A little more than ten years had passed since the Crimson War of Extermination, and in the heart of the Great Star Kingdom's capital, Neptuno, the air thundered with celebration. It was the day of the grand military parade, a festival of triumph designed to remind the world of the empire's supremacy. Fireworks burst across the clear sky in showers of red, white, and gold. Marching bands played triumphant songs, their horns and drums reverberating through the towering avenues. Soldiers in immaculate blue uniforms filled the streets, their boots striking the cobblestones in unison like the heartbeat of a nation.
Crowds gathered on either side of the boulevard. Fathers lifted their children onto their shoulders so the little ones could see. Vendors handed out ribbons and flags emblazoned with the Star Kingdom's crest. Smiles were everywhere. Hands rose in respectful salutes as the blue-clad columns passed. The city basked in patriotic fervor.
Most soldiers returned the cheers with confident smiles and proud chins held high. Yet among their ranks, behind those polished uniforms and choreographed steps, there were eyes that did not shine with pride. Hidden beneath discipline, shame lingered in their gazes. These men had fought in the war that the crowds called glorious. They remembered what the common people did not.
For the citizens of the Great Star Kingdom, the Crimson War had been a grim but necessary struggle, a defensive campaign against a supposedly savage race who, according to propaganda, had plotted to invade their lands and butcher their families. To them, the extermination had been a mercy—an act of protection, justified and righteous.
But those who had marched beneath the burning desert sun, who had seen women and children slaughtered, knew the truth. Only one word captured what had happened to the Crimson People.
Genocide.
The parade continued until, suddenly, murmurs rippled through the crowd. At first it was confusion, then sharp exclamations of shock. Soldiers faltered in their steps as their eyes shifted forward. For there, walking calmly across the immaculate parade route—a street meant to be trodden only by the military—was a lone young man.
The breach of protocol alone was startling, but his appearance was what froze Neptuno in silence. He was strikingly handsome, his figure straight and vital, his aura commanding and fearless. Yet it was his hair and eyes that brought terror. His hair was pure white. His eyes glowed with deep crimson irises.
The color of a dead race.
Whispers turned to shouts as realization spread. It was impossible. The Crimson People had been annihilated, every last soul hunted down. Their extermination had been the very war the parade was celebrating. And yet, here was one of them, striding into the heart of the kingdom.
The young man's pace was unhurried. His steps were measured, purposeful, as if the chaos around him were nothing more than distant noise. Across his back flowed a crimson robe, and on it, embroidered in stark white thread, were two words that seared themselves into the eyes of all who saw.
RED KING.
The air itself seemed to still. Civilians stared in shock, struggling to process the impossible sight. They were the fortunate ones, for they saw only a man. The soldiers felt more. To them, it was as though a natural disaster had walked into their ranks—a force of nature that could not be resisted, that cared nothing for human will. They trembled beneath the weight of his presence.
One young soldier, barely more than a boy, cracked under the pressure. Panic seized him. With trembling hands, he loaded his rifle and fired.
"Boom."
The shot rang out, echoing through the parade ground. The Red King stopped mid-step. But instead of blood, there was silence. The bullet had not struck him. It hovered in the air, suspended less than five centimeters from his temple, caught in some invisible grasp.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Soldiers clutched their weapons tighter. Children screamed.
The Red King reached up and plucked the bullet from the air between two fingers. His expression did not change. He held it aloft, and suddenly the metal glowed crimson, pulsing like a drop of molten fire.
His gaze fixed on the trembling soldier who had pulled the trigger. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he threw it.
"BOOM!"
The impact was cataclysmic. The glowing bullet became a cannon shell, detonating with a force that ripped through dozens of soldiers. Limbs and armor shattered into gore and debris. The young man who had fired the rifle was obliterated instantly, reduced to ash and fragments.
"AHHHH!"
Screams erupted from the crowd. Civilians shrieked in terror as the gory remains of soldiers littered the parade route. But they had little time to cry.
The Red King knelt and placed his palm against the ground. A crimson glow spread outward, racing across cobblestones and dirt in every direction. Hundreds of meters of earth shimmered with otherworldly light.
That glow was the last thing the people of Neptuno saw. Spikes of jagged stone erupted from the ground, impaling soldiers and civilians alike. Blood gushed onto the parade street, soaking into the crimson glow until it seemed the earth itself was bleeding.
When it was done, silence reigned again. Corpses sprawled across the once-pristine boulevard.
The Red King's expression did not shift. No anger. No grief. No satisfaction. Only emptiness. This was not vengeance—it was inevitability.
Above, the whine of engines pierced the air. Fighter jets roared into the skies, sleek wings cutting through the clouds. The kingdom's military responded in full force. Missiles streaked downward, explosives rained, high-caliber bullets tore the air.
The Red King raised his arms, and the elements themselves answered. Firestorms blazed across the sky. Arcs of lightning lanced through steel. Acidic rain hissed upon armor, melting metal and flesh. Winds howled into hurricanes, hurling aircraft from the sky. The clash became grotesque: military technology against raw supernatural force.
Just as in the Crimson War, one side wielded overwhelming power. And again, there was never any doubt who would prevail.
For fifteen hours, Neptuno burned. The crown jewel of the Great Star Kingdom, a city of fifty-five million souls, renowned for its military might, was reduced to ash and rubble. Towers crumbled. Streets cracked open. The empire's pride became a funeral pyre.
At the end, only two figures remained alive, suspended high above the ruins.
One was silent, his expression unchanging. The other was broken, trembling, and lost to despair.
Sunit the Great, the once-mighty Star King, dangled helplessly, held aloft by the Red King's grip on the back of his neck. His body shook, his strength abandoned him. His lips trembled as he forced words through parched throat.
"Monster…"
The Red King turned his gaze upon him. It was the first word the fallen king had spoken since his capture.
"Monster! Demon! Hellish creature sent to destroy my godly kingdom!" Sunit's voice cracked, rising into madness. The weight of ruin had shattered his mind.
The Red King only shook his head, his voice calm, detached.
"Mysticism and fairy tales—the tools of the weak, of those too small to understand. I was never a demon. I was simply… more."
His words rolled with eerie precision. "Three days after my birth, I could already perceive the world, hear language, understand it. One week later, I spoke fluently, solved mathematics beyond most scholars. I hid it from my parents, for I knew such existence would spark fear."
He lifted his gaze toward the sky. "By my first birthday, I felt the force that permeates this world. By three, I had bent it to my will—fire, earth, lightning, flesh."
Sunit shook his head, tears streaming. "God will punish you. For what you've done… for what you are."
The Red King's gaze remained void of feeling. "And yet you believe your extermination of my people was divine will? You brand me a demon for destroying your kingdom, but see yourself righteous for slaughtering mine." His tone was flat. "You are not only weak. You are a hypocrite."
He loosened his grip.
The Star King screamed as he plummeted from the heavens, his body breaking upon the ruined earth below. Bones shattered, breath ceased. The ruler of the mightiest kingdom was no more.
Ten days before his fifteenth birthday, the Red King destroyed the Great Star Kingdom—the empire that had exterminated the Crimson People.
He hovered in the sky, his gaze sweeping the broken ruins of Neptuno. He understood then: he had become the mightiest being in the world. Yet that knowledge brought him no joy, no solace. Only emptiness.
The night waned, and dawn's light crept across the horizon. The sun rose, gilding the ashes with gold. Its warmth touched his skin, and for the first time in his life, a faint smile graced his lips.
"This world," he whispered, eyes drifting to the endless void above, "is far too small for me."
His gaze lingered on the vast tapestry of stars, and in their distant light, he saw not limits, but horizons yet to conquer.