The sky was red.
Not the gentle crimson of twilight, nor the warm hue of a fading sunset. It was a deep, endless scarlet — heavy and suffocating, as though the heavens had been wounded long ago and had never healed.
Black clouds drifted slowly across that bleeding sky. They did not move with wind. They simply hovered — watching.
Below, the earth stretched in shades of brown and rust, cracked like ancient pottery left beneath a merciless sun. Rivers flowed across the land, but they were not clear nor blue. They moved thickly, sluggish and red, reflecting the sky above so perfectly that it was impossible to tell where heaven ended and earth began.
The air carried a metallic scent.
This was not a place for the living.
This was the most feared realm among the Three Realms.
Lairois Leipak.
At the center of the wasteland stood a structure eerily familiar.
A Kangla.
But not the sacred Kangla of Meeyoileipak.
This one was grotesque.
Massive rib bones arched upward to form its gates. Thousands of skulls were fused into its outer walls, each locked in eternal silent screams. Vertebrae stacked into pillars. The entire fortress looked less constructed and more… grown.
Inside its boundaries stood a temple.
The structure appeared to be molded from darkened mud, yet upon closer inspection, the surface revealed layers of preserved human flesh stitched together in intricate patterns. Veins traced along the walls like decorative carvings.
The temple pulsed faintly.
Alive.
Footsteps echoed lightly against the hardened earth.
Masa Yaiba Tonin approached without hesitation.
His long hair swayed gently behind him. His expression was calm — almost playful. His eyes, however, reflected ancient patience.
He stopped before the temple's entrance.
"How nostalgic…" he murmured softly. "It hasn't changed."
A voice answered from behind him.
"Are you reminiscing about old wars again, Tonin?"
He turned.
Hingthoileima stood several paces away, framed beneath the crimson sky.
Her four eyes glowed faintly red, aligned perfectly — two above, two below. Her white phanek flowed elegantly around her form, untouched by the heavy atmosphere of the realm. She looked like a moon standing within blood.
Beautiful.
And terrifying.
Tonin placed a hand over his chest theatrically.
"Oh my, Hingthoileima. Must you always appear so silently?"
She ignored the comment.
"Did you summon the others? Our master has fully awakened. After the incident at Challong Hills… his resurrection is complete."
Tonin's smile widened slightly.
"Of course I did. Keiba would never forgive me if I allowed him to miss such an occasion."
Hingthoileima's gaze sharpened.
"And the boy?"
"Lanthaba?" Tonin tilted his head. "He lives."
A pause lingered between them.
"Do you believe," Hingthoileima asked quietly, "that he can surpass our master?"
The question hung heavily in the red air.
Tonin looked toward the blood river in the distance.
"Surpass?" he repeated thoughtfully. "Even if he masters both of his techniques… even if he evolves beyond his limitations…"
He glanced back at her.
"…surpassing our master is impossible."
Her lower eyes narrowed.
"If that impossibility begins to fracture…"
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"I will personally erase him."
Tonin chuckled lightly.
"So devoted."
They began walking toward the Lairois Konung — the inner palace of the realm.
Unlike the outer temple, the Konung was more intricate. Flesh had been layered carefully into architectural precision. Veins intertwined like artistic carvings. The entrance resembled a mouth slightly parted, as if welcoming them inside.
Tonin suddenly paused mid-step.
He sensed something.
Presences.
Multiple.
Old.
Familiar.
He glanced around casually.
Nothing visible.
Then—
A heavy hand slammed onto his shoulder from behind.
"Hehehe… Did you think we would arrive late?"
The voice was rough and filled with mockery.
"Our master has returned. How could we be absent?"
Tonin turned slowly.
"Oh? My dear brother," he said lightly. "Are you feeling lonely again?"
A fist exploded into his face.
The impact cracked through the Konung like thunder.
Tonin's jaw dislocated and hung at an unnatural angle.
The attacker smirked, withdrawing his hand.
"You still talk too much."
Tonin calmly grabbed his jaw and adjusted it back into place with a soft click.
