The year is 2100. Humanity no longer calls Earth its only home. Civilization has stretched beyond its cradle, reaching into the depths of space, carving a new existence on Mars. At first, life here was much like it was on Earth—laws, technology, order. But time has twisted this world into something unrecognizable.
Weapons of war—machine guns, bombs, even knives—are nothing but relics of the past, useless against the new reality. Martial arts academies, once thriving centers of discipline and combat, have shut their doors. Not because peace has prevailed—far from it. Violence still runs deep in the veins of society, but now, battles are fought with something far more sinister.
Black magic.
Murder is no longer a matter of strength, speed, or firepower. A whispered curse, a forbidden chant, a flick of the fingers in the dead of night—these are the tools of death. One doesn't need to pull a trigger when a single, well-crafted dark mantra can stop a heart in an instant.
Different factions have risen, each claiming to teach the most powerful dark arts. Schools of sorcery flourish, promising their disciples ultimate control over life and death. Some master the art of summoning shadowy entities, assassins unseen by the naked eye. Others carve deadly sigils into their flesh, granting them the ability to kill with a mere glance. And the most feared of all? Those who bend the very fabric of existence, rewriting fate itself.
The world has become a living nightmare, a place where trust is an illusion and a single misstep can mean instant death.
For centuries, people speculated about the Third World War. Some believed it would be a bio-war, an invisible plague unleashed upon nations. Others envisioned a sky filled with rocket fire, entire cities reduced to ash. But no one—no one—imagined this.
The Third World War has begun.
And it is a war of black magic.
When the first human colony reached Mars in 2040, the settlers divided the planet into 25 nations, drawing artificial borders across the red wasteland. But democracy was never part of this new world's foundation. The wealthiest elites were granted the right to purchase entire nations, ruling them as monarchs. What was meant to be the dawn of a new civilization quickly turned into a dystopian empire.
Now, out of those 25 countries, only three remain free.
The rest belong to a single man: Albert David.
The Rise of the King
Albert David was not born into power. When he arrived on Mars as a ten-year-old boy, he was just another child among thousands of settlers. But unlike the others, Albert carried a secret legacy—his grandfather was a powerful shaman, one of the last true masters of Earth's forbidden arts. While other children studied science and engineering, Albert studied death and the unseen forces that govern existence.
By the time he was 18, his abilities had surpassed his grandfather's. He could curse a man into madness with a whisper. He could shatter bones without laying a hand. He could summon horrors from the void.
In 2088, his father—ruler of the nation of Abdan—died under mysterious circumstances. Some say it was illness. Others whisper that Albert himself offered his father's soul to the abyss in exchange for forbidden power.
Regardless of the truth, Albert David ascended the throne. But he was not satisfied with ruling one kingdom. He wanted them all.
For years, he schemed in the shadows, training his soldiers not in conventional warfare but in black magic. His warriors were not men—they were walking nightmares, capable of bending reality itself. When his army was ready, he unleashed his war upon the world.
Albert David's conquest began with his neighboring country, Adles. A hundred of his black-robed sorcerers marched toward the border, their faces masked with eerie calmness. They carried no weapons—only the power of the forbidden arts.
On the other side, Adles' soldiers stood armed with machine guns, bombs, and an iron resolve. Their leader, a hardened warrior, squinted at the approaching figures. "Halt!" he commanded. "You are not allowed to cross this border. Turn back, or we will open fire!"
The shamans did not stop.
The soldier raised his rifle, took aim, and fired. The bullet sped toward its target—but the moment it touched the black-clad sorcerer, it vanished into thin air.
The shaman turned his head, his eyes glowing red with fury. The soldier let out a strangled gasp as his body crumbled into ash.
Panic spread through the ranks of Adles. The machine guns roared, unleashing a storm of bullets, but they were useless. With a mere snap of a shaman's fingers, the guns exploded into fragments.
One of the sorcerers stepped forward, his voice calm yet chilling. "We are not here to fight you. We are here to rule you. Surrender now, or be reduced to dust."
Fear gripped the soldiers' hearts. Without weapons, without hope, they did the only thing they could—they let the shamans pass.
Inside the palace, the king's guards stood their ground, but the sorcerers didn't even lift a hand. Their fiery gaze alone set the guards ablaze, reducing them to smoldering corpses.
They walked through the grand halls unhindered, their footsteps echoing like an omen of doom. Upon reaching the throne room, they presented the king with a sealed letter from Albert David.
There was only one line written inside:
"Be my slave, or die."
The king trembled. There was no choice.
That night, Adles fell without a single drop of blood spilled—only ashes remained.
The rulers of the remaining nations understood the terrifying truth—this was not a conventional war. This was a war of sorcery. In desperation, they opened their own black magic academies, teaching their soldiers and citizens the forbidden arts in an attempt to survive.
But it was too little, too late.
Their magic was nowhere near as powerful as the dark arts of Abdan. Their spells cracked against Albert's warriors like brittle glass. Their summoners called upon weak spirits, while Albert's sorcerers tore open the sky and brought forth true demons.
One by one, the nations of Mars fell.
