A rift tore through reality.
From the depths of the Abyss, Ryojin Kurohane emerged. To him he had only spent hours in the Abyss but to the outside world years had passed, and this realization kicked in.
Ryojin dismissed the epiphany with a detached wave of his hand. The truth, once a burning fire that fueled his soul, had lost its significance. His heart, once a maelstrom of emotions, had withered into a desolate landscape of indifference. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing, that is, except for one, all-consuming obsession: the downfall of the Celestial Order.
He lifted his hands, staring at them. They were his hands, weren't they? And yet, they were something more. Abyssal energy coursed beneath his skin, the black runes etched into his flesh pulsing faintly. He flexed his fingers, and the shadows coiled around them, responding as if they had always been a part of him. Had they? He did not know. He did not need to.
His blade rested at his side, reforged in the endless darkness of the Abyss. He had not shaped it; it had shaped itself. It shimmered with an unsettling aura, the very air around it bending unnaturally. He did not understand how, but he knew—
He had not simply escaped the Abyss.
He had become it.
The moment his boots touched solid ground, a ripple spread through the world, an unseen disturbance in the fabric of reality.
They knew.
The Celestial Order—the gods—had cast him into the Abyss, believing he would vanish into nothingness. But he had returned. And they would come for him.
He exhaled, watching the air distort around him. Something was different. The ground beneath his feet darkened, cracked, as if recoiling from his very presence. He had done nothing, yet the world reacted to him. His existence alone was a wound in reality.
And then, he sensed it.
A ripple in space. A shift in the air. A golden light flickered in the distance.
Divine energy.
They had arrived.
Ryojin turned his gaze toward the approaching figures, his fingers lightly brushing the hilt of his sword—not out of thought, but instinct. The first battle of his new existence was about to begin.
And for the first time in a long, long time—
He was looking forward to it.
The golden light intensified.
Celestial figures descended from the heavens, their armor gleaming like the sun. Wings stretched wide, radiating divine energy that burned against the tainted sky. They were Sentinels—humans granted with divine energy.
At their center stood a warrior clad in silver and white, a flowing cape draped over his immaculate armor. The sheer force of his presence warped the air.
Ryojin knew him.
Darius Vael.
The traitor.
Once, they had fought side by side. Once, they had called each other brother. Now, Darius stood before him, his eyes devoid of familiarity, filled only with judgment.
"Ryojin Kurohane," Darius spoke, his voice carrying the weight of divine authority. "You should not exist."
Ryojin tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Yet, here I am."
The sentinels readied their weapons—swords forged from divine light, spears humming with celestial energy. The very ground trembled beneath them, unable to bear the weight of their presence.
Ryojin remained still. The whispers stirred in his mind.
"Eager."
"Hungry."
Darius took a step forward, light radiating from his form. "The gods decreed your fate. You were cast into the Abyss to be undone. And yet, you returned. This is an affront to the order of the world."
Ryojin chuckled, low and dark. "Is that what they told you? That I was meant to fade?" His violet eyes gleamed. "Then perhaps the gods aren't as wise as they pretend to be."
Darius's expression hardened. "You have been corrupted."
Ryojin's smirk faded.
"Corrupted?" he echoed, rolling the word over his tongue, as if tasting it. It felt hollow. Meaningless. He raised his hand—purely out of curiosity—and black tendrils flickered to life, shifting and pulsing like living shadows.
He had done nothing.
And yet, it responded.
His gaze locked onto Darius. "I have not been corrupted," he said, his voice calm, deliberate. "I have been reborn."
Darius tightened his grip on his sword. "Then you leave me no choice."
In an instant, he moved.
A blur of silver and light. His blade carved through the air, divine energy crackling around it. The force of the strike split the air, the sheer weight of divine will behind it undeniable.
Ryojin did not flinch.
He did not even think.
The moment the blade touched his skin—it stopped.
Not because he blocked it. Not because he dodged.
But because the Abyss itself refused to be cut.
The runes on his body flared. The attack did not fail. It ceased to exist. The concept of the strike unraveled, devoured by the void.
Darius's eyes widened.
Ryojin exhaled, lowering his hand. He had not even drawn his sword.
"You're not ready for this fight."
A single pulse of his energy—
Reality shattered.
The sky cracked like glass. The ground split open. The divine warriors staggered as the fabric of the world twisted under his power.
Darius leapt back, his expression unreadable.
Ryojin studied his own hand, flexing his fingers once more. The shadows curled around them, obeying a will he had never spoken. The whispers stirred again, less words now and more sensation. A hunger. A certainty.
He did not understand his power.
But he did not need to.
"The next time we meet, Darius," he said, his voice carrying through the chaos, "I suggest you bring a god with you."
And with that, the shadows swallowed him.
Ryojin Kurohane had returned.
And the world would never be the same.