The Dark Empire did not sleep.
It pulsed.
Twelve kilometers of shadow-wrapped cities, glowing veins of silent power running beneath every stone, every structure. The air carried no breeze, yet it whispered. Not words. Not wind. But weight. Unspoken authority, coiled tight like a noose around the world.
Dark is sleeping in his bed.
The walls did not dare groan. The shadows around his bed did not flicker. Even time, within that room, seemed reluctant to pass. He was not dreaming. He never dreamed. Only remembered.
Then.
A distortion. Not loud. Not violent. Just enough to remind the world it could still be bent.
From the edge of the dark, a shape formed.
Kneeling. Silent.
Igor.
Champion of the Black Sun Of Pandemonium, First to kneel. Last to fall.
He lowered his head, fist to chest.
Igor: My Emperor. Forgive the intrusion.
Dark opened his eyes. Slowly. Without tension.
Dark: You wouldn't be here unless it mattered.
Igor: It does.
Dark sat up. The bed unraveled beneath him, shadows peeling away like obedient serpents.
Dark: Speak.
Igor: A man has entered the southern courtyard. Not by stealth. Not by force.
Dark: Then by ignorance.
Igor: No...
Dark paused.
Dark: Name?
Igor: Dantero.
A low breath escaped Dark's nose. The first flicker of something distant in his stare.
Igor: He asks to meet you directly.
Dark stood.
Dark: And if I refuse?
Igor: He will wait. With a grin.
Igor: Must I take care of him for you my Emperor?
Dark: No all good...
Dark: I suppose I'll see what it is he's smiling on about.
Igor: As you wish my Emperor. My liege.
The courtyard was vast. Carved from black stone, layered with sigils and runes that pulsed once every few seconds like a heartbeat. There were no guards. No torches. No wind. Just an open sky choked in clouds, and one man standing in the center.
Dantero.
His coat was long, crimson with dust, the edges frayed from travel. He stood with his hands behind his head, chewing something, probably dried fruit or something worse. He looked up once. Then twice. Then sighed.
Dantero: (muttering) Is anyone even awake in this damn place?
From behind, the sound of footsteps. Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just... there.
Dantero turned halfway, letting his hands fall.
And he saw him.
Dark.
Black cloak. Bare chest. No crown. No armor. No aura of fire or divine light. Just a presence. Cold. Measured. Controlled. Like a razor floating through mist.
Dantero blinked.
Dantero: Oh. That you?
Dark stopped several paces away.
Dark: That depends.
Dantero: On?
Dark: Who you're looking for.
Dantero scratched the back of his neck.
Dantero: Dunno. Just heard there's a guy here who built a kingdom out of ash and shadows. Thought I'd check if the stories were bullshit.
Dark's eyes did not move.
Dantero: You him?
Dark: I am.
Dantero: Huh.
He looked him up and down, unbothered.
Dantero: Thought you'd be taller.
Dark: And I thought you'd be smarter.
A grin cracked across Dantero's face. Wide. Unapologetic.
Dantero: Alright. You got fangs. That's good.
Dark: Who are you.
Dantero: Name's Dantero. I drift. I fight. I eat. I don't bow. That's about it.
Dark: So what do you want?
Dantero: I wanna see if this empire of yours is as solid as people claim. Y'know, if it's built on something real, or just hot air with some skulls painted on the walls.
Dark: You planning to test that yourself?
Dantero: Maybe.
Dantero shrugged.
Dantero: Or maybe I just wanted to see the guy who makes entire worlds flinch when he opens a door.
Dark said nothing. The silence was not awkward. It was final.
Dantero tilted his head, the grin still plastered across his face like it had nowhere else to be. He paced two slow steps to the left, then back.
Dantero: (whistling) Cold air. Heavy ground. No guards barking orders. Just you standing there like the damn world already answered.
Dantero: ...Kinda peaceful, honestly.
Dark blinked. Calm. No tension.
Dark: You're not what I expected either.
Dantero chuckled.
Dantero: Most people say that after I blow something up.
Dark: I try not to judge too fast.
Dark: But you did walk into my Empire without permission.
Dantero: (grinning wider) Thought it was open to anyone who wasn't afraid.
Dark: It is.
Dantero: Good. 'Cause I'm not here to cause trouble. Just had a hunch. Kept hearing stories about you. Some say you're a tyrant. Others say you saved the world three times over. Some say you are the world now.
Dantero: Me? I figured I'd ask the guy himself.
Dark tilted his head slightly, shadows rippling gently across the stone around him.
Dark: What did you expect?
Dantero: Honestly? I dunno. Thought you'd be bigger. Taller. Maybe glowing. Maybe on fire. One of those types.
Dark let out the faintest laugh. Barely audible. But it was real.
Dark: Disappointed?
Dantero: Not even close.
Dantero's grin faded—not out of fear, but something more grounded. His eyes steadied.
Dantero: You feel real. That's rare.
Dark: Good. I've had enough of feeling like a myth.
Dantero: (smirking) Myths don't build empires.
Dark looked at him. Just looked. Measured, but not judging.
Dark: And what about you? You walk in here alone. No weapons drawn. No demands. Just curiosity.
