PROLOGUE — THE DAY THE GAP SCREAMED
The Dimensional Gap had always been a wound. Not a place, not a void, but a pressure—an absence screaming under the weight of too many worlds brushing past one another. It existed to separate realities, to ensure that causality did not bleed, that gods remained confined to their own heavens.
That day, it failed.
Trehexa was dying.
The beast's body—vast beyond scale, armored in annihilation, its presence alone corroding reality—was already coming apart. Entire segments of its form had been burned away, reduced to drifting fragments of impossible flesh and collapsing law. Each wound leaked ruin. Each breath warped space.
And still, it laughed.
Before it stood Issei Hyoudou.
No—stood was the wrong word.
He hovered, suspended within the ruin, crimson and gold light bleeding from a body no longer fully human. He looked no older than twenty—twenty-one at most—but the weight in his eyes belonged to something ancient. His form had been reforged long ago, rebuilt from the flesh of Great Red, saturated with the infinite power of Ophis, and now resonating with the dying essence of something that should never have existed.
His body was a convergence. His soul was a ledger. His presence bent the Gap around him.
Boosted Gear was no longer a weapon—it was an extension of causality itself. Its power did not escalate anymore. It asserted.
This was not a fight for survival.
This was an execution.
Trehexa—designed to erase life, designated a god-killer, worshipped by nothing and feared by everything—attempted to flee. The Dimensional Gap twisted as it tried to tear itself open wider, to escape into some uncharted reality where consequence could not follow.
Issei moved.
There was no roar. No shouted name. No desperate final stand.
He simply raised his hand.
The final exchange was not an attack.
It was a collision of authority.
Trehexa unleashed everything—its remaining existence, its corrupted divinity, its instinct to annihilate. The blast was not energy. It was erasure, a forced overwrite of reality itself.
Issei answered in kind.
Dragonfire, divine essence, accumulated data from a thousand battles, and the infinite recursion of Boost all converged into a single, impossible moment. When their powers met, the Dimensional Gap did not shatter.
It ceased.
A section of it—entire, absolute—was destroyed.
Worlds screamed.
Reality recoiled.
Trehexa died.
Not dissolved. Not sealed. Killed.
Its remaining essence had nowhere to go.
So it flowed into the only thing capable of containing it.
Issei Hyoudou.
The christening was not gentle.
Trehexa's power—ruin, extinction, the will to end—was stripped of purpose and forced into submission. It burned through Issei's veins, carved itself into his soul, and was absorbed, translated, recorded.
Somewhere beyond perception, something ancient and neutral took note.
The System initialized.
And then—
Issei was hit.
The dying god's final backlash struck him squarely, tearing him from the collapsing Gap and hurling him outward. He did not resist. He did not guard.
He was already exhausted beyond measure.
As consciousness slipped, his body became a projectile—punched through layers of reality, skipping across dimensions like a stone across water. Worlds flashed by in broken fragments: steel and sorcery, titans and gods, laughter, war, neon skies, endless battlefields.
None of it mattered.
Time fractured around him.
Behind him, the DxD world reeled.
Trehexa was gone. The Dimensional Gap scarred. And Issei Hyoudou—Third Dragon God, protector of humanity, the monster who stood between extinction and survival—had vanished.
They searched.
Devils. Angels. Fallen. Dragons. Gods who had once dismissed him.
Humans learned the truth. They learned who had been standing between them and oblivion. Shrines appeared. Records were rewritten. History bent around his absence.
But he did not return.
Because time, elsewhere, was only just beginning.
GENESIS — BEFORE THE NAME OF THE WORLD
Light descended first.
Then Darkness.
Two beings emerged from the roots of an ancient tree, stepping into a world still raw, still forming. There was no name yet. No history. No balance.
Only potential.
And then—
The sky broke.
A streak of crimson tore through the heavens, screaming like a falling star. It struck the surface with world-shaking force, carving a crater so vast the land itself recoiled. The impact sent shockwaves through creation, rattling the newborn laws of reality.
At the center of the crater lay a body.
Not dead.
Not alive by their standards.
Crimson liquid—thick, luminous, wrong—began to pool around him, seeping from fractures in space itself rather than from flesh. The substance shimmered with memory, power, and something older than either god present.
The God of Light narrowed his gaze.
The God of Darkness smiled.
The being in the crater stirred.
Somewhere, deep within him, a System continued to record.
And for the first time since the beginning—
The gods of this world were not alone.
THE CRIMSON POND STIRS
Consciousness returned slowly.
Issei Hyoudou floated.
Not sinking. Not rising. Suspended within a warm, viscous sea of crimson light. The substance clung to him without resistance, carrying him the way blood carries memory. His thoughts felt heavy, sluggish, as if time itself had thickened around him.
…Partner.
The voice echoed faintly at first.
Partner, wake up.
Issei groaned internally, awareness dragging itself together piece by piece. His senses came online in fragments—pressure, warmth, a low harmonic hum vibrating through his bones.
"D–Ddraig…?" His thoughts felt distant, like they had to travel too far to reach his mouth.
You took a direct backlash from a god-level annihilation event, Ddraig replied, his voice steady but strained. Your body stabilized, but your consciousness drifted. Wake up. Something is watching you.
That did it.
Issei's eyes snapped open.
Above him was a sky—vast, blue, untouched by war or contrails. A sun hung high, brilliant and young, its light unfiltered by pollution or divine barriers. Below him, the crimson liquid rippled gently as he shifted.
He pushed himself upright.
The liquid parted effortlessly, clinging to him for a moment before receding, leaving his body dry and whole. He staggered slightly as his feet touched solid ground, dizziness washing over him in a slow wave.
"…Where the hell am I?"
He looked around.
