The night sky bled orange. A village burned, flames roaring high enough to paint the heavens with smoke and ash. Screams cut through the crackling of fire, the sound of homes collapsing swallowed by chaos. In the middle of it all, a child stumbled barefoot through the heat, his small frame trembling, his face hidden in the blur of smoke and shadow. His voice broke as he cried out again and again—calling, pleading—desperately searching.
"Mother…! Mother!"
He turned every corner, choking on smoke, until at last his eyes locked on her. Beneath a mountain of rubble, her arm reached out lifelessly, still, yet forever out of his grasp. The boy clawed at the stones with blistered hands, screaming, but the fire pressed closer, suffocating him. His breath faltered. His tears burned his cheeks. At last, he staggered backward, forced to leave her behind.
He ran. He ran through fire and ruin until the world itself began to twist, his steps faltering as the smoke suffocated him. His cries became whimpers. Darkness folded around him. He fell to the ground, fainting as the flames devoured the night.
When his eyes opened again, he was no longer surrounded by fire.
A figure towered above him.
The boy blinked, his blurred vision sharpening on the man who stood in silence. His outfit was unlike anything he had ever seen—a robe heavy and layered, embroidered with emblems of power and woven with threads that shimmered faintly like molten silver. It was not the attire of a mere king. Every fold of the fabric bore weight, every detail carved a story of dominion. The presence it carried was suffocating.
Yet even the splendor of the man's attire was nothing compared to his face.
Where flesh should have been, there was only a black blur—his features glitched and melted as though reality itself refused to reveal them. His skin, if it could be called that, was a void, dark and shifting, untouchable to the eye. White hair cascaded sharply down, stark against the blackness, like strands of frozen light. His neck, his ankles, even the smallest glimpse of his form—all of it carried the same unearthly distortion, as if he were not a man, but something undone and redrawn by existence itself.
The boy could not breathe. He could not look away. The man did not move, but his presence filled the air like a storm waiting to break.
And then, like the collapse of a dream, the boy's vision shattered.
The masked man shot upright in bed, clutching his chest. His breathing was sharp at first, but quickly he tilted his head, humming like a child.
"Mmhmhmhm… ah, same dream again. Creeeepy~."
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, letting them dangle. Instead of standing right away, he wriggled his fingers in front of his mask as though inspecting them. Then suddenly, with a singsong voice, he said:
"Not my fault if the dream keeps chasing me~ ehehehe."
He hopped down, landing with a little bounce, cloak swaying behind him. His steps echoed down the corridor in an exaggerated march, each one louder than necessary. He even raised his knees comically high, like a soldier mocking his own parade.
"Left, right, left, right, aaaaand—" he stopped mid-step and spun around in a circle, laughing softly. "No audience? Boooring."
Passing a torch, he leaned close to the flame and whispered to it,
"Do you know what I dreamed of? Hm? …Of course you don't, you're just fire."
He kept walking, shoulders swaying loosely. At a window, he pressed both palms dramatically to the glass and peered at his distorted reflection.
"Oooh, handsome. Or maybe not. Maybe monster? Maybe nightmare? Hehehe…" His distorted voice warped for a second before he tapped the glass twice with his knuckle, as if knocking on a door.
He continued humming, swinging his arms, suddenly breaking into a jog for two steps before slowing again. His voice carried through the hall like he was narrating to invisible company.
"Tall shadow lady's probably watching me again. Hiiiii, Spirallll! You hear me? Or maybe you don't. Maybe you're just another nightmare."
He giggled, the sound glitching faintly through the mask. Then, in a tone both childish and chilling, he whispered:
"Nightmares only matter if they catch you."
The masked man stopped mid-step, snapping his gloved fingers as if remembering something obvious.
"Oh… right. The king. Called me. And here I am, strolling like some lost dog. Tch tch tch—" he wobbled his hand in a strange little circle, shoulders swaying as if mocking himself, before suddenly breaking into a jog.
