The sky above the Underworld cracked with a deep rumble, and a blood-red mist spread slowly like veins across the clouds. The Shadow King stood at the highest tower of his throne, unmoving, staring into the storm with narrowed eyes. The wind was wrong. It wasn't cold or hot—it was empty, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
His kingdom—the eternal land of death and darkness—was silent. Not the usual silence of fear or obedience. This was deeper. Hollow. As if something had killed the air.
In the far distance, flames flickered strangely, bending to a force they couldn't resist. The rivers of lava slowed. Shadows that once danced along the walls now shrank away, hiding. Even the spirits of the damned, who howled endlessly from the pits below, had gone quiet.
Something had come.
And it wasn't supposed to exist.
The Shadow King's eyes narrowed. His armor—made from the bones of fallen gods—tightened around his chest. He felt it. Not a presence, not magic… but a pressure in the air, like a scream that hadn't been screamed yet. A scream trying to tear through reality.
Then… it began.
Far below, one of his frontline generals—a demon named Gorath, taller than ten men, with lava flowing from his mouth and horns that scraped the clouds—suddenly stopped marching. His steps froze mid-air. His eyes twitched.
And then… slowly… his body started to crack.
At first, it was small. A tiny fracture across his chest, like a crack in glass. The other demons didn't notice at first. They just kept walking. But Gorath dropped his axe. It clanged loudly on the obsidian floor. That sound—so normal, so out of place—made a few turn their heads.
"Gorath?" one of them asked, confused. "Why did you—"
But before he could finish, Gorath shattered.
Piece by piece.
No scream.
No flame.
Just quiet—like the world had taken him back without asking.
His body turned into floating dust, vanishing into the wind like he never existed.
Silence.
Then panic.
The demon who had spoken earlier took a step back, eyes wide. "What… what was that? Did anyone see—"
He didn't finish either.
His head twisted unnaturally, turning almost all the way around. His eyes rolled into darkness, and he dropped, folding into himself like paper before vanishing completely.
Now the others saw.
And they broke.
Screams erupted across the lower levels of the citadel. Demons ran in every direction, roaring in fear, raising weapons at shadows that weren't there.
"We're under attack!"
"No! No enemy! I see nothing!"
"What is this?! WHO'S DOING THIS?!"
Demons—creatures of war, monsters that had slaughtered angels and devoured stars—were now scrambling like frightened animals. Some tried to fly, their wings burning as they lifted into the air—only to vanish mid-flight, torn into pieces by something invisible.
There was no enemy to strike.
No shadow to chase.
Just... death.
And it was slow. Cruel. Like whatever was killing them wanted them to feel it.
The Shadow King didn't move. His eyes scanned the chaos from above. His vision, gifted by ancient powers, could see beyond normal sight. It could see spirits. Echoes. Intentions. But now?
Nothing.
It was like the enemy didn't exist.
He clenched his fists.
Then… it spoke.
Not through sound. Not through the air.
But inside his head.
> "You will fall. You will fade. I am the silence before death. I am the breath you forget to take. You cannot see me. You cannot stop me."
The words didn't echo. They settled. Like dust in the cracks of his mind.
The Shadow King took a slow breath, his chest rising and falling like a mountain waking up.
"Who are you?" he asked, calmly but firmly. "Speak."
No answer.
Just more screams from below.
Another demon exploded into blood and smoke. Another dropped to his knees, begging the gods he once cursed. Another clawed at his own throat as invisible blades tore through his lungs.
One of the youngest demons—barely two centuries old—looked up, eyes wide with tears of acid.
"I don't want to die like this…"
Then he, too, was taken.
The fear was spreading.
And fast.
Even the ground began to react. The black stone of the Underworld cracked open in random places. The heat faded. The light from the lava dimmed.
The Underworld itself was afraid.
And somewhere in the center of it all, the Shadow King whispered to himself, "This… this is no invader. It's a mistake. A forgotten thing."
