The world was silent.
Sky torn open in jagged purple slits. Lightning flaring above like cracks in reality itself. The air didn't move, and the ground held its breath. All of creation seemed to shrink between two figures—standing alone on scorched stone, face to face.
Dark. Covered in wounds. Blood trickling down his cheek, one eye half-shut from a swelling bruise. His breathing was steady, but weak. His arms hung loose, body slightly crouched, as if seconds away from dropping.
Across from him stood Ijishi. But it wasn't Ijishi anymore.
It was Death.
Death: I must say... you are strong.
Dark didn't flinch.
Dark: And I must say, for Death itself to say such a thing, really... means nothing to me.
Death tilted its head. Just slightly.
Death: Who do you kneel to?
Dark raised his chin.
Dark: I kneel to no one.
Death: Not even if the Almighty Shou stood before you? Not even if Cosmic, Existence's Engine, stood beside him?
Dark: No.
Death blinked.
Death: ...What?
Dark stepped forward once. His tone stayed calm. His voice didn't rise.
Dark: Listen closely.
Dark: My name is Dark. My goal isn't to rule, or to rise. I'm here to fix this world. To burn the rot at its core. Ranks. Royalty. Status. Clan. Bloodline. Nation. All the tools used to put one person above the rest. They all end with me.
Death said nothing.
Dark: I will build a world where no child dies because they were born weak. No mother starves because her last name isn't enough. No empire lives off the bones of others.
Death's eyes narrowed.
Dark: So if you—Death, god, curse, or concept—try to stop that...
Dark's expression shifted. His eyes went cold. His jaw tightened. No emotion. Just decision.
Dark: I'll kill you. And I'll grind your corpse across the whole verse or whatever it's called until this world forgets you ever existed.
Silence.
Yenshin took one uncertain step forward, voice trembling.
Yenshin: My lord... forgive him. Dark doesn't mean to offend—
Death looked at him.
That was it.
One glance. Not a shout. Not a flare of energy. Just a single look.
Yenshin fell.
His knees slammed into the stone as his spine locked. His breath caught. Every memory of pain he'd ever felt clawed its way back up his body.
Yenshin: My... lord... I deeply apologize...
Death didn't answer. Not with words.
He simply turned from Yenshin—disregarded him entirely—and stepped toward Dark.
No aura flared.
No blade unsheathed.
But with each step, the air grew colder. Not in temperature. In reverence.
When Death finally stood face to face with Dark again, he said nothing at first. His head tilted slightly, inspecting the man before him. Bloodied. Wounded. Unbent.
Then—
Death raised his hand.
Not with menace. But with respect.
Death: You've done something I thought impossible.
Dark didn't respond.
Death: You stood before Death itself, unflinching. You spoke of peace not as a dream, but as law. You threatened me, with conviction. You fought me, and survived. Live your life Dark.
Dark raised his brow, but said nothing. Slowly, he reached out.
And the two shook hands.
Death: (quietly) You have my respect, Dark. True, permanent, eternal.
Dark: Never thought I'd shake hands with Death itself. Let alone get a compliment.
Death: I rarely give either.
Dark pulled his hand back.
Dark: So. Now what?
Death: You already know. My Empire and yours, one path. Not under, not above. Beside.
Zyke finally raised his head. His voice cracked from emotion he didn't expect to feel.
Zyke: It's real, then... Dark Empire and Death Empire. United.
Death looked at Dark.
Death: By belief, honesty and honor.
Death smiles.
Death: I truly respect you, Dark, my deepest apology to you. For not understanding what you are.
Dark: And what am I?
Death: Hope. The Ruler Of Hope.
Dark chuckles a bit.
Dark: I am The Hope That Dismantles Evil.
Death: Interesting, well I'll be going now.
Dantero: (whispers) Is this... normal?
Zyke: It is now.
Dantero stayed silent, eyes flicking from Dark to Death, trying to process what he just saw. The sky above was still fractured, glowing faintly from where Death's presence had burned through the atmosphere.
Death turned slightly toward him.
Death: Dantero.
Dantero: ...Yeah?
Death: You made me smile.
Dantero: Is... that a good thing?
Death didn't answer.
Instead, his head turned toward Dark again.
Death: This vessel is nearly out of time. Ijishi will return to full control soon.
Dark: Is he stable?
Death: For now. But he'll feel what I felt. Remember what I saw. Carry what I left.
Dark: Sounds heavy.
Death: It is.
Zyke stood, keeping his head slightly lowered.
Zyke: My lord... are we still your Empire?
Death: You never stopped being.
