The scene transitions to a radiant warmth filling Dark's room, where he lies in repose on his bed, surrounded by Cron, Leona, and Tier. The latter two share looks of confusion and suspicion, puzzled by Cron's unexpected camaraderie rather than aggression.
Cron, with a focused intensity, invokes.
Cron: Copy Magic, Divine Healing, Heavenly Healing.
At his words, a serene, heavenly green aura cascades like a gentle wave over Dark, the light seeming to knit together his wounds, soothe his burns, and restore his spirit. Dark's eyelids flutter open, and he gazes first at Leona and Tier, then, with a sharp intake of breath, at Cron beside him.
As Dark attempts to rise, Cron gently, but firmly, presses him back down, a reassuring presence in a moment of uncertainty.
Cron, with a calmness that belies the complexities of their past interactions, assures him.
Cron: Don't worry Dark, I'm not here to hurt you.
Dark, his initial resistance melting into resignation, settles back, a soft click signaling the scene's dive into the depths of his psyche, a realm once tainted by Sukojo's shadow.
Now, however, Dark's inner world is transformed. It's a haven of tranquility: vast, bathed in daylight, with a platform of gleaming glass at its heart. Here, a sizable bed occupies the center, flanked by an array of weapons, among them the Kyuketsu and the Hollow Katana, plus others yet to reveal their stories. This arsenal, once a symbol of endless battles, now rests in peaceful anticipation.
Seated on the bed, a smile plays across Dark's lips, a rarity borne of genuine contentment.
Dark, in a moment of introspection, muses.
Dark: Is this finally happening? After almost 10 years? Or maybe my entire life? Sukojo is finally gone?
His voice, tinged with wonder and relief, continues.
Dark: This looks so peaceful...and relaxing...
Rising, Dark moves with a lightness that speaks of burdens lifted, his actions skipping around the platform and bed, echoing the joy in his heart.
Dark, embracing a newfound joy.
Dark: This is so fun, I feel happy.
In this sanctuary of his mind, free from Sukojo's torment, Dark experiences a semblance of peace long thought unattainable, a testament to the healing that has begun not just in his body, but in his soul.
Dark, his cheeks tinted with an unfamiliar warmth, finds himself confounded by a burgeoning emotion as he sits grounded, a soft blush painting his features.
Dark, with a hesitant voice, ventures into his own heart.
Dark: I'm starting to have feelings for Leona... I think...
The air tightens, charged with the weight of his admission.
Dark, his face now a deeper shade of red, wrestles with his realization.
Dark: I'm in love with her?
The room snaps back to reality at this confession, as if pulled by the gravity of Dark's feelings. In a swift motion driven more by impulse than thought, Dark reaches out, bringing Leona close, enveloping her in an embrace that speaks louder than words.
Leona, caught in the suddenness of the moment, blushes a vivid red.
Dark, with a voice soft yet firm with conviction.
Dark: Leona, I have something to tell you.
Leona, her voice a mix of curiosity and caution.
Leona: Uhh-...sure tell me...
Dark, his declaration cutting through the tension.
Dark: I am in love with you.
The room inhales sharply, the air punctuated by Cron's laughter. But the moment shatters as Leona's response is a slap, a physical echo of the distance she puts between them as she flees the room, her parting words a door slam away.
Leona: Don't talk to me again.
The scene shifts abruptly to Sukojo, his presence a stark contrast against a village backdrop, confronting a throne that whispers of changes time has woven, its ominous adornments replaced by symbols of peace.
Sukojo, perplexed and out of place.
Sukojo: Ehhhh?? What the hell is this supposed to be?
His interaction with a passerby leaves him more alienated, a relic of a time long passed, as he grapples with the dissonance of centuries.
The narrative then dives back into the tempest of Dark's emotions, his aura a vortex of hatred and rage, a voice now laced with a demonic timbre.
Dark, his mind a bridge to Sukojo, seeks to draw upon a well of anger, only to find mockery awaiting him in Sukojo's thoughts.
The tension escalates, the environment mirroring Dark's inner turmoil, until Cron's intervention snaps the scene back to a fragile normalcy.
Cron's revelations hint at depths untold, of connections beyond the veil with beings of a dark pantheon, suggesting Dark's brush with forces beyond mere vendetta.
As Dark collapses, the scene shifts to hell itself, a realm alive with conflict and camaraderie among demons, with a statue at its heart, a beacon or a prison, now shattered, revealing a figure from an epoch undefined, stepping forward from the ruins of its own silence.
This figure, armored and enigmatic, stands amidst dissipating smoke, its eyes a luminescent white, promising revelations or confrontations yet to unfold.
Veiled in an armor that whispers of the abyss, this figure stands as a paragon of infernal majesty. The dark red plates, aglow with the subtle dance of nether flames, weave a narrative of peril laced with an uncanny beauty. Each piece is a testament to a dangerous allure, with edges sharp enough to promise oblivion and curves that hint at a malevolent poise. This attire is not just for battle, it's a declaration of sovereignty over both the carnage of war and the silent, shadowed halls of the netherworld.
