The sun was setting gently behind the trees, casting long shadows through the thick forest. The sky turned gold and orange, and the sound of rustling leaves filled the air as three figures moved forward.
Yamato led the way, calm and focused. Behind him walked Sora and Lumei, both pushing past wild branches and stepping over vines and rocks.
Lumei groaned as another thorn scratched his ankle. He wiped sweat from his brow and grumbled, "Yamato, seriously... we've been walking through bushes forever. Isn't there a normal road or path around here? We look like bushmen!"
Sora giggled, hopping over a low branch. "You should know Yamato's following a trace," she said, her voice playful. "But I admit, I like the question—why the bush?"
Yamato gave a low chuckle without stopping. His eyes stayed forward, alert. "This is the shortest path to what I'm searching for," he said firmly. "And nothing is going to stop me."
He added with a grin, "They say humans are intelligent. But there's always one that's just a few points smarter than a pig."
They all laughed. Even Lumei couldn't help but smile, though he muttered, "You're the pig."
Their spirits lifted as they walked deeper into the unknown, unaware that something far more powerful was already on the move.
---
In the great Academy, the atmosphere was shifting.
Headmaster Regns stood in silence, eyes locked on the darkening sky outside his tall window. A strange pressure filled the air—ancient, heavy, dangerous.
Then, without moving his lips, he spoke across space.
"You six, come to my Space."
At once, six powerful students appeared outside his door—Renji, Kiro, Mira, Leah, and two others. They stood quietly, waiting.
Regns stepped out, his face serious and pale. He waved his hand and opened a portal glowing with pale blue light. Without saying a word, he led them through it.
His personal realm was dark. The sky there spun with black clouds and crackling lightning. The floating platform of stone under their feet glowed with ancient runes.
"What's going on, Master?" the six students asked in unison.
Regns turned to face them, his voice grave.
"Madara—the God Slayer—has arrived."
Shock filled the air.
Renji's eyes narrowed. "Should we be worried?"
"Yes," Regns replied. "He is a god who kills anyone who has offended The Seven, who is offending them, or even who will offend them."
Kiro stepped forward, his face serious. "But… if that's true, why hasn't he killed The Entity?"
Regns looked away. His hand came up and gripped his forehead tightly.
"I may have chosen wrongly…" he whispered. "The Entity fought against legions of gods—even The Seven—and survived. If they couldn't kill him… how can one man do it?"
The students exchanged nervous glances.
Regns stepped closer. "Until we understand why he's here, you six will keep him company."
Leah blinked. "Keep him company?!"
Mira rolled her eyes. "Yes, Leah. Stop being slow."
Kiro shot Mira a cold glare but remained quiet.
---
Far Away… On the Moon
Above Earth, the moon was silent.
On its surface stood a tall figure. His long black hair flowed behind him. A dark cloak swayed gently around his shoulders. His aura—powerful and ancient—spread across space like waves.
This was Madara, the God Slayer.
He crouched slightly… then leapt.
The ground beneath him cracked as he launched himself toward Earth. In seconds, he landed, crouched low, dust and wind exploding around him.
He stood up slowly, brushing his cloak aside. Golden light flashed in his eyes.
"I need a place to stay," he thought. "And clothes to blend in."
Ahead, he saw a village. He lowered his power until it felt like a normal human's. Then he walked calmly through the streets, passing villagers who stopped and stared, sensing something strange.
He entered an empty laundry house, changed into simple clothes, and carried his old cloak under his arm.
Walking until he reached the edge of the village, he saw it—a ruined castle. Cracked walls, broken doors, long forgotten.
"Humans. Always wasting their treasures. Another reason to hate them," he thought.
He stepped inside. It was dark—silent.
His eyes turned gold.
Golden Eyes—allowing him to see through shadows, illusions, and even walls.
He walked through halls until a sound beneath his feet made him stop.
—creak—
He stepped again. Same sound.
He knelt, found a hidden trapdoor, and pulled it open.
A narrow staircase led downward.
He descended into the basement. Lamps flickered on the walls, lighting up a large underground space.
And there… he saw them.
Twelve men, dressed in dark robes. Their presence filled the room with magical pressure.
