My Infinite System.

The Monster Kingdom stretched wider than continents.

Its lands weren’t built in lines like human empires, nor carved into neat borders. They sprawled like the beasts that ruled them—wild, untamed, yet bound by a single throne. From mountains that scraped the heavens to forests so thick no light ever pierced, from burning deserts where flame-born walked to endless oceans black as night, every corner belonged to monsters.

Twelve nations stood under its banner, each sworn by blood and fear.

The Lion Nation in the south, now ash and ruin. The Wolf Packs of the east, endless tribes bound under the Silver Fang. The Vulture Clans on the high cliffs, talons sharp as spears. The Minotaur Warrens beneath the mountains, labyrinths dug deep into the earth. The Boar Hordes, savage and tireless. The Serpent Marshes, their coils choking rivers and swamps. The Bear Lords in the north, kings of frozen peaks. The Foxkin tricksters, sly and old as storms. The Shark Tribes who ruled seas with teeth sharper than blades. The Scorpion Dunes, poison kings of endless sand. The Tiger Nation of the west, fierce and proud.

And above them all, the Dragon Court.

Four dukes kept the throne’s command, each one a beast of legend.

The Azure Phoenix, reborn in fire, wings trailing endless light.

The White Tiger, fangs cold as glaciers, claws that split mountains.

The Black Tortoise, shell like a continent, eyes deep as oceans.

And the Vermilion Serpent, coils vast enough to strangle kingdoms.

Together they formed the pillars of the kingdom, keepers of the order set down by the king.

The Dragon King.

Karl’s father.

The King’s Hall was carved into the heart of a mountain so vast it could be mistaken for a world of its own. Pillars thicker than towers rose to a ceiling lost in shadow, each one etched with scales that gleamed faint gold in torchlight. At the far end stood the throne—no chair of stone, no crown of jewels, but a dais of obsidian wide enough to hold a beast too vast for mortal eyes.

The Dragon King rested there now, his form coiled, wings folded. His scales shone a deep crimson edged in black, eyes like twin suns locked in endless fire. His mane of spines trailed down his back, each one taller than men. Power leaked from his very breath, the weight of it pressing down on all who stood below.

Around the hall, the dukes gathered. The Azure Phoenix perched high above the torches, flames dripping from its wings. The White Tiger sprawled along the right side, tail lashing lazily, eyes unblinking. The Black Tortoise’s shell loomed in shadow, only its head visible, eyes reflecting still water. The Vermilion Serpent coiled along the far wall, its body vanishing into darkness, scales glowing faint crimson.

The hall burned with silence.

Then the Phoenix spoke, its voice a ringing flame. ”The Lion King is dead.”

The words spread like cracks through the hall.

The Tiger growled low. ”Impossible. Taragon was Beta. None in his land, none beyond, had strength enough to strike him down.”

The Serpent’s tongue flicked, voice low and cold. ”And yet his nation is ash. His wards shattered. His headless body delivered in whispers carried even here.”

The Tortoise shifted, slow, the weight of its voice deep. ”Who dares?”

All eyes turned to the throne.

The Dragon King’s chest rose once, slow, his breath rumbling through the hall like thunder buried deep. His gaze burned brighter as he spoke, his voice layered in fire and storm.

”Not one of us. Not one of the dukes. Not one of the twelve.”

He lowered his head slightly, eyes narrowing. ”Someone else.”

The Phoenix’s wings flared. ”Humans, perhaps?”

The Tiger’s tail lashed. ”They are ants. Ants do not kill lions.”

The Serpent hissed, coils shifting. ”Not ants. Not ordinary. Whoever did this walked through a nation of beastkin and left fire in their wake. Whoever did this took Taragon’s head.”

The hall trembled with the echo.

The Tortoise’s eyes glimmered faintly. ”Then it is a threat. One that even Beta rank could not silence.”

The Dragon King’s claws flexed against the stone dais, carving deep grooves as if the rock were nothing. His voice rumbled, shaking the torches.

”Threat or not, they have made a mistake.” His fangs gleamed as his lips curled. ”To touch one of my kings is to challenge me. And I will answer.”

The Phoenix tilted its head. ”What will you command?”

The Dragon King’s gaze swept the hall, slow, heavy, pressing down on each of them. His eyes burned like suns, but there was something colder deep inside them.

”Gather the nations. Call every lord, every commander, every beast with claw and fang.” His wings shifted, scraping stone. ”The Monster Kingdom does not suffer insult.”

The Tiger roared, shaking the pillars. ”Yes. Let us drown their lands in blood.”

The Serpent hissed, voice sharp. ”We must first know who they are.”

The Tortoise nodded slowly. ”Names must be spoken before vengeance is taken.”

The Dragon King’s gaze flicked, sharp as blades. ”We will know. The world will tell us. Fire this loud cannot be hidden. And when I know...” His voice deepened, thunder cracking through it. ”...I will burn them.”

Silence pressed again.

The Phoenix’s feathers flared faint, light dripping from its wings. ”And if they are not human?”

The Dragon King’s eyes narrowed, glowing hotter. ”Then they are prey.”

The words cut through the hall like steel.

Karl’s father—lord of dragons, king of beasts—settled back into his throne of stone and shadow. His breath rumbled low, smoke spilling from his jaws.

”Taragon has fallen.” His voice thundered one last time. ”But the Monster Kingdom does not falter. And whoever dares believe so will learn why I am king.”

The dukes bowed, flames dimming, claws lowering, coils tightening.

The Dragon King’s eyes lingered faintly, as if seeing far beyond his hall, through fire and ruin and the whispers carried by smoke.

Whoever had taken Taragon’s head had just declared war.

And war was something the monsters had always answered.