Dantero shrugged, running a hand through his hair.
Dantero: I go where the wind stirs weird. You stirred it.
Dantero: Call it instinct. Or maybe boredom.
Dark: Or maybe you're just looking for a reason to fight.
Dantero: Maybe.
Dantero: But I don't pick fights with people who offer me tea.
Dark raised a brow. He actually smiled now—quiet, calm, the kind of smile only someone who'd learned to live after loss could wear.
Dark: You want tea?
Dantero: (grinning) If you're offering.
Dark turned, motioning with a slow hand as the shadows shifted like water. A simple stone table rose beside them, elegant in form but silent in presence. Two chairs. Steam curled from two cups before either man sat down.
Dark: Sit.
Dantero blinked. Then sat.
Dantero: Damn. You even got hospitality down.
Dark: Just because I command monsters doesn't mean I forgot how to be human.
Dantero picked up his cup. Took a sip. Then widened his eyes.
Dantero: This is actually good.
Dark: I know.
Dantero laughed.
Dantero: You're alright, man.
Dark said nothing. The silence was not awkward. It was final.
Then came the kneel.
A cold draft stirred the edge of the chamber floor as Clum appeared, descending to one knee in a smooth, practiced motion. His obsidian cloak folded with him, one hand over chest.
Clum: My Emperor.
Dark turned slightly, just enough to acknowledge.
Clum: A visitor approaches. From the Death Empire.
Dantero's brows flicked up.
Dantero: The what now?
Clum didn't look at him.
Clum: Zyke. Yenshin. And a third. Unknown youth.
Dark: Yenshin's son?
Clum: Presumably. His aura carries the same ancient echo. He is... different.
Dark stood slowly, his shadow trailing behind like a second spine.
Dark: Bring them through the throne path.
Clum bowed his head lower.
Clum: As you command.
Without another word, Clum vanished. A crisp shimmer of shadow and cold air marked his exit—no drama, no flair. Just the practiced silence of a Champion doing his duty.
Dantero exhaled.
Dantero: What the hell is a Death Empire? And why does it sound like the final boss of every nightmare?
Dark: You'll see.
He turned, cloak rising behind him like smoke from a dying world.
Dark: Walk with me.
Dantero blinked, then followed.
Dantero rubbed his neck.
Dantero: This place has... weight, man.
Dark said nothing.
Dantero: Not like, pressure-pressure. Just... like it's watching me.
Still no reply.
Dark walked ahead without turning, his steps making no sound. Even Dantero's boots—heavy, steel-bound—didn't echo here. The air swallowed all sound and gave nothing back.
Dantero: (grinning faintly) You always this fun?
Dark: No.
Dantero: Ah. So I caught you on a good day?
Dark stopped.
Dantero did too, blinking.
A few meters ahead, the corridor opened into a towering chamber of slow-moving shadow. Twelve black pillars curved upward like ribs from a buried titan, and in the center, three figures stood.
One was Zyke. Clean silver eyes, ash-toned skin, still young-looking despite the years. The aura of a weapon sheathed in ice.
Beside him stood Yenshin.
Older. Taller. Robes of death-silver lined with threads that shimmered like fog under moonlight. His presence was heavier than Zyke's. Not stronger—just... older. Deeper. Like a concept more than a man. Dantero didn't need to be told—this one had killed gods.
And then there was the third.
Younger than both. Leaner. Hair of dull crimson pulled back in a loose tie. He wore no armor. No rings. But his gaze...
Dantero flinched.
Dantero: The hell is with that guy's stare? That ain't normal.
Dark stepped forward.
Zyke was the first to incline his head. Not a bow. A gesture. Equal to equal.
Zyke: Shadow Monarch.
Dark: Death Prince.
Yenshin took one step forward, hand folded over his chest.
Yenshin: My Empire offers its respects.
Dark: And your son?
Yenshin looked toward the crimson-haired youth.
Yenshin: His name is Ijishi. And this is his first time away from Death's Domain.
Dark: So I'm his first... encounter?
Ijishi finally moved.
Ijishi: You are the one that stood against my father and lived.
Dantero, still behind Dark, raised both brows.
Dantero: (whispering) Man what kinda fantasy soap opera did I walk into...
Ijishi took one step forward.
Ijishi: You interest me.
Dark: That's dangerous.
Ijishi: I welcome danger.
Zyke didn't react.
Yenshin's face was unreadable.
Dark: Is that why you've come?
Ijishi: No. I came because I was told to. But I'm staying for my own reasons.
Dantero squinted.
Dantero: (muttering) Bro I don't like that one...
Dark: I'll allow him to speak.
Yenshin: He does not need permission.
Dark: He does in my Empire.
A pause.
Zyke smiled slightly. The tension eased.
Yenshin: Very well.
Ijishi stepped back, gaze steady. Not confrontational. Just unblinking. Studying.
Dark turned slightly toward Zyke.
Dark: I assume this isn't just a social call.
Zyke: You're correct.
Dantero: (quietly) Of course he is.
Zyke: But the reason can wait. You have a guest. Let him see your Empire before we speak of death.
Dark: He's seen enough already.
