The sky bloomed in violent shades of orange and gold as dawn crept over the horizon, but beneath that gentle light, the air was choked with the sound of grunts and the shriek of steel.
The Six Devils had descended upon the Great Kingdom of Mages. And they had left nothing standing.
Bodies lay where they fell in a macabre tableau of defeat. Streets were cracked and scorched by runaway mana; the once-proud spires of the academy leaned like broken pillars against a dying sky. When the slaughter was finally complete, the Six regrouped in the central courtyard.
Their blades dripped with fresh crimson. Their clothes were torn and scorched, their faces marked with the soot and sweat of a total massacre. Before them sat a mountain of spoils: grimoires stacked in a towering monolith, enchanted weapons gleaming with a faint, dying pulse, and potions arranged in the center like colorful jewels.
Reia crouched immediately beside the glass vials, rummaging through them with the manic glee of a child in a candy shop. She lifted a glowing purple potion to her cheek, hugging it close. "Oh, this one," she squealed, her eyes sparkling. "I can sense so much power radiating from it!"
Yajin sheathed his blade with a sharp, final click. "Potions are for the weak," he said flatly. "What we really need is an army worth leading."
"And yet we cannot find a single group capable of surviving even two exchanges with any of us," Uzak'me added, casually brushing the dust from his pristine white-and-gold cloak.
Nearby, Eiden sat cross-legged on the blood-stained earth, his Infinite Grimoire open before him. One by one, he lifted the stolen books from the pile and pressed them to his own. Each time, the pages of his grimoire multiplied—absorbing, merging, and expanding.
Page after page. Book after book. Knowledge after knowledge.
By the time the pile was gone, Eiden closed the heavy tome with a soft, resonant thud. "A total of three hundred new grimoires," he said quietly.
Reia rolled her eyes, still clutching her purple vial. "Jeez, does he ever get over his obsession with collecting books?"
Eiden didn't look up. "Do you ever get over your obsession with glass bottles?"
Reia hugged the potion tighter, sighing dramatically. "Never."
Days bled into weeks, and weeks into months. The Six Devils carved their names into the marrow of history through a relentless campaign of ruin—kingdoms toppled, armies shattered, and rulers erased.
One night, they stormed the citadel of the most powerful king of the era.
"Please! Spare me!" the king cried, stumbling backward toward his throne.
Uzak'me stepped forward, silver spear in hand. A single motion. A single breath. And the king fell.
"Gods, it's the Six Devils! Run!" a maid screamed, dragging her companion toward the service tunnels. Reia blurred forward, her blade flashing once in the dim light. The sound of fleeing footsteps stopped instantly.
"How boring," she muttered, flicking a stray lock of hair from her face.
Civilar entered the throne room and claimed the king's seat, leaning back as if testing the comfort of the obsidian. His expression was a blank, unreadable void as he ran a massive hand along the carved armrest.
Eiden, meanwhile, wandered into the castle's grand library—a hall where grimoires stretched from the floor to the vaulted ceiling. He began his work again. One by one, he merged the volumes into his Infinite Grimoire. Pages multiplied. Knowledge expanded. Power deepened.
When he finished, he exhaled a breath of cold air. "A total of four thousand grimoires." He clipped the book to his waist.
Uzak'me was leaning against the library doorway, arms crossed over his chest. "Feel happy now that you've got your hands on the new grimoires?"
"Yes," Eiden replied simply.
A heavy silence settled between them. Uzak'me stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Eiden's neck and pulling him close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"You know… I heard what you and Ou'weii said a few nights ago." Eiden didn't flinch. "I want in," Uzak'me whispered.
Eiden nodded slowly. "All right. But that means you'll have to play the role of my enemy once the time comes. Soon, I will separate from the group. We will be declared foes. I'll fight you, while Civilar, Yajin, and Reia watch from the shadows."
Uzak'me's eyes sharpened. "And then?"
"We fake our deaths," Eiden said. "We make it look like a mutual kill—a draw. We both need to find a way to reincarnate, to ensure our souls find their way back to our bodies. Someone will likely claim our remains; we will have to find them."
Uzak'me nodded. "And after that?"
"You go into hiding," Eiden said. "Make no contact with the rest of the Celestials—they are not good people. You disappear until the moment is right."
Uzak'me smiled warmly. "Loud and clear."
Night fell over the conquered castle. The Six Devils slept—all except Eiden, Ou'weii, and Uzak'me.
The three sat in the library behind locked doors, a single lantern illuminating the table between them. Ou'weii leaned forward, his red eyes reflecting the flame. "So… he'll be helping us defeat Civilar?"
Eiden nodded. "Correct."
Ou'weii exhaled, the weight of the plan settling on him. "Faking your deaths and playing at enemies will be difficult. But Eiden… I don't think you should face him alone when that time comes. I guarantee that in the future—after your battle with Uzak'me—you will become a new man. A new mindset. A new you."
He pointed a finger at Eiden's chest. "And during that time, I believe you will finally become a god. Just as you dreamed."
Uzak'me nodded in agreement. "And we'll do whatever it takes to get you to that goal. As long as you have a plan set. A plan so specific and far-reaching that not even the gods can predict it."
Eiden went still. His eyes lowered, then widened, then sharpened into points of lethal focus.
A plan formed in his mind—perfect, impossible, and inevitable. A plan that would span thousands of years. A plan that would reshape the very foundations of reality.
A plan that would make him a god.