The rune-carved door thundered shut with a final metallic groan, stone grinding against stone until only silence remained. For one heartbeat, Shinji stared at the glowing seal lines snaking across its surface, his breath ragged, his arm dangling uselessly from threads of tendon.
Then came the whisper.
"Don't blame us," the healer's voice seeped through the crack before the runes flared. Apologetic. Firm. Cruel.
"An E-rank's life is worth less than a B-rank's gear."
Shinji's blood-slicked fingers slapped against the cold stone. "W-Wait—!" His nails scraped uselessly across the glowing sigils. Sparks bit at his skin as the seal locked, cutting him off from the only people he had trusted for three years.
"OPEN IT!" His voice broke, climbing into a jagged scream that echoed in the suffocating dungeon air. "YOU BASTARDS—OPEN—!"
The response was silence. Heavy, absolute.
Behind him, wet breathing. The kind that vibrated in the ribs, deep and animal.
Shinji froze.
The High Orcas were there—hulking silhouettes half-swallowed by shadow, tusks gleaming with saliva, eyes glowing with a hunger that wasn't natural. The stench of rot rolled off them in waves, clogging his throat. Their claws clicked against the stone, slow, savoring.
Shinji pressed his forehead against the sealed door, his teeth rattling as his body shook—not from fear, but from the white-hot rage drilling through his chest.
"Three years," he hissed at the barrier, his voice shredded and raw. "I bled with you, I starved with you… and you shut me out for a piece of fucking armor?"
A guttural snarl filled the air. One of the demons dragged a claw across the wall, stone shrieking under its weight.
Shinji spun, his vision swimming, dagger trembling in his good hand. Blood from his torn arm soaked the floor, tracing jagged lines in the dirt.
The nearest Orca grinned—if the tearing of its mouth could be called that—and licked a tongue across broken tusks.
Shinji's chest heaved. His throat swelled with a scream that wasn't fear, wasn't despair. It was betrayal so deep it poisoned the sound, rotting it into something feral.
And the dungeon walls carried that scream into the dark.
The first Orca lunged.
Its claw split his stomach open like wet parchment.
The claw didn't just tear flesh—it carved through him with a wet rip that sent heat spilling down his legs. Shinji's scream broke into a ragged cough, blood flecking his lips. His knees buckled, slamming against the stone floor, dagger still clutched in his trembling grip.
The High Orca's tusked face lowered until its rancid breath smothered him. Its maw opened wide, drool threading down like ropes of glue.
Shinji swung.
The dagger's blade glanced across its hide—barely a scratch. The steel rang against the demon's hide like brittle tin, the vibration jolting through his wrist until the dagger nearly flew from his grasp.
The Orca laughed. A guttural, piggish snort that rattled deep in its chest, mocking him.
"F-Fuck you," Shinji gasped, forcing himself upright. His torn arm dangled, every motion sending lightning through the frayed tendon. Blood smeared the dagger's hilt, making it slick.
Another shadow moved.
The second Orca swiped. Its claws caught his ribs—he felt bones splinter like twigs, a sick crack echoing louder than his scream. He toppled sideways, coughing wet. His stomach, his chest, his lungs—they weren't even his anymore. Just open wounds spilling across the dungeon floor.
And in that collapsing moment, as the Orcas circled for the kill, his vision blurred. The cold stink of their bodies dissolved into smoke.
He was seven again.
Fire chewed the wooden beams of his village homes. His sister's voice screamed in the distance—high, breaking, begging. His mother's arms wrapped around him, shielding his tiny body as the demons tore into her flesh, her blood spraying across his cheeks.
Shinji's small fingers clutched the hem of her dress. His mother's voice, whispering through sobs, "Don't look, Shinji. Don't look."
But he looked. He always looked.
The memory slammed into him with the force of the Orcas' claws, until past and present bled together. His mother's scream echoed over his own, his sister's crying twisting with his, the stench of burning wood merging with the rot of the dungeon.
Shinji's dagger slipped from his hand, clattering against the stones. His lips formed a whisper, more breath than voice.
"…help… me…"
The Orca's tusks lowered, saliva dripping onto his cheek.
Shinji's body twitched once, then sagged.
The dungeon swallowed him whole.
Silence.
The stench of rot, the heat of blood, the pain in his chest—all gone.
Shinji opened his eyes and saw nothing. Not blackness, not shadow. Nothing. It was as though the world had been stripped away, leaving him suspended in a hollow where even sound had no courage to exist.
His body was gone. He reached for his arm, his ribs, the gaping wound in his stomach—there was no flesh to touch, no breath to choke on. Just a floating self, awareness without weight.
Panic ripped through him harder than the Orcas' claws ever had.
"No—no, I… I can't—" His voice cracked, but even his words were devoured by the emptiness. They scattered, dissolving before they could echo.
Shinji's thoughts spiraled. Is this it? Is this death? Is this where my family went?
Images flared in the void like broken shards of glass. His mother's face, smeared with blood. His sister's hand reaching, then being dragged away. The burning village collapsing in fire.
And over all of it—Zany.
The shadow of a throne carved from writhing bodies, the faceless silhouette of the Demon Lord, a maw dripping with the fear of thousands.
Shinji's awareness trembled. He wanted to scream, but even terror had no voice here. He was sinking deeper, the void tightening around him, pulling him downward into a fathomless abyss.
