Long before the rise of shadow demons and cursed relics, there lived two mortals—siblings named Chernobog and Amaterasu. Their names, chosen not by coincidence but by devotion, carried the weight of ancient belief. Their father, Kage, revered the dark god Chernobog, believing the deity's vengeance could bring justice to those who had wronged him. Their mother, Kimi, prayed to the goddess Amaterasu, seeking light and compassion for a world so often lost in cruelty.
In honor of the gods they worshipped, they named their children after them—Chernobog, the boy, and Amaterasu, the girl.
From an early age, the siblings clashed. Chernobog, mischievous and brooding, often tormented his gentler sister. Amaterasu, while kind, did not tolerate his cruelty. Tension ran high between them, and their home was often filled with conflict. But Kimi, ever faithful, continued her prayers to the sun goddess. And in time, the bullying faded.
Whether by divine intervention or simple maturity, the siblings began to understand one another. They played, laughed, and forged bonds with the villagers—Chernobog with the outcasts and misfits, and Amaterasu with the warm-hearted and hopeful. It was as if the gods themselves lived again through mortal vessels, fated to walk the same earth in human form.
But peace, as always, was fleeting.
Their village fell into hardship. Betrayals among friends fractured their trust. Families were torn apart. Their own kin fell into debt, and the local clan—greedy and merciless—beat their father for failing to meet tribute. Hunger became a daily torment. Hope, a fading ember.
But even the names of gods could not shield them from the world's wickedness.
Their village, once peaceful, had become plagued by famine and fear. Drought scorched the fields, and harvests failed year after year. Bandits roamed freely, while the ruling clan grew fat on stolen tribute. The people whispered that the land itself had been cursed—that the gods had turned away.
The family's suffering deepened with each passing season.
Their father, once a craftsman of respected talent, had lost his trade when the clan seized his tools and burned his shop to the ground for missing a single gold piece in tax. Kage was beaten in the village square before his own children's eyes, left with a limp that never healed. Their mother, Kimi, worked herself to the bone tending to the sick, trading herbs for bread—but what she received was moldy, barely edible, and often stolen back by enforcers who patrolled the alleys like wolves
There were nights when they had nothing. Not a crumb of rice. Not a drop of clean water. Amaterasu would give her share of stale bread to Chernobog without him asking. And Chernobog—hardened, silent—would sometimes pretend he wasn't hungry, just so she wouldn't worry.
But hunger was the least of their suffering.
Children in the village disappeared. Some were sold by their own parents to the clan to pay off debts. Others were taken in the night by cloaked figures, never to be seen again. Whispers of human offerings to dark spirits spread like disease. Even friendship became dangerous—neighbors turned on each other, afraid that sharing too much might get them punished, or worse, reported.
Chernobog watched the world rot. His fists clenched at the sight of his father coughing blood. His heart burned each time his mother came home with fresh bruises she refused to explain. And his soul twisted every time Amaterasu smiled through it all, as if pretending would make it better.
Then came the day their home was torn apart.
The landowner arrived with armed men. Kage begged for mercy—offering what little they had left. But it wasn't enough. They beat him again. They spat on Kimi. They tried to take Amaterasu as payment. Chernobog fought them. Bit. Screamed. Bled. But it made no difference.
They left with everything. Their home in shambles. Their spirits broken.
That night, beneath a starless sky, Chernobog stood at the edge of the village ruins and lifted his voice in prayer—not the way his mother had done, not with gentleness—but with fury like his father.
"O Chernobog, Lord of Darkness… if you exist—if your vengeance is real—then give it to me. Let me become your vessel. Let this world feel what I've felt."
No response came.
Amaterasu, battered but not broken, sat beside the shattered remnants of their home. Smoke still rose from the scorched walls. Her mother lay unconscious, blood staining her robes. Her father coughed in shallow gasps nearby, barely clinging to life.
And her brother—he stood beneath the night sky, his face lit only by the cold gleam of the moon, whispering forbidden words into the wind.
It terrified her.
She closed her eyes and prayed—not to her brother's god, not to vengeance—but to Amaterasu, the radiant goddess of hope.
"Please…" she whispered, voice trembling. "Let there still be light in this world. Let my brother see it again. Let the people be freed—not through wrath, but through compassion."
She opened her eyes to see Chernobog standing alone, his hands clenched, his body trembling as if something deep and ancient was clawing at his soul. She stepped toward him, her voice soft but unyielding.