The heavy iron door creaked open, its echo rippling through the cavernous throne room. A masked man slipped inside, humming to himself as if the silence wasn't suffocating. His head tilted left, then right, the long mask catching the flickering torchlight.
"Ahhhh, Spiral!" he called, spotting her perched effortlessly on a tall black pillar like a bird of prey. He threw both arms up, his sleeves dangling like streamers, and waved dramatically. "There you are, sitting all elegant as always! How are you, hm? Did you miss me?"
The woman above didn't even blink. Spiral's long red hair spilled down her back, her red sclera and white swirling pupils glinting faintly. Her expression was as cold and unmoving as a blade left under moonlight. She simply stared forward, refusing him even a flicker of recognition.
The masked man clutched his chest and stumbled back theatrically. "Ouch, ouch, ignored again! Such cruelty—my poor fragile heart can't take it." He craned his neck upward and, with a singsong voice, added, You'll make me dizzy if I stare too long in your eyes!" He pretended to sway and almost fall, catching himself last second.
Silence. Spiral didn't respond.
Before he could start another round of his one-sided conversation, a voice cut from behind.
"Reaper… you're loud and annoying."
The reaper froze mid-pose and turned, mask tilting. A slim girl stood there with her arms crossed, her tone flat and unimpressed. Her black hair draped lazily, her half-lidded eyes making her look both irritated and utterly unbothered.
The masked man's hand shot out like a child spotting candy. "Nelli! There you are!" He skipped forward, the heels of his boots tapping off-beat. "I was looking for you, I really was! Where were you hiding, hm?"
Her eyes narrowed, her tone still blunt. "That's not my name."
He leaned in until his mask was nearly touching her nose. "But I liiiike it. Nelli! Fits you, don't you think? Short, cute, easy to say." He spun around her with a twirl of his cloak, chuckling like he had just solved the world's greatest mystery.
She sighed. "You're irritating."
Before the reaper could respond, another voice mumbled from across the room, dripping with boredom.
"She's right, Reaper. Shut up. I'm trying to sleep."
The masked man whipped his head toward the corner and saw a lanky figure reclining against the marble steps leading up to the empty throne. His black hair was messy, and he looked like he'd just rolled out of bed.
"Dreamyy~!" the reaper sang, skipping toward him. "How lazy! Sleeping when the king has summoned us—tsk, tsk!" Without hesitation, he reached down and grabbed the man by the collar, trying to haul him up. "Show some manners, Dreamyy!"
The man's eyes snapped open, glaring. With a sharp shove, he pushed the masked man away and stood, brushing the dust from his coat. His voice was sharp with irritation. "How many times do I have to say it? Nightmare. I'm called Nightmare, you idiot."
The reaper stumbled back a few steps, then cocked his head, tapping his mask thoughtfully with a finger. "Mmm, nope. Dreamy is dreamy!" He clapped his hands like a child chanting nonsense. "Besides, 'Nightmare' sounds too scary for you."
"Say it again and I'll break your mask."
Nightmare's voice was flat, but the sharpness in his eyes gave weight to the threat.
The reaper just giggled, swinging his arms behind his back, tilting his head side to side. "Oooh, so scary! Dreamy has claws after all!" He turned away, arms spread wide, glancing around the room. "But wait, wait, wait… where's the human boy?"
His mask tilted toward the far corner. And there—half hidden in the shadows—stood a young man, golden hair catching faint strands of torchlight. His golden eyes, sharp and detached, stared back with silent hostility. His face carried nothing, his arms crossed tightly against his chest.
The reaper's figure blurred as he suddenly appeared right in front of him, crouching low, tilting his mask so their eyes nearly met.
"Heeey, human boy," he whispered, his voice playful. "How have you been? Don't tell me you missed me."
The boy's expression didn't change. He didn't move. He simply glared straight past him, as if he wasn't even there.
