A crushing pressure descended upon the battlefield.
Every soldier froze, their blood running cold as an unknown fear took root in their hearts. Their weapons, once raised with conviction, now trembled in slackened grips. The air turned still and heavy—oppressive, suffocating—as though even it was afraid. Afraid to stir. Afraid to provoke whatever had arrived.
They had been at each other's throats just moments ago—blade against blade, magic against magic, screaming declarations of supremacy and death.
Now?
It was as if an unspoken truce had been declared. No negotiation. No agreement. Just instinct. A mutual understanding that something far worse than each other had emerged.
Every powerhouse felt it—that shift, that sudden change in the tides. The moment the very fate of the war twisted in an instant. Those of the Old Satan Faction were, without a doubt, shaken to their core. A thick, suffocating intent spread across the land, reeking of bloodlust—a malevolent presence that felt too vast to be contained in a single body.
Today, they weren't warriors. They were prey. Pigs lined up for slaughter.
Allies and enemies alike felt their souls scream in silence. The weak wanted to drop dead where they stood, their bodies unable to withstand the weight of pure dread. The strong? Even they felt it—an instinct, primal and overwhelming, clawing at their spines and whispering in their ears.
Run. Run now. Run and never look back. Consequences be damned.
Some tried to escape. Panic gripped them as they activated teleportation circles and chant-based gateways, desperately attempting to flee the nightmare that had just begun.
But a wave of dense, crushing energy erupted—an unseen tsunami that swept across the battlefield like judgment itself.
Every connection to the outside was severed. Spells failed. Rituals fizzled out. Portals snapped shut.
No one was leaving.
And then it came.
A soft chuckle.
It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
It slithered into their ears like a whisper in the dark. His voice was twisted—eerie and fundamentally wrong. Like a melody played backwards, a sound that didn't belong in this world. That chuckle twisted, warped into full-blown laughter—deep, mocking, and hollow, echoing like the laughter of a deranged killer rediscovering his favorite past-time.
All eyes, wide with terror, were drawn to the sky above—now painted a haunting shade of violet, stained as though the heavens themselves had bled.
There—he stood.
A demonic figure in full, unholy glory.
His ivory mask bared jagged teeth in a permanent, malicious snarl. Horns jutted from both sides of his head, curving inward like a warped 'U' before ending in razor-sharp points. His skin was a pale, ghostly white—unnaturally smooth, devoid of warmth or life, like porcelain carved by the hands of madness.
From the mask's eyeholes, red streaks bled downward, trailing across his chest before halting at a gaping, hollow hole.
A hole where a heart should have been.
There was nothing there.
Just emptiness. A void that pulled at the senses, begging them to look away—because to stare too long was to risk losing your own sense of self.
Eyes—glowing crimson—stared upward with euphoric madness. His obsidian katana rested in his grip, humming with hunger. It bled pure, blackened energy—chaotic, thick, and untamed. That energy was not merely magic.
It was carnage made manifest.
Rizevim Livan Lucifer's breath caught in his throat.
He wasn't seeing a fluke. This wasn't a borrowed strength. This wasn't a temporary burst of power.
This… this was real. Primal. Pure. Absolute.
Hisashi's true nature had finally surfaced.
In all his long, wretched, and accursed years, Rizevim had never witnessed anything so demonic—so utterly inhuman. It was the embodiment of his father's ancient hatred for humanity, magnified and given shape. The proof that mankind, for all its sins, was not pitiful.
It was cursed.
And this one?
This thing?
It had learned to wield that curse like a sword.
"Cursed race…"
His voice trembled.
He remembered the tale—the forbidden fruit, the betrayal, the exile. The first disobedience. Adam and Eve, condemned. Their children, cursed. And now, that divine punishment had taken form and walked among them.
This wasn't just a man. This was wrath incarnate. A scar branded by divinity. A monument to sin and retribution.
If devils embodied malice…
Then what, he wondered, was a god's vengeance?
His spiraling thoughts were cut off by a voice.
Warped. Grating. Smiling.
"It's good to finally stretch after months of having my power cooped up."
The battlefield trembled beneath his words, the earth itself groaning in response.
This was no longer a war.
This was a slaughter.
A game of survival.
Predator versus prey.
And every single one of them? The latter.
Hisashi inhaled through his nose—slow, long, deliberate. A mocking savoring of their despair.
"The sight of worthless bats trying to flee… The silence that keeps stretching on into eternity…"
He stepped forward.
Every soldier flinched. Shoulders stiffened. Throats dried. Eyes widened.
And then—
He made a hand gesture, crossing his index and middle fingers.
"Kage Bunshin."
Poof!
Smoke exploded across the battlefield like wildfire.
In an instant, thousands of clones appeared—an army of shadows, each wearing the same ivory grin, the same glowing crimson eyes.
From that moment on, blinking became the worst possible mistake.
What if you looked away?
What if you lost focus?
Puchi!
Shlick!
Heads rolled.
Limbs dropped.
Hearts burst in fists of gore.
They didn't even have time to scream.
One second he was in front of them—then behind, his blade whispering through flesh like a phantom. Some were skewered. Others? Disintegrated—cut from existence with a single stroke of unfiltered malice.
With one swing, Hisashi reaped the life of a Devil.
He saved allies mid-battle.
He pushed back enemies.
He turned the tide of war.
"What are you doing standing around?! We've got headless chickens on the loose! Victory's within reach! Up on your deets, spread your wings, pick up your swords—get into stance and take the damn chance to slaughter someone!"
The Hollow's roar cracked across the sky, laced with venom and vitality.
Morale surged.
The soldiers—once frozen in fear—charged with wild abandon, their terror eclipsed by the sheer force of that voice.
They didn't just follow a man.
They rallied behind a monster. A god. A weapon of pure chaos.
Any doubts about this man?
Gone.
That day, something shifted.
They didn't just fight beside him—
They followed a being who had walked through Hell…
And come back laughing.
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