The air in Dragon Castle was heavy, thick with the scent of ancient stone and the faint, metallic tang of forgotten bloodshed. The capital of Henward's Kingdom, a beacon of peace in Timeline No. 4, stood resolute under a sky bruised with twilight. Its towering spires pierced the heavens, their obsidian surfaces gleaming like the scales of a slumbering beast. Below, the city thrived—a mosaic of laughter, clinking glasses, and the rhythmic hum of a world at harmony. Children chased one another through cobbled streets, their voices weaving through the evening breeze. Merchants bartered beneath flickering lanterns, and lovers whispered promises under the glow of starlight. This was a world meticulously crafted, a utopia born from sacrifice, sustained by secrets buried deep within its ruler's heart.
Yet, beneath this façade of serenity, a shadow stirred.
A portal tore open in the heart of Dragon Castle's throne room, a jagged wound in reality that bled violet light and whispered with the screams of distant worlds. The guards, clad in ceremonial armor, froze, their hands trembling on the hilts of swords that suddenly felt inadequate. From the portal stepped a figure cloaked in darkness, his presence a violation of the sacred peace. His mask, carved from bone and etched with runes that pulsed faintly, obscured his face, but his aura was unmistakable—a predator's confidence, a storm contained in flesh. He moved with purpose, his boots echoing against the polished marble floor, each step a declaration of dominion. Without hesitation, he ascended the dais and claimed the throne, sinking into its obsidian embrace as if it had been forged for him alone.
Beside him, another figure materialized, less imposing but no less dangerous. David from Timeline 200, his eyes sharp with ambition, leaned forward, his voice a low hiss. "The Original David has sealed his powers. Only he can unseal them, and we have no idea where he's hidden Ruby." His words dripped with frustration, each syllable a spark in the tinder of their shared schemes. "My guess? He's stashed her somewhere no one would think to look."
The masked man tilted his head, his silence a blade held to the throat of the moment. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached up and removed his mask. The guards gasped, their resolve crumbling as the flickering torchlight revealed a face ravaged by fire. Half of it was a grotesque tapestry of scar tissue, the skin melted and twisted like wax left too close to a flame. The other half, though untouched, was no less terrifying, for it bore the weight of a man who had stared into the abyss and claimed it as kin. This was David of the Burned Face, a David from a timeline where hope had been reduced to ash.
"Everything," he said, his voice a low growl that seemed to claw its way from his chest, "has not gone according to my plan." His unscarred eye gleamed with a cold, calculating fury. "But we cannot kill him. Not yet."
David from Timeline 200 scoffed, his arrogance a spark in the darkness. "Why not? We kill him, take the Creator's Power, and it's done. Simple."
The air grew heavy, the temperature plummeting as an invisible force seized the room. David from Timeline 200's knees buckled, his body slamming to the ground as if the earth itself had turned against him. A gravity well, born of the Burned David's aura, pinned him like an insect beneath a boot. The marble floor cracked beneath the pressure, spiderwebbing outward in a silent scream of destruction. The guards stumbled back, their armor clattering as they fought to remain upright. The Burned David's aura was a living thing, a malevolent force that whispered of pain and promised oblivion.
"Please!" David from Timeline 200 gasped, his voice a ragged plea as he clawed at the floor. "Stop! I won't question you again!"
The aura vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving the throne room in a suffocating silence. The Burned David rose, his movements fluid despite the weight of his scars. "Wait," he commanded, his voice softer now, but no less lethal. "I will find a way to unseal his powers. Patience is our weapon."
David from Timeline 200 nodded frantically, scrambling to his feet as another portal flickered open behind him. He vanished without a word, leaving the Burned David alone with his thoughts. The guards, too terrified to move, watched as their ruler turned and strode toward the castle's rear courtyard, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow given form.
The courtyard was a sanctuary, a stark contrast to the throne room's cold grandeur. A single ancient tree stood at its center, its gnarled branches heavy with leaves that shimmered silver in the moonlight. Beneath it lay a gravestone, its surface worn but meticulously tended. The Burned David knelt, his scarred fingers brushing away fallen leaves with a tenderness that belied his fearsome presence. He placed a bouquet of blood-red roses at the stone's base, their petals stark against the gray. The city sprawled below, a tapestry of light and life, but his gaze lingered on the gravestone, where a single name was etched in elegant script: Ruby.
"Everyone is happy," he murmured, his voice cracking like brittle glass. "This world is at peace, just as you wanted. But you're not here to see it, Ruby." A leaf drifted down, landing on the gravestone, and his hand trembled as he brushed it away. "I fulfilled your final wish. I buried my vengeance, built this utopia. But without you, it's hollow."
Tears welled in his unscarred eye, tracing a path down his ruined cheek to fall upon the stone. "I will bring you back, my child," he vowed, his voice a raw wound. "No matter the cost, I will tear apart the timelines if I must." His forehead pressed against the cold stone, a silent communion with the daughter he had lost.
As he rose, the castle seemed to shift around him, its halls alive with hallucinations of a brighter past. He saw Ruby—her laughter echoing through the corridors, her small hands tugging at his cloak, her eyes bright with trust. "Master!" she called, her voice a melody that pierced his heart. But the vision warped, the colors bleeding into darkness. He saw her running toward him, her face pale with fear, and then—a fire beam, a lance of molten light that tore through the air. He tried to dodge, but it struck, searing half his face in a blaze of agony. Blood and smoke filled his senses, but his only thought was for her.
"Ruby!" he screamed, his voice lost in the chaos. She was running to him, her voice trembling. "Master, are you okay?" But before he could answer, a sword flashed, its blade piercing her chest with a sickening crunch. Blood spilled from her mouth, her eyes wide with shock as she fell, her final word a dying whisper: "Master…"
The Burned David stumbled, the hallucination fading as he reached his bedroom. The room was sparse, its only adornment a massive balcony overlooking the city. He collapsed onto the bed, his chest heaving as he fought to banish the memories. But sleep, when it came, was no refuge. His dreams were a crucible of horror, replaying the moment of Ruby's death in excruciating detail. The fire beam, the sword, her blood pooling on the ground—it was a nightmare that clawed at his soul, leaving him raw and broken.
He awoke with a start, sweat soaking his scarred skin, his breath ragged. "I will bring you back," he whispered, his voice a vow carved in steel. "No matter what." His eyes glowed crimson, a beacon of his unyielding resolve. He rose and stepped onto the balcony, the city stretching before him like a fragile dream. The peace he had built was real, tangible, but it was a monument to his failure. Every smile, every laugh, was a reminder of the one he could not save.
The wind carried the distant sound of bells, their chime a mockery of the turmoil within him. He gripped the balcony's edge, his knuckles whitening as he stared into the horizon. Somewhere, in the labyrinth of timelines, the Original David held the key to his salvation—or his damnation. The Burned David's lips curled into a grim smile, his scars twisting with the motion. "You cannot hide forever," he murmured. "I will find you. And when I do, I will take back what is mine."
Below, the city continued its serene existence, oblivious to the storm brewing in its ruler's heart. But the shadows were lengthening, and the peace that defined Timeline No. 4 was as fragile as glass. The Burned David turned from the balcony, his crimson eyes burning with purpose. The gravestone in the courtyard, the roses, the memories—they were anchors, but also chains. He would break them, or they would break him.
As he disappeared into the castle's depths, the air grew colder, the stars dimming as if in mourning. The peace of Dragon Castle was a lie, and the truth was a blade poised to strike.