The Underworld.
A place never meant to be touched by sunlight.An endless expanse of malice, where time dripped like blood from the edges of rusted blades. It was not merely a prison for devils. It was a kingdom—a living realm stitched together by hate, fear, and magic that predated even the gods.
And today, something stirred.
Faint.Barely more than a breath.A pulse of power, not felt in centuries.Not from one of their own… but from above.
From the human world.
No—older than that.
A tremor passed through the lowest layer of the Underworld first, crawling up jagged obsidian walls and through tunnels lined with the bones of those who once tried to tame this place. It slithered into the rivers of molten grief, the twisted forests where trees screamed, and lakes blacker than midnight.
The devils felt it.
And they remembered.
In the Second Layer, a horde of lesser devils hissed and chattered, wings twitching in agitation. One—a wiry creature with a birdlike beak and candle flames embedded in its back—abandoned its prey mid-feast, shrieking toward the shadows.
"The sky… it breathed…"
"No… He breathes…"
"It can't be… that thing was sealed!"
Panic swept through the swarm like wildfire on bone-dry parchment. Something ancient had shifted. Something even devils only dared to whisper of in the deep.
In the Fourth Layer, high above the frenzy, a circle of high-ranked devils gathered in a chamber of carved silence around a hollow throne. It was made not of stone, but of compressed, screaming souls. At its center sat Beelzebub, the Glutton of Knowledge—his form equal parts insect and shadow, his body crawling with runes and ever-watching eyes.
He tilted his head, listening—not with ears, but with the web of mana stretching across worlds.
"How curious…" he murmured, tapping clawed fingers against his mandibles. "The golden resonance has returned."
A younger devil snarled. "That staff… it was just a myth!"
Beelzebub didn't even glance at him.
"So was the Tree of Qliphoth. Until the humans gave it root."
"Fools," he said softly. "Always believing in myths too late."
Silence fell over the court like a guillotine.
In the First Layer, where the Tree of Qliphoth had once pierced the veil between realms, the sky dimmed. The gate, though sealed, still pulsed with the memory of war.
A shadow loomed at its base.Massive. Regal. Crushing in its presence.
Lucifugus—the Devil of Sloth—stirred atop a throne made of wings and darkness. His form slithered with static as he stretched a hand into the void and tasted the air.
A slow, rumbling breath escaped his chest.
"That staff… it draws breath again."
"The Monkey King… was it?"
He rose, each movement distorting the space around him. Behind him, lesser devils dropped to their knees, trembling under his pressure.
"I remember him. The creature who struck down devils not with refined spells... but raw will."
"He defied order. Not as a mage. Not as a king. But as a beast who would not kneel."
"He vanished before we could erase him from memory."
Lucifugus turned his gaze upward, beyond the veil of realms.
"And now he breathes again."
"I won't make the same mistake twice."
Elsewhere, in a glimmering sea of silver fog where laughter echoed in endless spirals, Lilith and Namaah danced through fractal sigils. Their smiles were knives. Their joy, venom.
"Do you feel it, sister~?"
"Oh yes… so faint, so young still…"
"But it sings of memories that make even us shiver~"
"The Wild God of Heaven… what did the mortals call him?"
"The Monkey King."
They twirled in unison, their bodies becoming ribbons of flame and frost.
"He doesn't remember us yet… but we remember him."
"He shattered our kin in the Rift Wars. Sent devils screaming back into the dark with that golden stick."
"He was rebellion given form."
"Magic in motion."
They fused into one silhouette, then split apart again in laughter, skipping over the shattered spires at the underworld's edge.
"What do we do, sister?"
"We wait."
"We watch."
"And when he remembers…"
Their jagged smiles split wider.
"We dance again."
At the lowest point of the Underworld, where even time feared to linger, surrounded by cursed flame and ancient seals etched in divine language, sat the Devil King.
Lucifer.
He did not need to open his eyes to feel the shift.
It whispered to him—not as threat. Not yet.But as a seed. A relic of defiance long buried.
He opened a single eye.
It burned like a dying star.
"So," he murmured, voice thick with amusement. "The monkey stirs again."
He flexed his claws. Sparks leapt from his fingertips, crackling through the void.
"I watched the heavens bleed when you fought. The world itself cracked beneath your staff."
"It took gods, stars, and chains forged from every realm to bring you down."
"And now you return?"
A grin touched his lips.
"How... entertaining."
He stood, slow and titanic, each step warping the space around him.
"Let the others whisper."
"Let them remember fear."
"I… shall remember war."
Back in the mortal realm.
Saru stirred from uneasy sleep.
He didn't dream.
But tonight, something pressed against his chest.
His eyes opened slowly.Nyoi-bo lay across his lap, glowing faintly—its golden veins pulsing like breath.
"…You're shaking," Saru whispered, voice low.
The staff answered not in words, but in vibration—deep, alive.
He gripped it tighter.
For a heartbeat—just one—he saw it.
A battlefield.A blood-red sky, split by screaming clouds.Devils falling, torn asunder in mid-air.A staff of gold crashing down on a horned colossus ten stories high.
And then—
Nothing.
He gasped awake.
The wind outside howled. Thunder rolled over the mountains.
Far below, in the world he had never seen…
The devils whispered.
"He has returned.""The beast of heaven walks again.""Find him.""Break him.""Before he remembers who he truly is."