Atop its head sits a helm of nightmarish artistry, a diadem of darkness that exudes a command over fear itself. It rejects the need for sight, replacing eyes with an expanse of void, a chilling absence that peers into souls, hinting at a creature that transcends mortality, a specter woven from the fabric of nightmares.
Clutched in its hand is a blade of unparalleled creation, birthed from the fires of the damned by craftsmen of legendary renown. The sword, mirroring the armor's sinister palette, bears runes that throb with the essence of perdition, hinting at origins steeped in the arcane and noblest bloodlines of the inferno's legions. Its hilt, an artwork in itself, ensures a deadly grace in the bearer's hands, its guard designed to protect and to maim. This figure, then, is not merely a knight but a monarch cloaked in shadow, a messenger bearing the edicts of hell itself.
Ningin's voice embodies the unfathomable depths and power of the highest echelons of hell. It is a voice that resonates with a darkness profound, yet it carries the weight of ancient authority and command. When he speaks, his voice seems to ripple through the very air, a low, rumbling echo that vibrates with the force of subterranean fires. Each word is laced with an infernal heat, capable of instilling both awe and dread in those who hear it.
There's a texture to his voice that speaks of the smoldering embers of the underworld, a gravelly undertone that scratches at the edges of reality, hinting at the eternal flames from which it was born. Yet, despite its fearsome origin, there's a compelling allure in his speech, a siren's call that mesmerizes and captivates, drawing listeners into a world of shadow and flame.
His laughter, rare and unsettling, crackles like the fires of perdition, a sound that wraps around the soul, both thrilling and terrifying. In moments of wrath, his voice booms like thunder, echoing the chaos of tempests unleashed, a reminder of his dominion over the darkest powers. In contrast, his whispers weave through the darkness like tendrils of smoke, soft and insidious, carrying secrets from the depths of hell itself.
Ningin: My name is NIngin, the Eldritch Grade.
Dark gasps in shock as the name "Ningin" pierces the air, echoing off the cavernous walls of hell. The atmosphere thickens with anticipation and dread. Gripping his katana firmly, Dark raises the blade, an island of resolve in a sea of fear, pointing it towards Ningin. The air between them crackles with unspoken power, a prelude to the chaos to ensue.
Ningin's approach is a masterclass in intimidation, his cool, menacing demeanor juxtaposed against the backdrop of swirling flames and shadowed figures of the damned. Each step he takes sends ripples of dark aura trailing backwards, painting him as a conqueror of the abyss. Without haste, he flourishes his sword with the ease of a seasoned warrior and holsters it on his back, signaling the fight's inevitable commencement.
Ningin, unamused and with a tone laced with disdain, addresses Dark.
Ningin: You have awakened me, after every thousand years. What could you possibly want? You broken human.
Dark, caught between urgency and the surreal reality of conversing with a being of legend, explains his plight. His words, a mix of hope and desperation, hang heavily in the hellish air.
Ningin's reaction is one of incredulous annoyance, his light facepalm breaking the momentary tension, a gesture so human, yet so out of place in this realm.
Ningin, his voice dripping with sarcasm, chastises Dark.
Ningin: You could've just kneeled and spoken. That would've kept me asleep, but I would have answered.
Dark's response is defiant, a testament to his unyielding spirit.
Dark: Sorry, I don't kneel.
The air vibrates with Ningin's fury as he launches into a zigzag assault, a blur of motion that defies the eyes and the camera's attempt to follow. His movement, a chaotic dance of shadows, leaves Dark grappling to keep up, the fear palpable as Ningin's form flickers from one side to another.
Then, in a moment that seems suspended in time, Ningin halts, his body angled in a predatory lean towards Dark's exposed stomach. The punch that follows is a cataclysm, shattering ribs and tearing through Dark's defenses, the sound of breaking bone reverberating through the hellscape.
Dark, reeling from the impact, finds himself airborne, the ground a distant memory. Ningin, relentless, propels himself upwards, his fists a storm of fury, each hit a thunderclap that resonates through the void. Dark, battered by the onslaught, is tossed like a ragdoll, his thoughts a whirlwind of disbelief and pain.
Dark: (thinking) I can't fight back... just what is this power...
Buffeted by an unrelenting storm of blows, Dark finds himself caught in a merciless maelstrom, each hit from Ningin threatening to be his last. Suspended helplessly in a space where direction loses meaning, Dark's mind races for a solution, a way to withstand this overwhelming force.
Dark: (thinking) Soon, one of these hits will kill me...
He grapples with the reality of his situation, searching desperately for a strategy, a sliver of hope.
Dark: (thinking) What am I supposed to do?
The sheer magnitude of Ningin's power forces Dark to question everything he knows about strength and resilience.
Dark: (thinking) To fight such a being?... His force and raw strength easily outmatch mine.
As doubts and fears swirl within him, Dark contemplates the true nature of his adversary.
Dark: (thinking) Could this being... possibly be the true and one and only devil? The first devil ever? Or is he something even more powerful and potent than the devil?
