In the farthest corner of existence, where stars had long ceased to shine, the Demon Realm seethed beneath a sky of burning ash. Rivers of molten crimson carved through the obsidian earth, and the air itself stank of brimstone and death.
Inside the towering citadel of black stone, the throne room burned brighter than a thousand suns. Lava flowed beneath its floor, and chains of scorched metal hung like the ribs of a fallen god.
At the heart of it all sat the Demon King — his body an inferno given form, his eyes twin eclipses devouring light. The oppressive aura he released twisted the air itself; even the stones seemed to writhe beneath his gaze.
Before him, four figures knelt. Sivrath, commander of the Third Legion, and the three upper-ranked demons bowed until their foreheads touched the scorched floor.
"My King," Sivrath began, voice trembling despite his power, "the preparations are complete. The legions await your word. We are ready to invade the Realm of Shadows."
The king's throne cracked beneath his shifting weight. The flames around him dimmed, then surged — a silent storm of pure wrath. For several heartbeats, no one dared breathe.
Then, his voice rose — deep, resonant, echoing through the void.
"Is that so?"
Sivrath swallowed the taste of ash. "Yes, my liege. The armies stand ready. The mortal realm trembles beneath our shadow."
The King leaned forward, claws carving molten lines into the armrest.
"Then hear me, Sivrath. Bring me his head — the one they call the Ninth King. Bring it to me still bleeding."
Sivrath's mouth twisted into a cruel smile.
"I shall bring his head, my King… along with his broken corpse — just as we did to the last Ninth King."
The throne room roared in approval — demonic laughter rising like thunder. The Demon King did not join them. His silence was enough to still them all. When he finally spoke again, it was in a whisper heavy enough to crush a mountain.
"This time… the shadows will fall."
Far away, in the Realm of Shadows, the night was eerily quiet.
Ren lay motionless inside the recovery chamber — his body pale, his breathing shallow. His energy reserves had decreased massively after the previous fight with Althric and continuously working without . Around him, the containment glass shimmered with black mist — his own shadow, writhing like a living thing.
Outside the chamber, the base trembled with relentless activity. Hunters trained in the open grounds, their roars echoing against the metallic walls. Blades clashed, shadows flickered, and the scent of burning ether filled the air. Every warrior knew the truth — the invasion was coming, and not all would live to see its end.
But within Ren's chamber, something began to stir.
His shadow pulsed — once, twice — then began to convulse violently. The lights flickered. The walls warped. A low hum grew into a deafening resonance, shaking the entire room.
An analyst monitoring the vitals froze as the readings spiked off the charts.
"Wh-what the— his shadow density just tripled!" she shouted.
Before she could react, the containment seals shattered. The glass exploded outward, and Ren's shadow burst forth like a storm — a colossal wave of darkness that filled the room and spilled into the corridors.
The smoke-like tendrils raced through the halls, leaving frost in their wake, and then vanished entirely — streaking through the night sky toward the Demon Gate.
Moments later, Ren's eyes snapped open.
He inhaled sharply, his body trembling as if he had been drowning. His pupils glowed faintly red.
"The Gate…" he rasped. "What are the readings on the Gate?"
The analyst ran to him, startled. "Sir, what happened? You were—"
"Just tell me what I asked!" Ren shouted, his voice splitting the air. He pushed himself off the table, tearing away the IV lines, and stormed toward the control room.
When he reached the main monitor, his eyes darted across the holographic data — the readings from the Gate pulsed violently, symbols flashing red.
He clenched his fist and slammed it into the desk, cracking the reinforced alloy beneath his hand.
Ichiro appeared beside him, calm but wary. "What is it?"
Ren turned, his eyes burning with shadowlight.
"It's the Gate. The readings are stable no longer — it's going to open… in forty-eight hours."
The room fell silent.
Ren exhaled slowly, voice dropping to a whisper.
"My shadows reacted before the Gate even flared. It means the barrier's collapsing faster than predicted. We don't have time."
