After a grueling hour of strength training, Kai shifted his focus to the intricate, mechanized devices. These tools, with their complex series of levers and gears, were designed to challenge his agility and precision. He maneuvered through a series of high-speed drills, his body twisting and turning with fluidity as he adapted to the ever-changing resistance and angles of the equipment.
Finally, drenched in sweat and with his muscles burning, Kai moved to the meditation corner of the room. This area was starkly different from the rest of the training space, a tranquil retreat marked by a low, cushioned platform and softly glowing candles. The harsh lights of the room were dimmed, replaced by the gentle flicker of the candlelight that cast calming shadows on the walls.
Kai settled onto the cushioned platform, crossing his legs and closing his eyes. He took a deep breath, inhaling the calming scent of incense that lingered in the air. As he began to meditate, he shifted into his Sapient Mode, his form subtly transforming. His appearance took on an ethereal quality, with intricate tribal tattoos glowing faintly against his skin, and his aura radiating a soft, brilliant light.
In this meditative state, Kai's focus deepened. His mind became a vast expanse of clarity, each breath drawing him further into a state of profound concentration. The intense workout had pushed him to his limits, and now, in this quiet moment of reflection, he sought to align his physical strength with mental and spiritual harmony.
As he settled into his meditation, the soft glow of his Sapient Mode enveloped him, creating a calming, almost otherworldly ambiance. His aura seemed to pulse gently, synchronizing with the rhythmic pattern of his breathing. His thoughts cleared, and he visualized the energy flowing through his body, each movement from his training merging seamlessly with the tranquil focus of his meditation.
The combination of intense physical exertion and deep mental clarity forged a powerful synergy. Kai could feel his strength being reinforced by the inner peace he achieved through meditation. In this state, he could almost sense the intricate balance between his physical prowess and his mental fortitude, a harmony that propelled him toward even greater heights of discipline and skill.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting its full light over the training room, Kai concluded his session with a final, powerful breath. He opened his eyes, his gaze steady and resolute. The intensity of his workout and the serenity of his meditation had combined to strengthen not just his body but his spirit, leaving him prepared for whatever challenges lay ahead.
Over the past three months, Kai had become a relentless force, a man driven solely by the need to become stronger. His once carefree, goofy nature had been replaced with an unwavering intensity. Every day he pushed himself beyond his limits, his focus solely on training. He skipped the little social moments with his team, foregoing the camaraderie and the idle chatter that once filled his days. Now, his mind was occupied with only one thought: Azzel.
The thought of Azzel—an opponent far stronger than he was—haunted Kai. It wasn't just a passing concern; it gnawed at him day and night. Every meal he skipped, every hour of sleep he cut short, every ache and pain he endured was fueled by this obsession. Azzel was stronger than him, and that fact infuriated Kai to no end. He couldn't let it stand. He couldn't rest, not until he had surpassed Azzel, not until he was strong enough to defeat him and eliminate the threat once and for all.
Kai's training regimen was nothing short of brutal. His mornings started before the sun had even risen, the world still cloaked in darkness. The chill of dawn did nothing to slow him down as he ran through the forest trails, his feet pounding the earth in a steady, relentless rhythm. He pushed his endurance, sprinting until his legs screamed in protest, his lungs burning with every breath. But he never stopped. Not even when his muscles threatened to give out or when the sweat drenched his body and blurred his vision.
He trained for speed, knowing that it was one of Azzel's greatest strengths. Kai's workouts became a blur of rapid movements—dodging, weaving, and striking with blinding speed. He would tie weighted bands to his arms and legs, their heavy drag forcing him to work harder, move faster. Every day, he pushed the limits of what his body could do, adding more weight, more intensity.
Endurance came next. He would stand in the middle of a roaring river, the current trying to pull him under as he resisted, his body standing firm against the force of nature. He stood there for hours, letting the water batter him, strengthening his core and legs until he could withstand the current without faltering. Other days, he would climb mountains with nothing but his bare hands, the jagged rocks slicing at his skin as he scaled them, his muscles straining against the unrelenting gravity.
When he wasn't running or climbing or enduring the force of nature, Kai was focused on raw strength. He would lift massive boulders, his muscles bulging and his body trembling as he heaved the heavy stones above his head, then dropped them back to the ground with a thunderous crash. His once short hair had grown long over the months, falling past his shoulders in wild, untamed locks, and a rough, scruffy beard had begun to grow on his face, giving him an almost feral look.
There was no rest, no reprieve. Kai would only allow himself brief moments of sleep, usually collapsing on the cold floor of his training room, still drenched in sweat. Hunger gnawed at him constantly, but it was a hunger that went beyond food—it was a hunger for power. A hunger to surpass Azzel. To face him and win.
His team had noticed his absence. Zetsu, who had initially brushed off Kai's intense training regimen, soon realized something had changed. Kai was no longer just training—he was evolving. Zetsu had always been strong, a warrior with an impressive skill set, but seeing Kai's dedication sparked something within him. It was inspiring, in a way, even though Zetsu would never admit it aloud.
Midway through Kai's months of isolation, Zetsu began to catch on. He would occasionally find himself watching from a distance as Kai trained, his movements sharp and precise, the raw power behind every strike unmistakable. Kai was honing himself, not just physically but mentally, becoming a weapon with one target: Azzel. Zetsu could see it. He could feel the weight of Kai's resolve, and it stirred something in him.
Zetsu, always proud of his swordsman skills, found himself pushing harder as well. He began to train his swordsmanship with renewed vigor, the desire to keep up with Kai driving him forward. He couldn't afford to fall behind. He practiced day and night, swinging his blade with precision, his strikes growing faster and more powerful with each passing day. He began incorporating more magic into his swordplay, creating devastating combinations of sword strikes and spellcasting. With the help of Kira, who often sparred with him and helped refine his technique, Zetsu found himself improving at a rate he hadn't experienced in years.
Kira, ever the sharp-eyed observer, saw what was happening to both Kai and Zetsu. She knew they were both pushing themselves to the edge, and while she was proud of their growth, she couldn't shake up here, or rather, on the outskirts, where demons like him were forced to live. It was a well-known, unspoken rule that demons were not welcome within the village proper. No one ever said it outright, but the looks, the whispers, the way people tensed up when he walked by—it was all the same. They didn't trust him. They didn't want him. And even after all these years, the village's attitude had not changed.
