Azaroth Devoluss. The Reaper King. A name that spanned eras, a whisper in the dark that the elders avoided uttering. They said he was immortal, molded by misfortune and fed by the blood of forgotten ages. Where he passed, death was silent. Where he settled, hell sprouted.
Now, he had returned. And with him, the heart of chaos beat stronger.
His arrival was silent, but devastating in presence. The demonic energy accompanying him made the ground vibrate and the air thicken like black smoke. The Reapers, lined up in formation in the Great Scarlet Temple, bowed before him. Every team, every sect, every captain present. The respect was absolute.
Among the captains were the most feared names:
Zouden, of the Red Blade, body marked by wounds that never healed. His fighting style was a ballet of blood and speed; his living blade devoured flesh and iron.
Saraya Blood of the Winds, a woman with scarlet eyes and hair spiraling like a storm. Her power: the Bloody Wind, a cutting rain of ethereal scythes descending from the sky, staining the ground red. Legend says she summoned a bloody storm that destroyed an army in five minutes.
Kabel Dark Tooth, gray skin, eyes always narrowed. He manipulated shadows that consumed reality; his sharp fangs were more symbolic than real. He was a master of infiltration and spiritual assassination.
Myrrha of the Black Chains, dressed in cloaks that floated even without wind. She used chains that pierced dimensions and sealed spirits. She was a specialist in capture and control.
The temple housed them, like a mouth about to swallow the world.
Azaroth, before them all, spoke little. When Dante appeared, the air fell completely silent.
— I want you to accelerate the reconfiguration of the Tree of Life, — said Dante, his eyes like burning coals. — Transform it into a catalyst. Not for life... but for demonic energy.
Azaroth did not reply. He merely gave a slight nod. The order was clear. The Reaper King would vanish for a time, but his hand would shape the world from the shadows.
Zouden approached, bowing.
— My lord, there are possessed humans in the region. Rare, but abundant recently. Perfect anchors for transformation into demons. With your help...
Azaroth raised his hand.
— When I am finished, I will assess. Do not disturb me until then.
In the Crimson Temple, the young ones trained and rested after an intense routine.
Stella approached and sat beside Tekio, curious:
— What's it like... having two souls in one body?
Tekio smiled, somewhat pensive.
— It's not hard. It's... uncomfortable sometimes, if you think about it too much. But it's easy to handle day-to-day.
— And... how old is Yara? — she asked, more serious.
— She was born in the Cursed Era. Lived in Dante's empire. Fought beside the founder of the Three Lines... and Konan, who founded the Zenon.
Stella's eyes widened.
A passionate historian, this caught her by surprise.
— I've never seen her name in the books. But... there was a warrior of thunder and speed. Her name was... Tsuki.
The two fell silent, staring into nothingness. The information echoed like distant thunder.
Dan, on the other hand, was still training.
He showed his seals to Fenra, who analyzed them carefully.
— I already knew you carried a power that would kill you. That's why they were sealed.
But now... ever since Tekio expelled Dante from you, or perhaps... even before... these seals have become inactive.
Dan's eyes widened. He observed the runes marked on his forearms, previously hidden by cloth bracers.
— They're there... but they don't work — Fenra added.
Dan was free.
The thought stunned him.
It seemed too surreal.
— Is... is this real? — he murmured, trying to process it.
Fenra nodded firmly.
— From now on, Dan... your power is under your will.
You will no longer be consumed by it. You won't pay the price of a forced gift.
This power is yours now. Refinable. Directable. Fully yours.
Then, looking into his eyes, she concluded:
— You are free, Dan.
Dan didn't reply.
He just wept.
There, in the dojo.
Only Fenra saw him.
She respected the moment.
— That's enough for today.
Outside, Tekio and Stella were still talking about Yara—or Tsuki—when Tekio stopped.
Something was approaching.
Someone.
Slow footsteps, a strong aura, but... ordinary. Nothing reminiscent of an enemy.
— What is it? — Stella asked.
— Someone's coming... — Tekio murmured, alert.
