Valoria — Throne Room
Marble cracked. Mana screamed. The shadow of the Final Shape loomed over the palace like a curtain of inevitable death.
Erevos stood bracing against the onslaught, cloak torn, aura flaring violently as he held back the descending scythe with both hands.
He could counter it — barely — but even he bled beneath that pressure.
Behind him, nobles and guards cowered.
The peaceful kingdom outside trembled.
The Demon King watched with calm, unblinking eyes — not anger now, but judgment.
"This is not revenge," he said quietly. "This is your warning."
Erevos snarled through clenched teeth, voice strained under the force of the Final Shape's swing.
"You… think I fear death?"
The Demon King turned away.
"I know you do not fear death."
His eyes flashed crimson.
"You fear loss."
Erevos flinched — because it was true.
Beside the Demon King, Azrael exhaled slowly, shadow aura folding itself back into stillness.
Keith stretched, as if he'd just finished watching a play.
"So we're not killing him?" Keith asked.
"Would've been faster to kill him."
Azrael nodded.
"I suggested that."
The Exile — the one Erevos betrayed long ago — watched silently, unreadable, dark wings folded neatly behind him.
The Demon King raised a hand.
The Final Shape halted midair.
Reality steadied, reluctantly.
The air stabilized.
Even Erevos froze in shock.
The Demon King didn't look back as he spoke.
"This kingdom lives today because I allow it."
His voice dropped to a whisper — heavy enough to crack stone.
"Touch my bloodline again… and you will not have a kingdom left to rule."
Erevos' eyes widened — not in fear, but in something almost like regret.
The demon king didn't wait for a reply.
He snapped his fingers.
FOOM —
A rift tore open — black mist swirling with crimson flame.
Azrael stepped toward it first, hands in his pockets.
"Next time, can we destroy fewer capitals?"
Keith followed, yawning.
"I vote we destroy more. Keeps things spicy."
The Exile walked past Erevos without a word, but paused just long enough to whisper:
"You made your choice, King of Valoria."
Finally, the Demon King approached the rift.
He paused at the threshold and spoke without turning back:
"Good luck defending what remains of your kingdom… old friend."
Erevos' breath caught.
He said nothing.
The Demon King stepped through the portal, cape trailing like a blood-red banner.
SHHHHKK—
The rift sealed shut.
Valoria was silent.
Only the sound of distant cracking stone remained — and the faint echo of a friendship shattered by choice.
✦ Duel of Fate and Death
Valoria — Throne Hall
Seconds after the Demon King vanished
The world ruptured.
The Final Shape manifested fully — a towering silhouette of bone wrapped in a cloak woven from the void.
Its scythe hummed with conceptual erasure, the blade thin enough to slice destiny.
The moment it appeared, runic red arrays ignited in the sky above the palace — hundreds of overlapping sigils spanning miles across the heavens, like a blood–red constellation.
A death protocol activated.
The arrays pulsed.
Clouds shredded apart.
A windstorm ripped through the city.
The pressure forced kneeling from every mortal for three miles.
Inside the throne room, Erevos finally dropped the mask.
No more lazy smile.
No bored detachment.
Just rage.
He stepped closer from his throne with a slow grace that radiated regal fury.
Golden and violet mana erupted from him — a hurricane of divine and demonic light.
His pupils fractured into concentric rings, like the eye of a god peering through flesh.
Djannjin Authority Unsealed.
The Final Shape flickered — a blur of death.
SHHHHK—!!!
The scythe cut a diagonal arc.
Not just air — the fabric of space.
A jagged tear extended from the throne room ceiling into the sky above the castle, splitting clouds and parting them like water. A nearby tower collapsed as if sliced by an invisible blade.
Erevos vanished.
Not teleported.
Erased from one position and written into another.
He appeared behind the Final Shape, sword already swinging.
Djannjin Art — Rewrite Step
Reality lurched, as if the outcome had already been decided.
CRAAAASH—!!
Steel met divine scythe.
Shockwaves blasted outward, ripping marble from walls and pulverizing the floor. The entire throne room cratered. The nobles were thrown like rag dolls.
Outside, the sky lit up as the collision sent a spear of golden and black light streaking upward, tearing through the storm clouds like a pillar.
The Final Shape retaliated.
A nullfield expanded — a god-slaying absence.
A circular field of pure absence expanded outward from the Final Shape's body — devouring light, matter, and breath.
Carpets disintegrated.
Columns dissolved to dust.
A nearby noble screamed as his shadow was ripped off his body.
Erevos snapped his fingers.
Djannjin Command — Fate Binding Seal
The event refused to occur.
The Nullfield froze mid-expansion, held in place by the force of Erevos's will.