Zetsu had tried, once. When he was younger, he had tried to be a part of the village, to fit in. He had kept his head down, avoided drawing attention to himself, and even helped out where he could. But no matter how much he did, he was always "the demon" to them. The boy who didn't belong. The one with the dark aura and the strange eyes. They whispered that he was dangerous, that he would turn on them one day.
And maybe, back then, a part of him wanted to prove them wrong. But now, standing on the outskirts once again, Zetsu realized that proving himself to these people was a fool's errand. The village had never given him a chance, not even a glimpse of acceptance.
He looked down at his hands, scarred and calloused from years of battle and training. His Demon Eye, the very thing that marked him as an outsider, had become his greatest weapon. He had learned to embrace it, to harness its power, but he had never forgotten the way it set him apart from everyone else.
As a child, Zetsu remembered how the other kids would avoid him. They'd point and stare, whispering behind their hands, their faces twisted with fear. The adults were no better. They'd pull their children close whenever he passed, their eyes filled with suspicion. He could hear the muttered words even now, the sting of their accusations still fresh in his mind.
"Demon spawn."
"Trouble follows him."
"He'll never be one of us."
He had grown used to it, the weight of their stares, the feeling of being watched even when no one was around. And so, he had stopped trying. He had built his life outside the village, in the small house near the forest where the other demons lived. It wasn't much, but it was quiet, and more importantly, it was away from the constant judgment of the villagers.
The demons who lived outside the village were a mixed bunch. Some were like him, hybrids born of demon blood but with human appearance, while others were far more monstrous in their forms. They had all been forced to the outskirts, kept apart from the humans who feared them.
But even among the demons, Zetsu was different. Most demons embraced their nature, leaning into the violence and chaos that defined their race. Zetsu, however, had never wanted that. He had always been more... calculated. Controlled. He had learned to suppress his rage, to control the power that surged through his veins.
He was a warrior, yes, but not a mindless one. And because of that, even in the demon quarters, he was something of an outsider. Too human for the demons. Too demon for the humans.
He sighed, running a hand through his long, silver hair as he started walking down the dirt path that led away from the village. It was better this way. At least out here, in the wilderness, he didn't have to deal with the constant pressure of trying to fit into a world that didn't want him.
The forest loomed ahead, dark and quiet, a place where the natural world reigned. Zetsu found solace in its silence, in the way the trees towered overhead like silent sentinels. Here, in the shadows, he could be himself. He didn't have to hide who he was, didn't have to worry about the eyes that followed him wherever he went.
His thoughts wandered to his past, to the choices that had led him here. Joining the cult had been a mistake, he knew that now. It had been a way to lash out, to channel the anger and hatred that had been building inside him for so long. He had wanted to destroy the world that had rejected him, to prove that he was stronger than any of them. But that path had nearly destroyed him.
It was Kai who had stopped him, who had shown him that there was another way. Their battle had been brutal, but in the end, Zetsu had been left with no choice but to face the truth. He couldn't keep running from who he was. He couldn't keep letting his hatred define him.
And now, years later, he had changed. He had built a life, one that he could be proud of. But the scars remained, both physical and emotional. The village would never forget who he was, and neither would he.
As he reached the edge of the forest, Zetsu paused, staring into the darkness. The air was cool, and the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves was calming. Here, in the quiet of the night, he could almost forget the weight of the past.
But the past was never far away, and as much as he tried to move forward, it always found a way to catch up to him.
Zetsu clenched his fists, feeling the familiar surge of power within him. His Demon Eye flickered to life, the red glow casting a faint light around him. He could feel the magic pulsing in his veins, stronger now than it had ever been. He had trained relentlessly, pushing himself beyond his limits, determined to never be weak again.
But strength came at a cost. And for Zetsu, the cost had been his place in the world.
"Maybe it's better this way," he muttered to himself, turning back toward the house. "Better to be alone than to pretend I belong somewhere I don't."
As he walked away from the village, the lights grew dimmer behind him, until they were nothing more than distant flickers in the darkness.
As Zetsu made his way back to the demon quarters on the outskirts of the village, his thoughts drifted to a familiar presence. The silence of the forest was peaceful, but he knew it wouldn't last long.
Silva was always waiting for him.
The moment he stepped into the clearing, there she was, her silver hair gleaming under the faint moonlight. Her eyes, sharp and playful, locked onto him as she broke into a wide grin.
"There you are, Zetsu!" she called out, her voice warm and teasing.
Before he could say a word, Silva had already closed the distance between them, leaping effortlessly into his arms. Zetsu barely had time to brace himself before she wrapped her arms around his neck, her body pressed close against his.
"Silva, really?" he muttered, trying to hide the faint smirk tugging at his lips as he caught her.
She kissed his cheek, her lips lingering longer than necessary. "Miss me?" she asked with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Zetsu, who was rarely caught off guard, found himself momentarily flustered. "You always do this," he said, his voice gruff, but the warmth in his tone betrayed his true feelings.
Silva pulled back slightly, still holding onto him as her legs dangled in the air. "Of course I do," she teased, brushing a lock of hair away from his face. "Someone has to make sure you don't brood yourself to death."
She was always like this—open, affectionate, and completely uninhibited when it came to showing her affection for him. Zetsu had known Silva for years, and despite his usual cold and reserved demeanor, she had a way of pulling him out of his shell. Her energy was infectious, her warmth a constant presence in his life.
He gently set her down, and she immediately straightened herself, still clinging to his arm as if she hadn't seen him in weeks. "You look tired," she remarked, her tone softening. "Training again, weren't you?"
Zetsu grunted in acknowledgment, his eyes shifting away for a moment. "I had to clear my head."
Silva sighed, shaking her head. "You're always pushing yourself too hard." She reached up and lightly traced the scar that ran down the side of his face. "But that's just who you are, isn't it?"
Zetsu stiffened slightly at her touch but didn't pull away. Silva had always been the only one who dared to get close to him like this. Most people, even in the demon quarters, kept their distance. But Silva? She never hesitated, never feared the darkness that clung to him.
"Stop overthinking everything," she said, her tone teasing once again as she playfully poked his chest. "You don't always have to be the brooding lone wolf, you know."
