The moon hung high, casting its cold, silvery glow over the desolate battlefield. A charged stillness filled the air, broken only by faint winds brushing against the cracked stones of the Demon Lord's castle.

Two figures stood locked in an intense standoff—the Hero, his sword gleaming with holy energy, and the Demon Lord, his crimson aura pulsating like a heartbeat of darkness. Between them stood a third figure, calm yet commanding.

Clad in a distinctive suit and adorned with a mask that gleamed ominously in the moonlight, he was a presence unlike any other. By his side stood a woman, her demeanor sharp and unreadable. She did not move nor speak, but her quiet confidence hinted at power untapped.

"My name," the masked figure began, his voice smooth as silk yet carrying a weight that demanded attention, "is Phantom. I suppose introductions are unnecessary, though. We've crossed paths before."

The Hero's grip on his weapon tightened, his knuckles white, while the Demon Lord's smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of unease.

Phantom chuckled softly, the sound reverberating like the ghost of laughter past. "Tell me, what are you two really doing? Humans and demons, each bound to their lands, could live in peace. But you…" He gestured lazily between them, his tone sharpening. "You've let heaven and hell pull your strings. Puppets of forces you barely comprehend."

The Hero opened his mouth to retort, but Phantom raised a hand, silencing him with a casual wave. "Don't bother denying it. I see everything. And while I have no intention of interfering," he paused, letting the words linger like a blade against their throats, "it's worth noting how predictable this has become. Fights, grudges, schemes. Dull. All of it."

His subordinate's lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile, though she remained silent, her eyes fixed on her master.

"But," Phantom continued, stepping closer, his voice lowering, "this battle? It's premature. Sloppy. A waste of potential. If you're going to perform, do it right." His masked face tilted toward the Demon Lord. "You. Train harder." Then to the Hero. "And you, stop hesitating."

The tension between the rivals deepened, but neither dared to move.

"And as for your precious Grimoires and dungeons?" Phantom raised his hand, summoning a radiant book that hovered before him, glowing with overwhelming power. "Here it is—a God-tier Grimoire. Within it lies a spell capable of erasing existence itself. Dangerous, yes?"

He snapped his fingers. The Grimoire crumbled to dust, the fragments disintegrating before their eyes.

"Child's play." Phantom's tone was almost mocking. "To me, such power is trivial. If I so desired…" He raised his hand again, the faint hum of energy crackling in the air. "This world would cease to exist with nothing more than a thought."

The Hero and Demon Lord exchanged uneasy glances, their previous enmity replaced by a shared sense of dread.

Phantom turned away, his cape swirling behind him. "For now, your fight is postponed. Improve yourselves. Entertain me. Perhaps then I might find your struggle worth watching."

Then, he stilled, tilting his head slightly as though hearing a distant sound. "Ah… It seems we're no longer alone. Someone approaches. An angel, I'd wager. Archangel Uriel, if I'm not mistaken."

As if on cue, the heavy doors of the Demon Lord's castle creaked open, revealing a figure bathed in divine radiance. Uriel's golden armor shimmered, his every step measured and purposeful.

Before the archangel could utter a single word, Phantom raised a finger.

"Stop."

Time itself seemed to obey. The Hero, the Demon Lord, and even Uriel froze in place, their forms locked as though they were mere statues. Only Phantom and his subordinate remained unaffected.

The woman finally spoke, her voice calm yet curious. "Master, why is it that even an archangel like Uriel was stopped in time?"

Phantom chuckled lightly, the sound laced with subtle amusement. "Even Uriel doesn't fully understand the concept they call time. Not even the heavens grasp its true essence. However, Archangel Michael and Gabriel… they wouldn't be hindered by something so trivial."

The woman nodded thoughtfully but said nothing more.

Phantom glanced at the frozen figures, his voice carrying a sense of finality. "We're done here. Let's leave."

The woman inclined her head, and the shadows began to gather around them. Yet, just as they began to vanish, Phantom's voice echoed one last time.

Phantom's masked face tilted slightly as he looked at the Hero, the Demon Lord, and Uriel. His voice carried a sense of amusement, tinged with something deeper.

"Ah, but this moment wasn't the beginning. No, the true story began long before this—a simpler time when I was just... me."

Phantom's voice softened, almost wistful. "Before I became Phantom, I lived a different life. A life filled with limits, frustrations, and dreams too big for the small world I was born into."

He paused, tilting his head slightly as though speaking to a distant presence. "Let me take you back to where it all started. Back to Earth. To the life of the boy who dreamed of ruling the shadows but was shackled by the chains of mediocrity. Let's see where this story truly begins."

And with a swirl of shadows, Phantom and his subordinate disappeared, leaving behind only the echo of his enigmatic laughter.

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