An Inverse Dimension…
Far, far away from Earth—
There was darkness.
Not the absence of light, but a presence unto itself. A void where nothing existed except drifting miasma and a dense, oppressive energy that saturated the plane. Reality here stood in defiance of natural law. The sun hung motionless in the sky, yet gave no radiance. There were no colors—only noir, layered endlessly upon itself.
Then came the sound.
A trumpet-like call tore through the dimension.
A summons.
And they answered.
Countless eyes opened across the plane—millions upon millions—hollow sockets glowing faintly with ethereal light. One by one, they stirred, moving as if guided by a single will. Their forms were ghostlike, their numbers immeasurable.
They gathered at the base of a colossal cliff.
From above, they were infinite.
They were ready.
All that remained was the order to march.
Atop the cliff stood thirteen beings.
Five were cloaked in radiant white. Eight were shrouded in absolute black. They faced one another in silence, unmoving.
Before them knelt four entities whose power dwarfed even celestial beings, their heads bowed in submission. Behind them stood two figures side by side, their forms concealed, radiating authority so ancient it bent the air itself.
And before them—
An empty throne.
A throne whose existence told a story older than gods and mortals alike.
A chant rose as one of the two rulers stepped forward.
"Toi toi gun-un kaban tibante."
The words echoed, growing louder, reverberating across the plane as the being ascended into the sky. Dark lightning split the heavens. Thunder roared. Winds howled with such ferocity that the upper layers of the realm tore apart, while earthquakes rippled through its deepest foundations.
The entire plane trembled.
They felt it.
Even in its diminished state, the presence of their prince—long absent, now returning—washed over them.
They were ready for war.
---
Between Life and Death…
Itekan felt lost.
He could not feel his body, yet he felt himself sinking. There was no pain—only an endless descent. He could not remember what he had been doing before this moment.
He barely remembered who he was.
Then realization struck.
He was dying.
Panic surged through him as something deep and instinctual resisted the thought. He was not meant to die. His shadow spirit—
What was a shadow spirit?
The knowledge had been there moments ago, yet now it slipped through his grasp like smoke. Everything felt wrong. Incomplete.
He was lost.
And still sinking.
"Itekan. Remember."
The voice echoed through his consciousness—deep, commanding. He could not recall its owner, yet he knew with certainty that it belonged to someone irreplaceable.
"Remember?" he whispered, confusion tightening around his thoughts. He knew he was forgetting something vital, but could not grasp what it was.
"Do not let it overtake you," the voice continued. "The jaws of death close around you. Remember your place. Remember your destiny."
Itekan tried to focus, but the words blurred together. One truth, however, remained clear.
He was dying.
And he did not want to die.
He still had a promise to fulfill to his father—
A blurred figure appeared ahead of him. Purple hair. A black kimono. The image wavered, difficult to perceive, as though reality itself resisted clarity.
Then the voice called again.
"Remember, son!"
Fragments of memory surged forward—laughter, warmth, the sound of a child and a father together. The memories were broken, incomplete, but they were enough.
Enough to push forward.
Enough to resist.
As Itekan focused, the figure sharpened. A long sword rested beside the man, its blade scaled, its hilt a golden blond. Above him hovered a massive red eye, glaring with a blood-soaked aura. In one of the man's hands lay a curled creature—ten horns, ten eyes.
The man extended his free hand.
Only then did Itekan understand.
The call had been his.
"Come, son."
Itekan forced himself forward. Each movement felt heavier than the last, as if unseen chains dragged him down, death itself clawing at his form.
Another voice pierced the void—shrill, childlike, and filled with fury.
"Release him. He has crossed the bounds of your authority, Firstborn of—"
The voice cut off.
The deep voice returned, softer now.
"Come to me, son."
And Itekan moved.
The chains shattered.
Memory flooded back all at once.
The world shifted.
The man remained—but the sword beside him transformed into Itoyea, smiling, beckoning him forward. The red eye became Kutote, his expression calm, reassuring, as if to say it's okay.
The creature in his father's hand changed into Togira.
The void dissolved.