Zetsu rolled his eyes. "I'm not brooding."
She laughed, her musical voice echoing in the quiet of the night. "Right, sure. And I'm not ridiculously attractive."
Zetsu gave her a side-eye glance but couldn't suppress the small chuckle that escaped him. "Modest as ever, I see."
Silva leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder as they began walking toward the small house he called home. "I don't need to be modest when I know I'm the only one who can get under your skin," she said, her voice softening into something more serious. "I just wish you'd let me in a little more, Zetsu."
He didn't respond right away, but Silva didn't seem to expect an answer. She knew him well enough to understand that his silence wasn't a rejection. It was just... him.
They walked in companionable silence for a while, Silva's arm linked with his. The village lights had long disappeared from view, replaced by the dim glow of the scattered homes in the demon quarters. Here, Zetsu didn't have to hide who he was. He didn't have to pretend. And with Silva by his side, things didn't seem quite so heavy.
"So," Silva said, breaking the silence with her usual playful tone, "are you ever going to ask me out on an actual date, or am I going to have to keep jumping into your arms like a damsel in distress?"
Zetsu smirked. "You're not exactly a damsel."
Silva laughed again, her eyes sparkling. "True. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't enjoy a nice evening out with you. Come on, Zetsu, I know you've got a romantic side buried in there somewhere."
Zetsu raised an eyebrow. "Romantic? Me?"
"Yes, you," she said, tapping his chest. "Don't act like you don't know how much I adore you."
For a moment, Zetsu's usual stoic expression faltered, and something softer flickered in his eyes. Silva always managed to do that—make him feel something other than the constant weight of his past and his responsibilities. She had been his friend, his confidante, and maybe, just maybe, something more.
He glanced down at her, her wide smile still aimed up at him. "Fine," he said, his voice quiet but sincere. "Maybe one day."
Silva beamed, practically glowing as she squeezed his arm tighter. "I'll hold you to that, demon boy."
Zetsu shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips. Even in a world that had pushed him to the outskirts, Silva was always there—radiant, warm, and endlessly persistent. And though he would never admit it, he wouldn't have it any other way.
As Zetsu and Silva walked together, lost in their usual playful banter, a distant voice suddenly pierced through the stillness of the evening.
"Silva! Get back here, now!"
Silva's mother stood at the edge of the demon quarters, hands on her hips, looking as stern as ever. Zetsu could feel Silva stiffen slightly beside him, but her playful grin didn't fade.
"Well," Silva sighed, releasing his arm reluctantly, "seems like I'm being summoned."
Zetsu gave her a nod. "Better not keep her waiting."
Silva rolled her eyes dramatically, leaning in to give him one final kiss on the cheek. "Guess I'll see you around, Zetsu," she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Don't forget about that date."
With a wink, she dashed off towards her mother, her silver hair trailing behind her like a comet. Zetsu watched her for a moment, a fleeting warmth lingering from her presence. Then, just as quickly, the world seemed to return to its usual weight—the quiet solitude that followed him like a shadow.
He turned and made his way back to his small dorm, nestled deep in the demon quarters where few others dared to tread. The night had grown cooler, the soft breeze rustling the trees as he approached his humble abode.
The dorm was simple but cozy, just as he preferred it. A place where he could escape the outside world, away from the judgmental eyes of the villagers and the whispers of those who couldn't understand his past. It was his refuge.
As Zetsu stepped inside, his eyes immediately fell upon the small wooden table near the window. There, resting on a simple plate, was his mother's favorite dish: a carefully preserved bowl of her traditional stew, a recipe she had made for him countless times during his childhood. He had learned to make it himself after she passed, perfecting it in memory of the warmth and love she always showed him through her cooking. The dish now served as a connection to her, a reminder of the love he once knew.
Next to the bowl, a framed drawing caught his gaze. It was a simple yet heartfelt sketch he had drawn as a boy, depicting his mother smiling, her soft eyes full of kindness. The drawing was crude, made with the shaky hand of a child, but it was one of his most treasured possessions.
Zetsu sat down at the small table, staring at the bowl of stew and the drawing. His fingers brushed over the frame, tracing the outline of his mother's face. It was in moments like these, alone in the quiet, that he allowed himself to feel the weight of her absence.
He ate in silence, savoring the familiar taste of the stew, each spoonful bringing back memories of his mother's gentle presence. Her laughter, her voice, her warmth—these were the things he held onto, even as the world around him remained cold and distant.
Once he finished his meal, Zetsu leaned back in his chair, the dim light of the lantern casting long shadows across the room. His demon eye, which had seen so much pain and darkness, softened for a brief moment. Despite the loneliness that clung to him like a second skin, there was comfort here—in the memories, in the routine, in the solitude.
Silva's warmth had already faded from the night, and yet, as Zetsu glanced once more at the drawing of his mother, he couldn't help but feel a sense of quiet resilience. He wasn't truly alone. Not as long as he carried their memories with him.
And so, with a quiet sigh, Zetsu stood and prepared for another night, knowing that tomorrow would bring its own challenges, but also, perhaps, its own fleeting moments of connection.
Zetsu jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat. His heart pounded in his chest, and his breath came in sharp, ragged bursts. The remnants of a terrible nightmare clung to his mind—one filled with the screams of the village and the sight of flames consuming everything he knew. But this wasn't just a dream; the stench of smoke hung heavy in the air, seeping through the cracks of his dorm.
Without hesitation, Zetsu leapt from his bed, not even bothering to put on a shirt. He reached for his sword, the cool metal of the hilt familiar in his grip as he bolted out of his door and raced toward the village. His legs moved instinctively, driven by a growing sense of dread, his demon eye flaring as he pushed his body to its limit.
The village came into view, and what he saw made his blood run cold.
Bodies littered the ground—men, women, and children alike, all slain in gruesome, merciless ways. Pools of blood glistened in the moonlight, painting the earth with a grotesque crimson hue. Some had been decapitated, their heads lying several feet from their bodies, frozen in expressions of pure agony. Others were torn apart, their limbs scattered like broken toys, leaving only fragments of who they once were.
Zetsu's stomach churned, but he couldn't stop. He had to find her.