Dantero: Not even close.
Ijishi tilted his head.
Ijishi: That one... is not from here.
Yenshin: Clearly.
Dark: He's under my watch.
Yenshin: Then he will be left alone.
Zyke: For now.
Dark nodded once.
Dark: Very well. Then walk with me. All of you.
He turned again, cloak sweeping wide, and the chamber shifted—pillars breathing as if alive. Shadows curved upward, forming a bridge that led deeper toward the Empire's inner sanctum.
Dantero hesitated.
Dantero: And here I thought I was special.
Zyke walked past him.
Zyke: You're still breathing. That's rare.
Dantero: Right. Friendly bunch.
No one replied.
The silence wasn't cold. Just... collective. Like everyone had silently agreed Dantero hadn't earned words yet.
They walked through the hall—its walls alive with faint glyphs that blinked like dying stars. The ceiling was absurdly high, echoing each step in delayed waves.
Dantero looked around, both impressed and suspicious.
Dantero: (whistling) Y'all ever consider putting a couch somewhere? Maybe a beanbag? A poster? This place feels like it scolds me just for breathing.
Zyke: Then stop breathing.
Dantero: Damn. You're just like my ex.
Yenshin gave a slow glance in Dantero's direction. Not hostile. Not curious. Just... quiet judgment, layered in ancient understanding.
Yenshin: This is a domain of discipline, not comfort.
Dantero: Discipline? I didn't know shadows were into that kind of thing.
Ijishi suddenly turned.
Ijishi: You speak with no filter.
Dantero: You walk like your spine's allergic to joy.
Dark kept walking. He didn't laugh, but something about the tilt of his head said he was at least mildly entertained. If only mildly.
Zyke: (low voice) Why did you bring this one?
Dark: He brought himself.
Dantero: Hey, don't talk like I'm not here. I'm cool. I've got charm.
Ijishi: You are noise.
Dantero: Yeah. And you're like a haunted mirror if it could sulk.
Ijishi blinked. He didn't understand the joke.
Dantero: (shrugging) You'll get it when you're older.
Yenshin: He won't.
Dantero looked at him.
Dantero: Wait, can he... age?
Yenshin: No.
Dantero: Oh. That's tragic.
They passed under a colossal archway, the air suddenly heavier. Columns lined the sides like giants frozen in prayer. At the end stood a chamber shrouded in fog and whispering mist, filled with ancient carvings in a language no human tongue could pronounce.
Dantero slowed down.
Dantero: Yo, this looks like somewhere people go to die dramatically.
Zyke: They do.
Dantero: Nice.
He kept walking, hands casually behind his head. Ijishi glanced at Dark again.
Ijishi: Why is he permitted?
Dark: Because he's not a threat.
Ijishi: And if he becomes one?
Dark: Then you'll see why he was permitted.
Dantero: (grinning) I'm right here, you know. Y'all keep tossing death threats around like candy. I'm flattered.
Dark: Then stand still.
Dantero: What?
Dark: Stand still.
Dantero hesitated, then stopped walking. The group paused with him.
For a full five seconds, no one moved.
The Empire around them exhaled. A single gust of cold wind swept the corridor.
Dantero: Okay... now what?
Dark: If you were truly unworthy, you'd already be gone.
Dantero: (raising an eyebrow) What, like dead?
Dark: No. Forgotten.
Dantero looked around slowly.
Dantero: You guys really know how to throw a welcome party.
Zyke: We don't welcome.
Yenshin: Nor do we party.
Dantero: I figured.
He started walking again. No one told him to.
Dark kept ahead of the group. Silent. Focused.
Until...
Dark: You're not the only one arriving today.
Dantero: Huh?
Dark: Visitors.
Dantero: More of the cheerful kind?
Dark: The kind who don't knock.
As if on cue, a faint shift rippled through the air. A pulse. Not of energy... but of recognition. Something beyond the Empire's reach had briefly looked inward. Just a glance. Then gone.
Dantero: (glancing upward) What the hell was that?
Yenshin: Likely nothing.
Zyke: Or everything.
Dantero: ...Cool. Real comforting, fellas.
Ijishi: It came from the sky.
Dantero: I figured that out, thanks. You got a whole empire of mutes or—
Dark: Dantero.
Dantero: (grins) Yeah, yeah. Shutting up.
Zyke: You brought him into your walls?
Dark: I did.
Yenshin: He is untested.
Dark: So was I.
Zyke: Hm.
Dantero: Appreciate the confidence boost, really.
Ijishi: I sensed no malice in it. But... too much silence followed.
Dark: We'll monitor it. If it wants to be known, it will show itself.
Yenshin: Spoken like one who expects the storm.
Dark: No. Like one who's already drowned in it.
Dantero: Alright, now you're just being poetic.
Zyke: That was not poetry.
Dantero: Then remind me never to visit your empire.
Ijishi: (quietly) You will. One day.
Dantero: ...was that a threat or a prophecy?
Dark: Both, probably.
Dantero: Damn, you people are cryptic as shit.
Dark: Get used to it.