Itekan grasped his father's hand.
---
The Shadow Realm
He stood before the throne.
His true form—shadow given shape—burned with renewed intensity. Five shadow flicks blazed behind him like reborn flames.
Beside the throne stood two regents. Before it knelt four elders. Thirteen shadow flicks lined the hall, divided evenly along either side.
"Should we release the Fifth Army upon the mortal plane?" one elder asked, head bowed.
Itekan understood without being taught.
"No," he said calmly. "I will handle this myself. Mobilizing even the Twelfth Army would violate the Laws of Nen."
"But—"
"No."
He turned toward the throne.
"Father."
The Shadow King loomed above all, vast beyond comprehension. His hollow gaze settled on Itekan.
"Go," the king said.
Itekan nodded.
As he descended the steps, his shadow flicks writhed. A sixth ignited into existence.
He stopped before the first of the eight beings cloaked in black.
"Odieum. You will be rewarded for your service."
"I did only my duty, my prince."
"You will still be rewarded. Elders—bring me my wield."
One elder stepped forward, crowned with twenty-one horns and bearing nine shadow flicks. Kneeling, he presented the Shadow Dagger.
"I will return," Itekan said.
"I will be waiting, my son," the Shadow King replied.
Itekan vanished.
"Go, my heir!"
The Shadow Realm shook as its very foundations realigned.
The heir had been announced.
---
Back on Earth…
Itoyea deflected the condensed spear of holy energy. The contact burned through his flesh, yet within seconds his wounds regenerated.
His regeneration was accelerating.
She-Wolf Mask evaded his follow-up strike. Lightning scorched her body—but the miracle reversed the damage instantly.
A stalemate.
Then—
Another presence descended.
Deep. Negative. Absolute.
Both combatants turned as Itekan's corpse convulsed violently.
Life returned.
He rose, suspended within a sphere of shadow energy denser than anything he had ever produced before.
She-Wolf Mask reacted instantly. Her miracle was nearing exhaustion—this was her last chance.
She moved.
Itekan's eyes opened.
He saw her.
Her hand surged upward, speed approaching Mach 4. The miracle flared.
Itekan raised his hand.
The Shadow Dagger met her strike.
The explosion hurled all three away.
Itekan recovered first.
Then Itoyea.
Then She-Wolf Mask.
They charged simultaneously.
Shadow tentacles erupted from Itekan's body. Itoyea unleashed his Fifth Form—Celestial Thunder Clap.
She-Wolf Mask tore her mask free, gathering the last of her miracle. A holy shield formed, deflecting both attacks and hurling them back.
Itoyea crashed to the ground.
Itekan absorbed the force and advanced.
She-Wolf Mask tried to move—
Shadow bound her legs.
"Shadow Revenge: Eight Curses of Shadow."
"Pain."
Agony unlike anything imaginable flooded her body. Her scream tore through the battlefield as suffering invaded every nerve.
"Sadness."
Despair crushed her spirit. Life lost meaning. Death beckoned—yet did not come.
"Impurity."
Disease ravaged her flesh. Boils erupted. Worms tore through muscle. Blood blackened.
"Hate."
Her mind turned inward. She despised all she loved. Then herself.
"Fear."
Terror consumed her. She stood before an inescapable throne of shadow. There was no salvation.
"Possession."
Shadow spirits invaded her soul, tearing pieces away endlessly.
"Condemnation."
Thought ceased. Will vanished. She was already dead in every sense but name.
"Death."
Her body shattered into countless fragments.
Release—at a cost beyond measure.
Itekan turned.
Itoyea stared at him in horror.
The residual intent alone forced Itoyea to raise his blade in defense.
"I didn't—" Itekan began.
He collapsed.
Itoyea moved to catch him.
"Do not touch him."
A towering man emerged—nearly ten feet tall.
"You will die upon contact. I will take him."
"Where are you taking him!?" Itoyea demanded.
"Somewhere safe. Sleep, little one. Your friends are safe."
Darkness claimed Itoyea.
The man—Lucky—lifted Itekan and disappeared into the forest.
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