"Ohhh, still ignoring me," the reaper crooned, head tilting further, his mask now upside down from the boy's view. "Human boy still doesn't like me, huh? What a shame. Breaks my—"
Suddenly, white-hot pain shot through him. His body jolted violently as several swords of pure energy pierced through his chest and back, pinning him in place.
He staggered, coughing, his mask twitching toward the pillar above. Spiral hadn't moved an inch, yet her eyes burned down at him like a storm of red fire.
The reaper froze, his voice small for the first time. "…what insane bloodlust. I nearly died." He wheezed and tried to laugh it off, his knees wobbling.
In the blink of an eye, Spiral appeared right beside him, her towering eight-foot frame casting a long shadow over his small, crooked stance. Her voice was calm, quiet, but sharper than the blades still sticking through him.
"Know your limits, Reaper."
The masked man tilted his head slowly toward her, then chuckled, the sound raspy but still strangely childlike. He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Yes, yes, of course, Lady Spiral. Forgive me, forgive me." He twisted his body, the blades dispersing into nothing as he stepped back with exaggerated bows. "No more poking fun… for now."
Before anyone could say anything else, an immense pressure spread across the room, so heavy it felt as though the very air itself was trying to crush their bones. One by one, all of them dropped to a single knee in instinctive submission.
From behind, footsteps echoed—measured, unhurried, yet filled with weight. A man appeared, draped in black and gold. His attire was regal yet warlike: broad pauldrons with golden edges, a flowing mantle that shimmered faintly in the dim light, and heavy armored boots that struck the ground with undeniable authority. He was a figure carved for a throne, a presence that embodied dominion. Yet his face and hands glitched, fragments of his body flickering in and out of reality like a broken reflection.
He advanced without a word until he reached the massive throne at the end of the chamber. Slowly, he sat down, leaning into the seat as though even the throne itself bent to his will. Crossing his arms over his chest, he finally spoke. His voice was cold, heavy, cruel—like iron grinding against stone.
"What's the situation?"
The silence was suffocating, thick enough to strangle them where they knelt. At last, Nelli spoke, her tone trembling though she fought to sound steady.
"The condition is great, my liege. We have been constantly pushing humanity back. Their defenses crumble before us… but—" she hesitated, lowering her gaze, "—our losses are also high. Several of our own people continue to fall in battle."
The king did not answer. His head tilted slightly, but with his glitching face, no expression could be read. The silence deepened until it pressed like a weight against their chests.
Nightmare shifted uneasily, then forced himself to speak.
"Along with that, we've… captured several humans as well. We sought to understand their technology, their methods of fighting. But… like always, no progress has been made."
The king's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"How many enemies have you captured?"
Nightmare flinched. "We… we currently hold over forty thousand alive in prisons, my lord. Another sixty thousand are constantly being tested on."
The king's arms tightened across his chest. His next words fell like an executioner's sentence.
"Why exactly… have you kept so many humans alive?"
Nightmare froze. His mouth opened, but no words came. His shoulders trembled, his voice lost.
Before the silence devoured him whole, Spiral stepped forward, forcing steadiness into her words.
"We… we planned to perform further experiments on them, my king. Their resilience… might serve our cause in time."
A faint hum resonated from the throne, low and cruel.
"I see."
The room drowned in pressure once more. None dared raise their heads.
It was Nelli who finally broke the silence again, her voice softer, cautious.
"I don't understand, my king. Why don't we simply destroy humanity altogether? Give us the command, and the five of us can erase their existence within a day."
The king's head turned toward her. The glitching of his face grew violent, distorting with a twisted intensity.
"Are you… doubting my decision, Nell?"
The weight of his voice sank into her chest like a mountain. She lowered her head instantly, trembling.
The king leaned back against the throne, his presence pressing down harder than ever.
"If we desire, we can annihilate humanity. Reduce them to nothing but ash. But that is not our purpose."
They all froze, none daring to breathe too loudly.
"Do not forget. Our goal is to conquer. To wait. To grow. To expand our armies until we can unleash an attack on the entire multiverse. "
The silence stretched unbearably, until at last Reaper chuckled dryly, his voice cold and arrogant.