"Patience, brother." Her eyes met his, filled with pain yet brimming with warmth. "The gods will avenge the monstrous deeds of men. Amaterasu will fix it all. Forgive your enemies—don't become one of them."
But Chernobog did not respond. He turned away, his eyes cold like winter frost.
"They broke everything," he muttered. "They beat our father, spat on our mother, tried to take you. And no god came."
Amaterasu reached for him, but he stepped back.
"I will not wait on silent gods. I will become one."
That night, Chernobog climbed to the shrine hidden deep within the cursed forest—an ancient, forgotten altar said to belong to the god he was named after. The villagers feared it. The air was thick with ash and shadow. But he welcomed it.
He bled onto the altar, offering his soul as tribute.
He demanded power—not to protect, but to destroy.
And in the darkness, something old and watching answered.
FLASHBACK
The world watched as one child embraced darkness and the other held fast to light. But what the world did not know—what even they themselves had yet to realize—was that their struggle was not just human.
It was divine.
For Chernobog and Amaterasu were not merely named after gods. They were their mortal reincarnations.
From the moment they were born, the heavens had trembled.
Long ago, the gods of light and darkness clashed in a war that split realms and shattered balance. Amaterasu, the radiant bringer of dawn, sought harmony through healing and order. Chernobog, the devourer of light, believed true balance came only when suffering was purged by vengeance. When their final battle consumed the divine plane, the gods vanished from myth. But their souls—too powerful to fade—were cast into the mortal world.
Born as twins in flesh, opposites in spirit, they were destined to finish the war their past selves had begun.
The signs had always been there.
When Amaterasu prayed, flowers bloomed in frost. Sick children were healed with a mere touch. Her tears calmed storms. Animals followed her through the woods. The villagers spoke in hushed tones, calling her a Child of the Sun, a walking miracle.
And when Chernobog raged, shadows writhed. Candles died without wind. Nightmares came to life in those who angered him. Animals fled at his approach. The shrine in the cursed forest—dormant for centuries—awoke at his blood. He had been drawn to it not by chance, but by memory buried in the bones of his soul.
PRESENT
In the heart of the cursed forest, Chernobog knelt before the crumbling altar of the forgotten god—the god whose name he bore. The wind howled like the dead, and shadows slithered at the edge of reality. His blood dripped onto the black stone, each drop pulsing like a heartbeat in the void.
He raised his voice to the darkness.
"Chernobog… god of wrath… show me why I suffer. Show me how to end the pain."
The earth trembled. The altar groaned. Black flame erupted around him—not hot, but hungry, consuming the light itself.
And then… he heard it. A voice not from the forest, but from deep within himself.
"You are not praying to me… you are remembering me. You are me."
His eyes widened. A vision tore through his mind like a blade—images of celestial thrones, endless legions of shadows kneeling before him, the void cracking as gods of light fled from his wrath.
He remembered.
He was Chernobog. Not just in name, but in soul. The King of Shadows. The Fallen One. The First Demon.
His mortal flesh was a lie, a vessel. The truth had always been deeper.
He laughed—not with joy, but with madness.
"Yes… yes. I remember now. The divine cast me down. They feared my truth… but I have returned. I will be King again."
The shadows gathered to him, whispering in forgotten tongues. The corrupted, the broken, the outcast—all were drawn to his will. He could feel them. The dormant blood of demons awakened in the earth itself.
He did not just command shadows anymore.
He was the soon-to-be King of Shadow Demons.
At the very same moment—miles away—Amaterasu awoke from a vision of fire and gold. Her body glowed with warm radiance, her breath calm even as tears streamed down her cheeks. Her prayer had opened something ancient within her—a gate of memory long locked.
The stars above pulsed in alignment. The eclipse in the sky reversed—if only for a breath—and the sun's rays touched her skin like a mother's embrace.
Amaterasu stood atop the hill outside the village, the wind carrying with it the scent of ash from faraway fires. Her hands trembled, not from fear—but from something awakening inside her. Something older than time.
The eclipse had ended. A sliver of sunlight broke through the clouds, bathing her in golden light. Her shadow disappeared beneath her feet—as if the earth itself refused to cast darkness upon her any longer.
And then she heard it.
"You are not praying to a goddess. You are the goddess."
A pulse surged through her veins. Light spilled from her skin in waves of warmth. The villagers who stood nearby fell to their knees—not from command, but reverence. She fell backward, her eyes wide, her breath stolen by the storm of memories breaking through the walls of her mortal mind.