On the wall behind them, carved into stone, were the words:
The Distant Grugs
—Masters of Elemental Terror—
They were the strongest elemental users in the village, a legendary outlaw group. They had just returned from a successful heist, but rumors of justice enforcers heading their way made them hide.
When they saw Madara, they didn't recognize him. They laughed.
The leader—a tall man with red hair and flaming hands—stepped forward, smirking.
"Oi! It's just one guy," he laughed. "From what I can sense, his power's barely above a fresh academy dropout."
The others roared with laughter.
"Give me three minutes," the fire leader chuckled. "We'll mop the floor with him."
---
The basement air turned thick. Magic energy charged the room. Twelve powerful elemental users surrounded Madara.
Three water users.
Two earth users.
Three ice users.
Four fire users.
Madara stood in the center, still and calm. His black shirt clung to his body, tucked into loose combat pants. His arms were relaxed at his sides. His face showed no emotion.
A fire user shouted, "Burn him!"
He rushed forward, hands blazing.
Madara tilted slightly. The fire missed.
He grabbed the man's arm mid-attack and, with a small twist, flung him into the wall like he was weightless. CRACK.
Another fire user sent a swirling flame. Madara ducked, dashed forward, and pressed an open palm into his chest.
BOOM. The man collapsed.
The third tried to light the floor beneath him—but Madara was already there. One quick spin, a leg sweep, and a sharp elbow to the face.
Out cold.
One fire user remained—shaking.
Then came ice.
One charged with a frozen spear. Madara caught the spear, snapped it, and rammed the broken end into his neck.
Another threw frozen fists. Madara blocked, twisted the arm, struck the shoulder, and spun around with a back kick. The man flipped over and crashed to the ground.
The third tried to trap him in an ice cage.
Madara didn't let him finish. He stepped in—gut punch, jaw hit, lift and slam into a support pillar.
Dead.
One ice user remained, frozen in fear.
The earth users followed. One raised a stone wall, the other fired rocky spikes.
Madara ran up the wall like it was nothing, flipped over the spikes, landed, and chopped the second user in the neck.
One move. Done.
The wall-raiser turned. Too late.
Madara's knee shattered his chest.
Now just one earth user stood—hands shaking, backing away.
Then came water.
One used a long water whip. Another made a sharp blade. The last fired rapid water blasts.
Madara slipped between all three like wind.
He caught the whip, yanked the user in, and hit his chin with a flying elbow.
The blade came down hard—Madara moved, dodged, grabbed, and dropped him with a brutal knee to the stomach.
The final water user shot blast after blast. Madara walked through them, grabbed his shirt collar, and crushed his forehead with a single, silent headbutt.
The man crumbled.
---
Now, the basement was silent.
Bodies lay everywhere—bent, broken, and still.
Only four remained:
One trembling fire user sat against a broken pillar, eyes wide with fear.
One ice user stood frozen—not by his own magic, but by terror.
One earth user stood still with his back against the wall, hands raised in surrender.
The last water user lay coughing, barely clinging to consciousness.
Madara exhaled quietly, dusting ash from his shirt sleeve. His face remained calm, as if he had just stretched—not fought a dozen elite mages.
He walked past them. Slowly. Quietly. Not even looking at their battered forms.
His boots echoed in the large stone room, the sound heavy and steady.
Then he saw it—
At the far end of the room stood a large chair, carved from blackened wood and steel, decorated with fire-carved marks and symbols of each element. It was clearly the leader's seat.
Madara walked over to it without hesitation.
The few bandits still conscious watched him, hearts pounding. None dared move. No one spoke.
He reached the chair…
Turned around…
And sat down.
The tall back of the throne-like chair rose behind him as he leaned back slightly, resting one elbow on the armrest.
The old fire symbols began to glow faintly—not with flame, but with cold golden light, reacting to the new power that had claimed the throne.
His golden eyes dimmed to black.
For a moment, he said nothing. Just watched them.
Then, quietly—like a whisper sliding across stone—he spoke:
"For witnessing my power and having a sense of fear... you too shall partake in it."
His fingers tapped the side of the chair slowly, rhythmically.
Outside the abandoned castle, the wind howled, and clouds began to gather.
The storm had only just begun.