The sky, once bathed in sunlight, is swallowed by absolute darkness, turning day into a suffocating night. The kingdom of Ákatlon trembles before the phenomenon, and the alarm spreads quickly. This darkness is not natural—something is coming.
In the courtyards of Ákatlon, soldiers murmur in apprehension, their gazes meeting in search of answers that no one possesses. Fear grows like an invisible shadow, until a thunderous clap cuts through the air like a magical roar, silencing everything in an instant.
Klausio steps forward, his presence unwavering, his eyes scanning the assembled warriors. The authority in his voice leaves no room for doubt:
— SOLDIERS, PREPARE YOURSELVES! I FEEL A THREAT APPROACHING! WE MUST PROTECT OUR KINGDOM AND ITS PEOPLE WITHOUT HESITATION!
— YES, SIR! — the warriors respond in unison, firm and resolute.
A guard rushes toward him, whispering the urgent summons of the king. In an instant, Klausio vanishes, reappearing kneeling before the throne, head bowed in absolute reverence.
The royal chamber does not exist within the castle—it is a realm beyond reality, a symbolic space created ages ago when Ákatlon and its people were different. Only those whose names begin with "K" can be transported directly there upon the king's call.
Seated on the throne, the King of Ákatlon lifts his gaze to Klausio. His scarlet-red hair gleams, radiating an ancient power. His dark-brown skin, strong and imposing, reflects the resilience of the Katlônios. His garments, seemingly simple, are woven from a fabric of supernatural resistance, molding perfectly to his muscular frame.
— Klausio, lead the soldiers to the source of this disturbance and ELIMINATE ITS CAUSE! Our mages have detected an immeasurable force behind this! Go forth and put an end to it! — the king commands, his voice carrying undeniable authority.
The king's legendary all-seeing eye had tried to reveal the origin of the darkness—but all he saw was the sky enshrouded in shadows. No trace of the force the mages had detected.
— Yes, my king! — Klausio responds without hesitation.
Leaving the royal chamber, he strides toward the brilliant blue crystal, the heart of Ákatlon's magical barrier. Within the crystal, a red and black sphere pulses, a gravitational nucleus in constant flux. The red and black hues appear to struggle, attempting to mix, shifting ceaselessly like a dance of colors trapped in the sphere's depths.
Extending his hands, Klausio opens a passage through the barrier, allowing the soldiers to advance into the unknown.
— THE KING HAS COMMANDED US TO DESTROY THE SOURCE OF THIS DARKNESS! ARE YOU READY?
— YES, SIR! — the warriors echo, their eyes burning with the promise of battle.
Crossing the barrier, their bodies suddenly feel lighter, as though an invisible weight has been lifted from their shoulders. Ákatlon, wrapped in gravitational magic, exerts crushing force on its inhabitants. Beyond its borders, their muscles react with renewed power, igniting like embers beneath their skin.
They march for seven hours, nearing the heart of Turfazia. With each step, the negative aura intensifies, draining their strength, whispering doubts into their minds.
Then, on the horizon, human soldiers emerge, advancing toward the same destination. Their silver-plated armor gleams beneath the dim light, and their strides hold unwavering determination. Leading them, a commanding figure stands apart—his brilliant armor, adorned with golden engravings that seem to emit their own radiance, moves seamlessly as he walks. His golden cape billows in the wind, a testament to undeniable leadership.
— Sir, human warriors are approaching! — a Katlônio reports.
— Like us, they must seek the end of this darkness... — Klausio mutters, contemplating the fate intertwining both races.
Then, a deafening tremor shakes Turfazia.
The sky fractures, purple cracks spreading, as if reality itself is splintering apart!
— What is happening!? — the soldiers gasp, terror gripping their hearts!
From above, twisted black shadows plummet through the ruptured heavens. Sinister hands extend—tentacles of pure malevolence, tethered to something beyond sight!
The Katlônios imbue their weapons with magic, the humans fortify their bodies, and the mages unleash their spells upon the monstrous entities!
— STRIKE WITH EVERYTHING YOU HAVE! DO NOT LET THESE ABOMINATIONS TOUCH YOU! — Klausio commands.
But their efforts are futile. The spectral hands phase through flesh, consuming soldiers slowly and agonizingly.
Katlônios and humans fight to the last breath, their souls devoured by the darkness itself.
An inevitable massacre.
Klausio feels the shadows pierce through his body, their essence ripping away his very being. The overwhelming force engulfs him, and in his final moment, he draws his last breath.
The darkness triumphs.
[ABOUT ÁKATLON]
The kingdom of Ákatlon is home to the Katlônios, a warrior race distinguished by their dark-brown skin and black hair. Their bodies, naturally powerful and sculpted by the kingdom's intense gravitational forces, reflect their unparalleled strength. As a symbol of pride and tradition, their battle attire remains minimal, showcasing the finely honed musculature they value.