Visions flooded in:
She stood on a battlefield that stretched across the heavens, her radiant spear clashing against a blade forged of living shadow.
The sky bled black as she fought him—Chernobog, cloaked in void, his voice thunderous, his wrath unending.
He had once been her brother in the divine realm as well, before power and vengeance twisted his purpose.
She dropped to her knees and looked to the sky, the sunlight painting her face in gold. She could feel the divine flame once more in her heart—the same warmth that once birthed suns and healed dying worlds.
"I remember…" she whispered, her voice trembling.
"I am Amaterasu reborn."
"And my brother… my enemy… has returned."
The wind stirred as if in reply, carrying the faint scent of smoke—and with it, a shadow on the horizon.
She knew the world would not survive another war between gods.
And yet, fate had already set the path in motion.
The Goddess of Light had awoken.
And the King of Shadows was rising.
As the storm clouds swirled above the village, both Chernobog and Amaterasu returned to the house they once called home. But they no longer walked as mere mortals. Their footsteps bent the air. Their eyes carried the burden of the heavens.
Their parents—Kage and Kimi—waited at the threshold, unaware of the awakening that had fractured their children's bond.
The door creaked open. Silence.
Until Chernobog stepped forward, shadows trailing behind him like coiling serpents.
"She is the enemy, Father!" he roared, pointing at his sister, voice booming like a curse. "She holds back the vengeance we deserve!"
Amaterasu, tears in her eyes, stepped in front of him, radiant and shaking.
"No… he is the enemy, Mother!" she cried. "He's become what he once swore to fight against!"
Their parents looked back and forth—between the god of shadow and the goddess of light, both born from their own flesh and blood. Their father, Kage, stepped between them.
"Please… you're still our children. You're still—"
But in the heat of rage, in the divine chaos of clashing auras, Chernobog lashed out—a surge of shadow meant for his sister.
His father turned to shield her.
And the blast hit him full in the chest.
Time froze.
Kage's body crumpled to the ground, smoke rising from his robes. His eyes, once full of life, looked up at Amaterasu with fading light.
"I'm sorry… I failed you both…" he whispered. And then, he was gone.
"No…" Amaterasu choked, falling to her knees. "Father… no…"
But Chernobog stood frozen, horror mixing with fury.
"You… you got in the way…" he stammered—and then his voice twisted in pain and denial. "You did this, sister!"
Kimi sobbed, crawling to her husband's lifeless form. Her wails pierced the heavens, the kind of scream that only a wife, a mother, could ever make.
"Why…? Why are the gods tearing my family apart?!"
She looked to her children—one bathed in darkness, the other in light.
And then—her heart broken beyond repair—she turned away.
In that moment, something snapped inside Chernobog. A shadow deeper than even divine memory overtook him.
"You… don't need to suffer anymore," he whispered coldly to his grieving mother.
He ended her life.
The silence afterward was deafening.
Amaterasu screamed.
"BROTHER—WHAT DID YOU DOOO!!"
Light exploded from her hands as she launched forward and punched Chernobog with all her divine might, her fury burning like the sun. His body slammed into the old tree beside the house, cracking its trunk in two.
He wiped blood from his mouth and smirked bitterly.
"I ended her suffering," he growled. "Unlike you, who would let this cursed world go on in agony."
"I'll end all suffering. Whether they understand now or not… they'll thank me when I become their savior."
Amaterasu stood over him, tears streaming from her radiant eyes.
"You're not a savior," she said softly. "You're becoming the very monster Mother warned us about."
Their family home, once filled with warmth and laughter, now stood as a tomb for innocence lost.
And so, the battle between Light and Darkness, once fought in the heavens, would now rage across the mortal world—with two divine souls, once siblings, now sworn enemies.
Chernobog stood in the ruins of their family home, shadows clinging to his body like armor. His eyes, once full of pain and confusion, now burned with a terrible purpose.
He turned, his gaze falling on Amaterasu, who knelt beside the bodies of their parents. Her hands trembled, soaked in dirt and grief, as she held their cold hands close to her heart.
"You will never understand, sister," Chernobog said, his voice cold and distant. "I will cleanse this world—and I will become the true god it deserves."
Without another word, he vanished into the forest, the shadows swallowing him whole. Thunder cracked above as if the heavens themselves mourned the choice he had made.
Amaterasu did not chase him.
Instead, she stayed.
