The dawn crept over the horizon reluctantly, as if it wished to spare the world the sight of the devastation it was about to illuminate. The pale light trickled through the fractured timbers of shattered homes, casting long, distorted shadows that twisted unnervingly over the bloodstained ground. Smoke hung heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of scorched wood and the bitter tang of spilled blood. A deathly stillness bnketed the vilge, broken only by the quiet murmur of prayers and the rhythmic clink of armored boots on cobblestones.

  Padins moved with measured purpose, their movements weighed down by grim resolve. They sifted through the debris in search of survivors or relics of the lives that had once flourished here. Every broken doll, every cracked locket, every bloodied scrap of cloth was a stark reminder of the lives snuffed out in the night’s carnage. Their faces bore the hardened expressions of soldiers long acquainted with death, yet beneath the surface lingered flickers of pain, guilt, and weariness.

  Priestesses knelt among the wounded, their delicate hands aglow with a faint, golden light as they whispered prayers of healing and soce. Nearby, others moved with somber precision, arranging the lifeless bodies of the fallen humans onto makeshift stretchers. While others bunched up the corpses of monsters into piles for incineration. Each face they uncovered carried a story now left untold, and every whispered prayer added to the heavy atmosphere of grief for the human killers.

  At the heart of the ruin stood Hakura, her silhouette etched against the soft light of dawn like a solitary monument to sorrow. Her silver eyes swept across the wreckage, unblinking, her expression carved from stone. The weight of her actions hung around her like a shroud, an invisible force that pressed against her chest with every breath she took. Life and death wove together in a chaotic tapestry around her, and she stood at its center—a witness and a perpetrator. A pretender.

  Her gaze lingered on the broken remnants of the vilge. Blood pooled in the cracks of the cobblestones, dark and viscous, reflecting the fragile light like shards of a broken mirror. The once-vibrant homes, now skeletal ruins, seemed to mourn their lost inhabitants. A low tremor passed through her as she exhaled, her breath unsteady.

  “It’s for her,” Hakura whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant cng of steel and the hushed voices of the priestesses. “Everything I’ve done... everything I will do... it’s all for her. To go home. To bring her back.”

  The words echoed within her, a fragile mantra that felt as though it might shatter under the weight of her guilt. Her mind spiraled back to the moment that had set her on this path, the memory vivid and raw.

  Haruka had been on the bus with her cssmates, the hum of chatter and ughter filling the air as they headed toward a school trip in the mountains. The winding roads were steep, but the scenery outside was breathtaking. She had been sitting next to Yuki, as always, the two of them quietly sharing snacks and joking about what awaited them at their destination.

  But then, everything went wrong. The bus veered off the road, the world tilting violently as screams erupted around her. Haruka barely had time to register the drop, the shattering of gss, the crunch of metal, and the chaos that followed.

  When she came to, the world felt disjointed. Pain throbbed through her body, but she could still move. The bus was crumpled, half buried against the rocky terrain, with cssmates groaning and crying as they struggled to free themselves. Haruka had scrambled to help, pulling whoever she could from the wreckage, her heart pounding as adrenaline pushed her past the pain.

  She didn’t realize until much ter that Yuki wasn’t among the injured.

  The light came without warning, engulfing Haruka and the others as they staggered from the crash site. It was blinding, warm, and utterly overwhelming, pulling her away from the wreckage and into an entirely different pce.

  When her vision cleared, she was standing with her cssmates in a realm of swirling energy and shimmering light. At the center of a glowing ptform stood a radiant figure—a woman whose golden hair flowed like liquid sunlight, her robes shimmering with white and gold. Her azure eyes pierced through the group, both comforting and unnervingly powerful.

  “Our world has chosen you,” the goddess said, her voice echoing like a melody. “Heroes of another world to save ours. But there is more to why you were brought here.”

  When the goddess mentioned everyone by name but Yuki and rewards they could get from the infernal lords defeat, Haruka’s heart sank. Her best friend had been by her side just moments before, hadn’t she? A sinking feeling began to take hold as Haruka’s voice broke through the silence.

  “Where is Yuki?” she asked, her voice trembling. “She was with us… she was right there... right?”

  The goddess’s expression darkened for a brief moment, a flicker of something almost like disdain, before softening into a sorrowful bow.

  “My apologies,” she said, her tone heavy with regret. “By the time the summoning was complete, Yuki was already gone. Her soul had departed before I could intervene. I am truly sorry.”

  The words hit Haruka like a blow, the weight of them impossible to bear. She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes, unwilling to believe it. Yuki couldn’t be gone. Not like this.

  But then the goddess’s next words sparked a fragile hope.

  “It is possible to bring her back. If you defeat the Infernal Lords and save this world, you will gain the gods’ favor. I will personally ensure Yuki’s soul is restored.”

