Chapter 0: The Darkest Age
The world remembered that day as the Opening of the First Gate.
It appeared without warning, a black rift in the skies above the desert plains of the Eagle Federation. From its abyssal maw poured creatures that defied description. Horned beasts cloaked in fire, winged abominations whose shrieks shattered glass, and armored demons whose mere presence crushed the wills of men.
Humanity had been powerless.
Tanks, jets, and artillery turned to ash beneath the wave of creatures. Soldiers screamed, cities burned, and for the first time in recorded history, humans realized they were no longer the apex predators of their own world.
Then humans awakened.
The first Awakened rose from the ashes, wielding power no less miraculous than the demons themselves. Fire danced in their palms, steel bent at their command, lightning surged through their veins. These powers came to be known as Blessings, and from them, mankind's counterattack began.
The Eagle Federation produced the first generation of elite hunters. The Bear Country fielded titans of ice and steel. The Anglo Kingdom and the Romance Country bred knights and mages worthy of legends.
But none could match the might of the Huaxia Empire.
While others barely survived the Dark Age, the Empire thrived. Their awakened were five times as many as the rest combined, their emperors standing as both sovereigns and divine protectors. To the world, the Empire was not a nation, it was an eternal dynasty.
The year was 2061. Forty years had passed since the first gate opened, and the war still raged.
And on a battlefield torn by hellfire and despair, one man stood before the throne of the Demon King.
The sky was a canvas of blood and thunder. Ash rained down like snow, coating the shattered earth in gray. A colossal figure sat atop a throne of bone, eyes glowing like suns of crimson. Baal, the Demon King.
His voice was a rumble that shook mountains.
"So, you have come again, little Emperor."
Across the ruined plain, a lone figure walked forward, his white robes torn and blood-soaked, his black hair matted, his violet eyes reflecting only stillness.
He looked almost bored.
Zhen Luochen, Third Prince of the Huaxia Empire, the man who had carried humanity's hopes through ninety-nine lifetimes of failure, stared at the Demon King with his usual quiet indifference.
Two comrades stood at his side.
Li Meiying, her blade dripping with scarlet fire, breathing heavily but eyes burning with resolve.
Alexander Kael, his greatsword dug into the ground, blood seeping from countless wounds, yet still he smirked through the pain.
They were the last survivors of the final expedition.
Zhen Luochen raised his hand. Black energy rippled into existence, bending space, devouring light. It was not mere magic. It was the Void itself, the origin of all things, the end of all creation.
Baal leaned forward, amusement curling his monstrous lips.
"That power. The Abyss answers only to me. And yet, you wield it. Tell me, little prince, what are you really?"
Luochen's gaze was calm, detached. His voice, when he spoke, was soft but carried across the battlefield like a whisper from the grave.
"I am nothing. I am everything. I am the void that will erase you."
And with that, the final battle began.
But even with all his power, Luochen was incomplete. His mastery of the void had not yet reached its peak. Baal's strength was absolute, the embodiment of endless war.
For three days, the battle raged.
Mountains were leveled, seas boiled, skies split open. Meiying fell first, her body torn apart as she shielded Luochen from a blow that would have ended him. Kael followed soon after, roaring defiance until Baal's spear pierced his chest.
At last, Luochen stood alone, his body trembling, blood painting the void around him.
Baal's laughter shook the ruins.
"You fight well, little Emperor. But you are still incomplete. You are like me, born of the Abyss, yet you have not embraced it fully."
Zhen Luochen did not answer. He simply stared, his violet eyes dull, his expression unreadable. For the ninety-ninth time, he had reached this point. For the ninety-ninth time, he had failed.
The void inside him screamed for release, but his body collapsed before it could answer.
As darkness swallowed him, his last thought was not of despair.
It was calculation.
"So this too is not enough. Then the hundredth attempt, I will sever this nightmare at its root."