She dug two graves under the great willow where their parents had once watched the sunrise. The soil was cold, wet with both rain and tears.
She placed her father's staff and mother's prayer beads atop the graves. Her light dimmed as she knelt, whispering a vow that only the gods could hear.
"Mother… Father… I'm sorry."
"I couldn't stop him."
The sun broke through the clouds, casting a beam of golden warmth over the fresh graves. The wind whispered gently through the trees, like a final farewell.
She stood, wiping the tears from her face. Her hands still trembled—but her heart did not.
"I swear to you…" she whispered to the earth.
"I will bring my brother back to the light."
"Even if I must become the last hope of this broken world."
Far away, deep in the forgotten caverns and cursed valleys, Chernobog began gathering those who suffered as he once had—lost souls, bitter warriors, cursed beings… and demons.
The army of darkness had begun to form.
Before mortals.
Before even the gods.
There was the First Realm—a radiant plane of divine perfection, where light ruled absolutely.
But not all beings born of light accepted their place beneath it.
Some questioned.
Some disobeyed.
Some dared to hunger for more.
They were called the Unnamed, and they were cast out.
Hurled from the divine realm into the deepest abyss, they became something new—something twisted by rejection, silence, and hunger.
They became demons.
Ancient beings—not corrupted humans, but god-forsaken celestials, forgotten and scorned.
For eons, they wandered the void. In the black pits beneath the world, they whispered prayers the gods would never answer. They devoured echoes, lived without names, lost all purpose.
Until a mortal came.
Chernobog.
The moment he stepped into their shattered domain, they felt it—divine blood, born in mortal flesh. A heartbeat that echoed their own suffering.
They attacked.
And he slaughtered dozens with a wave of his shadow. Not in rage—but with authority. His power rippled through the void like a forgotten truth remembered.
He spoke, and the abyss listened.
"You were not beasts. You were never beasts. You were betrayed."
"You were warriors, cast down for daring to challenge tyranny."
"The gods feared your will. That ends today."
The Unnamed knelt, not in submission—but in recognition.
Chernobog opened his shadow, and they stepped inside, not to be enslaved—but to be reborn. Their ancient essence fused with the abyssal might he offered, becoming something divine again—but twisted, tempered, and weaponized.
Thus, they were renamed.
No longer the Unnamed.
No longer Forsaken.
They were his now—
The Shadow Demons.
They did not serve him out of fear.
They followed him as their King, their savior, and their final hope.
"You are not monsters," Chernobog said, standing before his growing legion.
"You are my chosen. The true gods of this world."
"And we will burn the heavens that denied you."
The Curse of Obsidian Flame: The Origin of Shadow Corruption
When Chernobog crowned himself King of the Shadow Demons, he knew raw demonic power alone was not enough to destroy the world of light.
He needed human armies—mortal hands to spread his doctrine like wildfire. But humans were frail. They could not wield the shadow like the ancient demons. Most would go mad. Others would die screaming.
So Chernobog made a sacrifice.
He took a piece of his divine shadow—his Obsidian Flame, the purest black fire of his godhood—and broke it into shards. These shards were called:
"Yamikei" – Seeds of Eternal Dusk.
He gave them to his most loyal human followers, embedding them in their hearts, eyes, and blood. The Yamikei granted them control over shadows, let them dance between realms, silence light, and devour the weak. For a time, these humans became Shadow Wielders, heroes of Chernobog's new world order.
But there was a cost.
Shadow—true shadow—was never meant for mortals. The Yamikei burned too long, too deep. Over weeks or months, the shadow in their bodies began to spread… like ink bleeding through paper.
Their blood turned black. Their emotions dulled. Their thoughts grew violent. Their eyes wept void.
Then their skin hardened.
Their bones twisted.
Their hearts—gone.
And they became Shadow Demons.
Not born of the abyss like the ancient ones—but created through human despair and overuse of stolen power.
Thus, the corruption of the Shadow Style was born.
The Lore Summary:
Shadow Demons were once ancient, god-forsaken celestials.
Chernobog offered humans his divine flame to control shadow.
These gifts became the Yamikei, forbidden relics of shadow chakra.
Mortals could not contain it.
Over time, they mutated into new Shadow Demons.
This process was called The Falling.
It was the beginning of the Shadow Curse—when shadow style users, over time, would inevitably descend into monstrosity unless saved, cleansed, or sealed.
The winds screamed through the ruined valley.