Death stepped forward. He stopped in front of Dark again.
Death: And you...
Death: The day will come. Not yet. But it will. When the title fits you. When this world recognizes the seventh.
Dantero: (quiet) Seventh?
Death: Emperor.
Dark said nothing.
Death: Until then... hold onto that dream. Peace, equality. Whatever you name it. It is foolish. And beautiful.
Death raised a hand.
Death: I respect that.
Dark looked at him. A long pause.
Then nodded once.
Without another word, Death's form cracked at the edges. His figure blurred—his shape peeling off like ash in slow motion, vanishing into dust and silence.
The wind returned.
And Ijishi collapsed forward.
Dark caught him before he could hit the ground, holding him by the collar and lowering him gently.
Zyke and Yenshin rushed over.
Dantero stepped back, hands on his hips.
Dantero: I just watched a kid get possessed by actual Death, punch a hole through my chest, and then bow to Dark after trying to kill him.
Dark: (quietly) You're still standing, aren't you?
Dantero: Yeah, but... I need a drink. Or ten.
Yenshin knelt by Ijishi, checking his pulse.
Yenshin: He's alive. Breathing normally. He'll wake up soon.
Dantero: Kid's gonna need therapy.
Yenshin and Zyke both look at Dantero with an annoyed look on their faces.
Dark stood fully, turning away from the group.
Dark: Let him rest.
Dantero: And you?
Dark: I need air.
Dantero: ...That's usually code for don't follow me.
Dark: (walking) Good. Then you understand.
His footsteps faded into the distance, boots brushing against scorched stone and fractured dust. No one followed.
At least, not openly.
Dantero waited.
Waited until Dark turned the corner, disappeared through the cracked doorway of a broken hall that led to the far balcony—then followed. Quietly. No jokes. No grin. Just slow, steady steps.
He found him there. Alone.
The wind had returned. Gentle, cold. Blowing ash off the edges of the ruined stronghold. Dark stood at the edge of the balcony, one hand resting against the broken marble railing, the other loose by his side. His coat fluttered with the breeze, torn and bloodstained. Below him stretched the remains of a battlefield, lit by scattered fires and glowing embers.
Dark didn't turn around.
Dantero stopped a few feet back.
Dantero: Didn't mean to intrude.
Still, Dark didn't move. His eyes were fixed forward—on nothing, on everything.
Dantero stepped beside him, leaning on the railing.
Dantero: You always stare at things like that?
Dark: Sometimes.
Dantero: Looks... quiet.
Dark: That's why I came.
They stood like that for a while. The sound of soft wind. The echoes of distant cries, not of pain—of rebuilding. Life returning.
Dantero: You know... I've seen a lot of things. Fought a lot of bastards. Made enemies I don't even remember the names of. But I've never seen something like what happened back there.
Dark: Then you haven't seen enough.
Dantero: Maybe. Or maybe you're just different.
Dark finally looked at him.
Dantero: I don't mean strong. Or cold. Or whatever title they've pinned on you. I mean... different. You don't act like a ruler. Don't walk like one. But when Death—actual Death—stood in front of you... even he bowed a little.
Dantero leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows.
Dantero: I don't really kneel either. Never liked it. Never stayed in one place long enough to believe in something.
Dark said nothing.
Dantero: But after seeing that... hearing what you said... I dunno.
He exhaled slowly.
Dantero: I think I want in.
Dark turned his head slightly.
Dark: What?
Dantero: Don't make me say it twice.
Dark: Say it properly.
Dantero paused. Then faced him directly.
Dantero: I want to join the Dark Empire. Not for glory. Not for a name. I just want to be part of something that doesn't stink of bullshit.
Dark looked at him. Really looked. His gaze didn't soften. But it settled.
Dark: You sure?
Dantero: I just followed you to a ruined balcony after surviving Death punching a hole through my chest. Yeah, I'm sure.
Dark: ...Fine.
Dantero grinned. Not cocky. Just real.
Dantero: Good. 'Cause I don't plan on leaving.
Dark didn't respond.
Instead, he looked back out over the ruined capital—his capital.
But it wasn't ruined anymore.
Below the fractured cliffs and collapsed walls, hundreds of people moved like a tide. Citizens of the Dark Empire, survivors of a dozen broken nations, all building together. There were no overseers. No whips. No shouts. Just rhythm. Cooperation. Brick by brick, tower by tower, they rebuilt.
Hollows moved among them—tall, gray-bodied, empty-eyed. Yet their movements were fluid. Precise. One Hollow knelt to pick up a child's dropped tool. Another stacked slabs of marble high into the air, held firm by the unnatural gravity of its hand. They obeyed no one but Dark, yet here they were. Quiet. Helpful. Present.