His feet pounded against the blood-soaked earth as he rushed toward Silva's home. Each step felt heavier, like he was running through a nightmare where every second stretched into eternity. His heart hammered in his chest, fear gnawing at the edges of his mind.
"Silva..." he whispered, dread lacing his voice as he neared her house.
When he reached her door, the sight that greeted him was worse than anything he could have imagined.
The door hung off its hinges, splintered and stained with blood. Silva's body was still there, crumpled against the entrance, her hands clinging desperately to the doorframe as though she
had tried to hold it shut. Her once lively eyes were lifeless now, wide open in terror, staring into nothingness. Blood trickled from her mouth, and deep slashes marred her body—her life brutally ripped away.
Zetsu's sword fell from his grasp, clattering to the ground as he stumbled forward. His knees buckled beneath him, and he collapsed beside her. His hands, trembling and cold, reached out to touch her face, brushing the strands of silver hair that still glimmered under the faint light.
"No... no... no..." he murmured, his voice cracking. "Silva..."
The reality of her death hit him like a dagger to the chest. The one person who had always been there for him, who had always made him feel like he wasn't alone in this world, was gone. Her warmth, her smile, her playful kisses—all of it had been extinguished in a moment of unimaginable violence.
Zetsu could barely breathe as grief and rage collided within him. His demon eye flickered, the power within him surging uncontrollably. The air around him grew thick with a dark energy as his fury threatened to consume him entirely.
"Who... did this?" Zetsu's voice was low, trembling with a dangerous edge. "Who would do this?!"
But there was no answer. Only the silence of the dead.
Tears brimmed at the corners of his eyes, but he didn't let them fall. Instead, he gripped Silva's lifeless hand one last time, his chest aching with a sorrow that felt unbearable. He gently laid her down, her hands no longer clutching the door, but resting peacefully by her side.
Zetsu stood slowly, his body tense, his gaze now hard and cold. His demon eye glowed ominously, its power pulsing with barely restrained fury. Whoever had done this—whoever had taken away Silva, her family, and the rest of the village—they would pay. He would find them. And he would make sure they felt the same pain, the same despair, that he now carried in his heart.
With a final glance at Silva's broken body, Zetsu retrieved his sword, gripping it tightly, and turned away from the devastation. His steps were slow but deliberate as he made his way back into the heart of the village, his mind already filled with thoughts of vengeance.
No more fear. No more hesitation.
Zetsu's eyes burned with a singular purpose now. He would hunt down whoever did this, no matter the cost.
And when he found them... they would know the wrath of a demon.
Zetsu could feel his heart harden with every passing moment. As he stood over the ruins of his village, with Silva's blood still on his hands, only one thought gnawed at his mind: It had to be the Kingdom of Elaris. The very kingdom that had hated and oppressed the demons for generations. His fists clenched, trembling with barely contained rage.
"I swear..." he muttered under his breath, his voice low and laced with venom. "I will take my revenge."
Three days passed, each one filled with the stench of death lingering in the village. No one came to mourn. No one came to help. Then, the soldiers from the Kingdom of Elaris arrived like vultures, swooping in to gather the bodies, throwing them onto carts like garbage. They didn't even offer a proper burial. Not even a moment of respect for the dead.
Zetsu watched from afar, his blood boiling. He wanted to strike, to kill every one of them right then and there, but he knew he was outnumbered and outmatched. It wasn't time. Not yet.
But he swore it would come.
The evening of the third day, as the last cart of corpses left the village, Zetsu returned to his lonely dorm. The warmth from the hearth had long since faded, and the drawing of his mother, her favorite dish carefully sketched beneath, lay quietly on the table. Zetsu stared at it, his mind heavy with grief and anger. He felt utterly alone.
A knock at the door snapped him from his thoughts.
Zetsu's instincts flared. He wasn't expecting anyone. Without hesitation, he grabbed his sword and approached the door, muscles tense, ready for a fight. Swinging the door open, he was met with two figures cloaked in black robes, their faces shadowed.
His grip on the sword tightened. "Who are you?"
The woman in the black robe took a step forward, her eyes calm and unbothered by Zetsu's hostility. "Relax," she said coolly, lifting her hand. Her voice was soft, yet it carried an eerie confidence. "We're not here to harm you." She slowly removed her hood, revealing striking eyes and long dark hair. But what caught Zetsu's attention the most was the brief flash in her gaze—a demon eye, just like his.
Zetsu took a step back, his demon eye glowing with suspicion. "Why should I trust you?"
The woman smiled gently, a strange calmness surrounding her as she spoke. "Because I want the same thing you do. Revenge." She paused, letting the word hang in the air before continuing. "My name is Gwen. And like you, I've lost much to the Kingdom of Elaris."
Zetsu lowered his sword slightly but kept his guard up. His mind raced as he tried to make sense of what was happening. "Revenge...?"
Before Gwen could respond, the man next to her, dressed in the same black robes, snickered. His face was half-masked, but his wild eyes gleamed with a disturbing excitement. "Ooooh, I like this one, Gwen. He's all angry and brooding. Perfect for the cause! Heh, heh."
"Shut up, Damien," Gwen said, rolling her eyes at her companion's crazed laughter. She turned back to Zetsu, her expression softening once more. "We belong to a... let's say, group that opposes the Kingdom of Elaris. We seek to take them down, once and for all. And we could use someone like you."
Zetsu's eyes narrowed. "A group?"
Gwen nodded, her tone measured. "A cult, if you want to call it that. But we're more than just a bunch of fanatics. We're organized. We're powerful. And we all have one thing in common—we want to see the Kingdom of Elaris fall."
Damien leaned in closer, his grin twisted with delight. "Oh, and the things we'll do to them! Burn their cities! Tear their people apart! It's gonna be sooo much fun, Zetsu. You'll love it."
Zetsu scowled at Damien's psychotic demeanor but couldn't deny the tempting offer Gwen was presenting. He wanted revenge—he needed revenge. And these two seemed to have the same goal.
"Why me?" Zetsu asked, his voice hard.
"Because," Gwen said, her demon eye flashing again. "I know what you're capable of. I've heard about your power, and your hatred burns just as deeply as ours. We can help you channel it, make you stronger. And together, we can bring down the Kingdom that slaughtered your people."