In a moment of eerie calm, Ningin halts his assault, hovering ominously above Dark. The camera zooms in, capturing this chilling tableau: Ningin, a figure of sheer dominance, poised above Dark, the embodiment of vulnerability. Then, with a movement that seems to draw upon the very essence of destruction, Ningin raises his arms and delivers a cataclysmic blow to Dark's back.
The impact resonates with a force beyond comprehension, sending Dark hurtling towards the ground with such velocity that the impact fractures the fabric of hell itself, creating a spiderweb of cracks that radiate outward, testament to the devastating power of the strike.
As dust and debris fill the air, Ningin lands gracefully near Dark, his presence a dark monument in the now eerily silent aftermath of his wrath. The camera lingers on this scene, the broken form of Dark lying amidst the shattered landscape of hell, a stark reminder of the brutal reality of power and its consequences.
Ningin, standing amidst the wreckage of his own making, gazes down at Dark with a mix of disdain and a peculiar form of respect. His voice carries both a taunt and a lament.
Ningin: Dark, only if you were faster.
He pauses, his tone shifting to something more reflective, more knowing.
Ningin: I know who you are, and what you once had within your soul. Sukojo.
Ningin's critique is sharp, pinpointing Dark's fatal flaw with surgical precision.
Ningin: On top of that, I know damn right if you were faster, just a bit and had a lot more reaction speed, you would've at least done something.
With a sigh, Ningin acknowledges the futility of their encounter.
Ningin: But it's pointless now, your spine is shattered, your rib cage is broken, there's no way you could possibly get up or heal yourself up now. You couldn't possibly bestow the Heavenly Heart. An ability that could heal you within a mere moment no matter how close to death you are.
Ningin's next gesture, one of casual dismissal, belies the gravity of his prognosis.
Ningin: You have around two minutes before you die since I attacked you so fast to the point where even your lungs don't realize that you can't breathe anymore.
With those final words, Ningin turns his back on Dark, stepping through the portal Dark had used, his intentions clear and ominous.
Ningin: Well enough talking for me. I'm going to go walk through the same portal you walked in and conquer the over-world while your dumbass lays dead in my world.
As Ningin strides through the portal, the camera ascends, capturing his departure into the unknown, leaving behind a realm marred by his wrath.
The scene shifts dramatically as Ningin emerges into the human world. The contrast is immediate; his armor sizzles, an audible testament to the sun's unforgiving blaze. The desert's vast, barren landscape stretches endlessly, a sea of sand under a merciless sun.
Ningin, his voice a mix of surprise and irritation, notes the discomfort.
Ningin: After a whole eleven thousand years of me sleeping in a literal statue, I'm finally out. Why is my armor burning? There's no way the sun's heat has gotten even worse than before.
Undeterred, Ningin continues forward, his path leading him to an ancient city "Thalareum". The city stands as a relic of time, its architecture a blend of ancient stone and timeless design, buildings carved from the earth itself, their facades adorned with symbols and scripts of a bygone era.
As Ningin enters, his laughter reverberates, a sound of power and impending doom. The citizens, adorned in traditional garb that speaks to their heritage, robes of earthy tones, accented with the vibrant colors of the desert flowers, their attire as much a part of their identity as the city they inhabit, pause to stare. Their expressions, a mix of curiosity and concern, mirror the anomaly of Ningin's presence, an otherworldly force in their midst, promising change, or destruction.
Ningin's voice resonates with a chilling calm as he observes the bustling life of Thalaraeum, almost with a sense of admiration. Yet, the undercurrent of his words betrays his destructive intent.
Ningin: Ah, this place looks wonderful. So sad to see it crumble down by me.
Assuming a precise and deliberate stance, legs together in a needle-like precision, arms spread in a stark contrast of openness and aggression, he becomes the embodiment of a pending cataclysm. His left hand, clenched into a fist near the center, and his right hand extended flat beside it, craft a silhouette of ominous power.
The camera ascends, granting a godlike view of Ningin in the city's heart, a lone figure against the backdrop of unsuspecting life. His declaration, "Korosu Zugi No Tuchi," unfurls a maelstrom of power. A circle of red, arcane symbols erupts around him, radiating outwards. This energy, sinister and all-consuming, blankets the city in an instant, the destruction sprawling outwards in a meticulous pattern, akin to a spider's web, ensnaring the city and the desert beyond, marking half the country with the signature of obliteration. The camera zooms out further, capturing the breadth of Ningin's devastating force, a spectacle of power unfathomable and unchecked.Ningin, amidst the ruin he's wrought, smirks with satisfaction, yet hints at further terror.
Ningin: Haha, still not done. Immaculate Style,
Ningin: Dishonored Blow Of Death.
As these words are spoken, the camera narrows on his smirking visage, a prelude to an even more horrifying act. The subsequent pullback reveals an apocalyptic vision as the planet itself seems to crack open, exposing the Earth's core. The cosmic balance is shattered, stars collide in a celestial demolition derby, and the very fabric of reality begins to warp and twist around the Earth.In this moment of absolute chaos, Sojo, the Guardian Of Existence, materializes. His arrival, marked by a deliberate and powerful gesture, signals an intention to undo the irreversible.
