In the Abyssal Chamber Beyond the Mortal Veil...
In a place beyond time, where no sun shone and no wind dared to whisper, there stood a throne carved from black obsidian, pulsing faintly with red veins that looked like molten lava beneath the surface.
This was no palace. No realm of kings.
This was the Abyssal Chamber—a sacred hall at the heart of the Netherplane, where light could not survive, and even the stars refused to look.
Upon the throne sat a figure.
He looked like a man… but he was not.
He was flawless—skin as smooth as glass, features sculpted with impossible precision, and hair blacker than the void itself. His eyes? Twin pits of bottomless red, glowing dimly, like dying embers in a sleeping fire. His clothes were regal, woven from threads of darkness and gold, flowing like silk, yet heavy like chains.
He sat there, one leg crossed over the other, a wine glass of blood in his left hand, and a book made of stitched flesh on his lap.
His name was not spoken aloud.
He was the Lord of the Lower Depths.
The Demon King.
Suddenly, a gust of wind stirred the silence. The room trembled slightly as if acknowledging the arrival of something old and powerful.
Then, with a swirl of violet smoke and whispering flame, a Jin appeared.
The Jin was tall, wrapped in golden jewelry and ancient white-blue robes that danced like the wind. His face was sharp, with golden skin and glowing markings across his arms and throat. He bowed low.
> "My lord," the Jin spoke in a voice that echoed like a flute through the halls.
"The Second Player has moved. Clinton is contained. The Queen has her region. The nobles have begun to shift. The lines are almost drawn."
He paused, raising his head slightly.
> "Is it time for the Third Player?"
The Demon King took a slow sip from his glass. The liquid inside shimmered like fire.
Then, he smiled.
A smile that could freeze a god.
> "Yes," he said, voice deep, layered, and terrifying in its calm.
"Send him."
The Jin's eyes flickered.
> "And the boy? Christopher? He is… unpredictable."
The Demon King's fingers curled slowly around the stem of the glass.
> "He was never part of the design. His death did not exist in the script of the last cycle."
A long silence passed. Then the Demon King stood, and even the walls of the chamber bent under the pressure of his presence.
He looked straight at the Jin.
> "He is a variable. A stray flame on a field of gunpowder. Kill him."
The Jin bowed lower.
> "As you command."
Then, standing straight again, the Jin asked,
> "The new vessel... what shall he be gifted?"
The Demon King chuckled darkly.
> "Lust is taken. Wrath burns already in another."
He raised his hand, and a glowing black symbol appeared in the air—a lion's head with a crown broken in half.
> "Give him Pride. The most dangerous of all."
The air rumbled.
> "Let him walk like a king before he earns the crown. Let the world kneel to him before he raises a sword. And when he falls…"
His voice dropped, sharp as a knife drawn in the dark.
> "Make sure it's on top of Christopher's corpse."
The Jin nodded once, solemnly.
Then vanished in a burst of blue fire.
And once again, the Abyssal Chamber was still.
The Demon King sat down, opened his book again, and whispered to no one,
> "Let the game begin."
.....
EARTH
...
Earth – A Final Goodbye
The clock ticked slowly.
It was late afternoon. The sun peeked weakly through the half-drawn blinds of a small café tucked between two narrow streets in Tokyo. Inside, there weren't many people—just the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional sound of cups clinking.
At a quiet corner table, two people sat facing each other. A young woman with long black hair and tired eyes, and across from her, a man with short messy hair, wearing a black shirt with the café's logo stitched on the pocket. His apron was folded beside him. His name tag said "Daiki."
They hadn't spoken in five minutes. Only silence sat between them.
Then, the girl finally spoke.
Her voice was low, almost a whisper.
> "Daiki... we can't keep doing this."
"My parents… they're forcing me to marry Souta. He has a real job. He's stable. They say I'll have a better life with him."
Daiki didn't blink. He just stared at her, his coffee untouched.
She kept going, not meeting his eyes.
> "It's not just them. You… you don't even have a house. I don't know what you want to do with your life. It's hard to have faith in someone who doesn't have a plan."
Daiki finally moved, leaning forward slightly. His voice was steady.
> "And you, Aoi?"
"Do you want to be with Souta?"
The girl—Aoi—didn't speak right away. She looked down at her hands, fiddling with the bracelet he had gifted her last winter.
Then softly,
> "...It doesn't matter anymore. I have a job too. I'll live. Let's just break up… without getting dramatic."
A silence settled again.
Daiki looked out the window. Then turned back to her, calm.
> "Okay."
Aoi looked up in surprise.
> "What…?"
He gave her a sad, tired smile.
> "If that's what you want, I won't force you to stay in something you've already left."
She stared at him for a moment. Then she stood up.
> "I'm sorry."
And just like that, she walked out of the café.
Daiki sat alone, picked up his now-cold coffee, and drank it all in one go. He didn't pay the bill. He didn't have to—he worked here. They'd deduct it from his salary.
He folded his apron, put on his coat, and stepped outside.
It was cloudy now. Windy. The street ahead was empty. He took one step off the sidewalk, thinking of everything and nothing at once.
Then—
SCREEECH—
A blinding flash of headlights.
A sharp pain.
A burst of red across the grey pavement.
Silence.
---
In that brief moment between heartbeats…
A system message blinked inside the void:
> [New Soul Detected]
Transferring…
Welcome, Daiki Kurozawa, to Velmora.