Dantero watched in silence.
Dantero: Those... are Hollows?
Dark: They don't speak unless I let them. Don't feel either. But they understand effort. Purpose.
Further down, Shadows in full black armor directed the structure of the new gates. They didn't speak. Didn't rest. They moved like sentinels—carving foundation lines with blades, lifting stone with unnatural strength, scanning constantly for threats beyond the horizon.
And between them all—scattered among the crowds—stood the Champions.
Clum, his massive frame cloaked in scars and soot, was teaching five workers how to reinforce a foundation using crystalized ash. His voice rumbled, slow and patient, as he handed out tools.
Vel stood nearby, levitating a dozen pieces of shattered infrastructure while muttering calculations. He adjusted angles mid-air before fusing them cleanly with golden threads of magic, then gave a silent nod to a young girl who watched him with awe.
Syv was perched on the tip of a watchtower, hammering its peak into shape with her fists while correcting the tower's slope with pure body weight.
Malik was laughing quietly with a group of elders as he handed out folded plans drawn in sharp black ink.
Dantero blinked.
Dantero: This doesn't look like an empire. Looks like a damn utopia.
Dark: It's not. Not yet. But it will be.
Dantero: No guards shouting orders. No nobles watching from above. No one asking for names or bloodline.
Dark: Not here. Not ever.
Dantero watched one of the villagers—an old woman with gray hair and cracked hands—place a stone down and look up, smiling at a passing Hollow. The Hollow nodded once, then continued its task.
Dantero: (quietly) Never thought I'd see something like this.
Dark turned his back to the balcony and started walking inside.
Dark: That's why I'm building it.
Dantero stayed there a moment longer, letting the wind hit his face.
Then he followed.
The streets of the Dark Empire were alive. The ruins left from the clash still scarred the stone, but already the work of rebuilding had begun. Shadows moved silently, their armored forms lifting slabs of shattered walls with effortless precision. Hollows carried timber and steel, their empty eyes focused only on the orders passed down through the Champions. Where towers had crumbled, new foundations were being laid. Where streets had cracked, smooth obsidian paths were being carved, runes flickering faintly beneath them like veins of living light.
Children darted between the workers, laughing, chasing each other through the dust, as if war had never touched them. Women gathered in the courtyards, handing out food and water to those laboring the longest. Men who had once been soldiers now helped raise homes, hands steady, voices firm, teaching the younger ones how to set stone and bind steel.
On the higher levels, Champions oversaw the work. Igor directed a cluster of Shadows, his voice calm but commanding. Vel spoke with a group of surviving citizens, mapping out where the new housing should rise. Clum's presence kept order, his silent gaze alone enough to ensure efficiency. Even Malik, usually impatient, knelt down with children, showing them how to place small bricks into the gaps as if their hands mattered too.
Dantero leaned forward against the railing, watching it all. His usual grin was gone. For once, there was no joke. Just quiet.
Dantero: (softly) ...They're really doing it.
Dark stood beside him, arms crossed, gaze heavy but unreadable.
Dark: They have to. The Empire won't survive on shadows and blades alone.
Dantero: Yeah, but... look at them. After everything. After what just happened. They're not afraid. They're... rebuilding. Like nothing's gonna stop them.
Dark didn't answer right away. His eyes tracked a Hollow kneeling to help a child tie a rope around a cart. The boy laughed. The Hollow tilted its head, as if mimicking the sound.
Dark: Fear doesn't build. It only destroys.
Dantero nodded slowly.
Dantero: So you're not just running an army. You're building a world.
Dark: That's the point.
Dantero looked at him, more serious than he'd ever been since arriving.
Dantero: Then let me help. Not as a guest. Not as some drifter who just walked in. I want in. Full. If you'll have me... I'll fight, build, bleed for this Empire.
Dark finally turned to look at him. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes said enough.
Dark: You sure?
Dantero: (smirking faintly) Dead sure.
Dark held his stare a moment longer, then gave a single nod.
Dark: Then prove it.
Dantero: How?
Dark's gaze drifted down to the streets below, where Shadows and Hollows moved in careful coordination with the citizens. Stones were being lifted, walls reformed, blackened steel bent back into shape under quiet, tireless hands.
Dark: Not with a fight. Not with bravado. With your hands.
Dantero leaned against the railing, watching. The grin faltered, replaced by something more thoughtful.
Dantero: ...Manual labor, huh? Didn't think that was part of the initiation.