Sojo: Cursed Technique, Time Reverse.
Time itself bends to his will, rewinding to the moment before Ningin's second cataclysmic attack, leaving the memory of destruction a ghost of what could have been.
Ningin, sensing the alteration, expresses confusion and frustration.
Ningin: Eh? Why does it feel like time has been rewinded? No matter, now I just need to find Japan, where it all started.
The narrative ascends, transitioning through a celestial tableau into Japan. The scene settles on a country of vibrant contrasts and deep tradition. The sprawling metropolis of Tokyo buzzes with energy, its neon jungles and towering skyscrapers a testament to modern innovation. Kyoto offers a peaceful counterpoint, its historic temples and tranquil gardens whispering stories of the past. The majestic Mount Fuji watches over the land, its presence a constant through the ages. Far south, the tropical serenity of Okinawa beckons with its clear waters and sandy shores. Japan stands ready, a stage set for Ningin's next act, unaware of the shadow that approaches.
As Ningin steps through the threshold into Japan, his presence is immediately commanding, a stark contrast to the serene and bustling backdrop of the country. His aura, a tangible force of malevolence and power, flows behind him like an ominous cape, trailing in the wind. From the back of his head, a longer, distinct trail of aura unfurls, mimicking the appearance of ethereal hair but made entirely of energy.
It adds an otherworldly elegance to his menacing silhouette.
Through the visor of his imposing armor, a piercing white glow emanates, the only indication of the eyes beneath. This glow serves as a beacon of his otherness, a lone figure of dread amidst the unsuspecting peace of the landscape.
As Ningin moves, the environment responds. The wind shifts, whispering warnings to those who pay heed, while the very air seems to recoil, as if trying to distance itself from his dark energy. The ground underfoot whispers tales of ancient battles and foreboding, recognizing the tread of a being whose very essence is woven with the threads of destruction and conquest.
His every step towards the heart of Japan is a countdown to an inevitable clash between the guardian of existence and the harbinger of chaos, setting the stage for a confrontation that could alter the fate of both the physical and spiritual worlds.
Amidst the bustling crowd, Ningin's gaze sweeps over the sea of faces, each one a story untold, their expressions show confusion. Within this kaleidoscope of humanity, something stirs within him, a dark impulse, perhaps, or a mission known only to him. With a grace that belies the gravity of his intentions, he reaches for the sword sheathed upon his back. The metal sings as it's drawn, a chilling prelude to what's to come.
In one fluid, hauntingly beautiful motion, Ningin flourishes his sword, its blade catching the light in a menacing glint. The crowd remains oblivious to the danger, caught up in the mundanity of their passage, until Ningin's hand finds its target. With a swift, decisive movement, he pulls one unsuspecting soul from the throng, a choice seemingly made at random, and thrusts his sword forward. The blade pierces through, emerging on the other side with a stark finality, a violent bloom of red marring the scene.
Ningin: Your soul is mine.
As Ningin speaks his dominion over souls, a wave of terror sweeps through the bystanders, transforming the scene into a frenzy of fear. Amidst the chaos, a singular figure emerges, against the backdrop of scrambling humanity, a cowboy, an echo from a bygone era, moving with purpose through the crowd. His attire speaks of the Wild West, with a revolver poised at his waist and a hat casting shadows over his eyes, while a cigarette, clutched between his teeth, trails smoke in his wake.
Ningin, upon noticing this anomaly amidst the pandemonium, can't hide his bemusement.
Ningin: Eh? What the heck is that?
His laughter, a blend of surprise and disdain, cuts through the air, marking the cowboy's approach not as a threat, but as an oddity in Ningin's eyes, a moment of levity in the grim proceedings.
As the cowboy, revealed to be Shinryu, continues his steady approach, his first words to Ningin carry a weight that momentarily stills the air around them.
Shinryu: Ningin No Korosu.
Ningin's response is a mix of incredulity and challenge, his demeanor oscillating between curiosity and disdain.
Ningin: Who the hell are youuuu??!!!
Without hesitation, Shinryu introduces himself, his name resonating with a power that seems to transcend the known cosmos.
Shinryu: Shinryu, the One that goes beyond a Cosmic God.
Ningin's reaction is a derisive scoff, unable to conceal his skepticism.
Ningin: Pffttt. Who?
Undeterred by Ningin's mockery, Shinryu advances, closing the distance between them. Ningin's attention, however, is quickly captured by the distinctive weapon at Shinryu's waist—a revolver that seems out of place yet ominously significant in this confrontation.
Ningin, curiosity piqued, questions the nature of Shinryu's armament.
Ningin: What in the actual name of weapons, is that weapon you have?
Shinryu acknowledges Ningin's inquiry with a gesture towards his revolver, an item of mysterious origins and capabilities.
Shinryu: This?
Ningin acknowledges Shinryu's claim with a nod, intrigued by the mention of such a unique and powerful weapon.
Shinryu, sensing Ningin's interest, reveals more about the revolver's origins, adding layers to its mystique.
