Spectrum Prison
When light passes through a prism, it splits into a continuous band of colors.
The Spectrum Prison was a dungeon created using this very principle.
Light divided by prisms forms compartments, each triggering different traps.
Among them, the prison made of the seven visible light colors.
Hence its name: Spectrum Prison, or sometimes Rainbow Prison.
Each color carries a unique wavelength, property, and emotional resonance.
The Spectrum Prison exploited these to deadly effect.
The zones of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet were utterly isolated, greeting intruders with spaces made not of reality, but of light.
A realm transcending the phenomenal world. That's why it was called hyperspace.
The outermost red hyperspace ceaselessly preyed on human fear and anxiety, whispering until its victims destroyed themselves.
And that was the space trapping Zeon right now.
Everything in sight was an unreal crimson landscape.
No boundaries, no distinctions—just endless red hyperspace.
It felt like floating alone in a weightless red cosmos.
"A trap like this is a first for me."
Zeon muttered as he scanned the interior.
The bizarre sensation of a red space that could never exist in the real world unnerved even him.
"Replicating a dungeon? That'd require preserving the core intact and supplying stable mana."
Zeon had conquered countless dungeons.
Some had utterly defied human logic, much like this Spectrum Prison. So he didn't panic at the unfamiliarity.
"Where's my sand?"
He reached for his greatest weapon, but sensed no sand in the red space.
"Completely cut off from the outside, confirmed."
Even a tiny passage or hole would have let him feel it.
This proved the space was perfectly sealed.
Zeon walked through the red hyperspace.
His body felt weightless, like zero gravity. The slightest imbalance sent him spinning wildly.
Probably what swimming in space would feel like.
The biggest problem? No matter how hard he pushed, he made no progress.
Suddenly, rage boiled up.
It surged from deep within, intensifying.
The feeling that he'd never escape no matter how long he walked only fueled his fury.
"Why the hell am I bothering to walk? I should just smash it..."
Zeon opened his subspace. Sand poured out like a mountain collapsing.
Tsssss!
Soon, a sea of sand lapped at his feet.
"Sand Blaster!"
He swung his hand, unleashing dozens of sand streams in all directions. But not one dented the red space.
"You wanna play?"
Unable to quell his anger, Zeon lashed out again.
Shoosh!
Sand Blasters fired relentlessly.
That much should have given some feedback, but there was nothing.
Only then did Zeon sense something off.
His boiling rage was unnatural, and so was the space shrugging off his attacks.
He wasn't the type to lose control like that.
Maybe as a kid, but eight years wandering the world had taught him to master his reason.
He hadn't lost it once since.
Yet here he was, swept away by emotion?
This was far from normal.
"Hoo."
Zeon exhaled deeply, calming himself.
Suddenly, details invisible before stood out clearly.
He'd thought it just red space, but up close, it pulsed faintly like breathing.
With each pulse, red energy seeped into his nose and mouth.
Zeon cut off his breathing, shielding his body with mana. Then he felt the foreign energy inside him.
It was the red energy filling the space.
He'd inhaled a lot without realizing.
It clustered thickly around his central nervous system, dominating and stimulating it—explaining his explosive rage.
Zeon focused his mind, expelling the intruder.
"Hoo!"
His head cleared. He assessed his situation coolly.
"This red energy stirs emotions, drawing out hostility. Get consumed by it, lose reason, rampage until exhaustion. Fresh trick. No wonder I didn't notice."
Zeon found the space's creativity impressive.
His rationality had let him spot the issue; others would have succumbed and gone berserk.
Demian had never planned to overpower Zeon with brute force.
He knew about the sand mastery and that Zeon at full power was unstoppable.
So he'd recreated this dungeon.
To make Zeon self-destruct from exhaustion.
But Zeon was far colder and more analytical than Demian anticipated.
"Red hyperspace—sealed from reality. Walking out's impossible. Gotta shatter the space itself."
Sand Blaster wouldn't cut it.
He needed something far more destructive.
Luckily, he had just the skill.
Kuuu!
The sand at his feet began swirling upward.
A sandstorm erupted around him.
Demian had assumed no sand in hyperspace would neutralize Zeon's powers. He hadn't known Zeon filled his entire subspace with it.
Kwakwakwa!
The storm swelled rapidly.
Vast sand volumes whipped up fierce winds.
It shook the red hyperspace to its roots.
The space trembled violently but held stubbornly.
That meant it was immensely vast.
Not enough sand to destroy it completely.