Dark: In my Empire, it is.
Dantero breathed out through his nose, almost a laugh, then pushed himself away from the railing.
Dantero: Alright. Guess I'll play along.
They descended. The moment Dark's boots touched the lower courtyard, the air shifted. Hollows paused mid-lift. Citizens straightened. Shadows turned their helms toward him in silent acknowledgment.
One Shadow stepped forward—towering, armored head to toe, black steel absorbing the dim light around them. A long crimson cape dragged across the stone, each step echoing like iron striking iron. He said nothing. Only lowered to one knee, a gauntleted fist pressed against his chest in salute.
Dantero glanced sideways at Dark.
Dantero: I'm guessing that's Igor.
Dark gave the faintest nod.
Igor rose without a word and gestured—not with speech, but with a simple tilt of his armored head—toward a section of the wall where citizens and Hollows were struggling with an enormous slab of fractured stone.
Dark: He's telling you where to start.
Dantero sighed, rolling his shoulders.
Dantero: Figures. The quiet ones always boss me around.
He stepped forward, tossed his coat aside, and crouched. Fingers dug into the rough edges of the slab. With a grunt, he heaved it up, veins straining across his arms as he steadied it overhead.
The Hollows froze. The citizens stared.
Dantero: (grinning) Heavy, but not impossible. Where do you want it?
A silent Shadow moved, pointing toward the gap in the wall.
Dantero carried it over, step by steady step, and set it down without letting it crack further. Dust burst out around his boots.
For a moment, no one moved. Shadows stood like statues, visors locked on him. Hollows tilted their heads, the glow of their hollow eyes flickering faintly. Citizens exchanged glances, unsure if they should thank him or fear him.
Dantero wiped his palms on his coat, smirking.
Dantero: Not bad for a guy who just got slapped through a wall.
A small boy peeked out from behind a Hollow's leg, staring wide-eyed. Dantero crouched a little, giving a lazy salute with two fingers.
Dantero: Don't look at me like that, kid. I'm not that scary.
The boy blinked, then hid again. Dantero chuckled under his breath and stood up.
Dark watched from the edge of the square, arms folded. His gaze didn't shift, but something faint crossed his expression.
A Shadow moved forward—taller than most, helm carved with jagged lines of black steel. He set his gauntlet on the slab Dantero had placed, testing its steadiness. Then, without a word, he gave a small, slow nod.
The citizens relaxed. A few even returned to work, pulling carts and carrying stone beside the Hollows.
Dantero noticed.
Dantero: Huh. Guess I passed the vibe check.
Dark: You passed nothing. You started.
Dantero: (grinning) Works for me.
Another Shadow approached, silently handing Dantero a length of blackened wood. Dantero blinked.
Dantero: What's this, a broom?
Dark: A beam.
Dantero lifted it with one arm, resting it across his shoulders.
Dantero: Alright. Beam duty it is.
Dantero carried the beam toward the wall, boots crunching over broken stone. But then he stopped.
Up ahead, crouched on top of a half-built wall, was a figure. The posture was inhuman — low, hunched, feral. His arms hung long, fingers brushing the stone, legs coiled like a predator about to pounce. His head tilted, strands of dark hair falling across his face.
It was One.
Dantero squinted.
Dantero: Oh, shit... it's you.
One's eyes lifted. Crimson-black. They weren't calm. They weren't empty. They were burning. Not with fire, not with rage. With something else entirely. Rage Energy.
It wasn't mana. It wasn't ki. It wasn't even spiritual pressure. Rage Energy was raw emotional force — the essence of wrath itself, refined and weaponized. It gnawed at the air, carving cracks into the stone just by leaking out. Every blink of his eyes sent waves of it across the field, heavy enough to make Dantero's knees stiffen.
One: Oi. You.
Dantero: (raising a hand sheepishly) Uh... sorry about earlier, dude.
One's lips peeled back into a sharp grin.
One: Kheekhee... let's duel.
Dantero: What? You're gonna get beat up.
In the space between blinks, One wasn't on the wall anymore. He was at Dantero's side, resting one arm lazily on his shoulder.
And just the weight of that arm forced Dantero down to one knee. The stone under his boots cracked, webbing out like shattered glass.
Dantero glanced sideways, eyes locking with One's. His pupils dilated — staring into an abyss that moved. The Rage Energy in those eyes was so dense it looked alive, flowing like molten metal under the sclera.
One: What do you say?
Dantero gritted his teeth, pushing back against the pressure.
Dantero: Sure. I'm not letting you walk off after that anyway.
He shoved himself up, brushing the dust from his coat.
