"Everything is over, angel. That foolish prophecy will never come to pass."
The demon, with a terrifying appearance, raised his hand toward the blood-red sky.
"You will be imprisoned here forever," the demon whispered, "and both the underworld and the heavens will belong entirely to me."
The angel smiled faintly, leaving the demon confused.
"That prophecy will still come true, one way or another. I have already sent someone far into the future. Perhaps we angels lose today, but the day of judgment upon you demons will still be fulfilled."
The angel raised his head, staring directly at the demon.
"Light will never bow to darkness. And all of you will vanish from this world sooner or later."
The demon, irritated, slapped the angel's face hard, snapping his head aside. With cruelty, he gripped the angel's face tightly.
The angel's features were partly hidden by his long white hair.
"Rant all you want, Luemiah. The light has already dimmed. What humans face now is nothing but darkness and fear." Vereemiah shoved the angel's face away.
"Let us end this here," Vereemiah said coldly. He raised his hand toward the heavens, and dark clouds began to gather thickly.
"Farewell, Luemiah. Enjoy the rest of your life as your pain slowly drains away every drop of your life force."
From the skies, massive stone pillars descended rapidly. They struck the ground around Luemiah—left, right, front, and back.
The pillars expanded and fused together, enclosing him. Finally, a cone-shaped stone descended, sealing the angel within. Only a small gap remained, through which Luemiah's eyes caught one last sight—Vereemiah's emotionless face.
The stones locked completely, forming an unbreakable altar, with not even a sliver of light able to penetrate.
Vereemiah turned toward his vast army of thousands, raising his hand triumphantly.
The demons erupted in cheers, celebrating their victory. The light had fallen—truly extinguished from the world.
"The winged insects are gone!" Vereemiah's voice thundered across the battlefield.
"This is the time to conquer the entire world and make it ours!"
But without his knowledge, a faint light rose from within the altar, climbing to its peak.
The light split into three, soaring in different directions.
Vereemiah noticed, briefly puzzled, but dismissed it.
"Begin the invasion," he declared, a wide grin stretching across his face.
Though angels had fallen that day… three lights, three destinies, foretold in prophecy, had already begun.
—Two thousand years later.
Flames consumed homes. People screamed, running in panic, chased by invading demons. The night was chaos incarnate.
War had returned.
In the ruins of a broken home, a little girl wept, clutching the lifeless body of her mother, lying in a pool of blood.
"Mother…" Her voice was weak, drowned out by the cries around her.
"Please… wake up."
Her tiny hand caressed her mother's face gently, tears flooding down her cheeks.
At three o'clock, a demon carrying a weapon caught sight of her.
"T-the girl… she glows. She's a Zhypon. She must be eliminated," the demon hissed. Three others followed, grinning, weapons in hand.
They advanced slowly.
But suddenly, their steps froze. A crushing weight filled the air, suffocating them. Their instincts screamed—this was no ordinary human.
They turned, eyes wide with dread.
A knight approached, dragging a bloodstained sword across the ground.
If they made even the slightest mistake, their lives would be over.
The knight stopped. Confusion flickered in their eyes.
Then his head lifted, revealing glowing crimson eyes. The demons froze.
He raised his sword high, then slashed downward. In an instant, their heads were severed.
The red aura spread, cutting down every demon nearby.
Blood poured like rain. The knight strode forward, slowly approaching the little girl.
He knelt before her, in the filth of blood-soaked soil. The stench was suffocating.
Removing his iron glove, he gently wiped the tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Mother…" the girl whispered hoarsely, her voice broken from endless weeping.
"Mother won't wake up…" she murmured, brushing strands of hair from her mother's face.
The knight folded the woman's hands over her chest, laying her down gently.
Then he reached for the child, lifting her into his arms.
He did not move further. He only stood, holding the girl, staring silently at the corpse. His right fist trembled, clenched tightly in rage.
Days passed. The invasion was over. The land was safe—at least for now.
Morning sunlight spilled across the sky. Far from the settlements, in a wooden cabin, a man was cooking.
His hands moved skillfully—chopping vegetables, slicing meat, stirring in herbs.
The aroma filled the room. On the table, two plates were set, fresh apples decorating the meal.
He washed his hands, then walked toward a small room.
He knocked three times. "I just finished cooking venison. Would you like to join me for breakfast?" he asked softly, kneeling on the wooden floor.
A faint growl echoed. The girl's stomach.
The man chuckled gently and carried her to the table.
The warm scent of food greeted her, drawing her in.
The man—Harres—smiled as her stomach growled again.
He seated her at the table, handing her bread, venison, and water.
"Go on," Harres said kindly. "By the way, what's your name, little one?"
She stayed quiet, poking at the meat with her fork.
"You don't have a name?" Harres asked, chewing his own meal.
"…Aleeora." Her voice was so small it almost vanished. "My name is Aleeora."
"Ah, what a beautiful name. Just like your face," Harres said warmly.
"My name is Harres. Just an old man who still plays at being a knight. Tell me… would you like to hear an ancient story?" He sipped his water.
Aleeora looked up, curiosity sparking in her eyes.
"This story begins two thousand years ago, when angels fought demons. The odds were against the angels. Even allied races fell, one after another. The demons wielded overwhelming darkness. It became the angels' greatest defeat."
He paused, watching her eager gaze.
"The heavens closed, and no angel could come to aid the lone warrior fighting. He was defeated, imprisoned in what is now called the Altar of Sin."
"The… Altar of Sin?" Aleeora whispered.
"Yes. Normally, altars are made by human hands, blessed by gods or angels. But this one was forged with dark incantations straight from a demon's lips. Thus, it was named the Altar of Sin." Harres spooned warm soup into her mouth.
"And then? Is that angel still trapped there?" she asked, her cheeks full.
Harres chuckled softly, wiping her lips with a handkerchief.
"According to legend, the altar still stands. Which means… yes, the angel may still be inside."
"Where is it?" Aleeora pressed, tearing bread to eat.
"At the crossroads of three continents—west, south, and north. Each will give birth to one chosen, destined to save the world."
"The chosen ones?" Aleeora's eyes widened. "They will save us from the demons?"
"Yes. They will lead us to drive them out," Harres replied.
Suddenly, Aleeora stood, determination flashing in her eyes.
"Then… I want to be one of them! I'll drive those demons away!"
Harres laughed gently, waving his hand for her to sit.
"You surely will. I believe in you, one hundred percent." He ruffled her hair with a warm smile.
Aleeora grinned, biting back into her bread.
"Speaking of demons," Harres said, glancing outside. "Would you like to train with the sword?"
Her eyes lit up. "Train with the sword? Yes! I want to!"