The crimson moon loomed above like a sinister eye, casting an eerie glow across the scorched plains of Valdros. The once thriving kingdom was now a graveyard of broken towers, smoldering ruins, and silence—the kind that screamed louder than battle cries. Death had visited here, not once, but repeatedly. And now, it waited again, not as a visitor but as a sovereign.
Masaru stood atop a jagged cliff overlooking the valley, his cloak fluttering like the wings of a shadowed raven. His obsidian eyes, now laced with streaks of silver, scanned the battlefield where corpses of divine guardians and corrupted beasts lay tangled in grotesque sculpture. Behind him stood Adolpha, her fur tainted red with dried blood, and her eyes gleaming with worry.
"They're gathering again," she said in a hushed voice, ears twitching toward the southern wind. "The Creator's final army. But they aren't just soldiers anymore. They're gods... twisted into something else."
Masaru's expression didn't change. His hands tightened around the hilt of his scythe, now fully awakened. It pulsed in his grasp, hungry for divine blood. "Then we cut them down like the rest," he muttered. "Each drop spilled brings us one step closer."
Adolpha frowned. "This isn't just vengeance anymore, is it?"
He finally turned to face her, and for a fleeting second, his eyes softened. "No," he admitted. "It's justice. For me. For you. For everyone who died while the Creator watched."
They began descending the cliff path, the stones beneath them cracking and groaning as if resisting their passage. Down in the valley, the air grew denser with every step. The smell of decay wasn't just physical—it lingered in the soul.
At the base of the ravine stood a figure cloaked in rags, face obscured by an iron mask etched with divine glyphs. When Masaru stepped forward, the figure raised his hand slowly.
"I am Or'Ziel," the voice rang, like chimes in a storm. "Messenger of the Creator. Masaru Izuku, you have gone too far."
Masaru didn't stop walking. "Too far? There is no such thing when the Creator's sins outmatch even hell's cruelty."
Or'Ziel extended his arms, and the wind around them howled. "This world was balanced. Until you returned. You broke the wheel."
Masaru's scythe ignited with dark flame, a vortex swirling at the blade's edge. "Then I'll shatter the axle too."
In a flash, Or'Ziel launched forward. The earth split under his speed. Masaru countered, his scythe meeting the twin blades of the masked envoy in a burst of sparks and force. The collision shook the ravine. Lightning cracked overhead, and rain began to fall—not of water, but ashes.
They danced in a deadly spiral, scythe against sword, wrath against faith. Every movement of Masaru's was sharpened by fury, every strike Or'Ziel made echoed with divine will. The ground beneath them gave way as their powers escalated, revealing glowing sigils that pulsed with celestial energy.
Adolpha lunged into the fray, her fangs bared, dodging bursts of holy flame to strike at Or'Ziel's exposed flank. But the envoy was no ordinary warrior. With a flick of his blade, he summoned a dome of radiant light, blasting both attackers back.
Masaru hit the cliff wall with a grunt, coughing blood. Adolpha skidded beside him, growling. "He's no envoy," she spat. "He's a vessel."
Or'Ziel lowered his hood. His mask melted away, revealing a face not of flesh—but of burning light, shaped like a man but without human warmth.
"I am no longer just a messenger," he declared. "The Creator now walks with me. You fight not a pawn… but the beginning of the end."
Masaru wiped blood from his mouth. "Then I'll slay the end itself."
Drawing in a deep breath, he began chanting in the forbidden tongue of the Underrealm. Shadows swirled around him, forming wings of smoke and claw. The scythe transformed—its blade now crackling with silver and abyssal energy.
From his chest, the cursed core pulsed violently. Power surged through him, and the air distorted.
Or'Ziel charged again. But this time, Masaru didn't dodge.
He took the blow straight to the chest—then grabbed Or'Ziel's arm and smiled. "Got you."
Darkness erupted from his palm, crawling into Or'Ziel's form like tendrils of nightmare. The envoy screamed as his divine essence was devoured, his limbs convulsing in agony. The valley trembled. Lightning turned black.
But the victory was short-lived. From Or'Ziel's chest, golden chains shot out, piercing Masaru's body and pinning him to the earth. Blood splattered across the ground. Masaru gasped, but didn't scream. Pain was no stranger.
"You've tasted the Creator's power," Or'Ziel whispered, half-broken, half-smiling. "Now feel his curse."
Masaru's veins burned. The divine curse seeped through him like acid. Adolpha howled and leapt to his aid, biting down on the chains, trying to free him.
"Don't… touch them!" Masaru hissed. "They'll curse you too!"
She stopped, snarling in frustration.
Then came the voice—soft, ethereal, and undeniably feminine.
"Masaru…"
A shimmer of light formed behind the battle—delicate, yet powerful. A figure stepped forward from the veil of reality itself, cloaked in silver threads. Her long hair floated as if underwater, and her eyes glowed with lunar wisdom.
"Himari," Masaru whispered through clenched teeth.
Himari Sakura. The Light Mage. His friend from the past life. The one who had once walked beside him before everything shattered.
"You shouldn't be here," he growled. "This isn't your war anymore."
She stepped beside him, touching the cursed chains. Unlike Adolpha, her touch didn't trigger them. Instead, the light in her fingers unraveled the bindings.
"It's my war too," she said. "I remember now. Everything."
Or'Ziel screamed and raised his sword, but Himari raised a hand. A beam of concentrated moonlight struck him dead in the chest, sending him flying across the valley.
