A storm brewed within the high halls of the Golden Citadel. Though the world outside basked in the gentle sun of spring, inside these walls, war's chill clung to every stone and soul.
At the heart of the War Chamber stood Emperor Rudra, his figure cloaked in flowing imperial garb, and a faint, radiant glow constantly flickered behind his eyes — the subtle but unmistakable sign of Michael, the Ultimate Skill that that is getting slowly control of Rudra soul.
Behind him, his most loyal generals had gathered. General Kondou, calm but visibly conflicted, remained at attention. Damrada stood a few steps back, his calculating mind racing through scenarios. But the third… General Alforza — his aura slightly off, as though something invisible tugged at his strings — stepped forward.
"Your Majesty," Alforza said, bowing. "If I may suggest… with the angels preparing for deployment, our heavenly forces are formidable. But Nyvaris is no ordinary kingdom. Its ruler is ancient, and the land itself pulses with power."
Rudra tilted his head slightly, golden eyes narrowing.
"You fear they may resist?"
"No," Alforza replied swiftly, voice smooth like silk. "But victory should be absolute. And for that… we must add chaos to our order. I propose we summon a Primordial Demon. Let their power amplify ours."
The room fell quiet.
Even Kondou stirred uneasily.
"Summoning a Primordial?" he said, his voice low. "That's not a decision made lightly. We don't know who will answer. Their motives—"
"Are irrelevant," Rudra interrupted.
He stood now, his presence alone silencing the room. The light behind his eyes flared brighter — Michael's influence swelling.
"Chaos shall be our blade. A blade tempered with divine fire. A Primordial Demon will only strengthen the cleansing."
Alforza smiled faintly, his puppet strings pulled by Feldway far away in the Heavenly Palace, where the ancient schemer observed from the shadows. His plan progressed flawlessly.
"Then… shall we prepare the ritual, Your Majesty?"
Rudra nodded once, his voice resounding with eerie calm.
"Yes. Select prisoners from the dungeons. Those unworthy of salvation. Their souls will open the path."
He turned to his gathered men.
"By the time the angels descend upon Nyvaris, our demon shall rise alongside them. And this world… will be reshaped by fire and law."
Chains rattled. Torches flickered. Dozens of condemned prisoners were dragged from their cells — rebels, spies, outcasts, and those simply deemed inconvenient by imperial decree.
They screamed, begged, fought — all in vain.
The center of the lower sanctum had already been carved with a massive summoning circle, glowing faintly with demonic runes. Offerings were arranged. Blood was spilled in delicate patterns. Essence of despair thickened the air.
Alforza watched in satisfaction as the ritual neared its beginning. Behind his composed face, Feldway's will pulsed like a second heartbeat.
"Come now," Alforza whispered to the circle. "Which of the Primordials will answer? Black? White? Violet? Jaune…?"
The Demon Lords still gathered — to forge a strategy against a rising warlord whose actions threatened to unravel the balance of the world.
The chamber was vast, encircled by thrones — one for each Demon Lord. In the center, a glowing illusion of the Eastern Empire flickered, courtesy of Luminous and Leon's combined magic.
Guy Crimson stood, arms crossed, his eyes burning with rare seriousness.
"We have a problem," he said, voice sharp. "Rudra's already begun mobilizing. If he summons the angels… things will get complicated."
The room fell still. Everyone understood what he meant.
"It's not just their power," Guy continued. "It's their numbers. The angels are vast. An army large enough to blot out the sky. Even for us, fending off a celestial legion won't be easy."
Milim, slouched in her seat with arms folded behind her head, frowned.
"Hmph! Let them come! I'll smash as many as needed!"
Frey, seated beside Carrion, looked over calmly.
"Milim, you underestimate the danger. Even you might grow tired after slaying thousands. And that's before the real threat appears."
Carrion nodded, his tone more cautious.
"Exactly. It's not just Rudra… we don't know who's influencing him. That's the wildcard."
Clayman, unusually composed, leaned forward.
"So if we assume Rudra is no longer fully in control… then negotiations won't work. We're up against a manipulated emperor and an angelic army."
Dino, yawning half-heartedly, finally chimed in.
"Can't we just seal them? Angels or not, they're beings of order. I can bend a few dimensions around them."
Guy looked over, unamused.
"That trick of yours might slow one angel. What will you do when ten thousand descend?"
Ramiris, small but radiating cosmic power, floated above her seat.
"What if we cut off the summoning first? Stop the ritual. No angels, no war."
Leon spoke, his voice cold and precise.
"We'd need someone inside the Empire to disrupt that. The moment they begin the summoning, it's over. If even one angel gets through, a chain begins. Others will follow like a flood."
Guy stepped closer to the glowing illusion. His eyes burned with clarity.
"We need a multi-layered strategy. One: find a way to delay or block the summoning. Two: prepare a defense for Nyvaris. Three: if Rudra pushes forward, we confront him directly… and if necessary…"
He paused.
"We end this. Permanently."
Milim grinned. "Now we're talking."
Back in the Eastern Empire the ritual to summon a Primordial Demon was undergoing.
With a violent burst of black flame and crackling lightning, a tear opened in the fabric of space above the circle. The energy that poured from it was heavy, dark—demonic in its purest form.
A moment later, a figure stepped through.
He was immaculate.
Tall, composed, and wrapped in a black butler suit that shimmered faintly under the runes' light. His tie was blood-red. His hair jet black, slicked back. Eyes black as the void, save for the subtle crimson shimmer in their depths. A smile — knowing, twisted, and far too calm — curved his lips.
The air dropped several degrees as he took a single step forward.
Primordial Noir had arrived.
He looked around the chamber, hands behind his back, gaze sweeping over the mages, the generals… and finally resting on Rudra.
He licked his lips slowly, savoring the lingering taste of the offering — hundreds of souls, sacrificed in moments for this summoning.
"Mmm…" Noir said softly, voice like velvet laced with poison. "A very generous offering indeed."
He gave a mock bow, his tone courteous but edged with menace.
"Now then… what is your request, summoner?"
Rudra rose from his throne, regal and commanding.
"I am Rudra, Emperor of the Eastern Empire. We are preparing for war — a divine crusade to annihilate our enemies. I seek your firepower, Primordial, to fight alongside my army."
Noir's smile widened, just slightly.
"An Emperor asking for a Primordial's help... the world truly is becoming more amusing."
He began to slowly circle the room, his fingers lazily trailing through the ambient magical currents.
"You wish to annihilate your enemies, you say? Who are they, I wonder?
Rudra's voice held firm, despite the creeping pressure Noir radiated.
"We march against Nyvaris — and all who stand with it."
General Kondou stiffened slightly. Damrada, ever impassive, watched without betraying emotion. The cloaked figure smirked from the shadows.
Noir stopped just before the throne and leaned forward slightly, his smile ever-present.
"Very well, Emperor Rudra. I shall accept your contract. Your war… shall become my playground."
The room darkened as the pact sealed. The summoning circle collapsed inward, and demonic runes branded the floor with new sigils — proof of Noir's binding.
He stood tall, the shadows around him rippling like liquid.
"But remember," Noir said softly, "You summoned a Primordial. If your will falters… your soul is forfeit."
He turned, already beginning to walk toward the exit of the chamber.
"Now then… show me this world you want to burn."