Ijishi tilted his head, eyes still faintly glowing from the aftershock in the air. Yenshin remained perfectly still. Zyke crossed his arms, gaze scanning the high ceiling, as if waiting for a crack to form. And through it all, Dantero just stretched, rolled his neck, and sighed.
Dantero: So, does anyone here play cards or is it all undead poetry slams and brooding?
Dark: Clum usually runs games at night.
Zyke: The one who destroys nations?
Dark: He also likes cards.
Dantero: This empire's got layers.
Yenshin: That is not a compliment.
Dantero: I wasn't trying to be nice.
Ijishi: (staring at him) You hide strength behind laughter.
Dantero: Nah. I hide boredom behind sarcasm. Strength just tags along.
Zyke: If it does, then let it be tested soon.
Dantero: Say when.
Dark: Later.
Dantero gave a half-salute, more amused than obedient.
Dantero: You're the boss, shadow man.
Yenshin's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, his gaze not hostile but ancient. Measured. Heavy.
Yenshin: You speak too lightly, outsider.
Dantero: And you speak like a bedtime story trying to scare me. It's not working.
Zyke: He doesn't understand our language. Let it go.
Dantero: Oh no, I understand fine. I just choose to be the sunshine in the room.
Ijishi: (softly) There is no sun here.
Dantero turned to him, one brow raised.
Dantero: Damn kid, who hurt you?
Ijishi: ...I was born like this.
The words hung longer than expected. For a second, Dantero said nothing. The grin faded just a little, replaced by something oddly sincere.
Dantero: Well. That's rough, buddy.
Dark: Enough.
Dantero: Yeah. Got it.
Dark stepped past them all, hands at his sides, voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge.
Dark: You didn't come here for banter. Yenshin. Zyke. Speak.
Zyke stepped forward first, cloak dragging behind him like a living thing. His voice was firmer now, less formal, more familiar.
Zyke: Our realm has quieted. For now. But the cracks are starting again. Across the dead zones. A scent.
Yenshin: A presence.
Ijishi: A hunger.
Dantero: Creepy.
Zyke ignored him.
Zyke: The Death Empire felt it rise. Something from the Prison World. Something that shouldn't still exist.
Yenshin: A ripple. No name. No form. Just... a smile.
Dark's expression didn't change. But inside, something shifted.
Dark: And you came here because?
Zyke: Because it felt like your scent. Twisted. Mocked. Bent wrong.
Yenshin: Because this Empire... is the only thing left that might survive what's coming.
Ijishi stepped forward finally, eyes still dimly glowing. His voice, though calm, carried an unnatural weight.
Ijishi: I was told to awaken.
Dantero: Told by who?
Ijishi: Death.
Dantero: Well shit.
Dark: (quietly) I see.
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was thick. Alive. A moment where the air had to consider whether or not to keep existing around them.
Dark: We'll prepare.
Dantero: We?
Dark: You're here, aren't you?
Dantero blinked. Then smirked.
Dantero: Fair enough.
Ijishi stared at Dark for a long second. There was no awe in his eyes. Just recognition. Like one shadow seeing another.
Then...
It happened.
Not with sound.
Not with warning.
Just... absence.
Ijishi stood mid-sentence. His hand had been moving to gesture—fingertips barely a breath from finishing whatever point he was making.
Then something shifted.
It was as if the world had lost a single frame. A flicker. A twitch.
Dantero: (confused blink) Huh...?
A wind passed—but no one felt it. Only saw it.
Ijishi's body was still standing.
Still breathing.
Then—
His head slid off.
A perfect, noiseless motion.
The cut so smooth, so inhumanly clean, it didn't tear. It separated.
Veins stayed whole. Skin didn't rupture—it obeyed.
The head twisted slightly mid-air, slow, almost peaceful... until gravity remembered what it was.
Thud.
Face-first against the cold stone.
Silence.
Zyke's eyes trembled.
Yenshin's hands froze.
Dantero whispered under his breath.
Dantero: (staring) No. No fucking way...
Ijishi's body swayed, arms still outstretched, blood beginning to pour in a lazy, wrong rhythm.
It was too quiet.
Then—
A flicker of motion in the space between them. Not from above. Not from the side. From the gap between seconds.
A foot stepped through time itself.
Copi stood there.
Not appearing. Not teleporting. Becoming.
The way a dream becomes a nightmare.
The same face.
Same smirk.
Same expression he wore the last time Dark saw him.
The same moment when he tried to—
Dark's teeth clenched. His fingers twitched.
Copi: (gentle smile) Oh. Don't look so serious. He's still breathing. Barely. But you knew that, didn't you?
Dark didn't move.
Zyke slowly lowered to one knee beside Ijishi's headless form. But he didn't dare touch it.
Copi: (looking down) Mmm. Poor little child. So full of death... and yet, still hasn't died.
He knelt, placing two fingers just beside the blood.
Copi: (soft) What will you be, I wonder?
Dantero's voice broke the quiet like a bad joke slipping into a funeral.
Dantero: (low) What is that thing?
Yenshin: (cold) Not something you joke about.
Zyke: (through his teeth) Copi.
Copi looked up at them, smile never leaving.
Copi: Aw. You remembered me.
Then his gaze shifted.
