A suffocating silence consumed the bunker, broken only by the flickering of dying torches. The stone walls, scarred with ancient glyphs, seemed to pulse with a sinister energy— as if they too could sense the unfolding calamity.
At the heart of the chamber, Lord Kiba stood before a sacred altar, his black robes rippling despite the still air. Before him floated the Blood Orbs and Dark Orbs, their once-pure essence quivering under his looming presence.
His lips curled into a wicked smirk as he raised a single hand over the orbs. The moment he spoke, the very fabric of reality trembled.
𐰘𐰞𐰀𐰘𐰚 𐰞𐰀𐰄 𐰞𐰆𐰺𐰃𐰤, 𐰘𐰀𐰄𐰺𐰀𐰚 𐰞𐰀𐰄 𐰞𐰄𐰞𐰽𐰀𐰚.
Shaal-nur-ahn, vel-ah mor-een, shal-ar-ahn vel-en-rah.
(Shadows entwine, the light undone, let the void be my domain.)
A ripple of dark energy surged through the ground, sending cracks spiderwebbing across the floor. The orbs jerked violently in midair, their once-pristine glow twisting into something… unholy.
𐰘𐰀𐰞𐰚 𐰆𐰞 𐰘𐰞𐰀𐰚, 𐰄𐰞𐰘𐰞𐰀𐰚 𐰘𐰆𐰺𐰃𐰤.
Shal-an dor-shal-an, fel-mor-een.
(Flesh and soul, bind and break, let the darkness claim its name.)
The orbs' surfaces fractured, black veins spreading like a disease. From within, they pulsed— no longer glowing, but devouring the light around them. The chamber darkened unnaturally, and then...
𐰄𐰘𐰀𐰺𐰆𐰞, 𐰘𐰆𐰞𐰀𐰄 𐰘𐰀𐰘𐰆𐰚.
Dren-fal, velan shal-an.
(Twist, corrupt, reshape fate, in my hands the cycle remains.)
A sudden shockwave of black fire erupted, warping the air itself. The orbs screamed— or perhaps it was reality crying out in agony— as they were forever changed.
Then, a deep silence.
Lord Kiba's ultimate ability, "Shakuni," had awakened.
A slow chuckle escaped his lips, his red eyes gleaming with unfathomable delight. He lifted a hand, flexing his fingers as if testing his newfound power. The corrupted orbs floated around him, now bound to his will, ready to warp existence itself.
"Because of me, the cycle shall break… and a new great war shall rise once more."
His voice dripped with certainty— not a threat, but a promise.
---
Meanwhile… Somewhere Beyond the Cosmos
The endless void shimmered with a celestial glow, as if time and space held their breath. Within this divine expanse, two figures observed the unfolding events.
One of them, a robed being, clenched their fists. "Lord… this is happening again. If we stand by, countless lives will be lost. Should we not act?"
A deep, knowing voice responded. Steady, unshaken.
"The time will come."
The second figure turned, their form illuminated by the ethereal light of the cosmos. Eyes burning with wisdom and foresight, they gazed at the world below.
"My incarnation is already born."
A pause.
"Now… we wait to see what destiny unfolds."
At the battlefield -
Lucifer smirked. "Still resisting? How admirable." He twisted the blade deeper, savoring the anguish reflected in Michael's face. "But it's over, brother. You will fall, and Heaven will burn."
Michael coughed, golden blood staining his lips. His body was weakening, but his spirit remained unbroken. "You… are wrong," he whispered, voice hoarse yet firm.
Lucifer tilted his head, amusement flickering in his crimson eyes. "Oh? And why is that?"
Michael's fingers curled tightly around Lucifer's wrist. Then, the air around them shifted.
A pulse of energy erupted from Michael's core, a blinding light swallowing the battlefield. The divine power surged through his veins, crackling like a storm. His wounds sizzled, healing at an unnatural speed. The golden light surrounding him intensified, taking the shape of spectral wings—majestic and terrifying.
Lucifer's smirk faltered for the first time. "Tch… what is this?"
Michael's voice was no longer strained. It was steady, resolute. "You think this war is about power? About who falls and who reigns? No, Lucifer… it is about something far greater."
Lucifer snarled, ripping his sword from Michael's chest, but before he could step back—
Michael caught his blade mid-air.
The weapon, a cursed steel forged from the fires of the Outer Realm, trembled in his grasp. Light surged into it, purifying its corruption, forcing it to crack under the overwhelming holiness.
Lucifer's eyes widened. "No—"
SHATTER!
The sword exploded into pieces.
Lucifer was forced back as the shockwave sent him skidding. He dug his heels into the ground, regaining his balance. His fingers twitched at his side, curling into fists.
Michael, now glowing with ethereal energy, lifted his own weapon—a golden blade forged in the highest heavens. The runes along its hilt pulsed with divine power.