Dark banners of Chernobog fluttered over scorched earth. Smoke clung to the soil like sorrow, and the air pulsed with the low thrum of power—ancient, wrong, and alive.
Kazan, once a humble villager, knelt before the throne of shadow.
He had been among the first to receive a Yamikei shard, gifted by Chernobog himself. Embedded in his chest, it had burned like purpose. It gave him speed, strength, and sight no mortal should have. He had led legions, conquered cities, silenced light.
But now… he trembled.
"My King…" Kazan gasped, clawing at his ribs. "It burns."
Chernobog watched from his onyx throne, face carved from stillness. "It is the price of power, Kazan."
"I—I only wanted to serve you. To destroy the wicked. To protect my family!" His hands shook. Black veins spread across his throat like creeping vines. "Why is this happening?"
Chernobog stood, his shadow stretching unnaturally behind him. "Because you are still clinging to humanity."
Kazan's body arched back, bones snapping, ribs pushing outward.
He screamed.
The Yamikei pulsed—a flicker of obsidian fire in his heart—and then his voice stopped, replaced by a low, guttural growl.
His skin rippled, sloughing off like wet bark. His eyes turned to pits of coal. The soul within… dissolved.
Where Kazan once knelt… a shadow demon now crouched. Taller, jagged, breathing in broken sounds.
It looked around, confused. Then locked its gaze on Chernobog… and bowed.
Chernobog's voice was calm.
"You are no longer Kazan. You are what humanity was too weak to become."
"You are the first of the Fallen."
"You are mine."
Now, as Chernobog reigned as the King of Shadow Demons, crowned in darkness and despair, deep in the obsidian wastes where light dared not shine…
Amaterasu, his sister—the Goddess of Light reborn—was doing the opposite.
She walked among the broken.
She healed the sick.
She lifted the lame to their feet.
Her hands glowed with the warmth of the sun itself, and her words burned through hatred like dawn through fog.
"Forgive your enemies," she said.
"Heal, even those who wounded you."
"If my brother cannot return to the light… then we must face him as an enemy—not out of hatred, but out of mercy."
Her compassion was not weakness.
It was resolve.
She gathered shinobi from distant lands, warriors of light who had long watched the world fall into shadow. They heard her voice and followed. They carried not only blades but hope.
From the deepest valleys, she summoned the Ancient Beasts, creatures once thought mythical—white lions with sun-forged manes, phoenixes that bathed in sacred flame, wolves that howled in holy tongues. Even they bent the knee to her radiant spirit.
She had become more than a sister.
More than a warrior.
More than a mortal.
She had become the living dawn.
And with her army growing, her teachings spreading, and her soul alight with divine fire…
The final war was no longer a prophecy. It was coming.
But what lies ahead…
what awaits them all…
will shake the heavens and rupture the earth.
Because even the gods…
have secrets.
The sun rose like a blade above the valley where Amaterasu's army stood.
Phoenixes soared. Shinobi kneeled. The sacred wind howled through banners of light bearing her sigil — a golden flame blooming in darkness.
She stood at the head, calm as morning, but her eyes were heavy with knowing. Something felt… wrong.
In the stillness of twilight before the war, she had seen a vision.
A mirror cracked in the Temple of Flame. A brother cloaked in shadow. A friend in her ranks whose heart was already lost.
She felt betrayal before she saw it.
As the army marched, a great roar split the horizon.
And from the ranks behind her—one of her generals turned.
Lord Hoshin, the Flameborn Strategist, whose loyalty had once burned like wildfire.
Now stood drenched in shadow, the Yamikei pulsing within his chest.
"You teach forgiveness," he spat, eyes bleeding black. "But the world doesn't deserve saving. It deserves a cleansing flame—Chernobog's flame."
Gasps echoed. Shinobi raised blades.
But Amaterasu… lowered hers.
"I knew you would fall," she whispered. "I just prayed I was wrong."
Hoshin lunged. But before he could strike, a radiant wolf lunged from the left, pinning him. Amaterasu looked down on her once-friend with sorrow, not rage.
"Let this be your mercy," she whispered, and with one pulse of her light, purified him, ending his torment.
The army continued.
And then, in the ruined plains where light met eternal dusk...
They came face to face.
The army of light stood across from a legion of Shadow Demons, roaring, twisted, endless. The sky above them cracked like glass, veined in black lightning.
And there—floating above them like a god of death—
Chernobog.
Cloaked in obsidian armor, with wings of pure shadow unfurled, he descended slowly, eyes like black stars burning with contempt.