Trees stretched upward in quiet abundance, their leaves untouched by blight or fear. Mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks sharp and pristine, humming faintly—as if resonating with something beneath the surface. The land itself felt… alive, but unclaimed. No roads. No ruins. No scars.
Then he felt it.
Presence.
Issei turned.
Two figures stood several dozen meters away.
One was bathed entirely in light—brilliant, warm, blinding without being harsh. The other was wrapped in darkness—not shadow, but absence, a depth that swallowed detail and spat out silence. Neither had faces. Neither had features. They were not humanoid so much as ideas given form.
And they were staring at him.
Issei straightened, towering over them. Even without his armor, even without his wings, he felt… bigger. Not physically alone—but existentially.
"…Okay," he muttered. "That's new."
He took a breath, steadying himself, and spoke.
"Where am I?"
Silence.
"Who are you two?"
The light flickered. The darkness shifted.
"And," he added, voice firm, "how do I get home?"
The being of light moved first. Its radiance dimmed slightly, as if focusing.
"We do not know who you are, stranger," it said, its voice calm but uncertain. "Nor from where you came. You fell from the sky in a crimson explosion and carved this land open."
Issei blinked and glanced over his shoulder.
Behind him lay the crater.
At its center: the crimson pond.
He walked toward it slowly, kneeling at its edge. The liquid pulsed faintly, reacting to his proximity. Curious, cautious, he dipped a finger into it.
The reaction was immediate.
The world answered him.
Trees across the land flared crimson at their veins, glowing like living circuitry. The mountains groaned, a deep harmonic vibration rolling through stone and sky. The ground trembled—not violently, but acknowledging.
Crystals erupted from the earth in jagged, beautiful formations—scarlet, gold, and obsidian, humming with raw potential.
Behind him, the being of darkness laughed.
Not cruelly.
Amused. Confused. Delighted.
"Your power is strong," it said. "We sense a dragon within you. Those should not exist."
Issei turned slowly, eyes narrowing—not in hostility, but surprise.
"…You know of dragons?"
The answer came not in words.
Light exploded outward.
Darkness expanded.
The two beings shifted, forms unraveling and reforming as something older and truer asserted itself.
The being of light became a massive, wingless dragon—long and serpentine, its body sleek and radiant, scales like polished ivory and gold. It coiled gracefully, eyes burning with curiosity.
The being of darkness became a towering western dragon—four powerful legs, vast wings unfurling with a thunderous snap, obsidian scales crawling down its body like living night. Horns crowned its head, jagged and proud.
Issei stared.
Then he smiled.
"…Never thought I'd meet other dragons."
He straightened fully now, presence flaring unconsciously. "Then you must know how to send me back to my world."
The dragons exchanged a glance.
"What world?" the light dragon asked.
"This is all we know," the dark dragon added. "This land. This sky. We woke here as well."
Issei exhaled slowly.
"…Figures."
THE AGE BEFORE AGES
They walked.
Not as enemies. Not as allies. Just three beings trying to understand existence.
The world was barren. Vast. Silent. No humans. No Grimm. No cities. Just raw creation waiting for direction.
"These two are… strange," Ddraig murmured within Issei's mind. "They possess divine authority but lack refinement. They do not understand their power."
Issei nodded faintly.
Twenty years passed.
Or perhaps they didn't. Time had little meaning then.
They separated, wandered, observed.
When they reconvened, they spoke of creation.
The light dragon spoke of humans—fragile, fleeting, full of potential. Issei listened, astonished.
"I was once human," he said quietly.
Both dragons froze.
"Impossible," the light dragon said. "No human should reach your level."
"In my world," Issei replied, "humans grow through perseverance. Through struggle. Through fighting things they shouldn't be able to survive."
As he spoke, the crimson pond pulsed again.
Power stirred.
The concepts of Great Red, Ophis, and Trehexa resonated—memory, infinity, extinction—coiling together within him.
So he told them everything.
Of gods who died. Of worlds that burned. Of dragons as concepts given flesh. Of humanity standing against impossible odds.
The dark dragon listened… and grew quiet.
Later, it spoke of its own creations.
Creatures born of fear. Of despair. Of hunger.
Grimm.
They hunted the light dragon's humans.
Tension rose.
Issei tried to mediate.
It failed.
So he did what he knew.
He fought them.
Not to kill.
Not to dominate.
But to teach.
When it ended, both gods lay still, humbled—not broken.
"You are brothers," Issei said simply. "And no matter your differences, you protect what you create. Together."
Magic filled the world then.
Stronger than it would ever be again.
They parted.
THE DRAGON SANCTUARY
Issei stayed.
He guarded the crimson pond, though he did not yet know why.
Then it clicked.
"This is dragon blood," he murmured one day. "Not flesh. Not mana. Conceptual lifeblood."
Dragons were born.
Fire. Time. Stone. Storm. Memory.
The sanctuary grew—an ecosystem radiating power and peace. Grimm avoided it instinctively. Fear could not root there.
Some dragons left.
Some died.
Grimm that consumed them evolved.
Humans who hunted them gained strength.
Issei raged—but learned.
Not all creation could be protected.
Some dragons remained eternal.
Some faded into legend.
Few ever saw Issei's true form.
Those who did spoke of a crimson-metal dragon so vast it could coil around the world twice over.
They called him many things.
But history would remember one.
The Red God Emperor.
THE AGE BEGINS
Kingdoms rose.
Humans worshiped the God of Light.
They feared the God of Darkness.
Grimm warred endlessly.
And somewhere in the world, a man named Ozma climbed a tower to save a dying woman named Salem.
Issei watched.
He saw kindness.
He saw potential.
He followed—but did not interfere.
Not yet…