Zetsu stood there, torn between his anger and a sliver of doubt. But then he thought of Silva—her lifeless body, her bloodied hands clutching the door for dear life. He thought of the rest of the village, torn apart and discarded like nothing. He thought of the soldiers who had come and gone, caring so little for the lives they had destroyed.
Finally, he lowered his sword completely, his eyes locking with Gwen's. "I'll join you."
Gwen smiled, satisfied. "Good. You've made the right choice."
Damien clapped his hands together, his laughter echoing in the quiet night. "Oh, this is gonna be fun! I can't wait!"
As they left his dorm, Zetsu's heart hardened further. There was no going back now. His path was set. The Kingdom of Elaris would pay for what they had done.
---
Several weeks later, word spread through the land about the massacre of the hybrid demon village. The Kingdom of Elaris, as expected, denied any involvement, claiming that they had nothing to do with the brutal attack. But the people didn't care about the truth. Instead, they celebrated, lighting up the entire kingdom with joy. The demons were gone, and that was all that mattered to them.
Zetsu watched from the shadows, his fists clenched in rage. The sight of their celebration sickened him, but it only fueled his resolve.
He would make sure their celebrations were short-lived.
Kai sat in the dim light of his small cabin, his hands trembling as he held the letter he'd just received. The words on the page seemed to blur, but the weight of their meaning had already sunk deep into his heart. The news was spreading everywhere—the village of demons, where Zetsu lived, had been slaughtered.
He stood abruptly, the chair he had been sitting on falling over with a loud thud behind him. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to process the enormity of it all. The letter slipped from his fingers and floated to the floor. Zetsu... his best friend. His brother in arms. Could he really be...?
"No... no way." Kai's voice cracked as he staggered forward, gripping the table for support. His mind raced with images of Zetsu—his cold exterior, his reserved nature—but also the loyalty that burned in his heart.
Kai's gut twisted painfully as the realization hit him harder. There was no way Zetsu, even with his strength and demon eye, could have survived something like this. Not alone. The reports said the village was razed to the ground, with no survivors.
He sat down heavily, burying his face in his hands. Zetsu is gone, he thought, the words repeating in his head like a mantra he couldn't escape.
"Why didn't I go with him?" Kai muttered to himself, his fists clenching as the guilt took root. "I should've been there... I could've—"
But deep down, he knew the truth. No single person could have taken on that kind of devastation. Not even Zetsu. And now, the village was gone, wiped out by the Kingdom of Elaris, and Kai was left with the empty ache of loss.
For the first time in his life, Kai felt helpless. There had always been something to fight for, a way to push through, but now? What could he do? Zetsu had always been the silent pillar of strength in his life, even when he never said much. Now, that pillar had crumbled, and Kai was left with nothing but memories and unanswered questions.
"I'll never forgive them..." Kai whispered under his breath, his eyes narrowing. He felt the familiar surge of ki rise within him, but this time it was different. It wasn't driven by his usual carefree, lighthearted spirit. This was anger—raw and burning.
"I won't let them get away with this... I won't!" Kai slammed his fist onto the table, the wood cracking under the force.
He knew what he had to do. He couldn't stay still. He couldn't wait for answers. If no one else was going to do something, then he would. He'd find out who was responsible, and he'd make sure they paid.
But for now, all he could do was mourn.
As Zetsu, Damien, and Gwen moved through the dense forest toward the secret headquarters, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows. Damien's presence was almost a constant barrage of noise and movement, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling mix of mischief and madness. Gwen, in contrast, was a picture of calm, her demeanor serene and unruffled.
Zetsu, with his dark eyes fixed ahead, found Damien's constant commentary increasingly irksome. The demon's grin was more a snarl than a smile, and his constant glances in Zetsu's direction only added to the tension.
Damien finally broke the silence. "Hey, Zetsu," he said with a chuckle, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "you know, you could really be a model if it weren't for that whole brooding, dark vibe you've got going on. It's like you've got this 'tortured soul' look that's just... irresistible. If only you'd lighten up a bit, maybe you'd be a hit."
Zetsu turned his head slowly to glare at Damien. "What's your point, Damien? I'm here to focus on the mission, not to pose for a magazine."
Damien threw his hands up in mock surrender, still grinning. "Just making an observation, my friend. You've got the whole 'mysterious loner' thing down to an art. I mean, it's kind of hot, in a dark, twisted way. Ever thought about going into acting?"
Zetsu's face twisted into a grimace. "And you've never considered getting your head checked, have you?"
Gwen, walking slightly ahead, let out a soft laugh. "Damien, you really know how to push Zetsu's buttons, don't you?"
Damien's grin widened. "Oh, it's just too easy. Zetsu, you've got this permanent scowl that makes me wonder—what's your story? Are you always this intense, or do you have a softer side somewhere?"
Zetsu grunted. "There's nothing to see here but a demon with a mission. I'm not here for chit-chat."
Damien's eyes sparkled with malicious delight. "Oh, come on, Zetsu. I'm sure there's a tragic backstory there. Did you lose someone close to you? Betrayed by a lover? Left behind by your people?"
Zetsu stopped abruptly, his patience wearing thin. "Enough, Damien. Not everyone's life is a melodrama waiting to be revealed. Let's stick to the mission."
Gwen, sensing the rising tension, stepped in. "Alright, alright. Damien, tone it down a bit. Zetsu, if you don't want to talk, that's fine. We've got more pressing matters to deal with."
As they continued on, they spotted movement ahead—a patrol team scouring the area. Gwen's eyes narrowed. "Great, just what we need."
Damien's grin grew wider. "Oh, this should be fun."
One of the patrol members spotted them and shouted, "Hey, you there! Stop!"
The leader of the patrol approached, his eyes scanning them critically. "We're looking for a green-haired man and a black-haired woman. You two fit the description perfectly."
Gwen sighed, clearly bored. "Oh, fantastic. Fresh recruits. Damien, these guys are probably straight out of training."
Damien's eyes lit up with sadistic glee. "Perfect. I haven't had a good fight in ages."
Before Gwen could respond, Damien's form blurred, and in an instant, he was upon the patrol. His hand shot out, tearing the heart from one of the men with a sickening squelch. Damien held it up, admiring his work. "Hehe, look at this! What a fine trophy."