  Those words became Haruka’s lifeline. They gave her purpose, a reason to pick up the bde and fight. She would save this world—not for glory, not for herself, but for Yuki.

  Now, as she stood amidst the ruins of a battle, blood on her hands and destruction all around her, that hope felt so far away. The goddess’s promise echoed in her mind, both a comfort and a torment. Her fists trembled as she whispered to herself, “I have to believe. I have to trust her words.”

  A sudden commotion snapped her from her thoughts. A cluster of padins had gathered near the edge of the square, their movements abrupt and tense. Hakura turned, her heart skipping as she caught sight of the focus of their attention.

  The corpse of the woman that protected the monsters y among the rubble, crumpled and broken. Her once pale beauty was now marred mostly bckened bone and bits of flesh, her form twisted unnaturally. The sight struck Hakura like a blow, her breath catching painfully in her chest. But something was wrong—terribly, horrifically wrong.

  A wet, squelching sound filled the air, low and guttural, sending a chill down her spine. The padins stepped back instinctively, their hands drifting to their weapons. Hakura’s stomach churned as the woman's corpse began to move. Not in the way a person moves, but with a grotesque, unnatural shifting. Bones creaked and cracked, the sound sharp and nauseating.

  Dark liquid began to seep from the woman’s skull, thick and viscous like tar. It oozed across the ground, spreading outward in tendrils that pulsed with a life of their own. The liquid glistened in the pale sunlight, its surface shimmering with an eerie, otherworldly light.

  “Stay back!” one of the padins barked, his voice breaking slightly despite his commanding tone.

  The liquid continued to spread, its tendrils writhing and coiling like serpents. Hakura’s breath hitched as she watched, unable to tear her gaze away. The air grew heavy, oppressive, as the bck substance consumed the space around the woman’s broken form.

  “No... this isn’t possible,” Hakura whispered, her voice trembling. Fear, hope, and an overwhelming sense of dread cshed within her, threatening to overwhelm her entirely.

  As the body shifted and the liquid pulsed, Hakura felt the fragile threads of her reality begin to unravel.

  The padins hesitated as they approached the body lying among the rubble. Yuki’s broken form was a haunting reminder of the night’s horrors, her lifeless frame twisted unnaturally. The scene was quiet except for the soft shuffle of armored boots and the distant murmurs of the priestesses tending to the wounded. But as the padins drew closer, a sound broke the uneasy stillness—a faint, wet squelching noise that grew louder with each passing second.

  They froze. At first, it seemed like nothing more than a trick of the ear. Then, before their eyes, her corpse began to shift. The sound of marrow grinding against itself sent a shiver through the gathered knights. Bck liquid began to ooze from her skull, slow and deliberate, pooling around her head like ink spreading over parchment. It was mesmerizing in its wrongness, a living substance that pulsed with a sinister energy.

  From her vantage point near the edge of the scene, Liora, the senior priestess, felt a cold dread settle in her chest. Her grip tightened around her staff, her knuckles white as she watched the grotesque dispy unfold. She had seen death, pain, and even corruption before, but this was something else entirely.

  “No…” she whispered, her voice trembling with fear and disbelief. “This… this shouldn’t be possible…”

  The liquid began to flow faster, spreading outward in jagged tendrils that seemed to reach for the untainted ground. One of the padins, a young knight whose courage clearly wavered, took an uncertain step forward. His bde trembled in his grip as he edged closer, his expression torn between duty and terror.

  “Stay back!” Liora wanted to scream, but her voice failed her. She could only watch, horrified, as the bck tendrils shot out with terrifying speed. They coiled around the knight’s legs, pulling him off his feet. His scream pierced the morning air, desperate and raw, as he cwed at the ground. The void dragged him into itself, his cries silenced as he disappeared beneath its surface.

  “Form ranks! Do not engage!” Caden’s commanding voice snapped through the chaos. The head padin raised his sword, his eyes locked on the expanding pool of void. The remaining knights quickly fell back, forming a tense perimeter around the pulsating liquid. Their weapons were drawn, their stances defensive, but there was no hiding the fear in their eyes.

  The void spread further, consuming the ground where Yuki’s body had in. Her form sank into the bckness inch by inch, until there was nothing left—no sign of her, no trace of her presence. The silence that followed was deafening, a heavy stillness that pressed down on all who bore witness.

  Liora’s breath came in shallow gasps, her mind racing as she tried to comprehend what she had just seen. The pool of void seemed to settle, its surface eerily smooth. For a moment, no one moved. The air itself felt heavy, as if holding its breath.

  Then, a ripple disturbed the stillness. A skeletal hand burst forth from the void, its bony fingers cwing at the untainted ground. The sight sent a ripple of panic through the onlookers, and Liora’s heart thundered in her chest.