But Zeon had a way to compensate.
"Haven't pulled this out in ages. Exion!"
Black energy burst from his body.
The world's finest sand particles, stored in his pores.
Exion was potent alone, but amplified ordinary sand exponentially.
Zeon fed it into the storm. The sandstorm's power surged.
Kukwakwakwa!
The hyperspace quaked under the onslaught.
Zeon intensified the spin. Explosions ripped through.
Crack! Crack!
Cracks spiderwebbed across the space.
Through them, he glimpsed the outside—a vast desert of sand.
A smile tugged at Zeon's lips.
"Perfect!"
He pulled in the external sand.
Like a tidal wave, it surged through the cracks, flooding the hyperspace.
With this influx, the storm ballooned beyond compare.
The space shredded before its might.
Creeeeak!
With a deafening shatter, the red energy enveloping Zeon vanished without trace.
The hyperspace itself destroyed and scattered.
"Hoo."
Zeon sighed, shaking his head.
The sudden exertion left him drained. But he quickly recovered, surveying around.
His brow furrowed deeply.
The scene was devastation incarnate.
Limbs severed, guts spilled—corpses littered everywhere.
Some looked like they'd killed each other.
With so many factions attacking, infighting wasn't surprising.
But two in identical uniforms had slain one another.
Definitely same affiliation.
Allies killing allies? Not under normal circumstances.
"Not normal at all."
Even he had nearly died in the red hyperspace.
Its energy had ignited his hostility, driving him berserk.
Other colors must target different emotions.
Zeon examined the bodies.
"Wounds already dried. Means significant time passed. Time flows differently inside hyperspace than reality?"
His face hardened.
To him, it'd felt like just three or four hours. But these corpses looked dead at least a day.
Each hyperspace warped time uniquely.
Zeon sighed, eyeing the fortress.
As expected, it was far more ruined than before.
Truly, over a day had passed outside.
"Demian, what the hell? Why blow it up this big?"
With a faint sigh, Zeon stepped into the fortress.
Six lights still awaited him.
Creeeeak!
With a sound like shattering glass, cracks split the air, spilling out a battered group.
These were the elves who'd charged the fortress with gusto.
"How dare they pull this shit. I won't forgive you, humans!"
The elf gnashing her teeth was Mariel, leader of the Thorn Tree Assault.
She and her team had been trapped mid-charge by the sudden Spectrum Prison.
Theirs was the blue hyperspace.
Sky, ground—everything blue.
It felt so vibrant, like stepping into tales of Kurayan, thrilling the elves.
Most had been born and raised in Neo Seoul.
They knew only barren deserts and the gleaming city.
Never seen green meadows.
To them, the blue hyperspace evoked their unseen homeland, Kurayan.
Some wept tears of joy.
Mariel's heart stirred too.
She'd never known blue could fill the soul so richly.
Now she understood Queen Serion's longing for Kurayan.
Elves belonged in such abundance.
That's why they'd come to Earth.
But terraforming's fallout had desolated it, denying them green.
That fueled their rage.
All their sacrifices, for nothing.
"If we seize the Spirit King's Crown, we can rebuild our elven haven. Not mingling filthily with humans—a paradise for elves alone."
Mariel hated humans.
Precisely, those who rejected elves.
She loathed living as tenants in human cities. That's why she despised Serion's decision to coexist.
It was why she followed vice-leader Ilai.
Mariel steeled herself, urging her elves.
"We must escape this place. Hurry, everyone."
But they ignored her, ears deaf.
The blue space had bewitched their hearts.
They didn't want to leave. Her orders sounded like nagging.
Only then did Mariel sense wrongness.
Like Zeon's rage in red, blue brought peace and oblivion to elves.
Better to fight enemies or monsters.
In Spectrum Prison, the enemy was oneself.
Elves forgot their purpose, lulled into sloth by blue comfort.
That was Spectrum Prison's terror.
Seven lights, seven wavelengths, each warping the mind.
Scariest: victims never noticed their corruption.
To snap mind-warped elves free needed extreme shock therapy.
Drip drip!
Red blood trailed her sword.
Elven blood.
To rouse those lost in blue, she'd gone extreme: executed subordinates as example.
Thorn Tree and fellow elves were like kin.
Killing them scarred her too. But no choice.
She couldn't escape alone.
Shock therapy worked. Elves rallied, pooling power to break free.
Mariel glared at the fortress, eyes bloodshot.
"Vile humans. Resorting to dirty tricks. I won't forgive you."