"The cycle ends here," Michael declared.
Lucifer gritted his teeth. His expression darkened. "Don't be so sure."
Then, from the distant shadows—
A laugh echoed.
A slow, sinister chuckle.
The battlefield, once filled with the sounds of war, fell eerily silent.
And then—
The air twisted.
Reality itself seemed to distort as a dark presence slithered into existence.
The voice, velvety yet dripping with malice, spoke.
"Well, well… how delightful."
Michael stiffened. Lucifer's smirk returned, but there was something in his eyes—not excitement, not amusement.
Something darker.
Resignation.
A figure emerged from the void.
A long, flowing black robe.
A katana resting at his side.
Glowing crimson eyes, flickering like an endless abyss.
Lord Kiba had arrived.
Michael's heart pounded. He instinctively raised his blade, but the moment he did—
KRRRAK!
The ground beneath him shattered.
A force unlike anything before pressed upon him. His divine aura flickered, struggling against the suffocating weight of Kiba's mere presence.
Lucifer exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Took you long enough."
Kiba smiled. "Oh, forgive me, dear friend. I was… busy." His fingers brushed the hilt of his katana, and at that moment, Michael understood.
This was no ordinary battle anymore.
This was something far worse than that,
Flashback
Lucifer, with a cold smirk, extended his hand, holding the Dark Orb. "Kiba, awaken this orb," he commanded, his voice steady yet laced with an ominous weight.
Lord Kiba looked at the orb, its dark aura pulsing in his hand as he gave Lucifer a sidelong glance. "After awakening it, come back to me," Lucifer continued, his tone turning desperate, though it remained carefully controlled. "I won't be able to defeat him alone."
Kiba raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at his lips. "Sure, sure... Never seen a demon lord so frightened before." His voice dripped with mockery, but beneath it, there was an undeniable respect for Lucifer's predicament.
Lucifer's eyes narrowed as his hand clenched around the hilt of Zephiath, his Devil's Trident. "I don't want to draw my Zephiath unless necessary," Lucifer replied, his voice darkening with intent. "He'll certainly draw his divine sword. Don't you want to add that to your collection?" His words were laced with a dangerous undercurrent of challenge.
A brief silence passed before Lucifer spoke again, this time with a sense of finality. "Fine. I will come... definitely."
Now
The air crackled with tension as the battlefield unfolded, the light from the dark sky casting an ominous glow over the two combatants. Lucifer stood tall, his presence overwhelming as he locked eyes with Michael, his lips curling into a cruel smile.
"And now, it's two against one," Lucifer's voice was cold, almost mocking. "You can't fight anymore, Michael. Your time is over."
Michael, battered and bloodied, took a deep, ragged breath, his body trembling with exhaustion. His eyes, however, burned with an unwavering resolve. His wings, though torn and bruised, still carried the weight of the heavens, defying the darkness around him.
Breathing heavily, but defiantly, Michael straightened himself, his voice steady despite the pain. "Even if it's 1 versus 100, I will fight. I will fight for the sake of Heaven," he declared, his words ringing with the unshakable weight of divine will.
Lucifer laughed, a deep, menacing sound that echoed through the darkened air. "You still think you can save this realm? You're nothing but a puppet bound by your so-called duty," he taunted, stepping forward, his hand outstretched toward Michael. "You're already dead, Michael. You just don't realize it yet."
But Michael refused to back down. He gathered the remnants of his strength, his divine aura surging as the symbol of Heaven's might. The ground beneath him began to crack, resonating with his unwavering will.
In that moment, a sudden tremor shook the very fabric of the world. Lord Kiba had arrived. With the Dark Orb now fully awakened, a wave of power surged through the battlefield, amplifying Lucifer's strength and casting a deeper shadow over the land.
Kiba's form materialized from the darkness, his red eyes gleaming with malice as he approached, an eerie grin spreading across his face. "I'm here," he said, his voice dripping with venom. "Let's finish this."
Lucifer turned to Kiba, nodding in approval. "Now, it's over," he whispered, the air thick with finality.
Michael's resolve hardened as he gripped his sword tighter, his wings unfurling one last time. "I won't fall so easily," he muttered, his voice fierce as he prepared for the final stand against the overwhelming darkness.
But the odds were insurmountable. With Kiba's manipulation of the Dark Orb and Lucifer's ruthless power, Michael's divine strength was slowly chipped away, each blow that struck him a reminder of the inevitable. Yet, even in the face of defeat, his will did not break.
The battle raged on, but Michael, a mere mortal against two of the most powerful beings in existence, stood his ground, unwavering in his final declaration of defiance. For Heaven, for his fallen brothers, he would fight—until the very end.