"And then… we'll take over the entire multiverse."
The king did not reply. His glitching form remained still upon the throne, oppressive and immovable, drowning the chamber in a suffocating weight. None of them dared to utter another word.
The False King leaned back on his throne, one hand resting against the armrest, his expression unreadable.
Spiral broke the silence, her voice smooth yet edged.
"My liege… what will you do with those remnants humanity clings to? They carry high Vana levels. Potential like that left unchecked could become… troublesome."
The King's head tilted slightly upward, but he did not answer.
Spiral pressed on, her eyes narrowing.
"They are strong, without doubt. But I can defeat them, if you command it."
For a long moment, the hall was silent, the weight of it pressing against everyone's chest. Then the King finally spoke, his voice low, cold, and stripped of concern: "Spiral… are you afraid?"
Her eyes widened briefly, then hardened with determination.
"No. I only measure the danger. That is all."
The King leaned further back, his fingers curling around the armrest.
"There is a reason I chose to see them myself. They are not worth attention."
Nelli tilted her head from the shadows, her tone deceptively casual.
"Then was it worth it, my King? Revealing yourself to the world… for them?"
The King's gaze lowered, crossing his hands before him.
"What was meant for tomorrow… happened today. That is all."
His words left no space for argument. The air grew heavy as he finished,
"You are dismissed."
One by one, they bowed deeply and vanished into the darkness.
---
The man with golden hair and golden eyes walked alone through the corridor, his steps echoing faintly against the stone.
A voice followed him—Nelli's. "Where are you going?"
He didn't bother turning. His tone was steady, sharp, carrying a faint undercurrent of irritation.
"Forward."
Nelli's voice came again, sly but curious.
"You haven't seen those remnants, have you?"
He stopped, finally turning slightly toward her.
"Have you?"
Nelli nodded, stepping from the shadows, her eyes glimmering faintly.
"I didn't appear, but I was there… watching. They weren't anything special, really. Except…"
His gaze sharpened. "Except?"
Nelli's lips curved faintly as she continued.
"Neo and Asher."
The golden-haired man walked closer, his voice firm, almost biting.
"They are dangerous. Don't pretend otherwise. They can grow… to be as strong as one of us."
Nelli tilted her head, almost teasing but thoughtful.
"I wonder if that's even possible."
His eyes narrowed, a faint scowl cutting across his face as he turned away again.
"Underestimate the enemy, Nell, and you'll regret it."
In a swift step, she landed beside him, her smile faint, almost playful.
"You're going to train, aren't you? …I'll join you."
The man didn't answer immediately, his expression unreadable. But he didn't push her away either. Together, they continued down the endless corridor.
---
The Reaper stretched his arms wide, tilting his head lazily from side to side, before letting out a long sigh.
"Hmm… what am I going to do today now, hmm?" he muttered, tapping his masked chin with a single finger as if the answer might fall from the sky. A moment later, he spun around, hands spread wide in exaggerated fashion.
"Ah! Let me go out! Sitting here will turn me into one of those boring old statues."
He started skipping down the castle halls, arms swinging in an uneven rhythm, humming tunelessly to himself. Before long, the grand gate loomed ahead. With a dramatic push, he shoved it open, stepping out into the eternal night.
The world outside was a sea of shadow — an endless expanse of black skies littered with countless sharp stars. Massive dark rocks floated and jutted out across the ground, too huge to move, yet scattered like careless stepping stones across the barren plain. The Reaper stood at the edge, tilting his head back to soak it in.
"Ughhh… why is our base soooo far away from anything fun?" he complained, dragging his voice. He gave the nearest towering boulder a little kick — which of course did nothing but make his foot sting. "These rocks are gonna make me trip one day, even though they're soooo biiiiig," he whined, waving his arms like he was about to fall.
Still, he started running, weaving around the looming stones in a zig-zag, almost on purpose, his cloak trailing behind him. Sometimes he pretended to almost crash into one, throwing his hands up dramatically, then skipping off again with a laugh.