Dark still hadn't moved. But the hatred... the pressure coming off him could've flattened a mountain.
Copi: (grinning) Ah. I was wondering how long you'd stay quiet.
Dark: Get the fuck out.
Copi: (tilting his head) Oh? That's no way to greet an old friend.
Dark: We're not friends.
Copi: No. You're right.
He stood fully now. Hands behind his back.
No aura. No killing intent. Just a presence that did not belong.
Copi: Last time we met... you looked different. Less blood in your eyes. Less hate. But then again... she was still alive then.
Dantero noticed it first.
Dark's fists... were trembling. Pure rage.
Not from fear.
From memory.
From that moment—
That sick, horrible night.
The smile.
The breath.
The way Copi had bent over her, mocking her helplessness, whispering things no man should speak.
Dantero: (whispering) ...Yo...
Dark: (quietly) Why are you here. You should've just di—
Copi: You're right. I should've. But shoulds don't matter here.
He looked down at Ijishi's fallen head, which had begun twitching.
A spark of movement. A throb. Not human. Not even magical. Something deeper. Death resisting death.
Copi: (pleased) Oh. Look at that. He is reviving. Took long enough.
Dantero instinctively reached for a blade that wasn't there.
Dantero: You...
Copi: (smiling at him now) Hmm... and who are you, exactly?
Dantero: I'm the guy trying real hard not to turn your face into a crater.
Copi gave him a curious look. Then turned back to Dark.
Copi: You've got a talkative one now. Keeps things lively.
Dark said nothing.
Copi stared a moment longer... then smiled, stepping backward once.
But the moment never completed.
The camera slid to the side.
Dantero's right hand was gripping Copi's shoulder, fingers sunken deep, pressing with unnatural tension. Not to harm. Not to intimidate. But out of something more human—revulsion.
His face was still pale. Gaze cast downward. Eyes shadowed.
Dantero: Oi... you...
A second passed.
Dantero slowly turned his head, just enough to glance toward the monster beside him. His voice was low. Not cocky. Not sarcastic. Just... raw.
Dantero: What in the hell are you supposed to be?
His fingers tightened.
Dantero: How dare you... kill a literal child.
Copi didn't react.
His smile never faded.
Not once.
Not for a second.
It wasn't human.
That smile didn't belong on anything born from life. The way it curved—too symmetrical. Too static. Like a chalk drawing across the face of a mannequin. A grin made of teeth and silence.
His entire form glowed white now.
White skin. White hair. White eyes. Even his teeth seemed luminous.
But not warm.
Not divine.
Just wrong.
A humanoid outline in a world made of ink.
As if someone took a paintbrush and erased color from a person.
Then it hit.
Everything broke.
A wave of pressure exploded from Copi's body.
Not ki.
Not magic.
It was presence. Unfathomable and unchecked.
The ground cracked in a perfect circle. Then another. Then another. The shock spiraled outward like a blooming lotus of annihilation.
The walls of the Dark Empire screamed. Steel fractured. Stone buckled. Entire towers bowed inward from the weight. The sky dimmed. Birds dropped mid-flight. Clouds split open.
And then—
In an instant.
The Champions appeared.
Igor.
Vel.
Clum.
Raz.
Malik.
Syv.
Brak.
One.
Biru.
Cal.
All ten.
Summoned without warning by the wave.
Not called by Dark.
Not ordered.
But pulled here... instinctively. By Copi.
And every single one of them dropped to their knees the moment they landed.
Collapsed.
Syv's armor bent.
Cal coughed blood. Igor bit down hard on his own tongue just to stay conscious.
Malik fell to all fours, shaking violently.
Brak didn't even resist—his head hit the floor with a hollow clang.
Yenshin dropped completely.
Zyke too.
Both unconscious before their knees hit the stone.
Dark gritted his teeth, a drop of blood sliding from the corner of his mouth. His body trembled, muscles bulging just to stay upright. His shadow distorted behind him, trying to devour the pressure like a living thing.
Dantero...
Dantero didn't fall.
His feet stayed planted.
Legs trembling slightly.
But still gripping Copi's shoulder.
Still pale.
Still looking down.
Copi: (quiet, clean) Get.
He tilted his head slightly toward Dantero.
Copi: Your.
Another shift. A sound like glass breaking inside the bones of the world.
Copi: Dirty.
His mouth didn't move. The words just came.
Copi: Human.
Copi: Hand.
He turned his head fully now, the smile stretching wider than it should have.
Copi: Away from me.
The ground beneath Dantero's boots cracked in a spiderweb, cratering outward.
The air turned black around them, colors draining as if eaten.
Dark took a step forward. The pressure slammed him back two paces instantly, blood now trickling from both nostrils.
Copi's white fingers slowly raised.
Dantero's grip still didn't release.
Dantero: (softly) You're really something else, huh...
His teeth bared. Still trembling. Still pissed.
Dantero: You killed a child... in front of all of us... just to show off?
Copi's fingers twitched mid-air.
The temperature dropped.
Not to zero. Not to freezing.
To negative meaning. As if warmth itself had been deleted from reality.
Copi: Do you think you can grasp what I am?