He raised his blade and struck the sky itself. The swing was so powerful, it tore open the clouds and shook mountains on the horizon.
Still, nothing.
Not even a scratch.
> "You cannot fight what you cannot see," the voice returned. "I am not from your world. I am the mistake your gods buried. I am the darkness your shadows fear."
And for the first time in ten thousand years, the Shadow King felt it.
Fear.
Great—here's the second part of the expanded Chapter Four, continuing from the slow, terrifying destruction. Now, we'll get deeper into the Shadow King's thoughts, the emotional weight of his forbidden choice, the ancient book, and the awakening of the boy in the human world.
---
CHAPTER FOUR: THE LAST OPTION (Part 2 – The Forbidden Spell)
The Shadow King stepped down from his throne slowly, each footstep echoing louder than it should, as if the Underworld itself was listening. Around him, his strongest generals were already gone. Only a few demons remained, trembling, forming a loose circle around their king. But none dared speak. Their pride, their rage—everything was crumbling under the weight of this thing that hunted them with no face, no form, no sound.
Inside, the Shadow King was raging.
He was a being made of nightmares—one who had outlived wars between gods, torn celestial beasts in half, and sealed away entire dimensions with a thought. He had ruled for eons with fire and bone. But now… he was facing a predator that hunted from nowhere. A thing that didn't even touch the world—just erased it.
> "Why?" he whispered to himself. "Why now? Who let this in?"
His thoughts raced. It had to be connected to something… something old. Something buried. And then it came back to him.
A memory.
A book.
A spell.
One he had locked away himself—because even he feared it.
He turned to his guards. "Bring me the sealed vault."
The demons hesitated.
"My lord… the vault was never meant to be opened again," one stuttered. "You said so yourself."
"I know what I said," the Shadow King growled. "But this enemy is not trying to conquer. It's trying to erase. We are not being invaded… we are being deleted."
At that, the demons backed away, faces pale with horror.
With a wave of his hand, a red circle of runes appeared mid-air, glowing with forbidden symbols. It pulsed like a heartbeat. A low, ancient scream echoed from it as a chained object rose from its center—covered in thick rusted chains, sealed with thousands of magical locks, each one screaming in a different language.
The Book of Shadows.
The moment it appeared, the very air in the room dropped in temperature. Fire dimmed. Shadows turned away.
One demon dropped to his knees. "You promised never to open it. You said the last time it was used, it tore a hole through reality."
The King didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on the book as if it might explode just by being looked at for too long.
He reached out, and the chains trembled.
"You said the spell inside could destroy even the Underworld itself!" another cried.
The Shadow King nodded slowly. "Yes. But it can also save it."
And then… one by one, the chains snapped open.
With each chain that broke, a gust of wind burst through the room, carrying screams—not screams from any living thing, but echoes from a place beyond understanding.
When the last chain fell, the book opened on its own. Pages turned by themselves, flipping faster and faster, until it stopped… on a page written entirely in blood.
The ink moved.
The letters crawled.
The Shadow King took a breath.
"This spell was used only once," he said. "It sealed a world of monsters—a world that should never have existed. But it couldn't just be locked. The key had to be hidden."
He turned to the few demons still alive.
"So the key was placed inside a living body. One that could handle the weight of 10,000 demon souls."
One demon gasped. "You want to create… another key?"
"I have no choice," the King said. "If I don't—this entire realm, and every realm connected to it, will fall."
He stepped into the center of the blood circle. The symbols on the ground lit up with dark fire. His arms were wrapped in black energy. His voice dropped into a deep, monstrous chant.
> Kurarin vek'tal morin…
Shan'dor ek'vel thuras…
As he spoke, the ground split open. Bones of the ancient dead rose, forming a massive circular gate. Flesh and shadow weaved between the bones, creating a portal unlike any seen before.
Suddenly everything went blank,just darkness