Silence fell before the screams ever had a chance to echo.
The battlefield that once carried the voices of hundreds of students…
was empty.
Not quiet.
Empty.
Broken weapons lay scattered like forgotten promises. Torn banners of EXTREME MAGIC ACADEMY fluttered weakly in a wind that felt colder than death. The ground was stained dark—not described, not exaggerated—just wrong, as if the land itself had absorbed despair and refused to let it go.
The sky had turned a deep gothic crimson, clouds moving unnaturally slow, as if even time was afraid to move forward.
This was not a battlefield.
This was a grave without names.
At the center of it all—
Five figures stood.
Barely.
ZENTO.
Knees shaking, eyes wide, breathing uneven. His hands trembled—not from fear alone, but from the weight of surviving when so many did not.
REFLEXO.
Armor cracked. Mask broken halfway. His usual sharp posture was gone, replaced by exhaustion and disbelief. For the first time… he looked human.
KAISER.
Bloodied, silent, teeth clenched. His pride shattered, not by defeat—but by helplessness. His fists were still clenched, even when his strength was gone.
RENOX.
On one knee. Breathing shallow. His eyes burned with rage and grief mixed together so violently it hurt to look at him.
And finally—
SHADOW XENON.
Still standing.
His black cloak with purple strips was torn in places, fluttering softly behind him. Small cuts marked his arms and side—proof that even monsters could be touched.
But his posture?
Straight.
Calm.
Cold.
His mask was cracked, just enough to reveal one sharp eye beneath it—focused, emotionless, watching the horizon like a king waiting for executioners to arrive.
And then—
The air screamed.
Reality itself ripped open.
A massive rift tore across the sky, and from it descended the beings responsible for this silence.
The EXECUTERS.
Not demons.
Not gods.
Something worse.
They moved without sound, their presence crushing, their armor forged from unknown divine material, eyes glowing with judgment that did not care who was innocent.
One stepped forward.
"Phase II confirmed,"
the Executor said, voice echoing like a verdict.
"This world has resisted correction."
The others raised their weapons.
Zento's breath caught.
"We… we can't win this,"
he whispered, voice breaking.
Reflexo laughed quietly—empty.
"We already lost."
Kaiser tried to stand straighter.
"Even so… I won't kneel."
Renox spat blood to the side.
"Then let's die standing."
Shadow Xenon took one step forward.
The wind stopped.
The Executors paused.
Not out of fear.
Out of recognition.
Shadow Xenon spoke—his voice calm, low, sharp enough to cut through despair.
"You mistake silence for surrender."
He raised his blade slowly.
"This battlefield isn't proof of your victory."
The purple aura around him ignited—not exploding, not raging—condensed, heavy, refined. The ground beneath his feet cracked softly, like it knew what was coming.
"It's proof…"
"That you pushed us far enough."
The lead Executor narrowed its eyes.
"Shadow Xenon. Classified anomaly.
Your clone has already been terminated."
A pause.
Shadow Xenon tilted his head slightly.
A small smile formed beneath the mask.
"Good."
Everyone froze.
"Because that means…"
"You get to face me."
The sky darkened further.
Something ancient stirred.
Far away—beyond dimensions, beyond known realms—ZENTO felt it.
Not fear.
A call.
His heart pounded violently as memories he never lived flooded his mind—chains breaking, shadows kneeling, a throne cracked by light.
A voice echoed in his soul:
"Awaken."
Zento screamed—not in pain, but in realization.
A surge of power burst from him, golden and black intertwining violently.
"I remember now…"
"This power… isn't borrowed."
The ground trembled.
The Executors stepped back.
At the same moment—
Symbols appeared across the sky.
Ancient names burned into the clouds.
THE DEMONIC GODS.
THE REAL GODS.
KNIGHTS OF DIVINITY.
GODDESS WARRIORS.
Not myths.
Not legends.
Witnesses.
The war was no longer hidden.
Kaiser pushed himself upright, aura flaring crimson.
"So this is the truth…"
"We were never students."
Renox laughed through pain.
"We were soldiers… waiting to remember."
Reflexo adjusted his broken mask.
"Then let's give them a memory worth fearing."
Shadow Xenon stepped forward again.
The cuts on his body glowed faintly purple—not healing, not regenerating.
Accepting.
"Listen carefully,"
he said to the Executors.
"Motivation isn't shouting.
Strength isn't rage."
His aura sharpened, becoming terrifyingly precise.
"True power…"
"Is walking through hell without losing your calm."
He lifted his blade.
The battlefield answered.
The Executors raised their weapons.
Phase II had begun.
And for the first time—
The Executors hesitate
END OF CHAPTER