Dantero didn't answer.
But his left foot slid backward, subtly shifting to a fighting stance.
Dark's voice cut through the madness, cold and low.
Dark: Dantero.
Dantero didn't turn.
Dark: Let him go.
Dantero: (growling) No.
Copi's smile widened again.
The next moment moved like thick oil through time.
Dantero's hand twisted.
Dark stepped once.
And Copi—still smiling—made the first move without moving at all.
Dantero lunged.
His entire body curved mid-motion, hips spinning, foot sliding forward in a crescent motion as his elbow arced straight toward Copi's head. A feint.
The real strike was his left leg, launching up with a thunderous rising knee aimed at the core of Copi's glowing chest.
The impact landed.
A deep, echoing crack echoed out, followed by a shimmer of white—
—and Copi was gone.
No recoil. No block. He had simply stepped an inch to the side.
Dantero wasn't shocked. He twisted, spun, and slashed down with the edge of his hand, calling forward an unseen blade from pure kinetic force.
The hit sliced Copi's cheek.
A thin line opened. It bled nothing.
Copi looked down at the cut.
Copi: (mock-whispering) Oh no...
Dantero didn't wait.
He followed up with a full sequence—hooks, spin kicks, reversals, neck blows, even a blinding finger jab aimed at Copi's eye. The arena cracked beneath his movements. Each step was sharp enough to echo. Every blow was danced through the air like a killing rhythm.
And for a few seconds—it looked like it was working.
Copi stumbled back.
Chest smoking.
Face cracked.
One hand clutched his ribs.
Dantero planted a foot and pointed down at him.
Dantero: You're just a punk with glow paint. Stay down.
Copi looked up, coughing.
His smile was gone.
His eyes lowered.
His hand... trembled.
Dantero: (exhaling) Tch. That's what I thought.
Dark narrowed his eyes.
Something was wrong.
Too easy.
Way too easy.
Then—Copi grinned.
That grin.
The kind that never fades.
The kind monsters wear when pretending to be prey.
Copi: You almost had me. Truly.
Dantero's eyes widened.
Copi: Almost.
His body blurred.
A flash of white pressure exploded out.
The air shattered. Every window across the Dark Empire cracked at once. Time stuttered.
Then came the backhand.
A single flick of Copi's wrist, straight across Dantero's face.
It didn't sound like a slap. It sounded like a missile hitting bone.
Dantero was launched backward, skipping across the ground like a ragdoll tied to a god's whip. He struck the wall, went through it, bounced, then hit another structure two districts away.
The empire trembled.
Dust rained from the sky.
Copi stood alone now.
Untouched.
Unphased.
Unbothered.
He cracked his neck once, then glanced at Dark.
Copi: (cheerfully) You have interesting friends. You should keep them alive longer.
And just like that—
He vanished.
No flash. No sound. Just gone. As if reality blinked and erased him.
Silence returned.
But only for a second.
Because the sound of twitching flesh echoed behind them.
A low, gurgling rasp.
Then—
Ijishi's head moved.
Still separated from his body.
Still lying in its own blood.
But the eye twitched.
A single pulse traveled beneath the skin. The kind that didn't carry blood but memory. A cold signal. Ancient. Sourced not from life, not from mana, but from something more primal. Something older than spellcraft. Older than resurrection. A lawbreaker beat. A paradox in motion.
Ijishi's severed eye rolled slightly within the socket. Its white sclera gained a faint gloss. Not light. Not reflection. It was as if the eye remembered seeing. Remembered being.
The jaw cracked next.
Not with a jolt, but in a slow, deliberate unhinging. Like a snake waking in reverse. His lips peeled back in a mechanical grin, and his tongue moved as though testing language it hadn't yet earned.
Then came the sound.
It started low, almost nonverbal. Not a scream. Not a growl. A suffocated hum. A vibration that spilled out like underwater static, resonating through the fractured soil. The nearby air warped, distorting slightly around the head. Not from heat. From pressure. Pressure that suggested the world wasn't supposed to see this.
Bones in his neck stump twitched next, splintered tips rotating unnaturally. Not like they were aligning for reconnection—more like they were hunting. Searching. Fishing for a thread of self in a reality that no longer wanted him.
And then—
The blood around him rose.
The pool lifted, thick like tar, roiling upward in long strands that clung to his hair and the floor and the cracks in the wall. It flowed unnaturally, rejecting gravity with spite, slithering up his severed spine and forming into strings of muscle. Corded ropes of viscera that slowly weaved together in the shape of a neck.
Dark narrowed his eyes. His jaw clenched.
Dantero stirred in the rubble, blood dripping from his mouth.
Ijishi's mouth opened wider than any human's should have. His tongue spasmed, teeth reforming where there had been none. Then his body—the once still and mangled corpse—twitched. A seizure at first. Then a stretch. Then a violent jerk that snapped his entire upper torso upright.
The head rose.
The new neck met it halfway.
The connection didn't fuse cleanly. It slammed together, bone to bone, flesh to nerve. Sparks of white light flared from the contact point. For one moment, the entire body trembled.
Then silence.
No wind.
No sound.
Only the wet drop of an organ falling into place.
