"But... the fourteenth throne."
He finally spoke, with a hint of barely detectable hope in his voice: "Perhaps it is the key to breaking the cycle."
Isabella and Nas were both silent, evidently shocked by this idea.
"You mean... this time we are not creating a new prisoner, but rather..."
Isabella’s voice trembled, her scales-covered body faintly glowing: "An escapee?"
Maggs’ thread-like body spread out, and the nine eyes on his mask all lit up, dazzlingly bright.
"I don’t know," he admitted honestly, his voice containing both reason and madness:
"But Ron Ralph’s fate is completely invisible to me, which in itself is an unprecedented miracle.
Perhaps he will become the fourteenth Supreme Apostle, or maybe..."
He didn’t finish, but the other two apostles clearly understood what he meant.
"Since ancient times, all throne seeds have been used to lure those geniuses into the abyss,"
Nas’s nebula-like body reassembled, the eyes around his heart flashing with an inexplicable light:
"But this time, perhaps we can try something different."
Silence once again enveloped the entire space, as the three Supreme Apostles immersed themselves in their thoughts.
At that moment, it seemed as if they had returned to their pre-apostle state—rational, calm, and filled with a thirst for knowledge.
"In any case, that Holy Disc is irrelevant."
Isabella finally said, breaking the silence:
"It’s nothing but a relay tool, granted temporary power, yet ultimately just a pawn."
Maggs nodded slightly, the eyes on his mask blinking one by one.
"And the real game is only just beginning."
He spoke softly, with an ancient anticipation in his voice:
"Let’s wait and see what surprises this human named Ron Ralph will bring us."
As his words faded, the figures of the three Supreme Apostles finally completely disappeared into the darkness of the Maze Domain.
Leaving only a silent space, with the lingering words hanging in the air:
"The fourteenth throne, the long-awaited successor..."
The Abyss 7th Floor, "Soul Abyss".
This place is different from the maze structure of the 6th Floor, more like an endless gray wasteland.
The grayness does not come from the ground or the sky, but from the omnipresent soul fragments.
Countless lives that entered here but were assimilated, their remnant consciousness turned into tiny gray light dots, floating slowly in the air.
In one area of this wasteland, stood thirteen gigantic thrones.
Each at least tens of meters high, made of different materials, exuding an oppressive majesty. The source of thɪs content is Novᴇl_Fire(.)net
The thrones are not arranged in a straight line, but instead form a bizarre geometric shape.
From above, the shape resembles a distorted eye.
At the center of the thrones, a large gray vortex hovers, continuously rotating, emitting a low roar.
"It’s restless again."
A deep voice came from the third throne.
It was a humanoid creature covered in dark red scales, with a dragon-like head, its eyes glowing with golden light.
"It’s not just here, the entire abyss is awakening."
Another voice responded, coming from the seventh throne.
Sitting on it was an existence made entirely of liquid metal, the body continuously transforming, sometimes human, sometimes beast, its outline always indistinct.
"Why is Maggs so obsessed with that fourteenth throne?"
The entity on the tenth throne spoke, its voice like shattering glass.
Its form was even more abstract, like countless broken bones reassembled into a sculpture, constantly twisting and changing.
"Maybe because this time the seed is different,"
A woman bound in chains answered from the fifth throne.
Her skin was deathly pale, but her eyes were deep black, a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips:
"Or perhaps he’s grown weary of this eternal confinement and seeks change."
With those words, the gray vortex violently fluctuated again, emitting a terrifying noise like thousands of creatures screaming at once.
The apostles on the thrones simultaneously ceased their conversation, watching the ever-growing vortex.
Their eyes held both fear and unconcealed anticipation.
In this long imprisonment, any change, even destruction, is more delightful than eternal stillness.
And at this moment, change is quietly happening.