He turned toward the main console.
"Evacuate every single civilian," he ordered. "And summon every hunter. No exceptions."
Within minutes, the headquarters became a storm of motion.
Sirens blared. Orders echoed through every hall. Boots pounded against the steel floors as hunters ran to armories, activating their suits, sharpening their blades.
Ren stood at the center of command, surrounded by holographic projections of the battlefield.
Beside him stood Althric, Yume, and Kuro — the strongest among the Shadow Bound.
Ren's tone was sharp and unwavering.
"Althric, lead the eastern sector. Yume, take the defense lines near the Gate perimeter. Kuro — secure the barrier nexus. If it collapses, we lose control of the inner circle."
He turned to them one by one, his gaze like iron.
"Remember — survival is not the goal. Victory is."
The door opened, and a wave of pressure filled the room.
Haru stepped in. His very presence made the air heavier, forcing even the shadows to bow.
Ren straightened. "Haru. We've confirmed it. The Gate opens in two days."
Haru's crimson eyes flickered. "Then this world has forty-eight hours left of peace."
He walked to the table, glancing at the maps, then back at Ren.
"What's the strategy?"
Ren explained the plan — formation lines, fallback routes, and last-resort options. The tone in his voice wasn't that of a commander. It was of a king — one who had already seen the future and decided to fight it anyway.
When the briefing ended, Althric, Yume, Kuro, and Daiki saluted in silence before heading out. Outside, the sirens screamed again as the evacuation began.
The city of Nirvalen— once a cradle of light — had become a landscape of fear.
Columns of evacuees filled the streets, their eyes turned to the sky where the ominous Gate shimmered faintly in the distance like a second moon.
Low-ranked hunters directed families toward the underground shelters, their shadows glowing faintly in the gloom. The air was thick with the sound of weeping children, the shouts of soldiers, and the unspoken question trembling in every heart: Will there be a tomorrow?
Above them, Ren stood on the observation deck, watching everything unfold.
He could see his reflection in the glass — eyes dim, face pale, the weight of a thousand souls resting on his shoulders.
Behind him, footsteps echoed softly.
"My king," came Althric's voice. "Something troubles you."
Ren didn't turn. His gaze remained on the horizon, where the faint shimmer of the Gate pulsed like a dying star.
"It's nothing," he murmured. "Only the end we've long prepared for. Two months of predictions… half a year of fear… and now it begins."
Althric bowed deeply. "What of the Abyss Gate? Shall we summon them?"
Ren's reply came cold and certain. "No. Humanity isn't ready for that power. If we call upon them now… there will be nothing left to save."
The commander knelt. "Then your will is my blade."
Ren finally turned, his expression softened by the faintest hint of exhaustion. "Then stand ready, Althric. When dawn rises again, the world will remember who we were."
By sunrise, the city above ground was empty.
The shelters deep below rumbled as the final doors sealed.
Ren walked through the silent streets — his coat billowing in the wind, his shadow rippling like smoke beneath his feet. He stopped in the center of the plaza and raised his hand.
Ancient sigils blazed across the ground — the same seals placed centuries ago by the former Shadow Kings. One by one, he broke them. The air ignited with dark light.
A spark from a war fought thousands of years ago had begun to burn once more.
History was repeating itself — the same chaos, the same defiance, the same echo of fate.
The long-awaited day had come.
Above the battlefield, helicopters hovered like restless vultures, their floodlights slicing through the mist as news reporters broadcasted live — capturing every heartbeat of the moment.
Far from the field, those sheltered underground clasped their trembling hands, whispering prayers into the void.
They prayed not for mercy — but for victory.
On the surface, every hunter stood assembled before the Gate. Their shadows pulsed and breathed through their weapons — blades humming with a spectral glow, armor trembling under the weight of gathered energy.
A few hours before the battle, Ren had gone to the swordsmith's forge.
The air there was thick with heat and iron.