Ijishi stood. Fully whole.
But not the same.
His frame was taller. Shoulders broader. His skin, once tan and marked by tribal ink, had turned pale and glossy like bone dipped in frost. Cracks spread down his arms like vein-shaped fractures, and across his chest glowed a red, jagged symbol—foreign, aggressive, and hot enough to hiss against the cold air.
His eyes opened.
This time, both.
No longer brown.
They were black. Abyss-black. Each iris carried a rim of shifting crimson, as though fire was flickering within the void. And in that gaze... was hatred. Pure, undiluted, lucid hatred.
Not rage. Not fury.
Hatred with intention.
Dark didn't move.
Dantero, even while bloodied, instinctively reached for a weapon again, breath ragged.
Because this thing wasn't Ijishi anymore.
But what stood now was something else entirely.
Death.
And it was looking straight at Dark.
Straight into him.
Dark: (thinking) The hell is wrong with this kid... why is his pressure this dense?
Dark: (thinking) One thing after another.
Dantero pushed himself up, blood dripping from his chin. He limped forward, eyes locked on Ijishi.
Dantero: Hey. Kid. How the hell did you do that?
Yenshin stepped in, voice calm.
Yenshin: Those chosen by the Death Empire can return. No matter how brutal the end.
Dantero: So you're immortal?
Yenshin: Yes and no. You live again. But it hurts. Every time. Dying, returning... it breaks something each time.
Dantero: Sounds like shit.
Zyke: Ijishi. Control yourself.
Ijishi turned his head. Slow. Empty. Eyes still locked on Dark.
Ijishi: Shut up. Death says shut up.
Zyke: Huh? You can hear Death?
Ijishi's mouth opened wider, unnaturally. His jaw stretched inhuman. The voice that came out wasn't his.
Death: Zyke.
Zyke dropped instantly. His knee slammed the dirt. Yenshin followed, bowing low.
Yenshin: My lord...
Zyke: Forgive me. I did not realize it was you.
Death didn't look at them. His body kept walking forward. Closer to Dark. He stopped two steps away and lifted his hand slightly.
Death: Greetings, Dark. I've heard things.
Dark stared at the hand, then reached and took it.
Dark: (thinking) So this is Death?
Death: Yes. Not a title. Not a myth. I am Death.
Dark: Got it.
Death: Read your mind.
Dark: Cool.
A brief smirk touched Death's face. Then it vanished.
Death: Hm...?
Death: My spiritual darkness isn't working on you?
Dark: Your what?
Zyke: My lord. Dark is the Monarch of Shadows. Also the Prince of Darkness. His resistance... is natural.
Death: I see.
Death pulled his hand away. The air tightened again. Cracks formed in the ground beneath his feet.
Death: This might be interesting after all.
He didn't blink. Didn't breathe. Just stood there, staring at Dark like a man eyeing a mirror that moved.
Then he tilted his head.
Death: Duel me.
Dark: You serious?
Death: Perfectly.
Dantero: (under his breath) What is with you people?
Death: This isn't about revenge. Or punishment. I simply wish to see.
Dark: See what?
Death: If the things I've heard... are true.
The space between them folded.
Not visually.
Physically.
The distance collapsed with a single pulse. No movement. Just instant compression. A punch flew—white bone knuckles aimed for Dark's chest.
Dark caught it with his forearm.
The shockwave broke the air in half.
They clashed once. Twice. Then vanished.
Dantero and the others didn't even track the movement. Just sounds. Thunder cracks. Fist-to-flesh. Flesh-to-bone. Lightning flashes of pure force erupting through the courtyard, splitting the ground open and reforming it instantly.
Zyke: (squinting) They're scaling with each strike...
Yenshin: Death's not playing.
Dantero: Neither is Dark.
Then—
A sudden silence.
Dark dropped, skidding backward across broken stone, boots dragging sparks.
Ahead of him...
Death stood with one foot on something.
Dantero's eyes widened.
It was Dark's head.
Crushed beneath Death's heel.
But the body beneath it was still standing.
And then—suddenly—the body turned to smoke.
An afterimage.
Dark reappeared behind him, swinging Kyuketsu in scythe form.
Death spun.
Caught it with two fingers.
Death: You see... this is why I wanted this.
His tone was calm. Controlled. But the smile on his face wasn't.
It was wide.
Too wide.
His eyes never blinked. Never shifted.
Just that smile—perfect white teeth. No warmth. Only entertainment.
Like a hunter toying with prey.
Death: (smiling) Entertain me more, Prince of Shadows.
Dark dashed in.
Death didn't move his hands. Kept them in his pockets.
Still smiling.
Dark's punch went for the ribs.
It connected.
Death didn't budge.
Then—crack.
In one motion, Death's foot twisted and broke the stone under them, launching Dark into the sky.
Death: Let's raise the stakes.
He followed in a blink, appearing above Dark mid-air, hands still buried in his coat, and—
Boom
A stomp. Mid-air. Onto Dark's back. Slamming him down at Mach speed.
He hit the ground like a meteor.
Dust exploded. The courtyard split.
When it cleared, Death stood there again. Hands in his pockets. One boot pressed against Dark's back.
