The sky burned crimson, tainted by smoke and dust billowing from the battlefield. Flames raged everywhere, consuming piles of corpses scattered across the scorching ground. Silent screams lingered from the souls of fallen soldiers. Now, only remnants of magic and explosions that had scarred the land remained.
The battlefield was silent… only the faintest breaths could be heard, after the long screams of those moments before death. Bodies were strewn about. Lifeless corpses piled up like mountains. Blood flowed from wounds that had not yet dried, seeping into the once-dry earth, turning it into crimson mud.
Amid this scene, a group of entities stood arrogantly before a man whose body was covered in blood and wounds. King Altar knelt, both hands braced against a broken sword he had stabbed into the ground to keep himself from collapsing completely. His breath was ragged. Blood dripped from the wounds on his chest and arms, yet he still endured.
The man was silent. Once he was proud, revered, and feared. Now he was a shadow of his former glory, bowed in defeat. Everything had crumbled—his world, his power, everything he had once been proud of. Not even a single tear would fall from his eyes; the wounds and humiliation ran too deep.
Before him stood a horned, fanged demon, its gaze filled with smug satisfaction, as if certain that power now lay entirely in the hands of the demon race.
> "Your era has ended, King," the demon said softly, though every word felt like salt poured into his wounds.
"The strongest king of the Aster continent has fallen. Humanity will be extinct, and this world… will belong to us. The demon race!"
King Altar did not respond, his head still bowed. Both hands clenched the hilt of the broken sword he used as support, refusing to fall completely to the ground. His eyes, nearly closed by dust and blood, slowly lifted—not to the demon, but to a figure standing behind it.
> "My King…"
Light footsteps approached. Shoes stepped onto the blood-soaked earth without hesitation. That voice… it was too familiar.
> "Marilyn…" he whispered hoarsely.
The girl called Marilyn approached with an expression of pity, as if saddened by the sight of the king she claimed to love. But only for a moment. That expression faded, replaced by a sly smile that seemed to have been hidden for a long time, waiting for the perfect moment to surface.
Marilyn slowly leaned down, her lips almost brushing the ear of the king who was still kneeling weakly. Her voice was soft, yet every word was poison.
> "I have waited so very long for this day… my King," she whispered in his ear.
With a swift and unhesitating motion, Marilyn raised the sword handed to her by the demon high above her head. Her gaze locked onto the king's eyes as he still knelt, braced against his broken sword. That same gentle smile she once wore the first time they met returned to her lips—yet now it was more cruel than anything.
Then, without mercy, she thrust the sword straight into King Altar's chest.
The impact shook his entire body. Blood gushed from his mouth, and his breath caught. His eyes widened—not just from pain, but because the wound cut deeper than any blade could. It was a wound delivered by the woman he had most desperately sought to protect.
His grip on the broken sword faltered. His body swayed. Behind the demon's back, Marilyn stared at King Altar's paling face. For a moment, a single tear fell from the corner of her eye. But her gaze quickly turned cold and empty again.
King Altar wanted to speak, but no sound escaped his choking throat. In his heart, he screamed:
> I will not accept this…!
Had I not been deceived, I would have slain those demons…!
If I had a second chance… I swear I would never again fall into this woman's trap. And I would destroy every demon I encounter, one by one… until none remain!
His breathing grew heavier. His vision dimmed. The fire of vengeance still burned in his heart, but his body could no longer endure. Blood poured endlessly from the wound in his chest as King Altar finally collapsed onto the ground.
The world seemed silent. He stared up at the crimson sky that was slowly fading away. Marilyn and the demons appeared to walk away, leaving him lying there like a corpse no longer worth a glance.
The king exhaled a long breath. He had already steeled himself for death, but the image of his loyal soldiers dying before his eyes brought a searing ache to his chest.
> If I could meet them again… I would protect them, even if it cost me my life.
That was the final vow that echoed in his heart before the world turned completely dark.
…
In another time and dimension, a world thrived in peace…
In a silent classroom on a late afternoon, Steven sat in the farthest corner seat. His hand scribbled across a piece of paper, making calculations about where demons might appear. Nobody paid him any attention until a blond-haired boy entered with two of his friends. Their gazes dripped with mockery.
> "I was only gone a few days, and it looks like life's been nice and quiet for you!"
The boy rudely placed one foot on Steven's desk, trampling the paper he was writing on. But today, Steven seemed different. He was not the same as before, when he would instantly cower. His cold eyes locked onto the blond boy's face, unblinking.
That gaze made the boy instinctively lower his foot. There was a crushing pressure behind Steven's eyes—the kind of gaze the old Steven could never have held. Eyes that were cold, empty… like a man who feared nothing.
The classroom fell silent. All eyes were on them now. The blond boy, unwilling to be humiliated, lashed out angrily, throwing a punch at Steven.
> "You bastard!"
The punch shot forward fast, but Steven was faster. He caught the boy's wrist, twisting it behind his back until the boy cried out in pain. Without mercy, Steven yanked him upright and slammed his body onto a desk. The loud crack echoed through the room, forcing everyone to turn and witness the fight.
> "Damn it! Let go of Master Carl!"
Two of Carl's followers rushed forward in anger. They attacked at once, convinced Steven had only been lucky against Carl. But their clumsy strikes were meaningless. With a single arm deflecting and one swift kick, Steven dropped them both to the ground at his feet.
At that moment, the entire classroom shivered. They were shocked to see Steven—so completely different from the boy who, just two weeks ago, had attempted to end his life by jumping into a river after being bullied.
Emely, the brown-haired girl seated at the front, couldn't take her eyes off him. A small smile touched her lips, perhaps in admiration… or simply in surprise, seeing the new Steven who stood so strong and unshaken.
Still pinning Carl's head against the desk, Steven threw the boy to the floor without mercy. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wiped his hands as if disgusted, then dropped the handkerchief onto the floor before walking away with an air of arrogance.
Carl sat weakly on the floor, watching Steven's retreating back. His jaw clenched, his eyes trembling with rage. Then he shouted, his hoarse voice filling the room. Deep inside, he swore he would get revenge on Steven—and reclaim his pride in front of everyone.
But Carl had no idea… the world was about to change far beyond his imagination.