MTLNOVEL Chapter 2: Supreme Lord of Idiots
In the midst of an endless expanse of desolate land, a lone figure stood atop a jagged mountain peak, his dark silhouette cutting through the moonlit sky. His gaze was locked onto the monstrous entity below—a vast and harrowing abomination, its grotesque form shrouded in shifting darkness.
For a moment, the two stared at each other in silence, a primal tension crackling between them. Then, the beast let out a soul-rattling roar, shaking the very foundations of the mountain the figure stood atop.
Black blood smeared its massive, mutilated body, oozing from countless wounds like tar. The ground trembled as the ichor around it pulsed, shifted, and then surged toward the figure in violent torrents, obeying the creature's will. A sickening, repugnant stench exploded into the air—a revolting fusion of decay and something worse, something unnatural.
The dark figure exhaled sharply, then smiled. He raised his sword in an almost casual motion, and with a single, effortless slash, the churning tides of corruption froze mid-air. For an instant, the very nature of the liquid seemed to fracture, as if its existence had been rendered meaningless.
Then, like glass, it shattered—scattering into lifeless fragments before vanishing into nothingness. It was as if the creature's will itself had been severed, its soul hollowed out and left to crumble.
The figure's gaze dropped lower. The abomination's shadow now bore a deep, unnatural wound—a gaping cut that nearly split it in half. And as if drawn by unseen hunger, the shadows all around began to coil and writhe, slithering toward the dying creature like starving serpents. They surged forward, desperate to consume, to devour, to erase its very existence.
A satisfied smirk crossed the dark figure's face as the monstrosity collapsed, writhing in futile resistance. He took a step forward, finally stepping into the moonlight. His porcelain skin gleamed beneath its glow, a stark contrast to the abyssal darkness that surrounded the land beneath. His raven-black hair drifted gently with the night breeze. But then—
A foul scent assaulted his nostrils, causing him to grimace in disgust.
"Why the hell is this thing so damn rotten?" he muttered, shaking his head.
Just as he prepared to glide down and finish the creature off, a faint buzz interrupted his focus.
'Ah. I knew this was coming.'
With an exasperated sigh, he retrieved the communicator from his pocket and accepted the call.
"What the hell are you doing, bastard?" a familiar voice growled on the other end. "You were supposed to be done three hours ago. So why am I still waiting?"
The irritation was palpable. The impatience unmistakable. But more than that—the voice itself was all too familiar.
He grimaced.
It was his own voice.
"Excuse me, Supreme Lord of Idiots, but instead of stuffing your face and lounging around, maybe you'd like to come down here and wrestle this disgusting monstrosity yourself?" he shot back.
The voice scoffed. "What the hell are you whining for? You are me."
"Yes, but a better, more refined version."
"The hell you are! Stop wasting time showing off. There's no one even watching you!"
"What do you mean, no one's watching? You know damn well that—" He abruptly cut himself off, turning his head slightly. "Can't you see I'm busy? Get lost."
With a flick of his wrist, he slashed through a corrupted minion that had dared approach him, its decayed form splitting apart before disintegrating into nothingness. He continued speaking without missing a beat.
"As I was saying, I'm sure they are watching. At the very least, she is." His tone turned playful, though laced with an unmistakable edge. "Now, unless you want me to drag this revolting mess into your quarters and make you suffer through a fraction of what I'm dealing with, I suggest you shut up."
"You wouldn't dare—"
He hung up before the sentence could finish. Turning his attention back to the great abomination before him, he noticed it beginning to stir once more. The wounds were grave, but they hadn't been enough. Not yet. The abomination was preparing to retaliate.
The figure smirked.
Arguing with himself... Even after all this time, he never grew tired of it. If anything, it had only grown more entertaining.
But his other self had a point—he had wasted enough time here.
"Time to end this."
With a flick of his wrist, the shadows around him surged in unison. They coalesced, warping into a massive colossus of pure darkness, its form clad in abyssal Onyx armor. A great sword of dark, eldrich metal manifested in its grasp, pulsing with dreadful lethality.
The figure rolled his shoulders, then turned his gaze back to the titan below. The air itself darkened as the battlefield twisted under his will.
What followed was pure chaos—violence so absolute that to any ordinary observer, it would have been incomprehensibly traumatic, like nightmares coming to life, a horror so profound that any mundane human who witnessed it would never sleep soundly again.
For him, however, it was just another night at work.
Soon, the battle reached its inevitable conclusion. The once-rampaging behemoth now lay still. Not dead, no, death was mercy. It knelt, forced into submission, its last remnants of defiance crushed beneath a greater, darker will.
Stepping onto the Great Titan's bowed head, the figure grinned and whispered, "See? Took my time, but all according to plan."
He had successfully contained a Category 4 Gate—the gravest one of its kind in the entire history of the Waking World—alone and with zero casualties.
He took one last look at the ruins of the battlefield. Then, without another word, shadows swallowed him whole, leaving behind only silence and ruin.