After defeating the Fire Demon King, Robin, the Dark Soldier, continued to expand his peaceful empire, binding the lands of his defeated foe to his own and bringing stability to a once- fractured world. His power, now a fusion of his own elemental magic and the ancient artifacts of the old demon king, was unparalleled. He ruled over half the known world, a single sovereign over both mortal and demon. But peace is a fragile thing, and a new threat was gathering in the shadows. From the corners of the realm, a council of eleven powerful beings, calling themselves the "Bishops", emerged. They were not demons or mortals, but something else entirely-soldiers of a forgotten, divine order. They saw Robin not as a benevolent ruler, but as a blasphemous union of light and dark, a corruption of the natural order that had to be cleansed. Each of the eleven wielded god- level power, and together, they were an unstoppable force. The Bishops attack was swift and brutal. They bypassed Robin's outer defenses, teleporting directly into the heart of his capital city. Their power was unlike anything Robin had ever encountered. Where the Fire Demon King's magic was a chaotic, destructive force, the Bishop's power was pure, focused and utterly divine. It was a holy light that burned away not just flesh, but magic itself. Robin met them on the steps of his obsidian palace, his army of loyal demon and mortal soldiers clashing with the Bishop's summoned legion of celestial warriors. But the Bishops themselves were the real threat. They moved with the speed of thought, their weapons glowing with an ethereal light that ripped thought Robin's defenses as if they were made of paper. The dark soldier fought with his might, the immense power of the ancient artifacts roaring within him, but for every Bishop he engaged, two more would strike him from another direction.
The fight was a blur of searing light and agonizing pain. His new, all-encompassing power was being nullified, drained, and torn apart by the Bishop's holy attacks. He was pushed back, his armor cracking, his body bruised and burned by a fire far hotter than any flame. His soldiers no matter how brave, were falling in droves. He watched in horror as a Bishop with a shimmering spear cut a swath through his most elite warriors, their bodies disintegrating into dust.
He was losing. The cold hand of defeat, which he had felt just before his victory over the fire Demon King, now gripped him with a chilling finality. His vision began to blur, his strength waning with every blow. He could feel his life force ebbing away, the raw power within him unable to fully manifest against the Bishop's divine assault.
As the eleven closed in for the killing blow, a final, desperate thought flashed through his mind. He wasn't just fighting for himself anymore.; he was fighting for the peace he had built, for the people who believed in him. He had to survive. Gathering every last ounce of his remaining power, he unleashed a single, concentrated burst of energy, not as an attack, but as a distraction. The blast was just enough to force the Bishops to momentarily shield themselves. In that split second of vulnerability. In that split second of vulnerability, Robin focused all of his will on a single act: survival. He wasn't strong enough to win, but he was strong enough to escape. With a final, explosive surge of the old demon king's power, he tore a hole in the very fabric of reality and teleported away, vanishing from the battlefield as his palace crumbled behind him.
He reappeared in a place far from his empire, a desolate and forgotten corner of the world. He was alone, broken, and defeated. His kingdom was lost, his army scattered, and his body was a roadmap of near-fatal wounds. The Bishops had won. Now, the dark soldier was a fugitive a legend whispered not just in reverence, but in fear. The question was no longer how he would rule, but how he would survive.