Shinryu: It's the Cosmos Revolver.
Curiosity piqued, Ningin delves deeper, seeking to uncover the history of such an artifact.
Ningin: Eh? When was that created?
The explanation Shinryu offers not only hints at the age of the revolver but also at its formidable creation process.
Shinryu: The weapon was forged somewhere around 6,400 years ago and it was made by Blood Crystal.
Ningin's reaction is a mix of astonishment and disbelief, the concept of Blood Crystals still existing stirring a sense of incredulity within him.
Ningin: Blood-...Crystal?.... There's no way those crystals are still on earth....
Shinryu counters Ningin's disbelief with a cryptic clarification, suggesting a deeper story behind the revolver's materials.
Shinryu: I did not mention where I got it from though.
Intrigued and seeking answers, Ningin questions the source of such a rare and powerful substance.
Ningin: Where could you, have possibly gotten the Blood Crystals from?
Shinryu's response is brief, yet it carries a weight of implications about his past actions and the realms he's traversed.
Shinryu: Hell.
Ningin, skeptical of Shinryu's claim, asserts his long-standing guardianship over hell, challenging Shinryu's assertion.
Ningin: Don't dare deceive me, I've been vigilantly guarding the depths of hell for over twenty thousand years.
Ningin: And ever since I've resided inside of a literal statue, no one has ever came through the portal between worlds.
Ningin: Other than one person which was like today.
Curiosity piqued, Shinryu inquires about this anomaly, leading Ningin to disclose his recent encounter.
Shinryu: Who was it?
Ningin contemplates the possibility of Shinryu's connection to Dark, revealing the young man's fate.
Ningin: Dark, he looks 20 years old.
Shinryu's reaction to Ningin's admission is swift and intense, his demeanor shifting dramatically.
Shinryu: What did you do to him?
Ningin's response, while nonchalant, reveals the deadly outcome of their encounter.
Ningin: Eh, well, let's just say I killed him.
As Shinryu launches forward in a determined dash, Ningin's superior speed becomes evident. A smirk crosses Ningin's face, a prelude to the impending display of his prowess. Time seems to dilate around them, allowing Ningin to effortlessly catch Shinryu by the shoulder and hurl him upwards with force. As Shinryu ascends, Ningin's laughter fills the air, a sound of confident superiority.
The camera then focuses on Ningin's hand, revealing a significant turn in the duel, Shinryu's revolver now rests securely in Ningin's grip, a trophy of his quick reflexes and strategic acumen.
Shinryu, suspended in mid-air, is left to mentally curse the moment of disadvantage.
Shinryu: (thinking) Tch...when did he manage to take my revolver....?
This moment underscores the vast gap in their abilities and hints at Ningin's cunning, not just as a fighter but as a master of the battlefield's flow, capable of turning an opponent's strengths into vulnerabilities.
As the camera pulls back to capture the scene in its entirety, Ningin, with calculated precision, aims Shinryu's own revolver back at its rightful owner. The tension in the air is palpable, a prelude to the impending clash of forces.
When Ningin pulls the trigger, the resultant blast is not just a discharge of a bullet but a cataclysmic event in its own right. The sound of the gunshot rips through the silence, shattering the sound barrier with such ferocity that it sends a shockwave radiating through the surroundings. The air itself seems to warp and tremble under the force, with the bullet's path marked by a violent, rippling distortion in the atmosphere.
The power behind the shot is monstrous, underscoring the revolver's name—Cosmos Revolver—as it harnesses energies beyond the mundane, energies that resonate with the very fabric of the universe. The impact, when it connects, is not seen but felt, a momentary vacuum created by the sheer velocity and force, before the air rushes back to fill the void, echoing the shot's power across the landscape.
This display of might serves not only as a testament to Ningin's control and strength but also as a grim reminder of the revolver's capabilities when wielded by someone who can tap into its true potential.
Shinryu's descent back to the earth is marked by a grim spectacle. As he hits the ground, the impact sends a macabre spray of blood into the air, painting a stark picture of violence. The camera lingers for a moment on this chilling scene, capturing the consequences of Ningin's overwhelming power.
Ningin's reaction is unsettling; his laughter, initially a sign of triumph, escalates into something more maniacal, more unhinged, echoing through the desolate space around him. But as quickly as it began, the laughter stops, replaced by a cold, determined silence as he resumes his march through Japan.
With each step, Ningin outlines his dark ambitions, his voice devoid of doubt.
Ningin: Once I destroy Japan, I'll go for the entire Asia.
His plans grow ever more grandiose, a chilling promise of further destruction.
Ningin: Once I'm done with that, I'll go for North America, getting annoying.
The statement hangs heavy in the air, a declaration of a path marred by devastation, setting the stage for a conflict that spans continents. Ningin's intentions are clear, his path forward marked by the ambition to bring entire nations to their knees, showcasing a villainy that knows no bounds.
