Tower Time, 42 Years Later
Like the 1st Floor, the 6th Floor of the Tower holds an entire universe within its vast domain—a realm so expansive that it defies conventional understanding of space and structure. Unlike the 2nd through 5th Floors, which are massive, fragmented landmasses forged from the remains of countless destroyed planets, the 6th Floor was different. It was whole. Alive. Thriving.
The crown jewel of this floor was a colossal blue planet, once regarded as the pinnacle of cosmic civilization. This was the proud homeland of the Galaxy Dragon Clan, the most powerful draconic bloodline to emerge in the wake of the White Dragon Clan's destruction. Their legacy lived on in grand cities floating among nebulae, crystalline towers that shimmered with starlight, and a people whose command of Photon energy made them nearly untouchable.
Every facet of their world—from the gravity-defying citadels to the spiral highways that circled the planet's atmosphere—radiated strength and dignity. Their architecture alone could tell stories of wars won and civilizations humbled. At least, that's how it was… until three years ago.
Now, the once-mighty planet lies in ruin.
A tide of shadowy entities has swept across the surface like a plague of darkness. No one knows where they came from. They emerged suddenly—like a glitch in reality—tearing through every defensive perimeter, every planetary shield, every stronghold of the Galaxy Dragon Clan. They fight without fear, without hesitation, and without end.
City after city has fallen. Great warrior houses and ancient cosmic libraries reduced to dust and silence. Entire populations vanished overnight. The capital city of Galactica—fortified with layers of planetary defense grids and protected by the strongest of the Dragon Guard—remains the last bastion of light. But even Galactica was up in flames.
The most horrifying aspect of this invasion is not the destruction, but the "corruption". Every slain defender—be they elite dragon-knight, archmage, or sentinel—is revived moments after death, into the same shadowy entities as they turn their blades against former allies, brothers, and commanders.
Even Tachyon Emperor Zaerion, the supreme leader of the Galaxy Dragon Clan, has failed to halt their advance. Though capable of freezing an entire continent in the span of a heartbeat, his powers are rendered nearly useless against the Shadows, who seem to defy the very laws of physics. Each time they're struck down, they return— more relentless.
The once eternal empire of stars now flickers like a dying flame.
Kuro, cloaked in a sleek obsidian coat stitched with silver runes, stood at the edge of a glass balcony carved into the surface of Noctra, one of the shattered moons orbiting the burning blue planet below.
Beside him, Kisara leaned against the railing, her white hair catching the light of the explosions like threads of fire. Her expression was unreadable, caught somewhere between satisfaction and melancholy. Satisfaction for seeing the downfall of those responsible for all her pains. Melancholy for seeing the same people she used to call friends, parish.
Kuro raised a slender wine glass, swirling the crimson liquid with idle grace.
A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as his eyes narrowed on the capital, Galactica, now surrounded on all sides by the ever-growing mass of shadows.
"This is what they called untouchable," he murmured, voice laced with cold amusement. "A mighty empire… brought to its knees in three years."
Kisara didn't respond immediately. Her eyes tracked a formation of shadow creatures as they scaled the outer wall of Galactica like a tidal wave of ink.
Kuro held his glass up to the burning planet, as if making a toast.
"To the Galaxy Dragons—may they rise again," he said mockingly, "as loyal shadows in my army."
***
(A/N: A little bit of background exposition since it is related to he chains that chained Kisara and the "Outer God" mentioned in the chains description.)
Three Months Later
All of Galactica was up in flames as every soldier, knight, and mage fought for their lives against the relentless assault of the shadow creatures. In the chaos, the cries of war, the clash of steel against the shadow creatures, were drowned out by the roaring inferno that consumed the city.
Unknown to them, their emperor has already been defeated and chained against the very same entity that granted him what he has today.
The same entity that gave him the power to tap into the lost power of the Tachyon Dragon of the Galaxy Dragon Clan.
Zaerion's voice echoed through the dark, empty hall. "WHY! Why are you doing this to me!? I was trying to find a way to allow your world to assimilate into the Tower! I... I wanted to save it!"
His once-proud face twisted in fury, desperation in his voice as he looked at the towering, imposing figure before him.
"Trying?" she scoffed. "Don't make me laugh. You think I don't know? You double-crossed me—afraid you'd lose your title as the strongest." Her grip tightened on Zaerion's collar, lifting him off the ground.
"Because of you! My whole world now lay in ruins, unable to escape the destruction of its star!" she spat. "I see what you truly are—nothing but a selfish fool, driven by greed for power!"