He placed all the weapons, armor, and accessories before him, his eyes gleaming with dark fire. One by one, he infused them with his own shadow — forging them beyond mortal craftsmanship. The blackened light of his power wrapped around the steel, reshaping it into something alive.
When he finished, he summoned all the hunters.
"Take whatever calls to your soul," he said quietly.
Each weapon shimmered with an aura of death and divinity — their edges ten times sharper, their cores thrumming with strength far beyond human hands.
Then Ren stood before his legion and spoke his final words before stepping onto the battlefield.
"The hour draws near. The Gate of Demons trembles once more.
For ages, this war has slept — but now, history repeats its song of blood and fire.
When these doors open, we march not as mortals… but as the chosen who defy oblivion.
Beyond that gate lies chaos — a realm where even light forgets to shine.
Yet even there… our shadows will stand.
I do not ask you to live.
I ask you to fight — until the last spark of your soul burns away.
For every child who still dreams, for every tear shed in silence…
We fight so the next dawn belongs to mankind.
If death awaits us — then let it remember our names.
Let it remember that the Ninth King and his shadows stood against eternity… and did not kneel.
Today, we write not just history — we carve our legend into the bones of the demons."
A silence followed. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.
Then — the world roared.
The colossal Gate, the barrier between two realms, began to shudder.
Its surface cracked with thunderous groans before splitting open — and from within, the corrupted shadow energy that had been sealed for eons burst outward like a storm of despair.
The Shadow Bounds felt it immediately — a chill that clawed at their bones, a whisper that threatened to unmake their sanity.
Beside Ren, Yume stepped closer and seized his hand tightly.
Her voice was low but steady.
"Are you ready?"
Ren looked at her — his expression calm, resolute.
"Yes. And together… we'll conquer it."
Then came the sound — the unholy march of the abyss.
From within the Gate, demons poured forth.
First in dozens. Then hundreds. Then thousands — descending from the black mist like falling meteors. Their roars fractured the clouds, their claws tore into the ground as the battlefield drowned in shadow and fire.
But among them… three stood apart.
Three demons whose power towered above the rest.
For a moment, Ren's eyes narrowed — one of them, he thought, could have been the Right Hand.
But then he appeared.
The ground itself recoiled beneath his presence.
His aura was overwhelming — monstrous, suffocating. Hunters around Ren hesitated, their resolve faltering as they gazed at the creature who walked like a god of ruin.
Fear rippled through the ranks.
Ren stepped forward, his shadow rippling behind him like an ocean.
"Everyone — prepare yourselves," he said quietly.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"The show is about to begin."
His composure rekindled their courage. The trembling ceased. One by one, the hunters raised their blades again, their shadows flaring to life like black fire.
From the ranks of the demons, Malgrath, one of the upper three, emerged.
Sliva dripped from his fanged jaws as he spoke with a guttural laugh.
"Hey, Sivrath… who's that man? The one whose head we're supposed to bring back?"
Sivrath raised his hand and pointed.
"Him. The one they call the Ninth King."
Malgrath's eyes gleamed with hunger.
He cracked his neck and snarled, "So that's him, huh? Let's see how a so-called king dies!"
With a roar, he lunged forward — faster than thunder.
But before his claws could reach Ren — a shockwave split the air.
A single hand stopped him mid-strike.
It was Althric. His eyes burned like twin eclipses.
"You dare touch the King," he said, his voice calm and cold as steel.
"Until my king commands it, not a single breath of yours will touch him.
And since he ordered me to end you… consider your chapter closed."
Malgrath growled, eyes wide in rage. "Who the hell are you, bastard?!"
Althric smiled faintly. "I am my King's loyal shadow."
In the next instant, Malgrath's body disintegrated — erased without sound, without struggle.
Only dust remained, scattered into the wind.
Ren stood silently, unmoved — as if nothing had happened.
The others looked on, their fear replaced by awe.
The true war… had only just begun.