"You have no authority over my fate."
The Final Shape's skull opened, unleashing a wave of negative divinity from its hollow maw.
A beam of death.
Erevos stepped forward, unflinching.
He flicked his wrist.
Djannjin Wish — Concept Override
"Break."
Reality fractured in response.
The beam shattered like glass.
The nobles were speechless — trembling behind the fallen pillars.
They shouldn't be here.
They shouldn't see this.
But Erevos couldn't spare attention to silence them.
Not yet.
The Final Shape vanished again.
It reappeared in the air — above Valoria — forming a circle of scythes around itself.
[FINAL SHAPE ART: GRAND GUILLOTINE]
Hundreds of death-slashes rained down.
Each one carved fissures in the sky, slicing clouds into geometric patterns and leaving afterimages that took minutes to fade.
Citizens in the streets stared upward, screaming.
"The sky—"
"It's splitting—!!!"
Erevos stepped into the fray, rising into the sky with a ripple of golden wings — wings woven from pure concept, not flesh.
He raised his sword.
A golden-red array ignited beneath his feet, extending outward to cover the entire kingdom like a massive crest.
Djannjin Technique — Heaven-Rending Wishblades
Every swing rewrites probability to guarantee a hit.
He slashed.
KRRRROOOOM—!!!
A golden cut tore through the red death arrays and the swarm of scythes — annihilating them in a single majestic wave.
Wind currents reversed.
Clouds were blown apart.
For a moment, daylight pierced the kingdom where the slash passed.
The Final Shape screamed — not sound, but the distortion of existence cracking.
Its form shattered into bone shards and black mist.
Erevos appeared above the falling fragments, sword poised.
"Leave."
He stabbed downward.
BOOM—!!!
A shockwave burst through half the city — glass windows shattered, streets trembled, the castle foundation groaned.
The Final Shape dispersed—
but began to reform, bones pulling together like magnets.
Erevos landed on the cracked throne room floor, breathing hard.
Blood slid down his mouth.
"...Tch. Too much Djannjin power."
Being a Djannjin meant wielding the impossible.
But it also meant paying the price.
He wiped the blood and turned toward the nobles.
They trembled.
Erevos exhaled slowly, voice barely above a whisper.
"You've seen too much."
None of them understood—
He didn't mean the Final Shape.
He meant Them.
The room dimmed as his shadow stretched behind him — swallowing the light.
✦ Final Strike of the Djannjin
Valoria — Above the Castle
The sky was shredded into ribbons of red and black.
The Final Shape reformed midair, bone shards twisting together, cloak of void snapping into place. Its hollow mouth widened — a silent scream that warped space.
Red divine runes ignited above Valoria again.
An execution sequence began.
Twelve enormous red spell arrays layered atop each other, forming a colossal killing circle miles wide — covering the entire capital.
Streets cracked.
Buildings collapsed.
The castle shook as if the world were being unmade.
Erevos' golden aura flickered.
He was losing ground.
The Final Shape moved first.
The scythe descended —
FWOOOOM—!!!
A vertical slash of pure death fell from the sky.
It carved a black canyon of nothingness through the air, reaching all the way to the capital's outer walls.
The castle courtyard vanished.
Not destroyed.
Erased.
Erevos blurred forward, Rewrite Step activating, but slower this time — he was bleeding mana, exhausted.
He barely dodged the second scythe.
SLASH — KRAAAAAK!!
A piece of the castle roof vanished — cleanly cut out of existence.
Erevos felt it — the erosion of spirit, matter, and fate.
He staggered.
The Final Shape appeared behind him.
"‥Erase."
The scythe cleaved downward.
Erevos raised his sword instinctively, but his reaction was late.
SSHHHHK—!!
Blood sprayed.
A line carved itself across Erevos' ribs.
He hissed — more in irritation than pain — as red and gold light flared around the wound.
High above, a massive Final Shape glyph formed — a sigil of the abyss shaped like a descending scythe.
A harvesting pattern formed.
It was a world-ending attack.
If it struck, Valoria would be wiped off the map.
Erevos' eyes widened — for the first time, not in boredom or arrogance…
…but calculation.
"...That one might actually kill me."
He tightened his grip on his sword.
And whispered:
"Enough."
He slammed his palm against his chest — over his heart.
Golden light ignited beneath his skin.
Djannjin Release Condition:
Sacrifice stability of vessel.
His aura detonated.
Divine and abyssal energy intertwined like a storm.
Winds howled.
Reality bent.
The castle windows shattered all at once.
His voice layered — human, majin, genie — three in one.
"I am the Djannjin."
"I decide fate."
He raised his sword toward the Final Shape.
The sky itself cracked like glass.