"Then why are you here!? You're supposed to have died with your world!" Zaerion barked back before he got slammed into the ground with an earth-shattering force.
"Yes," she hissed, her voice cold and seething with ancient malice. "I died. But not before using everything I had to break into the Tower. Twenty years ago, a wandering Monarch stumbled across my remains, and I made a deal with him. Once the deal was set, he revived a God—revived me—just so I could see this day!"
With a wave of her hand, Zaerion was flung across the room, crashing against the cold, unforgiving walls. His body twitched and writhed as he struggled to rise, but the chains wrapped around his wrists and ankles held fast. Every movement was met with excruciating resistance.
As he struggled to rise, he caught a glimpse of two figures standing before him: a young teen and a white-haired woman. His eyes went wide when he saw the white-haired woman.
Kisara stepped forward, her white hair glowing like a faint moonlight in the darkness. Her eyes, empty of emotion, locked onto Zaerion's. She looked almost serene, yet there was a storm raging beneath her calm exterior.
"Ki-Kisara…" Zaerion gasped, his eyes wide in disbelief. "How can it be you!?"
"How can it not be, Uncle Zaerion?" Her voice was cold, with no warmth in it. "Not after what you did to my family and my people."
Kisara raised a sword she found on the 4th Floor that was made to inflict maximum pain without killing the target.
"Although I said I did not want revenge but after seeing you, I couldn't hold myself back." Kisara plunged the sword into Zaerion's shoulder.
"ARRGGGGG!" Zaerion's scream echoed across the Throne room.
"Hahahahaha! Yes! That it! Scream!"
Kisara's voice rang out, shrill and broken, echoing like a mad song through the ruined chamber. Her blade rose and fell in a savage rhythm, each strike more vicious than the last. The sound of metal meeting flesh was drowned only by her laughter—raw, wild, and tinged with years of buried grief.
Farther away, Kuro stood still, watching it all with unreadable eyes. The storm had passed within him long ago—now there was only stillness. Quietly, he turned and walked away from the carnage, his boots echoing softly on the cracked marble floor as he approached the flickering silhouette of the Goddess.
She stood near the crumbling throne, her once-luminous figure now thin and insubstantial, like light struggling to hold shape. Her edges shimmered and drifted, as if the universe itself was beginning to forget she had ever been there.
She looked at Kuro as he approached, and despite the fading, her gaze remained calm, almost kind.
"I am glad to have met you, Wandering Monarch," she said, her voice layered with a strange serenity, like someone who had made peace with their end.
Kuro offered a small, respectful nod, his tone thoughtful. "The pleasure is mine. Although I am wandering… why are you turning transparent?"
She smiled faintly. There was no fear in her expression—only acceptance.
"My powers are all but gone," she said softly. "We Gods are bound by belief and recognition. Without it, we fade and disappear, swallowed by the silence of time. I held on through sheer will, through fury and regret. But now that I've fulfilled my desire… I've released myself from the world."
A pause.
She turned her eyes toward Kisara—still hacking, still crying, still lost in the moment she had longed for her entire life—and a flicker of sorrow crossed the Goddess's fading features.
"I am sorry… for not offering anything on my side of the deal."
Her voice grew weaker, each word sounding more distant.
"Tell the girl… I am sorry for causing the destruction of her clan. I never intended for this to happen."
She looked down at her own hands. They were nearly gone, nothing more than trails of light.
"So, for one last time, let me use my power to also send the bastard to eternal agony in the deepest layer of hell."
She raised her hand as a glowing orb, still screaming in pain, floated toward her. She chanted something as an ancient-looking door appeared in front of her.
"By using the last vestige of my Godhood, I send this treacherous soul into the deepest layer of hell to suffer for eternity."
The door opened slightly as she threw the soul into it. The door slammed shut before disappearing.
Kuro was sweating when he saw the ancient door, as he could sense that the moment he touched it, he would cease to exist.
Once the door disappeared, Kuro could no longer see or sense the Goddess.
"Thank you, wandering Monarch."
Kuro raised his head as the voice of the Goddess disappeared.
Tti-ring!
[Contract with Goddess Elysia has been completed.]
[The "Tower of Heavens" has been completed.]
[The Tower of Heavens has chosen you to be a warden.]
[As a warden, you can enter the Tower of Heavens once a month.]
[In 48 hours, you will be teleported out of the Tower of Heavens.]
[Your rewards will be distributed afterward.]
Kuro glanced at the notifications before closing them.
"Guess I have 48 hours to clean the 6th Floor of filth and raise more shadows."
ARK 2 END