As the scene shifts to the infernal landscapes of hell, the air is heavy with a palpable sense of sorrow. The background is filled with a melancholic theme, the soundscape crafted by the mournful strings of violins, the haunting echoes of a piano, and the distant, somber notes of a cello. This instrumental ensemble weaves a tapestry of despair and loss, perfectly encapsulating the tragedy of Dark's demise.
Amidst this sorrowful atmosphere, demons, curious and cautious, gather around Dark's lifeless form. They probe and inspect, their actions marked by a mixture of interest and reverence. The sudden appearance of a superior demon causes a ripple of confusion among them, prompting them to retreat.
This demon, known as One, exudes an aura of menace and command, a dark figure defined by both the power he wields and the battles he has endured. His armor, a testament to his rank and ferocity, adorns only his right shoulder, a piece so intricately designed it seems to be both a protection and a proclamation of his might. His tail, long and sinuous, ends in a lethal point, emphasizing his predatory nature.
One's fingers, elongated and tipped with nails sharp as daggers, hint at his capability for both precision and brutality. His eyes, glowing a fierce red, pierce through the gloom of hell, reflecting a soul accustomed to the depths of darkness. The sharpness of his teeth, visible behind snarls or commands, promises swift and merciless judgment.
His skin, a shade darker than his demonic brethren, is marked by scars and patterns that tell tales of ancient battles and dark rituals. These markings, along with the sinewy display of his muscular physique, showcase not just his physical strength but also the depth of his connection to the dark powers he commands.
One carries Dark to a specific spot within hell, a place marked for rituals or significant events. The ground here is inscribed with demonic symbols and patterns, each a complex sigil that speaks of old, dark magic. These symbols, glowing faintly with an otherworldly light, form a circle filled with intricate patterns that seem to move and shift, alive with malevolent energy.
With a grace that belies his formidable size, One leaps, demonstrating agility and strength that contradict the hellish gravity. Landing atop a designated area, he gently places Dark's body within the circle, the symbols around them beginning to pulsate with a sinister light, signaling the beginning of something ancient and forbidden.
One's voice fills the air, a sinister cadence of sounds that resonate with the power of ancient darkness. His incantation, "Ge Jo Zor Du Te Ha," weaves through the air, imbued with energies beyond mortal comprehension.
As he speaks, a vivid red demonic aura emanates from One, flowing towards Dark in a stream of otherworldly energy. This spectacle, mesmerizing in its ominous beauty, suggests a transfer of power, a ritual of revival, or perhaps something entirely different—mysterious and arcane.
Suddenly, Dark's eyes snap open, revealing irises transformed by the ritual. His left eye burns with a brilliant red light, a beacon of infernal power, while his right eye contrasts starkly, glowing a bright white tinged with darkness. The transformation marks him, signifying a change not just physical but perhaps also spiritual.
Dark, caught in the throes of awakening, flinches, his actions betraying a mix of confusion and awe. As his gaze meets One's, a sharp intake of breath marks his shock, an instinctual reaction to the formidable figure before him.
Attempting to bridge the gap between them, Dark reaches out his hand in a gesture of gratitude and solidarity. However, One's reaction is one of cold superiority, his expression unmoved, almost disgusted by the presumption of equality. This silent rebuke forces Dark to retract his hand, a physical withdrawal from the rejection.
Now, as Dark speaks, his voice carries a new quality, a demonic resonance that hints at the profound changes he has undergone.
Dark: Thanks for helping me, I feel no pain.
His words, tinged with this newfound power, suggest that Dark's revival by One has left him altered in fundamental ways, setting the stage for a journey that promises to explore the depths of his transformation and the consequences it may bear.
Dark feels the surge of newfound power coursing through his veins, noting the transformation that has altered both his voice and his physical capabilities. He acknowledges this with a mix of surprise and gratitude.
Dark: Hoohh? My voice has changed as well alongside the amount of power and strength that's overflowing my body. Thanks to you, demon guy.
One, standing as a figure of immense power and authority, introduces himself, outlining his position and hinting at the complexities of the infernal hierarchy.
One: My name is One, the Emperor's Right Hand Man. The person you were fighting with earlier is Ningin, top 5 in ranks. I'm 2nd.
He proceeds to share insights into Ningin's character—a being of unique power and temperament, quick to irritation and wrath, presenting a volatile and unpredictable force.
One: Ningin is quite a special one of a kind, he gets mad and annoyed easily to the slightest degree, even if you ask or tell him something seriously he could get mad.
One then presents Dark with an offer, a chance to ascend beyond his current state, to embrace power and position within their ranks, even offering to make Dark his assistant, a proposition that brings Dark's values and aspirations into question.
One: No matter, I have an offer for you. Become one of us and you will gain even greater strength and power than you could ever imagine. On top of that, I'll make you my assistant.
Dark is intrigued by the promise of power but hesitant about the implications of servitude and hierarchy, reflecting his disdain for ranks and his vision for a world free from fear and oppression.
Dark: I agree on the first part, not so much on the second one though. I'm a person that doesn't care about ranks and all of that bullshit. I despise ranks and royalty. I just want to create a world where everyone can have their time and happiness without any fear of losing their lives.
