The world ended loudly.
Cities burned. Skies cracked. Gods fell screaming from their thrones.
And when the devastation was complete, when nothing remained worth destroying, the journey did not end—it shifted.
A new dimension opened.
But the one who stepped into it was no longer the same being who had once drowned the world in blood.
Fragments of foreign memories clung to his consciousness—voices that were not his, lives that were never lived by him. They merged, collided, and rotted together until the balance of his mind finally collapsed. What remained was not evolution, nor rebirth.
It was erasure.
The man he once was ceased to exist.
Time passed. Long enough for his name to be forgotten. Long enough for his origin to dissolve into myth. No trace of his former self survived—not in history, not in memory.
Yet evil has a habit of refusing oblivion.
Though his identity vanished, the terror he left behind did not. The world, desperate to explain its fear, buried his true history and gave birth to a new one. They called him a devil. A calamity. A necessary nightmare.
But names are dangerous things.
Because some names remember.
And when whispers of the past began to surface once more—when old legends stirred beneath new lies—it became clear that this was not merely another demon wearing a borrowed title.
This was the awakening of a name that did not forgive history.
A name born not from worship, but from slaughter.
Slaughter God.