The air trembled.
Not with sound—but with absence.
Fenrik felt it first. That hollow pressure pressing against his chest, like something was stealing the meaning out of the world itself. Trees stood still, leaves frozen mid-fall, as if even nature was afraid to move.
"This feeling again…" Fenrik muttered, tightening his grip on the Wolf Slayer Axe.
The axe responded—not with light, but with a low growl. The fur lining its blade bristled, glowing faintly silver, warning him.
Taro stepped beside him, resting the Tiger Reaper Scythe on his shoulder. His eyes narrowed, sharp and focused.
"This isn't the devil himself," he said calmly. "But it's his handwriting."
The Sage's words echoed in Fenrik's mind:
Malzareon does not always arrive first. He sends the void ahead of him.
A ripple tore through the ground.
From the cracks, figures emerged—humanoid, armored in distorted obsidian plates, their forms bending unnaturally as if reality couldn't decide what shape they should hold.
Their eyes were empty. Not dark. Not glowing.
Just… gone.
Void Soldiers.
"They're using his magic style," Taro said. "Same wavelength."
Fenrik stepped forward. "Then this is a test."
The soldiers moved.
No battle cry. No charge.
They simply vanished—and reappeared behind them.
Fenrik barely turned in time. His axe clashed against a void blade, sparks of silver and black exploding outward. The impact sent him sliding back, boots carving deep lines into the earth.
"They're fast," Fenrik growled.
One soldier raised its hand—and space folded.
Aoi reacted instantly, summoning a barrier of flowing blue sigils. The void strike hit it and erased a chunk of the shield completely, not breaking it—removing it.
Koharu's eyes widened. "That attack didn't destroy it… it deleted it!"
"Void magic," the Sage said from behind them, his staff glowing faintly. "Malzareon's domain. He doesn't break things—he denies their existence."
The battlefield exploded into chaos.
Taro spun forward, his scythe slicing in a perfect arc. The blade cut clean through a void soldier—but instead of falling, the body collapsed inward, folding into nothing.
"No blood," Taro noted. "No resistance."
Fenrik charged, axe blazing now, fur along the blade igniting with lunar energy. He struck downward with a roar—
—and the ground split.
Three soldiers were torn apart by the shockwave, erased by the axe's howl.
But more came.
From every shadow, every fold in space.
"This is a summoning wave," Aoi shouted. "They won't stop unless we cut the source!"
Suddenly—
The world went silent.
Every void soldier froze.
The temperature dropped.
A massive presence descended—not physically, but conceptually. Like a thought too heavy to exist.
A voice slithered through the air, layered and endless.
"So these are the ones who survived Gratherna."
The sky darkened—not with clouds, but with absence of stars.
A colossal shadow coiled above the battlefield, its form only partially visible—a serpentine outline made of fractured space and swirling nothingness.
Malzareon.
The Void Serpent.
Fenrik's breath hitched. His instincts screamed.
This wasn't the devil fully manifesting.
This was a projection.
A glance.
"Pathetic," Malzareon's voice echoed, amused. "You struggle against echoes of my will and call it strength."
Taro stepped forward, jaw clenched. "Show yourself."
A low, distorted chuckle rippled through reality.
"No," Malzareon replied. "Not yet, Tiger. You are not ready to be unmade."
The void soldiers began to dissolve, retreating into folds of space.
Fenrik raised his axe. "You're running?"
"Observing," the devil corrected. "You interest me, Wolf Slayer. Especially that weapon."
The fur on the axe flared violently.
Malzareon's presence pressed closer for a moment.
"Train," the devil whispered. "Grow desperate. Stronger."
"Because when I come… I will take that axe."
The shadow vanished.
The sky returned.
Silence fell.
Everyone stood frozen, breathing hard.
"That wasn't a battle," Koharu said softly. "That was a warning."
The Sage nodded grimly. "Malzareon has acknowledged you."
Fenrik looked down at his axe, its glow slowly fading.
"Then we don't have time," he said.
Taro met his gaze and smirked. "Good. I hate waiting."
Far away—beyond realms, beyond logic—
Something watched.
And smiled.
The silence after Malzareon's departure felt heavier than the battle itself.
Fenrik finally lowered the Wolf Slayer Axe. His arms trembled—not from exhaustion, but from something deeper. Fear wasn't the right word. It was the realization of distance. No matter how hard they had fought, the devil hadn't even tried.
Taro noticed it. He always did.
"He barely looked at us," Taro said quietly. "That projection alone could've erased this land."
Aoi knelt, pressing her palm to the ground. The earth beneath her hand felt wrong—cold, hollow, as if parts of it no longer existed.
"The void magic is still lingering. This place will never fully recover."
Koharu clenched her fists. "So this is what we're up against now? Devils who don't just kill… but erase?"
The Sage stepped forward, his staff striking the ground once. A faint ripple of ancient runes spread outward, stabilizing the battlefield.
"Malzareon is not like Gratherna," he said gravely. "Gratherna ruled through domination. Malzareon rules through absence."
Fenrik looked up. "Then how do we fight something that doesn't exist properly?"
The Sage's eyes flicked to Fenrik's axe.
"You already have the beginning of the answer."
The fur lining the Wolf Slayer Axe stirred again, reacting to the Sage's words. Thin lunar patterns pulsed along the blade—different from before. Deeper. Wilder.
Taro noticed his own weapon responding as well. The Tiger Reaper Scythe hummed softly, its edge distorting the air around it, as if testing reality.
"They're resonating," Taro said. "Just like before… but stronger."
"Because," the Sage replied, "they were forged on the same day, under the same celestial alignment. Their bond grows when their wielders face true despair together."
Fenrik exhaled slowly. "So Malzareon just pushed them forward."
"Exactly," the Sage said. "Devils often sharpen the blades meant to kill them—without realizing it."
A sudden pulse of energy surged through the group.
Not hostile.
Observing.
Fenrik felt it again—that sensation of being watched, but not by Malzareon. This presence was… different. Controlled. Vast.
He turned sharply, scanning the treeline.
Nothing.
Taro felt it too. He glanced at Fenrik, who gave a subtle nod.
Someone else is out there.
Far above them, unseen, space bent for a fraction of a second—then returned to normal. Whatever had been watching… moved on.
The Sage's expression darkened, but he said nothing.
"From now on," he finally spoke, "your training will change. Survival alone is no longer enough."
He raised his staff, and the ground before them shifted, revealing ancient markings—gate sigils.
"These markings lead to forgotten zones," the Sage continued. "Dungeons untouched for centuries. Places where healers, combat allies, and lost techniques still survive."
Aoi's eyes widened. "You want to split us up."
"Yes," the Sage said. "Malzareon has begun moving his pieces. So must we."
Fenrik tightened his grip on the axe. "Then we'll move faster."
Taro smirked. "And hit harder."
The Sage allowed himself a rare, thin smile.
"Good. Because the Void Serpent will not wait forever."
As the group prepared to depart, Fenrik glanced once more at the sky—now calm, deceptively peaceful.
He knew one thing for certain.
This wasn't just the beginning of Malzareon's arc.
It was the moment the world realized—
The devils were no longer legends.
And the hunt had truly begun.
Then shadows fell.