"Help me, brother."
The sound was a thin, fraying thread in the stagnant air of the palace. Renji didn't hear it with his ears; it vibrated in the marrow of his bones. He stepped over the threshold, his boots clicking on the polished black stone.
The hall was a vacuum. In the center, suspended by oily, rope-like bindings that pulsed with a slow, parasitic rhythm, were Shinjo and Hikari. They hung three feet off the floor, limp as discarded dolls.
Shinjo's eyes snapped open. He couldn't speak through the gag of shadow across his mouth, but his pupils were blown wide, darting toward the darkness of the high-vaulted ceiling. His throat worked in a frantic, silent scream: Run.
Renji didn't run. The world narrowed to the sight of Hikari's head lolling against her chest. He moved. It wasn't a walk or a sprint; it was the desperate, singular lunging of a man who had already lost too much.
"Are you two alright?" His voice was a raw scrape. He reached for the bindings, his fingers digging into the cold, rubbery mass of the ropes.
Then the shadows breathed.
Sixty-five points of light ignited in the dark. Not eyes, but the glow of harnessed mana. Demons stepped from behind the obsidian pillars, their movements liquid and heavy. They carried jagged, oversized steel—cleavers, serrated spears, and rods tipped with weeping red crystals.
Renji didn't pull back. He stepped in front of the hanging forms of his siblings, his shoulders squaring, his hands curling into white-knuckled fists.
"Where is your King?"
The crowd of monsters parted. A figure emerged, taller than the rest, wearing armor that looked like it had been hammered out of frozen blood. This was Zhar. He didn't carry the presence of a god, but the refined, cruel arrogance of a prince. He drew a curved, reddish blade across his palm, letting the metal drink.
"The Mortal King," Zhar murmured. The voice was a dry rattle. "Quite the catch."
He stopped ten paces away, his eyes scanning Renji's tattered hoodie with a leisure that made the air feel thin.
"My brother didn't bring you here to fight," Zhar said, a small, jagged giggle escaping his throat. "He brought you here to be absent. He used these two as weights to keep you beneath the surface while he claims the world above."
Renji's heart skipped a beat. The heat in his chest turned to a hollow, biting cold. Distraction. He had seen the portal, seen the danger, and he had reacted as a brother. He had forgotten he was a King. The shame of it tasted like copper in his mouth.
"You're here now," Zhar threatened, the red sword humming. "And I'll make sure you stay. Along with the baggage."
Shinjo thrashed against the ropes, a muffled roar of frustration dying in his throat. He was A-Rank, a hunter of pedigree, but against sixty-five high-tier demons in their own realm, he was nothing but a target.
Renji's gaze dropped. His shadow began to stretch, darkening the floor until the black stone seemed to liquefy.
"I may have been fooled," Renji said. His voice had lost its frantic edge. It was now the level, terrifying tone of a man who had just accepted he would have to kill everything in the room. "But nothing stops me from protecting my world."
Zhar mocked him with a sneer. "Do you genuinely believe you can take us all?"
Renji's smile was a brief, ugly flash of teeth. He didn't answer with words.
He flicked his wrist. A small, surgical rift tore open beneath Shinjo and Hikari.
Before the demons could lunge, Renji sliced through the bindings with a burst of necrotic energy and shoved his siblings into the void. The portal snapped shut, sending them back to the only safe house he had left.
Now, he was alone.
Renji didn't breathe; he ignited. Brilliant green flames erupted from his skin, consuming the oxygen in the hall. He became a blur of emerald violence. He didn't trade blows. He tore through the ranks, his hands moving with the precision of a butcher. Each strike was a wet thud, a crack of bone, a spray of black ichor against the pillars. He was no longer a man; he was a catastrophe.
Outside, on Earth, the sky was a wound.
It had turned a thick, clotted red. Across the globe, from Tokyo to London, people walked out of their homes and stood in the middle of the streets, necks craned upward. The sun was a pale, sickly ghost behind a curtain of blood.
Then the wind came. A gale of supernatural force that didn't just blow; it shrieked. It tore the glass from skyscrapers and sent cars sliding across the asphalt like toys.
Oni stood in the center of the storm. He drifted on a platform of purple smoke, his hands clasped behind his back, looking down at the crawling masses with the calm ownership of a man looking at a garden. Behind him, thousands of demonic soldiers hovered, their wings beating a rhythmic, terrifying pulse against the red sky. Lightning arced from Oni's silhouette, the mere byproduct of his presence.