As Masaru gasped for air, free from the chains, Himari knelt beside him. Her hand pressed against his wound, channeling healing light.
"I thought you forgot," he said hoarsely.
"I tried to," she whispered. "But the world won't let us forget pain that runs this deep."
Masaru closed his eyes for a moment, the warmth of her magic easing the torment. But the battle was far from over. In the distance, thunder boomed again—not from nature, but from footsteps.
The Creator's army was finally arriving
.The sky above cracked like a shattered mirror, each splinter glowing with divine light. Thunder roared without warning, not from the clouds but from the clash of raw powers below. Masaru stood firm, his cloak of shadows swirling violently behind him, eyes locked on the divine army advancing with celestial precision.
The first wave came without mercy. Armored angels descended from the broken sky, wings ablaze with fire and gold, weapons forged in celestial furnaces. Masaru raised his hand calmly, and with a single snap, Adolpha leapt into the air, jaws snapping around an angel's neck, tearing through divine steel as if it were paper.
"I won't let them reach you!" she growled, her voice laced with fury.
Beside Masaru, Himari's light magic danced like threads of silk and lightning, wrapping around the invaders and slicing through their holy defenses. Her eyes shimmered—not with fear, but resolve. "This is the last war, Masaru," she said through gritted teeth. "We have to win this... for everyone."
Masaru said nothing. His mind was already calculating, reading each divine ripple in the battlefield like a chessboard. He knew the Creator would not reveal Himself so easily. This was just the beginning.
As another angel lunged at him, Masaru whispered, "Decay."
The divine being froze midair. Cracks formed across its golden armor and skin, then, like sand blown by wind, it disintegrated into dust. The army hesitated. They had never witnessed the death element in its purest form—this was more than just death; it was oblivion.
But then, the battlefield shifted.
A massive boom shook the earth, and from the horizon, a figure walked through a golden rift—tall, radiant, cloaked in threads of time itself. It was Seraphiel, one of the Creator's direct avatars. His presence alone made the air feel heavy, ancient.
"Masaru Izuku," the seraph boomed, his voice echoing across the valley. "You were born under a cursed star. The Creator gives you one last chance to surrender your soul."
Masaru's lips curled into a cold smirk. "Then tell your master to come take it himself."
Seraphiel's eyes glowed with righteous fury. With a flash, he summoned a sword larger than any mortal man, made of flowing light and memories of past wars. The moment he swung, the ground split in two, and Masaru was forced to teleport backward.
The impact sent shockwaves through the battlefield, and several of Masaru's loyal spirits dissolved into light.
Himari winced. "He's fast!"
Masaru summoned a dome of dark energy to shield them, but even that cracked under the relentless assault. "He's not fast—he's timeless."
Adolpha snarled, bloodied and growling. "Let me handle him!"
"No," Masaru ordered. "You two fall back. Protect the rear line."
"But Masaru—!"
"Now!"
Without another word, he stepped forward, facing the seraph alone. He raised his scythe, once a tool of justice in a former life, now a weapon forged by hatred and vengeance.
They clashed.
Light met shadow in a blinding explosion. Every blow Seraphiel delivered could shatter mountains; every strike Masaru countered with left trails of corrosion and void. The ground beneath them turned to ash, and the skies wept stars. Around them, the battle raged. Divine and reborn forces collided in a chaos of blood and brilliance.
"You were once a hero," Seraphiel said mid-combat, parrying Masaru's strike. "You could have become a god."
Masaru spun his blade, pushing the seraph back. "I was a hero. Until your master sacrificed me to protect his lies."
"He saved this world!"
"No. He ruled it with chains hidden under miracles."
Masaru's words stung, not just Seraphiel, but the very heavens. The sky flickered. For a brief moment, a hidden force stirred beyond the stars.
The Creator was listening.
Seraphiel roared in denial and charged again. Masaru's cloak tore, and blood spilled—but instead of weakening, he grew stronger. Death fed on pain, and vengeance kept him moving.
He leapt into the air, spinning mid-flight, then slammed his scythe down. "Dark Eclipse!"
The battlefield plunged into darkness. Not night—but a realm without time or light. Even divine eyes were blind within. Seraphiel hesitated, just for a second—and that's all Masaru needed.
He whispered, "Oblivion Pulse."
From his hand, an orb of pure black formed, humming with uncreation. He thrust it into the seraph's chest.
A flash. A scream. Then silence.
When the darkness lifted, Seraphiel was on his knees, his armor cracked, his halo dimmed. Masaru stood over him, breathing heavily but undefeated.
"You... won't reach Him..." Seraphiel coughed blood. "The Creator... is beyond your understanding."
"I don't need to understand Him," Masaru said, pointing his scythe at the seraph's heart. "I just need to end Him."
With one clean motion, he finished it.
The battle paused. Both sides stunned. One of the Creator's avatars—defeated.
Masaru turned slowly, eyes burning with new power. "Anyone else?"
No one stepped forward.
Then, a voice thundered from the rift above. Cold, infinite, and inhuman.
"So be it. If you seek the throne of gods, Masaru Izuku... come claim it."
A staircase of light unfurled from the sky, reaching beyond mortal sight. The final gate had opened.
Masaru's allies regrouped—Himari injured but alive, Adolpha limping but snarling defiantly.
"This is it," Himari said, voice soft. "The Creator... awaits."
Masaru nodded. "Then we climb. Together."
With that, he took the first step into the heavens—toward the final confrontation.