They walked, silently, until they reached a wide clearing outside the rebuilt wall. The air here was cleaner, calmer. But not for long.
One crouched. Dantero rolled his shoulders.
One: Three.
Dantero: Two.
One: (smirking) O... n... e.
They vanished.
The first clash detonated the ground, the shockwave shredding the grass flat in all directions. Dantero flew backward, skidding across stone until he dug his heel in and stopped. His lip split, blood dripping.
Dantero: Alrighty... alrighty.
He grinned, crouched, and dashed forward — faster this time. His body blurred, air whipping violently around him. They met again mid-field, the impact hurling One hundreds of miles per second across the horizon.
He slammed into a mountain — not just any mountain. A colossus, dwarfing Everest a hundredfold. The crash tore through its heart, ripping the peak to shreds. Entire shelves of stone folded in like sand, and the mountain collapsed. The impact crater glowed red from sheer friction, dust pluming into the stratosphere.
High above, the camera pulled back — showing One's body lying at the center of a colossal crater, the ruins of a mountain around him.
One's eyes blinked open. He groaned, barely moving.
One: Eh? ...How did I end up here?
Footsteps.
He turned. Dantero was walking toward him, clapping slowly.
Dantero: Yo. You alive. Cool.
Inside, One's teeth clenched.
One (thinking): This puny little human... he thinks he can beat me?
He pushed himself upright. Dust and shards of stone slid from his shoulders.
Dantero smirked, raising his hand — then suddenly slammed his fist across One's face. The Champion flew into the ground, cracking it open with a thunderous quake.
One grunted, stood, and before Dantero could press, a pale hand shot up.
One gripped Dantero's ankle mid-air.
One: Move.
He flicked his wrist.
The next instant, Dantero was ripped from the earth, hurled across the sky, breaking through the atmosphere in seconds. He tumbled into space, colliding with a meteor hard enough to shatter it in half.
Dantero blinked, floating in zero gravity. He exhaled once, then grinned.
Dantero: ...When the fuck? Oh. This place is sick. Wait— I can breathe in space? Cool.
He crouched on a floating meteor, knuckles tight.
Dantero: Alright. Time to get back. Kinda pissed.
BOOM.
He launched. The meteor shattered under his kick as he propelled himself back to Earth in a single breath. He re-entered the atmosphere, fire trailing off his coat, landing in a crater just meters from One.
He dusted himself off.
Dantero: Hey, idiot. I'm right here.
One looked up slowly, a smile creeping back. But his aura had changed. It wasn't Rage Energy anymore — it was full Devil Form.
His skin darkened, veins glowing red. His jaw cracked wider. Horns split through his skull, curling upward, eyes now burning with endless fury.
The atmosphere died. Literally. Air molecules ceased vibrating, sound cut off. The planet itself flinched under the sudden presence.
Dantero: ...You good, buddy?
One raised a hand. A line of energy, thin and perfect, slashed toward Dantero at light speed.
Dantero swayed right. The line tore through half the Earth's crust behind him, splitting oceans open in a canyon of boiling magma.
Dantero whistled.
Dantero: Whoa... careful. Gonna destroy the whole planet like that.
One blinked. Shock flashed in his eyes.
One (thinking): He dodged it?
Dantero walked forward, hands loose at his sides.
Dantero: Look, I'm not weak. Throwing light-speed paper cuts at me is like tossing tissue at a grown man.
He grinned, still relaxed.
One's smile dropped. His jaw clenched. The Rage Energy swelled until it consumed the horizon.
He wasn't testing anymore. He was done playing.
Narration: One was no human. He had been the Devil of the First War — one of the reasons Demons and Humans ever drew blades in the first place. Only chained by Dark himself, now sworn as Champion. But that devil was still here. And Dantero had just unlocked it.
One lunged.
The next blows humbled Dantero beyond measure.
He was torn from the ground, fists shattering his guard, ribs cracking under each hit. His smirk vanished — replaced with blood, sweat, and grit. Every time he rose, One was already there. A palm to the chest. A kick to the spine. An elbow to the temple.
Dantero spat blood, vision shaking.
Dantero: Heh... guess you're serious now.
One: (snarling) I am always serious.
The duel raged until the world itself started to crack under their speed. Then —
Dark's shadow fell across the battlefield.
Dark: Enough.
One froze mid-swing. Dantero collapsed back, panting, clutching his ribs.
One turned his head, still seething, but obeyed.
Dantero, smirking through blood, raised a finger weakly.
Dantero: Round two's mine.
To Be Continued.
End Of Arc 6 Chapter 20.