Finally, after his exaggerated marathon, the landscape opened up. In the distance, lights shimmered against the darkness — a sprawling town that looked alive despite the eternal night. The Reaper slowed his steps, his head tilting curiously as the place came into full view.
The town stretched wide, almost like it had been carved into the heart of this dark world. Cobblestone streets wound like rivers through clusters of houses built in old-world style — wooden beams, stone walls, shingled roofs.
Lanterns glowed with faint golden flames, casting warmth over the bustling market squares. There were no machines, no wires, no sign of technology — only life powered by strength and strange gifts.
Children soared through the air, laughing as their small bodies defied gravity. Vendors lined the market streets, shouting cheerfully as they sold fruits that glowed faintly in the dark, or cloth that shifted colors in one's hands.
A man casually blew out streams of fire from his palms to roast skewers, while another froze mugs of ale with a snap of his fingers before sliding them to happy customers.
The Reaper stopped dead at the entrance, leaning to one side as though appraising the whole picture. Then, suddenly, he slapped his masked forehead.
"Ahhh, now this looks like fun! At least these guys know how to live. Hah!" He walked in with his usual swaying gait, cloak bouncing behind him, earning a few curious stares — but he only waved dramatically at no one in particular.
A woman carrying fruit gave him a side-eye.
"Who's that weirdo shouting?" she muttered.
"Weirdo?!" he gasped, clutching his chest like she had stabbed him. "Excuse me, lady, but I'm not weird. "
Two kids giggled as they floated past.
"Why does he talk like that? Is his face funny under there?" one whispered.
The Reaper snapped his head toward them.
"HEY! My face is not funny—it's, um, very scary and very handsome! You wouldn't get it!"
His voice cracked a little, and he stomped his foot before dramatically turning away. "Hmph! Kids these days, no respect for masked gentlemen…"
At a fruit stall, the old seller squinted at him. "You planning to buy or just stand there flapping your arms like a crow?"
The Reaper gasped. "A crow?! Do I look like a crow to you? I'm way cooler than a crow! …Maybe like a raven. Yeah"
The Reaper groaned, dragging his hands down his mask. "Ughhh, why does no one here understand me....…?" Then, almost instantly, he perked up again, skipping toward the next stall. "Ooooh, is that candy?"
Reaper walked through the dusty street with his usual slow, stiff steps, the mask on his face catching the occasional curious glance from passersby.
Suddenly, a small child barreled into him and bounced back, falling on the ground. The kid's wails echoed immediately.
Reaper froze, eyes widening.
"A... a kid?!" he muttered under his breath. "Wait, he's crying—why is he crying? What am I supposed to do?!"
He crouched awkwardly, hands hovering uselessly in the air. "Uh… what's wrong, kid?" he asked, his tone more nervous than he actually felt inside.
The child ignored him, bawling louder, shouting through the sobs, "Seba! Sebaa!"
Reaper flinched at the sound. People nearby turned their heads, whispering, frowning at the masked stranger crouched over a crying boy.
"N-no, wait!" Reaper waved his hands frantically, making a big X in the air. "I'm not kidnapping him! I'm just asking what's wrong!" He crouched lower, tilting his head. "You're… looking for Seba? I guess?"
Before he could get an answer, a voice rang out behind him.
"Hey!"
Reaper turned to see a teenage boy rush over, scooping the crying kid into his arms. The child instantly stopped crying, clinging to the teen.
"He's with you?" Reaper asked, straightening up.
"Yes," the boy replied quickly, not meeting his eyes. "Thanks for helping him."
Reaper tilted his head. The boy looked battered, bruises on his arms, dirt on his clothes. Before Reaper could say anything else, the teen hurried away with the kid in his arms.
Reaper's eyes followed them… until the sound of pounding footsteps made him turn.
A group of rough-looking men charged toward him.
One man shouted, "Did you see that boy?!"