One reacts with a mix of amusement and disdain, contemplating Dark's naive yet noble aspiration. He reminds Dark of his recent defeat at the hands of Ningin, questioning Dark's ability to change the world given his current strength.
One: You just got literally destroyed by Ningin, the Highest Grade of Hell. And you're telling me that you want to change the world? You can't even win a battle against Ningin yet you're telling me that you want to change the world?
Yet, Dark remains undeterred, reaffirming his commitment to his ideals, willing to face any challenge to realize his vision.
Dark: Yes, no matter who I have to fight to achieve that goal, I'll do it.
One, revealing his true intentions, threatens Dark's life, indicating that refusal of his offer equates to a death sentence, drawing a parallel between Dark's fate and that of another historic figure with similar aspirations.
One: Then die here before you leave this place. Here I legitimately just resurrected you from your fate expecting something but in the end, you're just the same as Hero Genjozo, apparently the one that's known as the Kyuketsu Dweller.
Dark, realizing the gravity of his situation, understands the perilous position he finds himself in—a pawn in a greater game, with freedom and life hanging in the balance.
Dark: I get it now...so you basically resurrected me just to make me your puppet? And if I declined, you would kill me? Just like Genjozo?
One's response confirms Dark's suspicion, with a cruel acknowledgment of his intent to eliminate any who oppose his vision.
One: Khakhaa what a smartass, you absolute idiot, of course, I'll kill you if you reject such an offer for a burnt goal.
The scene transitions away from this tense confrontation, shifting to Japan, now a landscape transformed by destruction, resembling the very depths of hell itself, testament to Ningin's wrath and a foreshadowing of challenges yet to come.
As the narrative shifts, we find Ningin positioned ominously in the heart of Asia, the camera zooming in to capture his menacing presence. With a sense of déjà vu, he invokes the same devastating power he wielded before.
Ningin: Korosu Zugi No Tuchi.
The scene abruptly transitions, revealing Dark in a dramatically altered state of victory and consequence. He stands over One, dominance encapsulated by his foot pressed against One's head. Yet, victory has come at a steep price—Dark's right arm is entirely missing, his left arm remains save for a dismembered hand, and his body bears the evidence of a brutal conflict, with cuts and his clothing torn asunder.
Dark, amidst the aftermath of their epic confrontation, poses a question to the vanquished One, his voice carrying a mix of defiance and inquiry.
Dark: So... What am I supposed to be now? Stronger than you? Our fight took something around 52 minutes. Did I show you enough?...
In a moment of tension, One's response is marked by a sudden grasp on Dark's foot, the strength in his grip enough to cause audible bone cracking, signaling that the battle might not be as concluded as it seems.
One: Dark, the half Demi-human fell, emboldened by the Kyuketsu, you stand strong... But again, I am nothing like Ningin, I am also known as the Immortal Demon Prince.
The declaration is a prelude to a swift and forceful retaliation. Dark is sent flying through the air by an unseen force, crashing into a wall with such impact that it radiates out, spider-webbing the structure.
As One rises, dusting off his shoulders in a gesture of dismissal, he reflects on the futility of Dark's ideals with a cold finality.
One: Foul ideal to make such a dream come true.
The camera then shifts perspective, aligning with Dark's vision as he struggles to focus on One. In this vulnerable state, Dark witnesses a manifestation of power that transcends his understanding.
Before One's outstretched hand, a sword begins to materialize, its form coalescing from nothingness. This isn't merely a weapon but a symbol of ultimate power, its blade shimmering with an aura that hints at its origin from beyond the stars. The sword, radiating with a light that seems to pulsate with the heartbeat of the cosmos, is a formidable artifact of destruction, its presence alone enough to alter the balance of power. The aura surrounding it ebbs and flows, a visual testament to its strength, which dwarfs celestial bodies and poses a threat on a cosmic scale.
As One advances towards Dark, the sword fully formed and emanating a power beyond comprehension, the air thickens with anticipation and the gravity of what comes next.
In the aftermath of his proclamation and the devastating display of power, One articulates his vision and the stark choice he presents to Dark.
One: And I must conquer such dream. To you, Dark, who seeks to mend what has been torn asunder, know this... In the grand design, your light but flickers in the face of eternity. Dreams of a brighter world shall wither under my watch, for only those that serve the Emperor's vision shall flourish.
He pauses, allowing the gravity of his words to permeate the air, a momentary reflection before delivering an ultimatum.
One: Stand with us, or be extinguished, for in the end, all will kneel before the cosmos that is our dominion.
The scene shifts dramatically as Dark, impacted by the force of One's earlier attack, struggles to rise from the debris. His face is a mask of blood and his skin marred by burns, yet his resolve remains unbroken. He meets One's gaze, a defiant spirit shining through the visage of defeat.
Dark: You talk too much...for a being that's meant to conquer dreams... You should be more aware of who you are facing... Because even in your opponent's last breath, you could fall for such an easy trap...
With a gesture that carries more than just a hint of defiance, Dark points slightly off to the left of One, directing his attention to something—or someone—behind him.
Dark: Behind you.
