgement."

The air cracked, splitting with a deafening silence.

The ground trembled under the weight of the spell.

The masked figures, already writhing in their personal hells, suddenly stopped, frozen in place.

A crushing weight descended upon them as they were bound by chains made of pure destruction.

The chains burned through the air like living, sentient tendrils, each link forged from the raw essence of oblivion itself.

"NO!" one of the masked figures screamed as the chains wrapped around their limbs, pulling them upward, their bodies jerking violently. "You can't—"

The chains tightened, their metal grinding against the victim's skin like jagged knives.

A tear in the very fabric of reality appeared before them, an opening into a realm far worse than the one they had just been cast into.

The chains snapped their souls forward through the rift, pulling them with an unrelenting force.

Desperate screams were swallowed by the void as they were dragged into the unknown, beyond the reach of any salvation, into a dimension where time had no meaning—where suffering was eternal.

Another masked figure, eyes wide with desperation, begged as their body began to vanish into the dimensional tear.

"Please! I... I didn't know! I was just following orders!"

But their pleas fell on deaf ears as the final judgment was passed, their cries becoming echoes in the vast emptiness.

One by one, each soul was pulled through the rift, bound by the unbreakable chains of destruction, disappearing into the unknown realm.

The last of their agonized screams faded as the tear closed, leaving nothing behind but silence.

Daniel stood alone in the center of the room, his eyes cold and unwavering, watching as the last traces of life left the air.

His expression was unreadable, but the emptiness in his gaze spoke volumes.

"They will never know peace again," Daniel muttered, his voice cold and final.

The room fell silent.