The rest of the patrol scrambled, drawing their weapons, but Damien was a whirlwind of destruction. His scythe emerged from nowhere, and with practiced precision, he began to slice through the remaining men. His movements were fluid and deadly, the blade of his scythe gleaming as it cut through the air.
Zetsu and Gwen stood back, watching the scene unfold. Gwen's demeanor remained unfazed. "Damien, try not to get too carried away. We need to move quickly."
Damien barely glanced at her, too absorbed in the slaughter. "I'm just getting warmed up! These guys are a great warm-up!"
The chaos was brutal and swift. Damien's scythe made quick work of the patrol, blood and gore splattering across the forest floor. As he approached the last remaining soldier—a terrified young woman—she desperately cast a fire spell, engulfing Damien in flames. Her face twisted in a mixture of fear and resolve.
Zetsu and Gwen stepped back, the heat from the flames radiating toward them. Zetsu's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, but Gwen laid a hand on his arm. "Don't interfere, Zetsu. This is Damien's show."
Damien's roar of fury echoed through the forest as the flames consumed him. His body, though scorched, began to heal, his skin regenerating as if the fire had never touched him. Emerging from the flames, Damien's eyes were wild, and his grin was a twisted mask of rage.
"How dare you try to kill Gwen, you pathetic worm!" Damien's voice was a snarl as he lunged at the spell caster. His scythe swept through the air with deadly accuracy.
He grabbed the woman's arm and severed it with one swift motion. Her scream of agony cut through the forest, but Damien was relentless. He amputated her remaining arm, leaving her on the ground, writhing in pain.
Gwen stepped forward, her eyes cold and impassive. "Damien, let's go. We have more important matters to attend to."
Damien wiped the blood from his face, his grin never fading. "Hehe, that was quite the spectacle. Let's see if the next group is a bit more challenging."
Zetsu watched in silence, his mind a storm of thoughts. The brutal display of Damien's madness was unsettling, but it only reinforced his own resolve. He had seen enough destruction and suffering to last a lifetime, but he was driven by vengeance—a fire that would not be extinguished.
As they moved on, Gwen turned to Zetsu. "So, what's next for you, Zetsu? Revenge? Redemption? Or are you just along for the ride?"
Zetsu's eyes were dark, his voice a low growl. "I'm here for revenge. And I won't stop until I get it."
Damien chuckled, his eyes gleaming with madness. "Sounds like we're on the same page, then. Let's make sure the Kingdom of Elaris knows exactly who they're dealing with."
The three continued their journey, each driven by their own motives, their paths intertwined by the bloodshed and destruction that lay ahead.
The trio would head to the hideout where dozen where dozen would give Gwen and Damien a task and show zetsu around
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the tranquil village was shrouded in an eerie stillness. Damien and Gwen arrived at the village's edge, the contrast between their grim presence and the peaceful surroundings striking. Damien's chaotic aura clashed with the village's serene ambiance, while Gwen maintained a calm, collected demeanor.
Damien's eyes gleamed with a manic energy as he strolled through the village, his footsteps echoing with an unsettling rhythm. His presence was met with hushed whispers and anxious glances from the villagers, who instinctively sensed the danger. Damien's twisted smile spread wider with each fearful reaction he provoked.
"Good evening, everyone!" Damien's voice rang out, unsettling in its cheerfulness. "I'm here on a little mission, and I'd appreciate your cooperation. Anyone know about a certain rumor involving Akuma?"
The villagers exchanged worried looks, unsure how to respond. One burly man, evidently the village leader, stepped forward. "We've heard rumors, but nothing concrete. We don't know much."
Damien's grin widened. "Oh, I see. You're playing coy. That won't do." He looked around, his eyes narrowing with malevolent intent. "Time to get serious, I suppose."
Without warning, Damien lunged at the nearest villager, grabbing a woman by her hair and dragging her across the dirt. Her screams pierced the quiet, drawing horrified gasps from the onlookers. Damien's expression was one of cruel delight as he tossed her aside and grabbed another villager, a young man this time.
"Let's see if a little pain makes you talk," Damien taunted, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. He drew a dagger and began to methodically torture the young man, each scream adding to the rising sense of dread among the villagers.
Gwen watched with a detached calmness, her demeanor unchanging despite the brutality unfolding before her. She occasionally glanced at Damien, clearly disapproving of his methods but choosing to remain silent. Her role was to gather information, and she knew better than to interfere directly.
As Damien continued his rampage, he moved from one villager to the next with ruthless efficiency. His laughter echoed through the village, a stark contrast to the terrified sobs and pleas of those he was tormenting. The scene was a macabre dance of violence, Damien's unpredictability making him all the more terrifying.
In the midst of the chaos, Damien spotted a young girl clinging to her father. The man's face was a mask of desperation as he tried to shield his daughter from Damien's gaze.
"Please, don't hurt her!" the father begged, tears streaming down his face.
Damien's eyes gleamed with malicious amusement. "Oh, I won't hurt her… just yet." He stepped closer, a dark grin spreading across his face. He reached out and scooped the girl into his arms, her terrified cries mingling with the sounds of the village's destruction.
Damien held the girl aloft, her small body trembling in his grasp. "Now, let's see if you can make a deal with me," Damien said, his tone a sinister blend of mockery and cruelty. "I want to hear the truth about the rumors. Tell me what I want to know, or this little one suffers."
The father's resolve shattered, his voice breaking with terror. "Please, I'll tell you everything. Just don't hurt her!"
Damien's grin widened as he put the girl down, but his gaze remained fixed on the father. "Good choice. Now, tell me about Akuma."
As the father spoke, detailing the rumors about Akuma's deteriorating health and his journey to the Kingdom of Iceland, Damien's eyes never left the terrified girl. The horror of the situation was palpable, the villagers paralyzed by fear and despair.
Just as Damien was about to execute the girl in a final act of cruelty, Gwen stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "Damien, stop. We've got what we need. There's no reason to continue this."
Damien's expression shifted from sadistic glee to a dangerous, simmering anger. He reluctantly put the girl down and stepped back, his eyes dark with frustration. "Fine. But don't think this is the end. I'll remember this."
Gwen's face remained calm as she motioned for Damien to follow her. "Let's go. We have what we need."