Standing before him was Saru Yaiba Keiba.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. His aura radiated violence. His eyes burned like embers beneath the red sky.
"You haven't changed in a thousand years," Keiba muttered.
Tonin smiled gently.
"Consistency is a virtue."
Before Keiba could strike again—
"My Lords."
Boicha stepped forward from the shadows.
He bowed respectfully.
"Please refrain from unnecessary conflict before our master."
Keiba's gaze shifted sharply.
"You dare instruct me mere mortal human?"
Boicha did not waver.
"I merely request restraint."
The air tightened.
A slow, mocking clap echoed from the darkness.
"How entertaining."
Another figure emerged.
Lord Thangron.
He wore ancient Meitei warrior attire. Two thang swords rested across his back. His eyes were completely black — void-like and unreadable.
"You brothers still behave like children," Thangron said coldly.
Keiba clicked his tongue.
"At least I am honest about my hostility."
Before the tension escalated further—
The walls of the Konung pulsed violently.
Hingthoileima immediately lowered her head.
"He is coming."
The temperature dropped sharply.
The blood rivers outside slowed.
Even the black clouds above seemed to freeze.
A presence descended.
Heavy.
Ancient.
Overwhelming.
The four Lairois instinctively knelt.
Footsteps echoed slowly within the chamber.
He stepped forward.
He wore the body of Taiyai Mitamcha.
But his presence was far older than that mortal shell.
His eyes gleamed with immeasurable depth.
"My creations," he said softly.
His voice reverberated unnaturally, as if spoken by multiple layers of existence.
"It has been… a long time."
None dared lift their heads.
"Thousands of years," he continued. "Thousands of years to restore what Tamanglang shattered."
The name echoed like a curse.
His gaze moved toward Hingthoileima.
"Where are Meicha, Kounu, Sora, and Thuichung?"
Her voice remained steady.
"They were slain by the descendants of Thamanglang. Only four of us remain."
Silence.
Then—
A ripple of dark energy spread across the chamber.
"How disappointing."
The flesh walls trembled.
"Even after a millennium… that bloodline continues to interfere."
Keiba clenched his fists.
"We should have eradicated them entirely."
Tonin spoke calmly.
"Master, after Thamanglang wounded you deeply, we were forced into hiding. Kakyen, Thanou Lairen, Uningthou Yong — all fell in battle. The sorcerers of that era were monsters."
The master's expression darkened slightly.
"Yes. They were forged in endless war."
A faint smile returned.
"But this generation…"
He walked slowly between them.
"They focus only on maintaining barriers. They avoid real conflict."
Thangron nodded.
"They have grown comfortable."
The master's eyes gleamed.
"That is their weakness."
He stopped.
"For now… we watch the boy to grow."
Keiba frowned.
"Why nurture a potential threat?"
"Because," the master replied calmly, "we need him."
The chamber grew still.
"He possesses two techniques," the master continued. "One inherited from Thangjam Lineage. Other one is from mine."
Tonin smiled faintly.
"E-FLUX."
"Yes."
The master's aura intensified slightly.
"And there is another who carries a fragment of my own technique."
Hingthoileima looked up slightly to Tonin
"You have located them?"
"Not yet," he answered. "But they exist."
He turned toward the entrance of the Konung.
"Once both reach their awakening…"
His voice deepened.
"We will begin."
Keiba grinned.
"Begin what?"
The master's smile stretched.
" I will take my technique by fusing the soul with them."
"We will slaughter the sorcerers."
"Break the barriers separating the Three Realms."
"And reshape existence into something worthy."
Silence followed.
Then he extended his hand.
"Hingthoileima."
She stepped forward immediately.
"Bring me the Khamen Chatpa."
She presented the ceremonial white silk pheijom adorned with intricate purple wooden-block patterns — attire once reserved for kings and honored elites.
The master took it slowly.
"It is time," he said softly, "to remind the world of true sorcery."
Outside—
The red sky pulsed once.
Far away, in Meeyoileipak—
The moon flickered.
And beneath it—
Lanthaba stirred in his sleep.
Unaware.
That his growth…
Was part of a plan.