Djannjin God-Tier Art — Reality Severance
A strike that does not cut the body — only destiny.
Erevos vanished.
Then appeared above the Final Shape — sword already swinging.
SLLLLAAAAAAASH—!!!
A golden arc ripped the sky from horizon to horizon.
Clouds split.
Wind died.
The Final Shape's scythe met the blade —
KRAAAAAAAAAK—!!!
The divine scythe shattered.
The Final Shape's upper body detonated into black ash.
Its form tried to reform — bone shards knitting back together —
Erevos placed two fingers against the air.
"Wishbound Command:
Be gone."
The wish echoed through the kingdom.
Golden rings spiraled out — touching the fragments.
FWOOOOSH—
The Final Shape dissolved into nothingness.
No bone.
No ash.
No presence.
Gone — or simply no longer present.
Erevos landed, aura flickering — breath uneven. His sword trembled once before he forced it still.
Behind him, he could hear faint voices.
The nobles.
They had survived behind a shattered pillar during the fight.
They whispered in awe:
"H-He's not human…"
"W-What was that power?"
"We must report this to the Holy Emperor—"
Erevos closed his eyes.
"No."
He turned toward them.
Not with cruelty.
With inevitability.
A golden ring formed around his hand — silent, beautiful.
Djannjin Wish — Selective Erasure
"Forget, and fade."
Light passed over them.
They vanished quietly — erased from existence without pain, without sound.
Erevos stood alone in the ruined throne room — blood dripping from his jaw, cloak torn, sword dimming.
He exhaled.
"Annoying."
He wiped the blood from his mouth and started walking toward the exit.
Behind him, the throne collapsed into dust.
✦ Ripple Through the Worlds
Demon Realm — Obsidian Fang Academy
The academy courtyard was alive with motion.
Students crossed the marble pathways between towering mana trees, their leaves glowing faint purple under the twilight sky. Floating lantern crystals drifted overhead. Early class bells chimed like wind singing through glass.
Rhazor was mid-sentence, walking beside Asura while pointing at a tower so tall it pierced the clouds.
"—and that's the Mana Tower. Don't go inside unless you're ready to get vaporized by an exploding spell test."
Asura nodded absently.
He wasn't listening.
His head snapped upward.
The sky—
flickered.
Not physically.
Not visually.
Spiritually.
Something tore.
Not here.
Not in this realm.
A pressure rippled through space, thin as a whisper but sharp enough to cut.
The very mana in the air lurched, like every drop of power bowed at once.
Rhazor paused, brow furrowing.
"...You okay?"
Asura didn't answer.
His heartbeat hammered once, violently.
The academy faded around him.
Instead, in his perception—
a distorted echo of another sky flashed across his mind:
A scythe of death carving through clouds.
A desert of fractured marble.
A golden slash tearing fate apart.
His eyes widened.
What was that…?
A pulse hit again, like the universe hiccuped.
Students tripped.
Lantern crystals flickered.
Glyphs on the courtyard floor trembled.
Combat instructors looked up at the sky, hands tensing on their weapons.
"What was that mana spike?"
"Did someone activate a forbidden spell!?"
But only Asura felt the truth.
That wasn't mana.
That wasn't mana. Whatever it was… it didn't belong to spells.
A tearing wave that stretched across dimensions.
He didn't know who, or what caused it.
But three instinctual reactions slammed into him at once:
Protect.Destroy.Hunt.
His hand drifted toward the hilts of Yamikami no Tsurugi and Yōken no Tsurugi.
Rhazor noticed the shift instantly.
"Whoa—! Dude, don't pull a weapon out in the courtyard. First week rule. No random murder."
Asura blinked, hand stopping just short.
The Mirage Veil around him shivered — suppressing his aura even as his instincts screamed.
He forced himself to swallow the impulse.
Calm down.
Focus.
He exhaled slowly.
"…Rhazor," he murmured. "Did you feel that?"
Rhazor squinted at the sky.
"All I felt was… something. Like someone kicked the mana grid."
"No," Asura whispered. "That wasn't mana."
It was fate being cut.
His system chimed faintly — a message only he could hear.
[ Spatial Distortion Detected. ]
[ Origin: Mortal Realm — Human Territory. ]
The Human Realm.
Someone had caused a catastrophic event powerful enough that Asura's system reacted across worlds.
He stared up past the academy towers, at the twilight sky.
"Grandfather…?"
Rhazor blinked. "Huh?"
Asura shook his head.
"Nothing."
He forced his expression back into neutrality, slipping Mirage Veil tighter around himself.
Deep inside, though, one thought refused to be quiet.
Whatever that power was… it wasn't ordinary.
And someone strong is fighting.