The village lay in ruins as Damien and Gwen departed, leaving behind a scene of devastation. The villagers were left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives, their cries of sorrow and anger mingling with the dying embers of Damien's destructive rampage.
Chapter 11: A Dark Respite
The moon cast a dim glow over the abandoned village as Damien and Gwen made their way to a nearby bar, a rickety establishment that seemed oddly out of place amidst the destruction. The bar's interior was dimly lit, with flickering lanterns casting elongated shadows across the room. A few stray patrons, oblivious to the chaos outside, nursed their drinks at the bar.
Damien sauntered in with an air of reckless abandon, his bloody hands still stained from his earlier violence. He flopped down onto a rickety stool, a satisfied smirk on his face. Gwen, more composed despite the grim work they had just completed, took a seat beside him, her demeanor calm and collected.
As the bartender reluctantly approached, Damien ordered a strong drink, his gaze drifting around the room. Once the drink arrived, Damien took a long swig, his eyes glittering with a mix of amusement and unrepentant glee.
"So, Gwen," Damien began, leaning back and stretching out his arms, "that little girl back there? She was cute, wasn't she?"
Gwen arched an eyebrow, her expression unchanging. "Cute? Damien, you were about to kill her. What's wrong with you?"
Damien chuckled, swirling his drink and then taking another sip. "Oh, come on. I wasn't really going to hurt her. I just wanted to see if her father would crack under the pressure. Besides, she was kinda adorable in a way. Didn't you think?"
Gwen sighed, shaking her head. "You really need to get your priorities straight. You can't just go around playing with people's lives for fun. It's not a game."
Damien shrugged nonchalantly. "It's all about making things interesting, Gwen. If you don't keep things exciting, you end up with a boring life. And let's be honest, a little chaos makes everything more entertaining."
Gwen's gaze softened slightly as she regarded Damien. "You know, there's a difference between excitement and cruelty. I get that you enjoy causing chaos, but sometimes you cross the line. Just because you find it entertaining doesn't mean everyone else will."
Damien leaned closer, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh, I know. But you see, there's a thrill in pushing boundaries. It's what makes life worth living. And you, Gwen, you're always so serious. Don't you ever want to cut loose?"
Gwen gave him a wry smile. "I prefer to stay focused on our goals. But if cutting loose means taking unnecessary risks or being cruel, then I'll pass."
Damien laughed, shaking his head. "You're always so serious. But that's what I like about you. You keep me grounded. Even when I'm out here having fun, you're the one who makes sure we don't get too carried away."
Gwen rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. "Well, someone has to keep you in check. Otherwise, you'd probably get us both killed or worse."
Damien's eyes softened momentarily as he looked at Gwen. "You know, Gwen, you're pretty amazing. Not everyone can handle the kind of chaos I dish out. But you do. And that's why I trust you."
Gwen's smile widened slightly. "Flattery won't get you anywhere, Damien. But I appreciate the sentiment."
Damien grinned, raising his glass in a mock toast. "To us, then. The perfect team of chaos and order."
Gwen clinked her glass against his, shaking her head with an amused sigh. "To us. Just try not to make things too chaotic next time, alright?"
Damien's laughter echoed through the bar as he took another drink, his eyes gleaming with a wild, untamed energy. Gwen watched him with a mixture of exasperation and fondness, knowing that despite his reckless behavior, Damien's loyalty and skills made him an invaluable ally. As they settled into a rare moment of relaxation, the contrast between their personalities was striking—a testament to the strange and volatile partnership they had forged amidst the darkness.
The dense forest stood silent as Damien and Gwen, their faces still smeared with the remnants of their earlier carnage, ventured further into the night. The moonlight filtered through the canopy, casting eerie shadows on the ground. Their conversation had lulled, each lost in their own thoughts, when Damien's sharp eyes caught sight of a new search party patrolling the area.
With a predatory grin, Damien's hand gripped the handle of his scythe. "Looks like we've got more company, Gwen."
Gwen, her posture relaxed despite the grim scene, glanced toward the approaching group. "Let's handle this quickly. We don't want to get bogged down with unnecessary delays."
Damien leapt into action, his scythe slicing through the air with a deadly grace. The search party, caught off guard, was quickly overwhelmed by Damien's ruthless efficiency. Screams filled the air as Damien's weapon carved through flesh and bone, his laughter echoing eerily in the night.
Just as the last of the search party fell, the sound of heavy footsteps approached. Arthur, a seasoned knight known for his skill, emerged from the shadows, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Damien's bloody handiwork.
Arthur's stance was calm, his expression serious as he faced Damien and Gwen. "I've been hearing reports of a new wave of brutality in these parts. I'm here to put a stop to it."
Gwen's eyes widened slightly in recognition. "Arthur? I've heard about him. Chandler's student, right? This should be interesting."
Damien's grin widened as he turned his attention to Arthur. "Well, well, if it isn't the esteemed Arthur. Ready to join the fray?"
Without waiting for a response, Damien charged at Arthur, his scythe a blur of steel. Arthur met the attack with precision, his sword moving in a dance of counterstrikes. The clash of metal rang through the night as the two combatants exchanged blows, each move executed with deadly accuracy.
Arthur's technique was impeccable, his strikes clean and controlled. He managed to land several hits, slicing through Damien's defenses with surprising ease. Damien, however, seemed unfazed, his body regenerating almost instantly from each wound. He fought with a wild intensity, his movements erratic yet powerful.
Gwen watched from her perch, her eyes fixed on the duel. She noted Arthur's skill, a clear testament to Chandler's training. Despite his impressive technique, Arthur was beginning to show signs of fatigue, his breathing growing heavy as the fight dragged on.
Damien, on the other hand, showed no signs of tiring. His relentless assault continued, his scythe swinging with a manic energy that seemed almost boundless. His laughter, tinged with a dark glee, filled the air as he pressed his advantage.
Arthur, feeling the strain, searched for a way to end the battle. His movements became more calculated as he looked for an opening. The fight had been ongoing for nearly an hour, and the fatigue was beginning to take its toll on him. Finally, Arthur saw a fleeting opportunity—a moment of vulnerability in Damien's relentless assault.