A man appeared from the stairs.
Black shirt, dress pants, common sneakers.
Dark hair, black eyes. Normal appearance.
Nothing threatening. But there was something... strange.
— Calm down — said Stella. — He comes sometimes.
It's Levi. Fenra's informant. He brings us updates from the city... so we can find weak points. An ally.
Levi looked at Tekio. His gaze was cold, but not hostile.
He placed a firm hand on the boy's shoulder.
— You've grown a lot — he said, and kept walking.
Tekio stood still, confused.
— Do you know me? — he asked.
Levi replied without stopping:
— I do, yes. But... I've never seen you in person.
We'll talk later, kid. I have urgent matters.
Dan left the dojo and met Levi. They greeted each other briefly.
Levi then went to Fenra, reporting the news:
— The Reaper King... Azaroth... is here.
Dante is withdrawing to another location.
All the Reapers are gathered in a temple near the center. Captains, high-level warriors...
The situation is critical.
But then, Levi issued a warning:
— This might be a chance. So many gathered like this... it's rare.
But... allies are disappearing. And... it's possible I might need to flee.
If I'm forced to come here... I risk exposing this temple's location.
Fenra listened with gravity on her face.
At that moment, Aisha entered the room.
She and Levi exchanged glances.
Old acquaintances.
Now... almost strangers.
Aisha spoke calmly, but laden with contained fury:
— This opportunity... is everything I needed.
I will kill them. All of them. At once.
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The walls were narrow and rooted in time. Akira walked silently through that ancient, dark corridor, where the air carried the smell of memories—some sweet, others rotten like forgotten corpses.
He reached the door.
The cold latch trembled in his hand. Something inside him screamed not to enter. But it was too late.
As he pushed the door open, the world swallowed him.
A demonic mass sucked him in like a vortex of shadows and flesh. Akira tried to scream, but his voice was lost in the whirlwind of pain and distortion. His body burned as if thousands of needles pierced his bones, and time... time passed before his eyes like an accelerated river.
He saw entire seasons change, civilizations crumble, faces disfigure, and demons whisper secrets in forgotten tongues.
Voices, thousands of them, called him by names he didn't remember having.
At the center of it all, he felt a presence... a gaze.
Something that wasn't content with merely observing him.
It conversed with him. Or perhaps commanded.
His body trembled.
His eyes blinked, rapid and chaotic—oscillating between a dark reddish-brown and his original hue.
Until, finally, he awoke.
Heavy breathing. Pain. An indescribable pain in his head.
Akira rose gasping on the cold stone floor, sweaty, drenched... alive, but with the weight of hell on his shoulders.
He looked at his palm.
A demonic spiral symbol burned like a live ember.
His skin pulsed as if the seal itself were breathing.
— What... — he whispered.
And then he saw.
Before him, a woman tied to a post, dirty, wounded, her body marked by demonic inscriptions. But her eyes... her eyes were the same as before.
— Sayuri...
She lifted her head slowly.
Her eyes, though tired, shone upon seeing Akira.
He approached.
But then... a familiar voice came from the top of the staircase:
— Too late, brother.
The new leader of the Eda clan descended the steps.
The black cloak with the clan symbol embroidered in blood. The face marked with pride and arrogance. The short hair, cruel eyes.
— She refused. So... we had to force her.
— You... — Akira clenched his fists. — You marked her against her will!
— She was impure, weak. The pact with the demons elevated us. You ran away... but we evolved.
Behind him, three familiar figures appeared.
Akira's other brothers. Elite shinobi.
All with eyes now deformed by pacts.
Legendary techniques corrupted.
All around, dozens of younger shinobi took position.
Old acquaintances. Students. Training partners.
Now enemies.
Akira was surrounded.
Alone.
Against his own blood.
His gaze lowered to Sayuri.
She stammered, weakly:
— ...you... promised...
The world fell silent.
Akira raised his eyes.
— And I will keep it.
Akira's blood judgment was about to begin.
— You knelt to the abyss...
— I will be the blade that cuts this corruption.
To be continued…