"This isn't fair…" The words leaked from him, barely existing. "I can't… I can't die yet…"
The nothingness seemed to laugh. Not a sound, but a vibration through the hollow. A mocking resonance, as though even death itself sneered at his plea.
The abyss yawned wide. Shinji's awareness tipped over the edge.
Then—
Light. A thread of silver carved across the void, splitting the darkness in one clean stroke. It swirled, thickened, until it shaped into a hand reaching out toward him.
A voice followed, soft, low, but edged with something ancient.
"Pathetic."
The void shuddered.
Shinji's awareness flared, dragged toward that voice.
And there, stepping through the unraveling dark, stood a woman cloaked in black flame, her eyes gleaming like moons drowned in shadow.
The goddess of death.
The void bent around her. Shadows coiled at her ankles like living chains, writhing and tightening only to dissolve into smoke. Her hair spilled down her shoulders in strands of midnight, yet each strand shimmered with faint starlight as if the night sky itself had been woven into it.
Her eyes—two silver disks, ancient and merciless—fixed on Shinji. He felt them press into him like blades, stripping him bare, leaving no secret untouched.
He floated there, hollow and broken, but words clawed out of him all the same.
"Wh…who are you?"
The woman tilted her head. Her lips barely moved when she spoke.
"I am Hinata. The goddess of death."
The words didn't echo. They didn't need to. They carved themselves directly into him, undeniable.
Shinji's awareness flickered. "Goddess… of… dea—"
"Yes." Her voice cut him off, sharp, final. "You died. And now you stand before me, waiting to be judged." She stepped forward, though there was no ground beneath her feet, only the trembling void. Each step pulled the darkness tighter around Shinji like it feared her.
He tried to protest, his voice cracking. "I—I can't die. Not yet. I still—"
Hinata's gaze sharpened. Her tone was silk laid over steel.
"So you don't want to die? Tell me why."
Shinji's awareness burned like a spark against a hurricane. "I need to save humanity. I have to kill the Demon Lord. I have to—" His words wrenched out raw, desperate. "I have to."
The goddess's expression did not soften. If anything, amusement flickered in her silver eyes, cruel and curious.
"You?" She let the word linger, dripping contempt. "You, who couldn't even kill a High Orca? Who bled out in the dirt while your comrades sealed a door in your face?"
Shinji faltered. Her words cut deeper than claws, sharper than any blade. He wanted to look away, but there was nowhere to turn.
Still—he clenched himself tighter, refusing to collapse. His voice dropped to a low rasp. "Even if I die again… even if I fail a hundred times… I'll kill him. I'll kill Zany. For my mother. For my sister. For every human he's fed on."
For the first time, Hinata's lips curved—not warmth, but a small, sharp smile.
"…Interesting."
The void around them rippled, trembling under the weight of her interest.
"You speak of killing Zany," she murmured, her voice thin as a knife's edge. "Do you even know what you claim?"
Shinji swallowed—though he had no throat here, the sensation burned. "…he's the one who destroyed my village."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Zany was once a god. The underworld's keeper. He was meant to guide the dead, nothing more. But power rotted him. With four companions, he waged war upon the heavens. For two weeks, blood rained on the sky. And when the gods finally struck him down, he was meant to be executed."
She paused, and for the first time, her voice faltered, the faintest thread of guilt woven through the steel.
"I pleaded for his life. And so… he was spared. Banished. Cast down to earth as its protector. But instead, he twisted. He fed on human fear, creating demons from his own soul. His four companions became their generals. And humanity became cattle."
Her words hammered through Shinji like stones. His pulse—if he had one—would have been roaring.
"…Then it's because of you." His voice trembled. "My family died because you let him live."
Hinata's expression didn't change. She accepted the accusation with the same calm certainty she had accepted everything else.
"Yes."
The void shivered. Her cloak shifted, black fire spilling from her shoulders, and in her hand appeared a sphere of burning crimson light. She raised it, and the heat scorched the hollow air.
"I cannot undo my mistake. But I can arm you to correct it."
The sphere cracked, splintered, and exploded into a torrent of flame. Shinji flinched as it tore into him, fire crawling into his chest, his veins, his very bones. His scream tore the void apart.
The flames receded. In their place, a hunger coiled inside him—something feral, gnawing, endless.
"This is Apex Devour," Hinata said, her voice steady over his ragged breathing. "Every demon you kill, you will consume. Their power will become yours. Their strength, their flesh, their very essence—you will take it all."
As she spoke, another shimmer cut the void. A blade appeared—long, silver, with runes etched into its hilt that glowed like fresh blood. The edge thrummed, a low hum that ached in Shinji's teeth just to hear it.
"This," Hinata whispered, "is Azura. A sword that cuts anything—even light. Feed it demon blood, and it will evolve. Fail to master it, and it will break you."
The weapon dropped before him, its weight dragging through the void like an anchor through water. Shinji reached. His fingers brushed the hilt, and pain shot up his arm—like the blade itself rejected him. His teeth clenched, but he held tighter, refusing to let go.
The void answered with silence. Then a single sound:
Hinata's low laugh.
"Good. Then your year begins now. A year of blood, of agony, of breaking yourself until you are nothing but sharpened steel. When you emerge, you will be either the devourer of demons… or nothing at all."
The void swallowed her words. The flame in Shinji's chest roared. The blade pulsed in his grip.
And for the first time since the dungeon, Shinji's eyes widened not in fear, but in something colder.
Resolve.