The forest exhaled.
The suffocating killing intent that had pressed every living thing into a frozen, silent panic evaporated. Leaves trembled as if roused from a nightmare. Branches stopped bending under unseen weight. Even the birds dared to chirp—tentative notes at first, then a soft, joyful chorus.
The heroes of the Empire lay sprawled across moss and roots, gasping, lungs clawing for air as if someone had pressed a fist against their chest and only now let go.
Hiroshi rolled onto his knees, hands digging into the wet earth. Iron tasted on his tongue. Fear stuck to his throat like resin.
"W…what just…?" He croaked, voice breaking. "The pressure… it felt like a mountain was pressing down… on top of us."
Daichi coughed, shivering, while Rin's knuckles whitened on her staff. Emilia whispered a trembling prayer, and Sora, the assassin, let out a bark-like laugh that ended in a choking sob.
Hiroshi forced himself to stand, the muscles in his legs trembling. His chest burned, and yet he drew in a shaky breath and raised his head. The others followed, pale, battered, but alive.
"We… we survived," muttered the cleric girl, her voice raw.
"No," Hiroshi corrected, voice stronger than he felt. "We did not survive. We endured."
He straightened his back, hands clenching. Around him, the rehearsed words of the Empire rose in their throats like armor.
"We are the Heroes of the Holy Dominion Empire!"
The others echoed it, voices trembling, but growing in conviction.
"The God of Dominion has chosen us! Blessed us with power!" Hiroshi spat the words like iron, tasting courage he did not fully feel. "We shall strike down the demons. We will bring peace to the Empire!"
The proclamation made them feel solid again. False safety. They did not yet know they had just declared war on something far beyond demons, far beyond human comprehension.
Aetheria, in contrast, was calm.
The village basked in morning light as if nothing had happened. Children chased light sprites along the cobblestone streets. The river reflected the sky like a mirror. Haruto stood atop the low wall, cloak brushing against the leaves, eyes fixed on the horizon.
Frost, Lunara, and Lyria appeared silently beside him, drawn by the same undercurrent of disturbance.
"Seems like they aren't going to back down," Haruto said, voice low, almost a murmur.
"They won't," Frost replied, teeth bared. "Not until they learn the price."
"They are small, numerous, inconvenient," Lunara said, arms folded. "Like a swarm of insects you don't want to crush but can't ignore."
Lyria twirled a strand of hair, smiling too sweetly. "Annoying is generous. I could… make them into tea cosies."
Haruto did not reply. His eyes were calm but burning beneath their stillness. He felt it: the arrogance, the courage mistaken for strength, the hunger to prove themselves.
"In this case," he said softly, almost to himself, "I'm going to teach them a lesson."
Frost growled low in the throat. "And if they step further?"
"Then they will know why the forest whispers my name," Haruto said, tone as cold as stone.
Airi's voice rang through the courtyard.
"Onii Chan!" she called, running, dusting flour from her hair as she skidded to a halt. "You promised we'd cook together today!"
Haruto crouched, and the aura around him softened like sunlight through frost. He took her hand gently, brushing flour from her cheek.
"I'm going to get some meat so we can cook lunch together. Wait for me, okay?"
Airi's eyes sparkled. "Yes! Come back fast, Onii Chan!"
"I will."
Her laughter rang out, pure, careless, unaware of the war already stirring beyond the village.
Haruto rose. His expression hardened. The warmth faded. The forest seemed to shiver, responding to his intent. Roots shifted like a flowing path. Branches bent, leaves swirled, creating a corridor of speed that mocked the eye. With a ripple of mana, he vanished—not running, not teleporting, but moving faster than perception itself.
Far beyond the village, the seven chosen heroes approached the Great Forest. Armor clanged, banners whipped the wind, and soldiers on mounts fell silent at their confidence.
"This is it," Hiroshi said, puffing his chest. "Today we clear this forest of the blight. Today, the Dominion shines through."
Sora smirked, running a blade over his palm. "A good forest makes a good target. I'll fetch a head for the altar. Perhaps two."
Akira, Daichi, Emilia, Rin, and Yumi flanked him. All were legends, chosen for a reason. Fearless because they had been told they were.
The forest itself shifted, subtle at first, then heavier, like a warning. Branches bent to obscure vision, shadows thickened. The heroes tensed.
And then… he appeared.
Haruto emerged from the depths of the forest. Not dashing. Not striking. Just walking. Each step pressed through the demonic mana like it was nothing, cracking the ground beneath him. The air thickened, pierced their senses, and an instinctual terror rose in their veins.
Hiroshi's mouth went dry. "That… that's him," he muttered. "The Prince of Death. We have to kill him… no matter what."
Haruto stopped five meters away. Sword sheathed, aura calm but radiating death.
"You should all return where you came from if you don't want to die," he said, voice sharp, carrying a lethal authority. Bloodlust dripped from the sound, though he did not raise his weapon.
Sora hissed, grinning. "I will kill you!" He flickered, a shadow among shadows, and appeared behind Haruto, dagger at the nape. "After I kill you, I'll—"
The words never left his lips. A blink, a cut, and his head slid down. Blood painted the leaves like a new constellation.
The rest froze. Even Hiroshi, gifted with microsecond perception, staggered. I… I saw him.
He replayed it in his mind, over and over. Haruto's hand had been in two places at once, a blur of inevitability, a motion that defied reason. And Sora's life ended in less than a millisecond. There was no thrill, only ice.
"Go back," Haruto said, voice calm now, almost gentle. "You are no match for me. And you must get through three more if you wish to touch my sister. But don't think I intend to die today. She is not yours to take."
Hiroshi's lips moved, telepathy sending orders to his comrades. We must kill him. We must… if we succeed, the war is ours.
The heroes lunged. Spells, blades, curses, everything unleashed.
Inferno bursts tore through the air. White novas tore the ground like scalding ice. Thunder spears split the trees. Judgment rays raked the leaves.
Haruto did not flinch. Not a block, not a dodge—every attack was cleaved as if sliced from reality itself. Magic, swords, spells—they fell useless.
Hiroshi staggered back, chest tightening. I am the protagonist… I am the hero… how can this be? Why can't I win? I… I want him dead! I WANT HIM DEAD!
Then—everything froze.
Wind halted. Leaves hung suspended. Spells mid-flight froze. Only Hiroshi could move. Panic exploded in his chest.
"What… what is this?" he screamed.
A voice, elegant, ancient, and wrong, echoed.
"Hiroshi."
He spun. A presence formed from the void, a god made of absence and intent.
"I am the God of Dominion," the figure said. "I gave you power, but I can give more."
Hiroshi's fists clenched, trembling. "He… he is just crushing us… I am nothing in front of him!"
The god's voice was velvet, insidious. "I know. That is why I will grant you the power to kill him. The power to even shatter gods."
Images flashed before Hiroshi: his name chanted by crowds, his story immortal, the world kneeling at his feet. The temptation roared in him.
"I… give us all the power," he said, voice raw with desire.
A dark surge fed into the heroes, veins blackening, eyes glowing gold. A thrill of violence and inevitability coursed through their bones.
The god's voice whispered one final command: "Kill them."
Haruto felt it, the shift in the air, the taste of challenge, the looming storm. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, chest steady. Airi laughed in the kitchen. The world could try to break him, but the vow he had taken could not be undone.
A single choice had been made. One side had divine sanction, the other had a promise.
And the world held its breath.