Then, slowly... he leaned forward.
Not fast. Not dramatic.
Just enough to bend his spine, his upper body tilting until his pale face hovered directly above Dark's.
That smile never left.
That monstrous, lopsided grin.
Death: Hm...
His voice was low. Casual. Almost curious.
Death: This is the one they feared?
Death: (softly) The Monarch of Shadows?
He tilted his head further, eyes studying Dark's expression like it was a painting hung too low on a wall.
Death: Your breathing's steady. Spine isn't cracked. Heart rate controlled. So this isn't pain.
He leaned in just a hair closer. Closer than comfort. Nose almost touching.
Death: You're humiliated.
Dark said nothing. Muscles tensed, but not in panic. In focus.
Death's grin widened.
Death: You don't fear me. You hate this.
His foot pressed down harder, grinding into Dark's back, pinning him deeper into the cracked earth.
Death: The powerlessness. The position.
Death: Beneath me.
Dark: (calmly) Move it. Now.
Death: Or what?
Dark's eyes lit red.
Then pitch black.
He vanished.
Instant movement.
He appeared to Death's left with Kyuketsu mid-swing.
But Death... didn't move.
And yet the blade stopped.
Just hovered there.
No resistance. No clash.
It just... refused.
Dark's brow furrowed.
Death: You're still holding back.
Death: I like that.
He stepped forward, chest bumping into Dark's with no resistance, eyes still wide, smiling.
Death: Let's go deeper.
Dark stepped back once.
Only once.
But Death followed without lifting his feet. Like a shadow stretching in moonlight, he simply... moved. No dash. No blink. Just presence in motion.
Death: Show me.
He whispered it without force.
And struck without warning.
A pale arm blurred forward—knuckles crashing into Dark's jaw with such torque that the shockwave uprooted the ground beneath them. The air split in four directions. Not from power.
From disrespect.
Dark's body flipped mid-air, legs thrown over shoulder. He twisted, landed low, then burst forward with a streak of black mana. Kyuketsu, still in scythe form, extended unnaturally, aiming straight for Death's center.
But Death caught it.
Two fingers.
Held between them like a leaf in the breeze.
Death: Hm.
He tilted his head again.
Death: So this is the blade that tore through celestial realms.
He spun it once. One-handed. Then snapped the handle.
Kyuketsu let out a screech—high-pitched, metal crying like a wounded animal—as the scythe split and splintered into black mist.
Dark: (quietly) Wrong move.
The mist imploded.
In a blink, it reformed—into a spear this time—and pierced straight through Death's chest.
A clean hit.
Dead center.
Dantero: (wide-eyed) Yo—!
But Death didn't bleed.
He looked down.
Smiled wider.
Then gripped the shaft of the spear and slowly pushed it backward. Out of his chest. No expression. Just steady pressure until it slid out fully, clattering behind him on the stone.
Death: That's better.
Death: You're finally trying.
He vanished again.
Not through speed.
Through absence.
Dark's eyes flared. Too late.
CRACK.
A heel slammed into his spine. He staggered, then—
CRACK.
A palm into his neck.
CRACK.
An elbow into his ribs.
Three hits.
Three organs ruptured.
Dark coughed and dropped to a knee. Blood hit the floor.
The blood sizzled.
Not from heat.
But rejection.
Dark's body refused to stay down. His knee trembled beneath him, not from weakness—but defiance. The floor cracked beneath his palm as he slowly lifted himself up, vertebrae clicking into place one by one, like a machine forcing itself online against command.
Death stopped walking.
He didn't turn around.
He didn't need to.
Dark: (low) You done playing?
Death's eyes shifted slightly. No emotion. Just observation.
Death: You ask that... while your bones are still echoing from the last hit?
Dark stood fully now. Shoulders rising with each breath. The air around him began to ripple—not from pressure, but density. Gravity started to warp. Dust refused to fall. Shadows lifted.
Dantero, still watching from the side, cracked his neck.
Dantero: (muttering) That's more like it.
Zyke: (quiet) This isn't good.
Yenshin said nothing.
Death: So, Monarch... you've decided to stop enduring and start reacting?
Dark: (calm) I've decided to start treating you like a threat.
Without warning, he moved.
No grand signal.
No charge.
Just speed.
Dark appeared in front of Death, one hand already driving into his gut—except it wasn't a fist.
It was his own heart.
Ripped from his chest. Coursing with cursed mana. Condensed into a singularity of black-red force.
Dark: Let's go deeper, right?
He shoved it into Death's chest.
Death's eyes flicked once. The smile remained. Then—
BOOM.
The blast didn't explode outward.
It collapsed inward.
Reality snapped in, folding space for a blink. The impact zone erased light itself. Everything within a ten-meter radius became blank—no texture, no color, no time.
And from the void, two figures shot out.
Death, spiraling backward, cloak torn.
Dark, panting once—but smiling.
Dark: Round two.
Death hovered mid-air, cloak stitching itself back together from the seams.
He exhaled.
Death: Good.
Death: Hurt me again.
He vanished.
To Be Continued.
End Of Arc 6 Chapter 19.