The barren land stretched forever, silent except for the wind carrying dust across the horizon. To anyone passing by, the camp seemed ordinary—a few tents, a fire pit, some chairs. But in truth, it was the gathering place of the strongest beings the Cardinal World had ever known. They were waiting for Vorathis, yet they lived these last quiet moments as though the storm wasn't hanging just beyond the edge of the sky.
Inside one tent, laughter mixed with sighs. Milim was sprawled across a pile of cushions, kicking her legs like a child. Across from her, Velzard sat with her usual calm refinement, hands wrapped around a porcelain teacup, while Velgrynd leaned back with arms crossed, her fiery gaze drilling into Milim.
Velzard spoke first, her tone smooth as ice. "Milim, elegance is not about suppressing yourself. It's about control. To be a woman of power, you must carry yourself with dignity. It makes people respect you before you even speak."
Velgrynd added sharply, "And it stops idiots from underestimating you. A ruler who acts like a wild child will never be seen as more than… well, a wild child."
Milim pouted. "But being dignified means I can't laugh when something's funny! Or yell when I feel like it! Or—"
Velzard raised a finger, cutting her off. "No. It means you choose when to laugh, when to yell. Every action becomes deliberate. That is presence, Milim."
Milim tilted her head, thinking hard. "So… if I stomp into a throne room and shout, 'Bow before me, worms!'… that's presence?"
Velgrynd groaned and rubbed her temples. "No. That's idiocy."
Velzard giggled softly behind her teacup. "One step at a time, sister. One step at a time."
In the next tent over, the air itself felt heavy with magical energy. Guy Crimson sat casually on a chair, one leg over the other, wine glass in hand. Across from him, Diablo, Testarossa, Ultima, and Carrera sat in a half-circle. These were no ordinary demons anymore. They were the only five transcendent demons to exist. And tonight, they discussed power.
Guy swirled his wine. "Alright. Show me what you've been working on. If you're going to stand against Vorathis, I expect nothing less than perfection."
Diablo's golden eyes gleamed. He stood, his aura wrapping tightly around him like silk. "I've been refining a technique I call Abyss Piercer. By folding layers of my magicules infinitely inward, I condense them into a singularity the size of a pinhead. When released, it doesn't just pierce through barriers—it erases them at the fundamental level. No wall of energy can exist against it. The flaw, of course, is precision. Too much compression, and it destabilizes. Not enough, and it fizzles."
Testarossa smiled faintly, standing next. "Efficient… but narrow. My technique is Crimson Bloom Execution. By weaving my magicules into threads thinner than a hair, I spread them across an entire battlefield. Once activated, the threads ignite in an expanding lattice, slicing and burning simultaneously. It consumes not just the body but also the magical essence of the target. The battlefield becomes a garden of crimson light… and nothing survives."
Ultima clapped her hands excitedly. "Oh, oh! Mine's better. I call it Chaos Eater. I twist the rules of matter and energy by injecting unstable magicules into space itself. The result? Pockets of collapsing reality that suck in everything around them. Buildings, spells, people—they all get chewed apart like candy. The fun part is, the collapse keeps spreading until I stop it." She grinned wickedly. "It's a little tricky to control, though. I might end up eating too much."
Carrera cracked her knuckles, smirking. "You three love being flashy. Me? I'm working on Oblivion Burst. I gather raw destructive energy into my fists and legs, compress it, and release it on contact. It's not elegant, but the strike doesn't just hit—it detonates. Imagine punching someone, and the explosion levels a city behind them. The drawback? It drains a stupid amount of energy. I can't spam it. But one hit is enough."
Guy chuckled, clearly pleased. "Hmph. Impressive. Each of you embodies a different aspect of destruction: precision, consumption, chaos, and raw force. Together, you're a nightmare no world can survive. Exactly as it should be."
Meanwhile, in his own tent, Veldora sat cross-legged, arms folded, eyes half-closed. But he was not alone. Across from him, invisible to all but him, Saiki Kusuo quietly ate his coffee jelly with a spoon, his expression bored.
Veldora's voice rumbled in his mind, telepathic but filled with authority. "Saiki. You sit here as if nothing looms over us. Do you not feel the weight of Vorathis's approach?"
Saiki scooped another bite, unfazed. "Yare yare. I feel it. I just don't care to panic about it."
Veldora leaned forward, golden eyes sharp. "You mock me with your indifference. You know something, don't you? About Vorathis. About his true plan."
Saiki sighed. "Even if I did, would you believe me? Or would you just keep pestering me with questions?"
Veldora chuckled deeply. "Perhaps both. But know this—I do not ask as a fool. I ask as a king who must prepare his people."
Saiki paused mid-bite, glancing up. "A king, huh? You really take that role seriously."
"Of course," Veldora answered, his tone carrying pride. "I am not merely a dragon. I am a ruler, a guardian of my kingdom. And though I may laugh, and boast, and roar—I will always return to duty. My people depend on me."
Saiki gave a small smirk. "Yare yare. You're not as dumb as you act."
Veldora laughed heartily. "Hah! Do not mistake charisma for foolishness. I have worn the mask of playfulness for centuries, but I see the truth as clear as the stars. Vorathis will test us all. And I will meet him with wisdom—and fury."
Saiki muttered under his breath, "You talk too much." But despite his annoyance, he kept eating, as though this whole thing was just another day.
From time to time, Veldora closed his eyes, his voice carrying across the void to his kingdom.
"Benimaru," he called.
The red-haired general's response came swiftly. "Yes, my lord. The defenses are tight. The walls have been reinforced, and the soldiers are eager. We will hold the kingdom in your absence."
"Good. Keep their hearts strong," Veldora replied. "The people must believe in their king's return."
Later, he reached out to Hakuro. "How fares the training?"
Hakuro's calm voice echoed back. "The young grow restless, but discipline is holding. They seek glory, but I temper their eagerness with patience. They will be ready, should you call."
Finally, he spoke to Rigurd. "How is the mood among the people?"
Rigurd's voice was steady, though touched with concern. "They whisper of your absence, but their faith does not waver. They know you will return. They believe in you, King Veldora."
Veldora smiled faintly, pride swelling in his chest. "Then the Storm Kingdom stands strong. That is all I need."
And so the camp lived on, filled with conversations, laughter, and teachings. Each tent held its own world of voices and power. They were relaxed, almost joyful, as if savoring the last taste of peace before the firestorm.
Because they knew—soon, Vorathis would come.
And when he did, the world would never be the same.