"At last," Oni declared. His voice wasn't loud, yet it carried over the roar of the gale, echoing in the ears of every living soul. "The world is mine."
Below, the screaming started.
"Hello, humans!" Oni shouted, his eyes wide with a terrifying, manic joy. "I am your new King. I will reshape this world into a kingdom of shadow. All dimensions will bow to this throne."
A man in a suit, clinging to a street sign to keep from being swept away, looked up and spat into the wind. "God forbid! We'll never bow to a tyrant like you!"
Oni didn't even turn his head. He glanced toward the sound. In an instant, the man's body was shredded—cut into a thousand pieces by a silent, invisible pressure. The debris of the man vanished into the wind before it could hit the ground.
Then, the ocean groaned.
A monumental, hideous statue of a devil rose from the Pacific, shedding megatons of water. Legendary chains, thick as bridges, erupted from the sea floor, coiling around the coastal cities, dragging buildings into the surf to clear the land.
From the sky, a mountain of black obsidian descended—a palace carved with the brutality of a nightmare. The chains caught it, guiding the massive stone structure down onto the cleared ruins.
"Finally," Oni sighed, looking at his new home. "Soldiers! Enslave them. Begin the harvest."
The demonic army began to tilt forward, a wave of shadow ready to crash into the streets.
A rift tore open in the air between Oni and his army.
Renji stepped out. He was drenched in sweat and black ichor. His skin was smoking, the green residue of the void still crackling around his eyes. He held a reddish sword—Zhar's blade—and the blood on the edge was still steaming.
"No, you don't."
Oni's smile faltered. For the first time, a flicker of genuine, ugly surprise crossed his face. He hadn't expected Renji to survive the palace, let alone make it back this fast. He slowly turned, his eyes narrowing.
"Fled from my brother's party, did you?" Oni taunted.
Renji wiped a smear of blood from his jaw. He offered a slight, knowing smile. "I bet what I'm about to tell you will genuinely shock you."
Oni scoffed. "Shock me? Killing you is a chore I've put off too long."
Renji floated closer, his aura stabilized into a low, predatory hum. "I killed your brother. And I killed every soldier he had. They tried to stop me."
Oni's posture broke. He took a single, stumbling step back in the air. Zhar was his blood—the last tether he had to his own history. The shock was a physical blow, a knot of cold rage that turned his stomach into lead.
"How dare you!"
Oni vanished. He reappeared an inch from Renji's face, his fist a blur of purple lightning. Renji brought his arms up, but the force was a meteor strike. He was sent rocketing backward, slamming into the obsidian wall of the new palace with a sound like a bomb going off.
"Forget the humans!" Oni roared, his voice cracking with fury. He waved a hand at his legion. "All of you! Kill the Mortal King!"
As the thousands of demons dived toward the crater where Renji lay, Oni descended to the scorched earth below. He dragged a finger through the dirt, tracing a circle of fire.
The sound of rotors cut through the screams.
Five military helicopters crested the horizon, followed by a sixth—the heavy-duty transport of the Special Hunter Forces.
Oni looked up, a cold, jagged smile returning to his face. He slammed his foot onto the pavement. Jagged spires of rock erupted from the earth like anti-aircraft missiles.
The first five helicopters didn't stand a chance. They were impaled, mid-air, exploding into orange fireballs that rained debris over the city. Only the Hunter transport, reinforced with mana-plating, spiraled through the debris and hit the ground in a controlled crash.
Doors flew open. Japan's elite hunters spilled out, forming a defensive ring.
Then came the sound of rhythmic marching. The warriors of Obsidian Star Academy appeared from the smoke, led by Elder Kael. Their armor rattled, their blades drawn, as they formed a line beside the hunters.
Oni watched them assemble. "Impressive," he conceded, his eyes glinting.
Renji pulled himself from the dent in the obsidian wall. He didn't look hurt; he looked focused. He floated back into the air, silhouetted against the red sky, and opened his arms wide. He felt every soul on the battlefield—the hunters, the students, the civilians hiding in the rubble.
He drew a breath that seemed to pull the very air from the city.
"Hear my voice!" Renji's command rolled across Kyoto like a tide. "All souls sworn to the Mortal Throne! The King has returned! To arms—and drive these invaders back to the Abyss!"