It all began a decade ago, in 2035, when the system made its first harrowing appearance. It announced itself across the entire world, its voice reverberating in every language known to man. No one was spared—not even newborns, who were barely drawing their first breaths. And the message was unmistakable: humanity's end was near.

The horrors began with the portals that appeared a week after the system's notification. Blood-red and pulsating with an otherworldly energy, these gateways appeared simultaneously across every continent, painting the night sky in a sinister glow. First, a thick, noxious miasma poured forth, spreading rapidly through some cities and towns. Within hours, it choked life out of millions, sparing no one in its path. Those who survived the poison suffered a different fate—they twisted, warped by the miasma into monstrous, shambling creatures with lifeless eyes and ravenous hunger. These were not the undead, but something far worse—a grotesque mockery of what humanity once was.

The system's chilling proclamation called this devastation merely "the first step."

Two weeks later, every military in the world stood helpless as the skies ruptured again, unveiling even more portals. This time, armored giants lumbered forth—forty feet tall, covered in impenetrable scales. Artillery, missiles, even the Navy's powerful M61A1 Gatling guns barely made a dent. Tank shells ricocheted off them as if they were mere pebbles, while these behemoths spewed torrents of flame, reducing entire cities to ash. It took nuclear strikes to halt their advance, but it was a pyrrhic victory; entire regions were rendered uninhabitable from the fallout.

Yet, barely a month later, new portals tore through the fabric of reality. Massive fifty feet tall black dragons emerged, shrouded in crimson fire and wielding magic far beyond human comprehension. They flew faster than the speed of sound, their flames scorching the land below. Conventional weapons were useless against them, their scales absorbing explosions that should have obliterated them. They danced through the skies, tearing fighter jets apart mid-air, and when nukes were launched, they simply outran them, mocking humanity's last line of defense.

Hope arrived only when the first Heroes awakened. These men and women, chosen seemingly by fate, wielded ancient relics from the parallel Earth that was merging with our Earth and were gifted with powers that, even at their fledgling levels, could rival dragons. Some bore legendary weapons that sliced through steel as if it were mere paper, while others soared through the skies on the backs of majestic, tamed beasts. Humanity dared to hope, to believe in salvation, as these Heroes unleashed their godlike ferocity upon the dragons, tearing through the monstrous threats with an unstoppable force.

But the respite was brief. Every new wave of portals unleashed even greater horrors.

On the fourth wave, the true demonic forces began to emerge. Humanoid demons with wings like fallen angels, clad in dark armor and wielding blackened weapons, poured through the rifts. They stood between ten and fifteen feet tall, some with multiple arms, others with eyes that covered every inch of their bodies, each staring with a malevolent intelligence. Their voices spoke a language no human could understand—a language of torment and darkness. Only the Heroes, through the system's powers, could decipher it.

These demons were only the lowest ranks. Despite their grotesque forms and dark magic, they were mere cannon fodder, sacrificed to test the limits of humanity's resistance.

Humanity endured, but barely. After ten years of relentless bloodshed, only a billion survivors remained. Most human settlements lay in ruin, shattered and scarred, and those still alive huddled together on the last surviving settlement in the center of our now single supercontinent—a barren, apocalyptic wasteland. The system had declared humanity's final stand, and what remained of civilization was a single, fortified settlement. Now, as they prepared to face the eighth wave, only five hundred Heroes remained, each one marked by scars and eyes haunted by years of nightmare.

In the gathering darkness, a series of portals blazed open in the sky. Thousands of creatures spilled forth—monsters with twisted appendages, razor-sharp claws, bat-like wings, and countless, blood-red eyes fixated on the broken world below. Their rage and hunger for death seethed in the very air, as palpable as the stench of rot and decay.

Michael, their leader, his voice weathered yet powerful, shouted to the gathered Heroes. "This is it! They have killed our families, destroyed our homes, and brought us to the brink of oblivion! But I will not die before I see humanity rise again. I'll face whatever hell they throw at us, for every life they took from us! What about you? Will you stand by while they wipe us out, or will you fight, so that when you meet your loved ones in the afterlife, you can say you fought until the very end?"

A fierce light sparked in the eyes of the gathered Heroes. They raised their weapons high, a last, desperate show of defiance. Their voices, though cracked and weary, rose as one, echoing through the desolate battlefield.

"Kill these invaders! Humanity will live on!"

Michael's POV

The battle was hell unleashed, an endless storm of violence and chaos. All around me, heroes fought with strength capable of leveling entire cities with a single swing. But facing these Abyssal Generals was a nightmare on a different scale—many of my comrades were cut down in an instant, forced to use their last reserves to drag their enemies down with them. Each death was a stab to the heart, each fallen friend a brutal reminder of the cost of our struggle. Anger unlike anything I'd felt before surged through me, a fire fueled by grief and desperation. Drawing upon the energy of the sun, I tore through General after General, leaving behind a grim mountain of their corpses. By the time the bloodlust faded, I was surrounded by hundreds if not a thousand of dead Generals—but only a bit less than 100 of us were still standing.

