Chapter — Ashes of the Seen World
Reality glitched for a second.
Rewinding the time itself.
Armin entered a realm.
Armin stood alone.
Not in the swamp.
Not in the moon world.
Not in Fantasia.
He stood in a place without ground.
Below him stretched an ocean of blood—thick, slow-moving, endless. Skeletons floated half-buried like forgotten landmarks. From some of them, pale plants grew, feeding on marrow and memory alike.
The air smelled of rust and old rain.
Before him rose gates.
Hundreds.
No—thousands.
Each gate was different. Some were carved from bone, others from crystal, rusted steel, light, shadow. All of them were chained, heavy black links wrapped so tightly that the doors themselves appeared wounded.
Except three.
The first glowed light blue.
Through it, Armin saw the moon world—the mountain base, the tunnels, the temple, the endless night.
The second shone white.
Fantasia.
Swamps. Towns. Guilds. Blood-soaked roads. Simon. Alfred.
The third gate pulsed green.
No chains.
When Armin reached for it, pain stabbed through his skull—but curiosity was stronger than fear.
He touched it.
The blood ocean trembled.
Suddenly, Armin saw it.
Every chained gate was connected by invisible lines to a black tower rising in the far distance. Atop the tower hung a giant ancient bell, cracked, bound with runes older than language.
And sitting on the edge of that bell—
A horned figure.
Wings folded like a cloak of night.
Eyes burning with recognition.
"So," the figure murmured,
"the Void Demon Monarch has returned."
Reality shattered.
He dissapears in the reality crack.
To be continued.