With a swift and precise movement, Arthur aimed for Damien's heart. The strike was perfectly timed, and Arthur's sword drove deep into Damien's chest. Damien staggered, the air knocked out of him as he gasped in pain.
Arthur pressed his advantage, preparing for the final blow. However, Damien, ever the trickster, gave a dramatic gasp and then fell to the ground, feigning death with a theatrical flourish. His eyes, however, remained open, and as Arthur leaned in to confirm his victory, Damien's scythe swung up, narrowly missing Arthur's head.
"Gotcha!" Damien's voice was filled with a twisted amusement as he pulled himself upright, his earlier injuries already starting to heal. "You really thought that would do it?"
Arthur stepped back, his face a mask of both surprise and irritation. "You're more than just a madman. But it's clear that I'll need to be more careful."
Damien's grin was playful as he clutched his scythe, the humor in his eyes now mingling with a more serious glint. "Well, Arthur, you put up a good fight. But let's not make this a regular thing, okay? I prefer to save my best moves for more significant challenges."
Gwen stepped forward, her gaze steady as she regarded both combatants. "That's enough, Damien. We've got what we came for. Let's not waste any more time here."
Damien shrugged, his demeanor shifting back to his usual carefree attitude. "Alright, alright. Just wanted to have a bit of fun. Arthur, you were a good sport. Until next time."
With that, Damien and Gwen began to retreat, leaving Arthur standing amidst the fallen bodies. Arthur watched them go, his expression thoughtful. He knew that their paths would cross again, and he was ready for the next encounter.
As Damien and Gwen disappeared into the shadows, the forest once again fell into a somber silence, the only sounds the distant rustling of leaves and the fading echoes of Damien's laught
Meanwhile zetsu sat in the dim light of his room at the cult base, the flicker of the candle casting restless shadows on the walls. The small space felt suffocating, each wall closing in as if to remind him of the emptiness that had hollowed him out. His sword, propped in the corner, gleamed faintly, but his attention was elsewhere. His fingers traced the edges of a small cloth bundle that he kept close to his heart.
With trembling hands, he slowly unfolded it, revealing a tattered sketch. It was unfinished, the lines rough, the ink faded. But it was her—Silva. The woman who had brought light to his life, the only one who had ever truly seen him. Her smile, warm and soft, was still vivid in his mind, though it now haunted him, taunting him with memories of a life that could never be. He had promised her a future. He had promised to stand by her side, to love her, to build a family.
He clutched the cloth tighter, his knuckles white with the pressure. The love he had for Silva wasn't fleeting, nor casual—it was a force that had wrapped itself around his very soul. Her laughter still echoed in his mind, her playful teasing when she'd catch him off guard with a kiss, her soft whispers as she'd trace her fingers along his jawline, telling him how much she believed in him. She had been everything, the center of his world.
His chest ached with a longing so deep, it felt like his heart would tear apart. They had dreamed of a life together, something simple and beautiful. He had planned to marry her. Zetsu, the stoic warrior who thought he could never love, had found something worth living for. No… something worth fighting for. The love they shared wasn't just affection—it was the very fabric of his existence. Silva had given him hope in a world that was nothing but cold and unforgiving.
And then… they took her.
The memory of that night clawed its way to the surface, violent and vivid. Zetsu's breath grew ragged as he remembered the terror that gripped him when he'd found her, clutching the doorframe, lifeless. The blood, the horror, the way her hands had desperately tried to hold onto life. And inside her—inside her was their unborn child. The child they never got to meet. His fingers traced over his chest where her hand had rested the last time he held her. The ache in his heart turned into an all-consuming fire.
Zetsu slammed his fist against the wall, his breath now coming in short, pained gasps. His vision blurred with tears, but he didn't wipe them away. They were for Silva, for their child, for everything that was stolen from him.
"They took you from me," he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his grief. "They took everything from me."
His body trembled, overcome with rage and sorrow. The faces of those responsible, the people of the Kingdom of Elaris, flashed in his mind. They had slaughtered his village, Silva, their child… and for what? Simply because they were hybrids? Because they were different? The hatred that had once been a spark now roared into an inferno within him.
Zetsu reached for his sword, the familiar weight grounding him as he held it. The cold steel felt like an extension of his pain. He closed his eyes, imagining the flames of vengeance consuming the Kingdom of Elaris. He could see it all—their pristine walls crumbling, their people screaming in agony, their once-celebrated kingdom reduced to ashes.
"I swear to you, Silva," Zetsu murmured, his voice thick with emotion, "I will burn them to the ground. I will destroy everything they hold dear. They will suffer for what they've done."
Tears streamed freely down his face now, but they no longer felt like a release. They were a promise. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white. The love he had for Silva wasn't gone—it had transformed into something dark and powerful. It had become the fuel for his vengeance. Every memory of her—her laugh, her smile, her gentle touch—only stoked the flames higher.
And then there was their child. His free hand pressed against his abdomen, where their unborn child would have grown. The life they were supposed to nurture together had been ripped away before it even began. That pain was unbearable, yet it fueled him more than anything. They had taken not just one life, but two. And for that, they would pay a thousandfold.
"I will make sure they know," he vowed, his voice shaking with determination, "I will make them feel the agony I feel. The Kingdom of Elaris will fall, and I will watch them burn."
He unsheathed his sword, the sound of metal scraping against leather sharp in the still air. His reflection stared back at him from the polished blade—a man broken, consumed by loss, yet burning with purpose. His face was gaunt, his eyes hollowed by grief, yet behind them burned a fierce, unrelenting fire.
Zetsu's grip on the sword tightened, and he let out a ragged breath. The world he had known was gone, but the mission that lay before him was clearer than ever. Silva's death, their child's death, would not be in vain.
He knelt before the sword, the tip touching the ground, as if pledging himself to the blade, to the memory of the life they could have had.
"I will burn them," he whispered again, barely audible, "for you… for us."
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. The sound jarred him from his thoughts. Zetsu stood, wiping the tears from his face with the back of his hand. His grief and rage were now masked by cold determination. His vow had been made, and there was no turning back.
He sheathed his sword, the weight of his promise heavy in the air, and turned toward the door. As he opened it, he knew—nothing would stop him now.
The Kingdom of Elaris would burn for what they had done. And Zetsu would be the one to set the world on fire.