The desert winds howled, carrying with them the stench of ash and battle. Kairo stood in silence, chains swaying gently from his arms, his crimson eyes reflecting the endless horizon. Behind him, the remnants of Hell's trials still clung to his body — scars that would never heal, and a silence that had become his only companion.
Igron exhaled, long and heavy, his massive frame slumping to the ground. The Bone Blade rested at his side, its edge still humming faintly from their struggles. He looked at Kairo, a strange respect in his gaze.
"You've changed," he muttered. "Hell doesn't let men walk out the same way they walked in."
Kairo did not answer. Words felt empty. He only tightened his grip on the rusted chains, as if they alone could anchor him to this fractured world.
Above them, the sky shifted — no longer the burning crimson of Hell, but the pale blue of a mortal world. The air smelled different, less heavy, less poisoned by despair. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the sun touched their faces without malice.
But peace was an illusion. Both of them could feel it — the weight of unseen eyes, the pressure of kingdoms and kings who would soon take notice. Somewhere above, laughter echoed faintly, too far to trace, yet sharp enough to slice through the silence.
The laughter of a king who had already marked them.
Igron rose again, gripping his weapon, his expression hardening.
"So… this is it. The Human World."
His words carried awe, but also unease.
Kairo's gaze never left the horizon. "No," he whispered, voice low, almost devoured by the wind. "This is only the beginning."
And as the desert stretched endlessly before them, the chains on Kairo's arms rattled with a life of their own, as if hungry for what was to come.
The Hell Arc was over.
But the world above had already begun to tremble.