Now, in the year 2100, only three nations remain. Their kings and queens gather in secret, whispering of a final stand. If Albert David is not stopped soon, all of Mars will belong to him.
And with the entire planet under his control, Earth will be next.
The remaining kings know time is running out. If they don't act soon, their nations will fall like the others.
Tonight, in the grand palace of King Shahir of Arqad, the rulers of the last three free nations gather for a desperate war council.
The air is heavy with the scent of burning incense as flames flicker within the stone-lit chamber. Alongside each king stands their shamanic advisors, the last remaining masters of ancient magic in their lands. But even their wisdom has not been enough to stop Albert David's relentless conquest.
King Fernando of Vengid leans forward, his voice laced with frustration.
"We realized Albert David's evil intentions five years ago," he begins. "We did everything in our power to prepare. We trained our soldiers in black magic, but no matter what we taught, his army was always ten steps ahead."
The kings nod grimly. They know the truth. The soldiers of Abdan wield magic unlike anything the world has seen. Their curses rot flesh in seconds. Their spells reduce entire battlefields to nothing but ash.
But worst of all, Albert David himself possesses knowledge that no one else does. He has kept the most forbidden techniques hidden, teaching them only to his son Shane and daughter Venus—his chosen heirs who will carry on his dark empire after him.
Fernando's fists tighten. "At first, we tried everything. We launched missile strikes, fired every weapon we had. But it was all useless. His sorcerers turned them to dust with a single breath."
His voice grows bitter. "So what now? Do we surrender? Do we kneel before him and live the rest of our lives as his slaves?"
A long silence fills the chamber.
Then, King Shahir of Arqad speaks.
"My shamanic advisor has devised a plan. A way to defeat him." He pauses, his dark eyes flickering in the torchlight. "I believe it will work. But…"
He hesitates. "I don't want to execute it."
The room falls silent. Then, the other two kings burst into laughter.
King Fernando smirks, shaking his head. "Are you serious, Shahir? You just said it will definitely work, but you don't want to do it? That's madness!"
Shahir's face remains grave.
"You will understand my hesitation," he says quietly. "Once you hear the plan yourself."
The laughter dies instantly. A shiver runs through the chamber.
All eyes turn to Shahir's shaman advisor, who steps forward, his weathered hands clasped together.
He knows the fate of Mars depends on the words he is about to speak.
And the kings are about to learn why victory may come at a cost greater than they can bear.
The chamber fell into an eerie silence as the shaman stepped forward. The flickering torches cast long shadows across his wrinkled face, making him seem as ancient as the magic he practiced. His voice, low and steady, carried a weight that sent chills through the gathered rulers.
"You all know the truth," he began. "Albert David possesses techniques unknown to the world. His soldiers wield powers that can turn any object—or any man—into ash with a mere glance. Against such an army, we cannot even dream of victory."
The three kings exchanged grim looks. They had spent years training their warriors in the forbidden arts, yet none could match Albert's soldiers.
The shaman's gaze darkened as he continued.
"However, there is one weakness. One thing they cannot control."
The rulers leaned in.
"Nature."
The word hung in the air like a storm cloud.
The shaman gestured towards the great maps of Mars laid before them. "Albert and his people once ruled from Abdan. But when its water sources dwindled, he moved his empire to Bedad, a land where rain still falls occasionally. If Albert were truly omnipotent, he would have made it rain in Abdan itself. But he did not—because he cannot.
"His powers are vast, but they are limited to living things. He can manipulate minds, break bodies, but he has no dominion over nature itself."
King Mario of Marido narrowed his eyes. Then, suddenly, a name escaped his lips like a curse.
"Adithya Bhairavastra."
A heavy silence filled the room. The very name sent an icy shiver through the spines of the kings.
Mario's voice was uneasy. "There was only one man in history who could control nature itself. And we killed him. On Earth."
King Fernando of Vengid inhaled sharply. "If Adithya were alive today, he would be far more dangerous than Albert. He was… beyond comprehension."
The shaman, unshaken, nodded. "But he does not have to remain dead."
The kings stiffened.
"There exists an ancient mantra," the shaman said. "A forbidden ritual. If one hundred shamans chant it in unison for a full hour, we can pull a soul from the depths of death and restore it to life—even if that soul perished on Earth."
King Fernando shot up from his chair, his face pale with horror. "You cannot be serious!"
The shaman remained calm.
Fernando's voice cracked with disbelief. "If this is the only way… I would rather surrender to Albert David and live as his slave for the rest of my life than face Adithya again."
King Mario trembled, nodding. "Yes. Me too. I would rather die than live under Adithya's rule. Albert is a monster, but Adithya…" He swallowed hard. "If Albert is the father of black magic, then Adithya is the God of it."
The shaman slowly shook his head. "No," he said. "Adithya was never the God of Black Magic. He was the God of White Magic."
His eyes burned with conviction. "And that is why he is the only one who can defeat Albert."
A deep, agonizing silence filled the hall.
The kings exchanged glances. The fear in their eyes was greater than any they had shown when speaking of Albert.
But time was running out.
The shaman folded his arms. "Think wisely. Let me know if we will execute this plan."
The decision they made tonight would decide the fate of Mars itself.