Legends are rarely polite.
They do not announce themselves.
They do not wait for understanding.
They begin when something that was never meant to fall…
is forced to.
The Seventh Hell had endured the fall of empires.
It had survived divine wars, cosmic purges, and the collapse of entire realms. It had seen beings beg, rage, and disappear—never to be spoken of again.
It was not a place where miracles occurred.
But today—
something was happening that no one wanted to see.
A huge pillar shattered.
A massive figure slammed straight through it.
Obsidian stone exploded outward as the body pierced the pillar's core before crashing into the ground beyond. The impact echoed across the crimson plains as the figure struck once, flipped violently, struck again, then rolled to a halt.
Dust surged upward.
For a brief moment—
there was nothing.
Then the dust began to settle.
A clawed hand pressed into the ground.
Black wings unfolded, scattering ash as a towering figure pushed himself upright. Cracks ran across his dark skin, molten gold glowing beneath. Hellfire hissed from a deep gash across his shoulder.
He stood tall despite the damage.
This was the King of the Seventh Hell.
And he was bleeding.
Across from him—
the dust shifted again.
A figure stepped forward, boots crunching over broken stone. One hand rested in his pocket. In the other, a sword spun lazily.
Dark black steel.
Veins of dull crimson.
Chipped. Scarred. Dangerous.
The figure stopped and lifted his head.
Young.
Unbothered.
Annoyingly calm.
This man was Altair Vane.
A name that history would learn to regret.
Altair tilted his head, crimson eyes flicking over the wound.
"…Huh," he muttered. "You didn't break as fast as I expected."
The Seventh Hell groaned.
The King straightened, wings spreading as hellfire surged outward. Magma crawled through the fractured ground beneath his feet.
"You stand before me," the King said, voice heavy,
"bleeding—"
His gaze sharpened.
"—and still speak as though this place belongs to you?"
Altair glanced at his arm. Blood dripped freely.
"…Yeah."
He studied his sword.
"I came here for one thing," he said. "And you're taking too long."
"You will kneel," the King growled. "Or you will cease to exist."
Altair blinked.
Then laughed.
"…Kneel?"
He rested the sword against his shoulder.
"Yeah, no. I don't do that."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Then—
the King moved.
His foot drove into the ground.
Hellfire surged as he launched forward, fist tearing through the air toward Altair's chest.
Altair shifted, blade lifting just in time.
BOOM.
The impact detonated the air. Altair slid backward, boots carving trenches before he stopped himself with his sword.
Blood splashed across the blade.
"…Okay," Altair muttered. "That one counts."
The King pressed in, knee slamming toward Altair's ribs.
Altair twisted aside, still sent skidding.
He rolled, rose on one knee, and slashed upward.
Hellfire burst from a deep gash across the King's side.
The King staggered—then his tail snapped out.
CRASH.
Altair was hurled into a broken pillar, stone exploding around him.
He coughed, stood immediately.
"…You're really attached to this place."
The King raised his hand.
Hellfire condensed into a blazing mass and hurled forward.
Altair lunged through it, slicing the attack apart as heat washed over his back.
He closed in and thrust for the King's throat.
The King caught the blade.
Barehanded.
Molten veins flared as steel stopped inches from his neck.
"…Huh," Altair said. "That's new."
The King slammed his head forward.
Altair crashed back across the ground, rolling to a stop.
He sat up.
"…Yeah. I'm annoyed now."
The King spread his wings.
The Seventh Hell responded.
Pressure crushed down from all sides.
Altair stepped forward.
The ground shattered beneath his foot.
He swung—not at the King, but at the air.
The pressure split.
Altair surged forward and struck.
CLANG.
The King slid back, carving deep lines through the earth.
A thin crack ran across his forearm.
Altair rushed in.
The King twisted his wrist.
A sword slid free—jagged, molten, runes burning along its edge.
They collided head-on.
BOOOOOOM.
Shockwaves tore the battlefield apart.
They vanished.
Crimson and molten gold streaked through the sky, clashing again and again. Each impact scarred the heavens, the sound barrier shattering under their speed.
A massive explosion erupted.
The King was hurled back—then stopped himself midair.
Altair was already there.
He struck downward.
CRASH.
The King slammed into the ground, a crater swallowing him whole.
Altair landed at the edge.
"Come on," he called. "Hand it over."
The King rose from the crater, blood dripping.
"If the other Kings see this," Altair added lightly,
"what happens to your reputation?"
The King inhaled.
Slowly.
Then laughed.
"…Have you gone mad already?" Altair muttered.
The King raised both hands.
The ground split.
Molten gold and crimson surged upward.
The Cosmic Magma Emerald emerged, warping space around it.
Altair's eyes lit up.
"…There you are."
The King drove it into his sword.
The weapon screamed.
Cosmic fire exploded outward as the blade transformed, heavier—older.
Altair grinned.
"Wow. Flashy."
He raised his own sword.
"My Excalibur's going to love this."
They collided again.
The destruction doubled.
Sword. Fist. Shockwave.
The King attacked relentlessly.
Altair laughed through it.
Then—
the King pulled back.
Hellfire surged along his blade.
"Burning Sun Strike!"
The sword came down.
A blazing arc tore forward, liquefying the ground in its path.
Altair planted his feet.
Crimson power compressed along his blade.
"Heaven Splitting Slash."
The attacks collided.
Crimson and molten gold ground together as space folded inward.
Altair pushed.
The King pushed harder.
CRACK.
Altair's sword shattered.
The crimson slash collapsed.
The molten force slammed into Altair, lifting him off the ground.
Space twisted behind him.
A portal tore open.
Altair didn't see it.
The King did.
He surged forward and slammed Altair straight into it.
The portal snapped shut.
Altair crashed onto Earth.
He pushed himself up and stared at his ruined sword.
"…That bastard."
He sighed.
"…After I fix this."
Back in the Seventh Hell—
The land healed.
Cracks sealed. Skies stitched closed.
The King hovered, wings shaking.
"Seal it," he ordered.
Gates closed. Paths vanished.
The Seventh Hell folded inward.
The King slumped onto his throne.
"…We are not answering any doors."
Silence.
"…I hope that brat doesn't return."
The Seventh Hell remained sealed.
Legends are not born when a man wins.
They are born when a world decides to hide.
To Be Continued.....