The elite warriors, recognized for their strength and endurance beyond the ordinary, are granted names starting with "K"—an honor reserved for those who excel in magical potential and adaptation to Ákatlon's gravitational barrier. Among them, an even rarer trait emerges—some are born with red hair, a unique phenomenon. When unleashing great amounts of power, this rare red hue shifts into scarlet, burning like a raging flame.
Five hundred years ago, four exceptional children appeared mysteriously in Ákatlon—Kirk, Kannes, Kana, and Kewa. Unlike others, who needed incubators to survive the crushing gravitational force of the kingdom, these four endured from birth, as though the barrier's immense pressure had no effect on them.
Furthermore, all four possessed red hair, something unheard of, occurring only once every five thousand years. To prevent public speculation and unrest, their hair was altered through structural magic, turning black like that of ordinary Katlônios. Among them, Kirk stood above the rest—his magical potential was ten times greater, and his name, beginning and ending with "K," seemed to hold an unknown significance.
However, despite his immense latent power, Kirk rarely used his dimensional magic, instead relying entirely on his overwhelming brute strength. His control over magic was limited, and even though dimensional magic was an extremely rare ability, he preferred the raw force of his strikes in battle.
The king took the four children in as his own, ensuring they were trained by Ákatlon's most formidable generals. Each was assigned a mentor, but fate had something unexpected in store…
One day, the generals were dispatched to Mount Arf, a place shrouded in mystery, under the king's secret orders.
— Why are they taking so long? It's already been three months! — Kana grumbled, restless.
— They must be facing something INCREDIBLE! — Kirk speculated, imagining epic battles.
— Relax, prodigy. You're only twelve years old… — teased a nearby guard.
Annoyed by the restrictions, Kirk sneaked out of the room where they were being confined, ignoring the orders given to them.
— Alert the guards! The king ordered them to stay inside! — shouted the soldier in charge.
— We're going after him! — Kana exclaimed, seizing the opportunity to escape as well, bringing Kannes and Kewa with her.
— WAIT, COME BACK HERE! — the guard yelled, but the children had already vanished into the corridors.
Meanwhile, the generals had returned from Mount Arf, ready to report their findings to the king.
— My king, we discovered a secret chamber connected to something beyond our time... — said Karnero, the generals' leader. — It seemed to be the seed of an unknown entity.
— Beyond our time? Explain in more detail! — demanded the king, his gaze serious and unwavering.
— Mount Arf is a place where time distorts! For us, it felt like three days; for Ákatlon, it was three months! We found a black cube that introduced itself as Áztrofi. It cursed us, claiming we only have five years left to live!
A chill spread through the chamber.
— Our bodies are deteriorating… — murmured Kalena, sorrow thick in her voice.
Hidden, Kirk, Kannes, Kana, and Kewa listened, their hearts heavy with uncertainty.
— This can't be true… — Kirk whispered, holding back tears that threatened to fall.
Despite the shocking revelation, the four continued their rigorous training. At the age of 14, Kirk defeated his mentor, an unprecedented achievement. Kannes, Kana, and Kewa followed suit at 15 and 16 years old, respectively. Due to his extraordinary power, Kirk was named their leader, despite his lack of mastery in conventional magic. His physical strength and dimensional ability compensated for any shortcomings.
[BACK TO THE PRESENT DAY]
On the battlefield, the King of Ákatlon, with his all-seeing eye, observes the unfolding events—he witnesses the first dark hands fall, initiating a horrifying massacre.
His vision cuts through the darkness, seeking the source of the calamity.
Then, beyond the fractures, he sees it.
The origin of the threat.
A four-armed elf, tightly clutching the black cube the generals had warned of centuries ago.
Feeling watched, the elf raises one of his hands, from which black flames erupt. With a single motion, he directs the fire toward the king's vision.
And, suddenly, he clenches his fist.
The King of Ákatlon, seated upon his throne, collapses lifeless.
His power, his perception, his legacy—erased in an instant.
Amid the chaos, a messenger rushes forward, carrying the king's final command to Kirk, Kannes, Kana, and Kewa—to advance toward the disturbance and annihilate the threat.
Wasting no time, the four prepare for battle. Kana, Kannes, and Kewa surge forward at tremendous speeds, propelled by magic.
Kirk, however, could not use his dimensional magic to fly.
Instead, he relied on his overwhelming physical strength, pushing his muscles with a devastating leap that fractured the earth beneath him.
Below them, the dark hands had already reached the ground, consuming the last of the human and Katlônio soldiers.
Without hesitation, Kirk channels his dimensional magic and unleashes a slash through space.
The hands are severed instantly, disintegrating into fragments of pure darkness.
But then, the sky split even further.
The black energy condensed, forming two massive hands that forced the heavens open.
Reality fractured.
And from the depths of darkness, he emerged.
A four-armed elf, with jet-black hair and scarlet-red eyes. His aura was oppressive, an invisible weight that warped the space around him.
He descended slowly, hovering in the air, his grin baring razor-sharp teeth.
— Well, well. Four fools who dare to challenge me... — he murmured, his gaze burning with malice.
— I hope your bravery ENTERTAINS me!