In the middle of the NL-Halar Desert:
The blistering winds of the desert howled as the harsh sunlight beat down upon the lone carriage traversing the seemingly endless dunes. The only sound was the soft clatter of the wheels and the rhythmic hooves of the horses, their pace slow yet steady under the oppressive heat. Inside the carriage, Mary, the wife of King Michael, clutched her abdomen tightly, her face pale from the pain. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her breaths came in ragged gasps.
"Ma'am, we will arrive at Losyerè town soon," the butler said, his voice calm and steady, though a trace of concern flickered in his eyes. He was an old, trusted servant of King Michael, having served the royal family for many years. "Please, be patient. We're almost there."
Mary's breath caught as another wave of pain shot through her, causing her to grimace. Her hands trembled, and she pressed them against her swollen belly. The sharp pangs were growing more unbearable by the moment.
"You are telling me to be patient?" she gasped, her voice strained and almost frantic. "But my delivery time is near, it hurts already, and you tell me to wait? Please, hurry! I can't bear the pain. I need help!" She gripped the sides of the carriage seat, her knuckles turning white.
Her words were desperate, her voice cracking with the intensity of the agony she was experiencing. She glanced out of the window, but all she could see was the unending stretch of sand. There was no relief, no sign of the town they had been journeying toward for what felt like an eternity. Every second felt like an eternity of torment.
Flashback:
The memory hit Mary like a wave, the images of her husband's words replaying in her mind.
In a dimly lit chamber, King Michael, with his regal presence, had stood tall, his eyes filled with both love and concern. He had taken her hands into his, holding them tightly, as though trying to shield her from the unknown dangers that loomed ahead.
"Noves," Michael had addressed the butler with his usual calm, authoritative voice. "I hand over my wife's, my daughter's, and my upcoming child's future into your hands now. Please, save them, at any cost." His voice had faltered slightly, betraying the fear he felt, something that was rare for the proud and powerful king. "Mary will give birth to our child soon. Take her to the nearest town. I trust you with their lives. The future of our family is in your hands."
Mary had seen the concern in her husband's eyes, and it had touched her deeply. She knew this journey was dangerous, but Michael's trust in Noves made her feel secure, even as she could sense the unease in his heart. He had never been one to show weakness, but this—this was different. His kingdom was on the brink of war, and he feared for the safety of his family more than anything else.
"I will ensure their safety, Your Majesty," Noves had said, bowing deeply, his tone firm with resolve. "I will not fail you."
And with those words, the king had entrusted his family to the butler's care, sending them off to the unknown with only one hope: that they would make it to safety.
Now:
Back in the carriage, the present was far from peaceful. Mary's grip on her abdomen tightened as another wave of pain surged through her. She gasped, her breathing erratic. Her face was flushed with fever, her body trembling from the agony. She turned to Noves, who was still sitting across from her, trying to remain composed despite the evident tension in his face.
"Ma'am, please, just a few more hours," Noves said gently, though his voice betrayed his own worry. "The scent of your blood will attract the Kokotes, they can smell blood from miles away. We must be cautious. If we stop here, we risk drawing their attention. I promise you, we will reach the town in a few more hours." His eyes flicked to the horizon, trying to keep his composure as the desert winds howled louder.
"The Kokotes?" Mary's voice was strained, but she managed to ask the question despite her agony. The Kokotes were dangerous creatures of the desert, known for their savage tendencies, drawn to the scent of blood. She had heard of them only in stories.
"Yes, ma'am," Noves confirmed. "They are dangerous, and if they sense weakness or blood, they will stop at nothing to hunt down their prey."
Mary closed her eyes tightly, fighting back tears. She was already at her breaking point. The pain in her body was overwhelming, and the fear of the Kokotes added another layer of terror to the situation. Her grip on Noves' hand tightened as another contraction gripped her.
"I can't bear it anymore," she gasped, her voice a raw whisper. "It's too much... It's coming... I think I'll give birth here, right now! Do something! I can't wait any longer!" Her voice trembled with panic as she squeezed Noves' hand.
The butler's eyes widened slightly, but he kept his composure. "I understand, ma'am," he said quickly, his voice still calm despite the urgency of the situation. "I will do everything I can to make you comfortable. But please, just a few more hours. The town is near. I swear to you, we will get there. You have to trust me. Just a little longer."
But Mary could hear the doubt in his voice, even though he was trying to mask it. She could feel it—the desperation in the air, the fear that they might not make it in time. The pain was unbearable, her body trembling with each passing moment, and she felt like she was losing herself to it.
In the distance, she thought she saw the faint outline of the town. Was it an illusion? Or was it real? She couldn't tell. But she held onto the hope that they would make it. She had to believe they would. For the sake of her child.
As the sun began to set, the desert sands took on a reddish hue, and Mary closed her eyes once more, clinging to the only thing that kept her going: the thought of her child, her family, and the promise of safety that was just beyond the horizon.
-To be continue