He turned back to Rhazor and forced a grin.
"Sorry. Got distracted. You were saying something about exploding students?"
Rhazor brightened instantly.
"Oh—right! So anyway, the last kid who tried to summon a phoenix inside the mana tower burned his eyebrows off. We call him Chicken Boy now."
Asura snorted.
Life at the academy resumed.
But far above them—
thin, invisible fractures continued to spread through space.
The consequence of a Djannjin crossing blades with Death.
And somewhere, Erevos whispered into the void:
"You felt that, didn't you…?"
✦ Demon Realm — Return Through the Rift
Reality peeled open like silk.
A swirling gate of black-and-violet mana spun into existence above the obsidian courtyard of the Demon King's citadel. Frost formed on the stone floor, and the air twisted in pressure — space reluctant to allow what was coming through.
Footsteps echoed.
First emerged the Demon King, cloak trailing like a fall of lethal silk. He stepped through calmly, not a scratch on him, expression unreadable.
Behind him walked Keith and Azrael, shoulders tense, hands near their blades. Azrael glanced behind them, jaw tightening.
And last — stepping through with eerie grace — came the Exile.
His wings weren't feathered anymore.
They were made of ether — fractured light and shadow, like stained glass repaired by darkness. One wing was whole, the other torn into jagged edges of spectral energy. Chains of faint golden scripture — cracked and broken — hovered loosely around his wrists.
He landed lightly, almost silently.
Azrael and Keith stared at him.
Keith finally broke the silence.
"…We're just not gonna talk about the fact that we took a Exile on a field trip?"
Azrael glared at him. "Shut up."
The Exile offered a polite bow, voice like silk dipped in venom.
"Introductions can wait."
Keith blinked.
"Your wings are… crooked."
The Exile smiled without warmth.
"Yes. That tends to happen when Heaven tries to rip them off."
Azrael narrowed his eyes. "You're a Fallen. You should've been sealed in the Abyss with the others."
The Exile's smile sharpened.
"I wasn't sealed. I hid."
He touched the cracked scripture floating around his wrist.
"During the first Divine War… when the others were dragged into the Abyssal Core, I severed my own connection to the Choir. I cut myself free. My wings shattered in the process, but I remained unbound."
He said it so casually — like ripping one's own soul apart was merely inconvenient.
Azrael spoke carefully.
"So instead of prison, you chose exile."
"Survival," The Exile corrected. "And patience."
Keith crossed his arms. "And where were you during the second Divine War?"
The Exile's expression darkened.
"Manipulating a certain human king."
Azrael's head snapped toward the Demon King.
"You helped Erevos?"
"No," The Exile said, gaze sharpening. "I used him. I offered him a fragment of the Abyss to fuse with. In exchange, he would assist my forces."
Keith muttered, "Sounds like helping."
The Exile continued, ignoring him.
"Erevos betrayed me. Then betrayed the others. Then betrayed the Demon King. His greed knows no loyalty."
Azrael's gaze swung back to the Demon King, voice tight.
"So you knew. You knew this Newcomer was responsible for the Djannjin mess… and you still helped him today?"
The Demon King didn't flinch.
"We have a mutual enemy."
The courtyard stilled.
Azrael swallowed. "Erevos."
The Exile smiled—cold and satisfied.
"The Djannjin cannot be left unchecked. Not by Heaven. Not by Hell. Not by the Demon Realm."
Keith snorted.
"Pretty bold, considering we just summoned Death on his front porch."
The Exile tilted his head.
"Death was only the opening move."
Azrael rubbed his temples. "You two are insane."
Keith nodded firmly.
"Yeah, this is above my pay grade."
The Demon King faced them — crimson eyes unblinking.
"Erevos isn't dead."
Azrael and Keith froze.
Keith barked a disbelieving laugh.
"What? We dropped a FINAL SHAPE on him. He's paste."
The Exile spoke before the Demon King could.
"Djannjin do not die. He fused with the Abyss — its corruption sustains him. With the genie essence, he may even rewrite fate."
Keith stared between them.
"So… he can refuse to die?"
The Demon King adjusted his cloak, expression flat.
"Exactly."
The Exile added, voice low:
"And we still don't know what the Majin part of him is capable of."
Azrael stiffened.
"So you're saying we just enraged an immortal magic-wish-granting abyss-hybrid king."
The Demon King began walking toward the throne hall, unconcerned.
"Yes."
Keith let out a deep sigh.
"Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Great plan, everyone."
The Exile followed, his voice a whisper of ruined divinity.
"Enjoy the calm while you can. A Djannjin never forgets a grudge."
Azrael and Keith exchanged a look of exhausted dread.
The Demon King's final words echoed through the hall:
"Let him come..."