One, with a sense of foreboding, turns slowly to face what lies behind him. There, to his astonishment, stands Sukojo, a figure thought to be vanquished, now smirking at the scene before him. The smirk, low and confident, signals a turn of events that One had not anticipated.
Caught off guard and realizing the implications of Sukojo's presence, One's reaction is instinctive—a mixture of shock and a deep-rooted sense of hierarchy within the demonic realms. He kneels before Sukojo, acknowledging his superior status in a world where power dictates order, and unexpected alliances can upend the balance in the blink of an eye. This sudden shift underscores the complex dynamics at play, hinting at deeper plots and the ever-shifting sands of power within the infernal domains.
Sukojo's arrival brings a new dynamic to the confrontation. He addresses Dark with a mixture of surprise and approval, acknowledging his resilience and ability to survive the brutalities of hell.
Sukojo: Oohh? Hello there Dark, so you can survive inside of hell? Good boy.
His attention then shifts to One, who remains on the ground. Sukojo's gaze alone commands authority, a silent, imposing order that brooks no hesitation.
Sukojo: Get up you maggot.
One's reaction is immediate, a mix of fear and reverence as he rises to face his superior.
One: M-my lord... Forgive me if I have gone overboard...
Sukojo's dismissal is curt, a sharp rebuke that cuts through One's attempt at reconciliation.
Sukojo: Shut up.
As Sukojo strides past One, the sheer force of his presence and indifference serves as a devastating blow to One's pride and power, emphasizing the stark hierarchy within their realm.
Approaching Dark, Sukojo's demeanor softens. He acknowledges Dark's valiant efforts in the face of overwhelming odds, offering both commendation and counsel.
Sukojo: You fought well, Dark. Go home, heal your wounds.
His gaze falls upon Dark's grievous injuries, a silent testament to the battle's ferocity. Turning his attention back to One, Sukojo's command is simple yet potent.
Sukojo: Come.
Compelled by Sukojo's command, One is drawn towards him, an invisible force pulling him closer. With swift and decisive action, Sukojo grabs One, demonstrating his immense strength and authority. The impact of his action sends a shockwave through the surroundings, a physical manifestation of his power.
Sukojo then directs a final look towards Dark, a silent acknowledgment of their encounter, before the scene transitions abruptly.
Dark finds himself back in the safety of his bed.
In a stark and desolate landscape, the moon serves as a silent witness to the unfolding drama between two powerful beings. Ningin, with a chilling chuckle, gazes towards Earth, oblivious to the impending confrontation.
Ningin: Tseehheeee.
The silence is shattered by the approach of heavy footsteps, signaling the arrival of someone formidable. Ningin turns, only to find Sukojo, his expression a storm of anger and annoyance, an ominous prelude to the rebuke that follows.
Sukojo's voice thunders across the lunar surface, his fury palpable.
Sukojo: NINGIN!!!
As Ningin submits, lowering himself to the ground, Sukojo's interrogation begins, echoing the gravity of Ningin's actions and their violation of an ancient pact.
Sukojo: WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?? DIDN'T WE AGREE 10,000 YEARS AGO THAT YOU SHOULD NEVER LEAVE THE STATUE NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS?
The physical reprimand is swift and brutal, Sukojo's slap sending Ningin crashing into the lunar dust, a stark reminder of the hierarchy and the consequences of defiance.
Sukojo's admonishment continues, a scathing critique of Ningin's recklessness.
Sukojo: ARE YOU MENTALLY INSANE???
Ningin's response, a declaration of their intrinsic nature, does little to quell Sukojo's wrath.
Ningin: My lord, we are born in hell, we are meant to hurt and destroy everything and everyone in our way.
Sukojo counters, outlining a vision of change and responsibility that transcends their origins, highlighting the evolution from their past to the present.
Sukojo: No, we are not living the way we used to 10,000 years ago, I only became the Devourer Of All. Just to give you demons, devils, and the other ranks peace. You destroyed half of earth in minutes. You think I can't destroy the entire solar system in one move? I'm not as crazy as you are, now go back restore everything to what it was before you left hell.
Ningin acquiesces, acknowledging Sukojo's supremacy with a resigned acceptance.
Ningin: As you wish my lord....
The scene transitions, moving from the cosmic scale of confrontation to a more personal setting. Dark, now fully recovered, lies on his bed, the quiet moment shared with Tier and Cron. Their conversation reveals hints of regret and the weight of untold secrets.
Cron, with a tone of reflection and caution, admits his misjudgment.
Cron: You shouldn't have listened to what I said... And I shouldn't have told you...
Tier, curious and concerned, probes further.
Tier: What did you tell him?...
Cron's admission reveals the complexity and depth of hell's mysteries, only a fraction of which has been disclosed.
Cron: About the depths of hell, but to be surprised, I did not even tell him the other 70% worth of information about hell.
Tier, taken aback, can only respond with a puzzled acknowledgment of the enormity of what remains unsaid.
Tier: Eh?
As the camera ascends, drawing away from the trio and their unresolved tensions, the screen fades to black.
End of chapter 11