I looked around, taking in the faces of my closest friends—Haruto, Kyong, Naomi, Gloria, Richard, Emily, Sonya, Jessie—those who'd fought by my side through ten brutal years. I was barely holding on, my left arm reduced to a mangled stump, but Jessie rushed over, using her healing abilities to close the wound and stop the bleeding. I managed a weak smile, pulling her into an embrace. For the first time, we felt hope. Maybe… maybe this was it. Maybe we had finally won.

We gathered in a circle, sharing a moment of quiet relief, tears in our eyes as we hugged, feeling a fragile joy in the silence after the storm. But then, an ominous crack shattered the quiet. We froze, our blood turning to ice as another thousand portals tore open the sky. From them emerged even more General-class demons, but that was nothing compared to the horror above: a dozen massive portals, each a hundred feet wide, through which appeared huge, glowing eyes—eyes filled with cold, ancient malice, far beyond anything we had ever faced. Each eye was a terrifying force, more overwhelming than a million of us combined.

And then, as if to mock our struggle, the stars themselves began to shift, aligning into the shape of a single, gigantic eye that watched us from beyond the heavens. It blinked once—just once—and then vanished, taking with it the dozen monstrous beings. But we had seen it. We understood. There was something beyond even these demons—a supreme being of such strength and horror that we were less than insects beneath its gaze.

I looked at my friends, their faces pale and terrified, waiting for a plan, a glimmer of hope. Summoning a courage I didn't feel, I forced a smile and steadied my voice. "Listen up! I'll stay here and hold off these Generals. You all—create a dust storm, cover your retreat, and survive. You must live to fight another day. We've seen those eyes, but they can't come here yet. They need those twelve monsters to weaken our world first. If you can defeat them, humanity might still have a chance. Go! Live! Gather strength to end this nightmare."

Their eyes filled with tears, but they nodded. In the chaos of the growing dust storm, I prepared for the final stand. As the sun set and darkness fell, I pushed forward, striking down hundreds of General-class demons until only 100 remained. But then they changed tactics, charging their own energy for a combined blast that would annihilate me. With my last reserves of strength, I called upon the energy within me, channeling it into a final explosion—a blinding, golden blast that would reach the edge of Earth's atmosphere, tearing through the demons in a thousandfold nuclear inferno.

In those last moments, I felt a fierce sadness—and not just because of the abyss. I thought of those humans who had sided with our enemies. So many had been given powers, only to turn them against humanity itself. Cowards, traitors… they had enslaved, terrorized, and killed their own people, causing chaos and suffering just to gain favor with the abyss. They had become a blight on humanity, weakening us from within even as we struggled to survive. If only they'd chosen differently. If only we'd been united. I wished I could've done more to stop them, to make things right.

But my own limits had held me back. Despite all my strength, my human body was restricted—I couldn't break past those limits, no matter how much I wished I could. If I'd only been able to grow, to ascend to something beyond mortal constraints, maybe I could've defeated those dozen godlike demons, or even the Supreme Abyssal being itself. But that was a dream for another time, another life.

With a final, resolute whisper, I offered my last hope: "Fight on. Don't give up. I'll send you my blessing… my humanity…"

And then I unleashed everything.

The golden explosion lit the sky, blazing all the way to the Kármán line, where Earth meets the void. Across the planet, humans looked up, watching the final light of their greatest hero. Many fell to their knees, weeping, knowing that I had given my life to buy them another chance. Jessie, Gloria, and Sonya cried hysterically, collapsing in grief as the others backed away, giving them space. Finally, overcome by exhaustion and heartbreak, they passed out, each of them holding a silent wish—to meet me again someday, and maybe, in another life, to finally confess the love they'd held close through every battle, willing to share it in whatever life might come after this.

In a dark room scattered with posters, books, and clothes, a boy not older than sixteen sleeps soundly. Suddenly, a woman's voice echoes loudly through the house. "Michael Maximus! Wake up and come down for breakfast, or you'll be late for school. Jennifer, go and wake up your older brother!"

A young girl, about nine or ten years old, calls back, "Okay, Mom! I'll go wake him up!"

Unbeknownst to them, Michael, already hearing their voices, springs up from his bed, glancing around his room with confusion at what he sees. Just then, a knock sounds at the door, and a young girl steps in, smiling at him.

"Big brother," she says cheerfully, "Mom's calling you to come downstairs."

Before she can say anything more, Michael rushes to her and pulls her into a big hug. She laughs at her brother's sudden affection—a rare display, but one she always welcomes. With a voice choked with emotion and longing, he says, "Little Jenny, I've missed you so much."

Giggling, she replies, "Big brother, you're being silly! We just saw each other yesterday. How could you miss me already?"