  More of the figure emerged, grotesquely pieced together as if some unseen force was reassembling it. Yuki’s skull appeared next, its hollow sockets glowing with an unnatural violet light. The bck liquid began to creep up her skeletal frame, wrapping it like a cocoon. It shifted and pulsed, forming muscles, tendons, and skin, yer by agonizing yer.

  The void did not stop there. It twisted and reshaped itself, creating clothing that clung to her figure before solidifying into armor. The design was disturbingly simir to the armor worn by the knight who had been taken, though darker, more sinister.

  Massive protrusions erupted from her back, 6 masses of bck tentacles that dripped with the void followed by two wing like protrusions. Horns spiraled upward from her skull, sharp and menacing, while a golden halo appeared above her head, glowing faintly against the morning light. Her hair shimmered as strands at the tips turned to molten gold, mirroring the golden sheen of her cwed fingers. Bck liquid dripped from her eyes like ink, streaking her face in a mockery of tears.

  Liora felt her legs weaken as Yuki stood to her full height. Her wings spread wide, casting a shadow over the gathered crowd. The void coiled around her like a living shroud, a terrifying mix of divine radiance and infernal malice. Her glowing eyes scanned the onlookers, settling on them with a searing intensity.

  The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive, as Yuki took a step forward. Her expression was unreadable, but the rage in her eyes was unmistakable—an all-consuming fury directed at every soul before her.

  The priestess took a cautious step back, her breath catching as she began to weave the intricate threads of fate magic. Her hands glowed faintly as she cast the spell, her voice trembling with whispered incantations. With a soft hum, the spell “Discern” activated, allowing her a glimpse into the truth behind the unsettling figure before her.

  The status window shimmered into view, its details both cryptic and horrifying to Liora:

  [Name: NamelessRace: Void-Infected Human (Intermediate) (King)Ascension: 2+Status: Disaster]

  Her heart skipped a beat, her composure faltering as the weight of the revetion sank in. King? The priestess’s hands trembled, and she took another step back, as if distance could shield her from the chilling implications. She wasn’t even a Fourth Ascension, yet this creature—no, this thing—stood before her with the King modifier, meaning that its current strength was doubled.

  Before she could process the information fully, Yuki exhaled softly. The simple motion sent a ripple of unease through the air, and another series of status windows appeared before the priestess, shimmering ominously in the air.

  [The Nameless Disaster – Four Paths Encountered]

  [Due to the appearance of The Nameless Disaster – Four Paths, you have been afflicted with the status ailment “Pressure.”]

  [Your stats have been suppressed by 20% due to the effects of “Pressure.”]

  The oppressive weight of the new ailment bore down on her like an unseen force, making her knees buckle slightly. The priestess clutched her staff for support, her face pale and stricken with fear. Her voice cracked as she turned to the others, desperation cing her words.

  “Everyone! Cover me! I must communicate with the Goddess!” she shouted, panic seeping into her tone. “There is no way this is normal—this must be the influence of an Evil God!”

  Her words hung in the air like a fragile plea, but as if the very world sought to mock her faith, another system prompt materialized, its message far more damning:

  Due to the appearance of a follower of K■■■■ Y■■■■■, the following conditions have been applied:

  All Holy Magic & Below has been suppressed by 50%All Communication Magic has been suppressed by 50%.

  The priestess froze, her blood running cold as she read the prompt. The meaning was unmistakable, and it drained what little strength remained in her. The staff slipped from her trembling fingers, cttering against the ground as her lips quivered.

  “S-she’s a follower of chaos?” she stammered, her voice barely more than a broken whisper. The realization struck like a physical blow, leaving her hollow and trembling.

  Around her, the padins reacted with arm, their expressions ranging from shock to barely contained fear. One of them instinctively raised his sword, gripping the hilt so tightly his knuckles turned white.

  “Priestess, what does that mean? What are we dealing with?” one of the younger knights asked, his voice shaking as he gnced uneasily at Yuki.

  “It means she’s beyond us,” another veteran padin said grimly, his tone ced with resignation. “If she’s connected to THAT Evil God, then nothing we’ve faced before compares. Stand ready—we’re in for a fight we can’t win.”

  The priestess shook her head violently, as if denying reality could change it. Her wide, tear-filled eyes remained fixed on Yuki, who stood there silently, her glowing violet gaze unreadable. The aura around Yuki seemed to grow heavier with every passing moment, a palpable force that made the air thick and oppressive. Even those who hadn’t been afflicted with “Pressure” could feel its effects—the suffocating weight that seemed to crush both body and spirit.

  “What do we do, Priestess?” another padin asked, his voice barely concealing his mounting dread.

  The priestess could only shake her head, her mouth dry and her thoughts clouded by fear. The Goddess’s voice was silent, her connection severed by the suppressive force of chaos. All she could do was stand there, helpless, as the reality of their situation unfolded before them. The Name Disaster wasn’t just a threat—it was an embodiment of a promise.

  Kiera_Yanagi