Reaper blinked. "Uh… yes. He ran that way," he said, pointing honestly.
The men started rushing in the direction he pointed, but Reaper instinctively reached out, grabbing two of them by the arms. "Wait—why are you chasing the kid?"
Both men froze. They tugged but couldn't break free. One clicked his tongue in frustration.
"Leave our hands, freak!"
The other scowled, straining against his grip. "How does this skinny little body have that strong a hold?"
Reaper tilted his head, mask gleaming in the sun. "I mean no harm…" he began, but his voice trailed off as one of the men scowled.
"Tch. That brat escaped because of you. Now you'll pay for it."
Before Reaper could respond, a heavy fist slammed into his stomach. He coughed, staggering slightly, but didn't fight back. Chains were quickly wrapped around him, clinking harshly as the men secured him.
"Wait, wait!" Reaper protested, his tone rising in childish panic. "I'm innocent! I was just standing here—hey! Listen to me! I didn't kidnap anyone!"
The men ignored his protests, dragging him through the street while he kept trying to explain himself, voice growing smaller each time.
Eventually, they hauled him into a dimly lit building, the air thick with smoke and the smell of liquor. Inside sat a man larger than any of them, draped in expensive clothes, gold rings glinting on his thick fingers.
Reaper was thrown Infront of him.
The boss narrowed his eyes, glaring at the newcomer. He jabbed a finger toward the masked boy.
"Who is this freak? Where's the kid?"
One of his men shuffled nervously, glancing at Reaper.
"H-He's the one who… helped them escape, boss."
Reaper instantly waved his hands, shaking his head.
"I didn't do anything! Nope! Not me!"
The boss's chair screeched as he stood, towering over the room. His lip curled into a snarl.
"How dare this piece of shit stand here like that?"
The men around him went silent. The boss spread his arms wide, voice booming across the hall.
"That boy helped our most precious girls escape. And now? Now people are restless, furious, because those girls were our best entertainment. Their absence ruins our fun."
Reaper tilted his head, frowning behind the mask.
"But… why are you doing that? That's bad." His voice was high, almost scolding, like a child catching someone stealing candy.
The boss chuckled darkly, turning to the crowd above. "Bad? Bad, he says!"
From the balconies and upper floors, the hidden audience erupted into cheers and shouts. There were hundreds of them, voices merging into a sickening roar.
The boss reached down and clamped a massive hand around Reaper's neck, lifting him as if he weighed nothing. His grin widened.
"Today, this boy will be our entertainment. Torture him however you like!"
The crowd howled with excitement.
The boss raised Reaper higher, studying his limp form. His smile faltered.
"Oi… is he dead already?"
Silence fell for a moment.
Then a voice came — deep, guttural, and unnatural, vibrating in the boss's very bones.
"I'm not a fan of this… now."
The voice came from Reaper's mouth, but it was not his voice. Too heavy, too ancient, too inhuman.
The boss barked a laugh. "So the freak can change voices, huh? What else can you—"
He never finished.
From beneath his feet, his own shadow rose like liquid, twisting into a monstrous hand. It surged upward, seizing his skull in its grip. The boss had no time to scream before his head was crushed like rotten fruit, bursting in a wet spray.
The crowd above fell silent.
Reaper dropped to the ground with a soft thud. His body twitched, and for a moment, the heavy aura lingered… then it was gone. He sat up slowly, dusted his mask, and looked around.
When the scene shifted again.
A tower of corpses rose beneath him, broken limbs and twisted faces stacked high in a grotesque monument. Reaper sat casually on top, legs swinging like a child on a playground swing.
He sighed, voice back to his usual childish tone.
"I hate bad people. You people were really evil, so… you had to die."
His mask tilted toward the horizon, the blood-slick wind carrying his words.
"Hurting others for fun isn't a good thing."
He spoke as he held boss's destroyed head from his hair. He raised the head to his eye level and laughed like a child before saying:
"Oh my bad you can't hear me."
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