And beside him stood his beasts. Shadow dragons. Broken angels. The Fallen. And behind them—the cursed throne of void, bleeding corruption into the world.
He landed before his sister, feet touching cursed soil, and sneered.
"So… the sun finally rises to die."
Amaterasu didn't flinch. "And the night dares to call itself eternal."
Chernobog laughed, cold and hollow.
"Look at you. Surrounded by children. Believers. Dreamers."
"You think they'll save this world? You think light will save anyone?"
"I've seen the truth, sister. And I will burn it into them."
Amaterasu took a step forward.
"You are not my enemy because you are my brother."
"But I will stop you… because I still love you."
Chernobog's smile faded.
"Then come, little sister. Let love be your weapon—"
"—and I will show you what a god's wrath truly is."
And in that moment, the skies split. The war between dawn and dusk began.
I. The First Clash – Shadows Devour the Sky
With a roar that split the heavens, Chernobog struck first.
He raised his arm, and thirteen void spears launched from his back — each forged from fallen warriors' regrets.
Amaterasu danced between them, her cloak of solar flame singing as it brushed death. Each of her steps rippled divine energy, turning void to light.
She raised her palms. A thousand swords of radiance rained from above, forcing Chernobog to raise a dome of pure corruption to shield his army.
The ground beneath them shattered. Mountains collapsed. The sky fractured.
Aura began to swirl.
Chernobog extended his wings and absorbed the despair of his followers, converting it into raw power.
Amaterasu reached her hands toward the wounded and the dying on the field, pulling their faith and forgiveness into her spirit.
Each breath they took made their auras grow. The world around them dimmed under the pressure of their divinity.
II. The Second Clash – Echoes of the Past
Their weapons met. Light and shadow screamed in defiance. Time itself stilled.
They remembered.
The first war.
The fall of heaven.
The moment Amaterasu sealed Chernobog in the Void with tears in her eyes.
"I loved you once," she whispered, clashing blades with him.
"You were blind," he growled. "You loved the world that rejected us."
He summoned ten thousand hands of shadow demons, reaching from the ground to pull her down.
She raised a single finger — a beam of pure forgiveness — and the hands melted.
But still he fought.
Cities crumbled beneath his wrath.
Armies turned to demons in his name.
The skies were devoured.
"Let them see!" Chernobog roared. "Let them see what salvation really looks like!"
III. The End – Light Pierces the Abyss
Chernobog's aura had become monstrous — tendrils of sorrow, rage, despair and truth. It blanketed the world in hopelessness.
But Amaterasu stood unbent.
She raised her hands, glowing like two suns, and whispered a final prayer:
"O gods who see, let my light shine not to destroy... but to cleanse."
With that, she released the Radiant Nova — an explosion of light so pure, so vast, it split the earth and tore through the heavens.
Chernobog screamed. His form cracked, his wings burned, and his soul was stripped bare.
He fell.
And as he lay broken in the ruins of his own darkness, he whispered not to his sister… but to the void itself.
IV. The Pact – Birth of the Shadow Style
Long ago, before the existence of the Yami Clan or the Mitsuki Clan, there was only emptiness...
After his defeat, Chernobog drifted in the void — wounded, bitter, but not dead.
He wandered for centuries, his power fading, until he came across a desperate people… a tribe cast out by all others. They were dying — starving, hunted, cursed.
They called themselves the Yami.
Chernobog appeared to them not as a god… but as a savior.
He offered a pact:
"I give you my shadow —
My power, my curse, my soul.
Serve me, and no one will ever hurt you again."
Desperate, the Yami accepted.
And from that moment… the Shadow Style was born.
But the cost was truly told:
A drop of divinity, sealed in every technique.
A curse that feeds on suffering.
And the freedom of a god who dreams only of the world's end.
The battlefield was silent.
No cheers. No cries. No survivors.
Only wind and ash.
Both armies—Amaterasu's radiant warriors and Chernobog's cursed demons—had perished. Their bodies crumbled to dust, their souls scattered into the winds. The very earth had been scarred, left blackened and lifeless for centuries.
At the center of the crater, Amaterasu knelt, bleeding, her divine form flickering like a candle. Her robes were torn, her light dim, but still… she breathed.
But victory had its cost.
"Let them live," she whispered. "Even if they forget me… let them live."
Her aura collapsed.
She fell unconscious as the sun began to rise — the first sunrise after the Fall of the Shadow Demon King.
The Mitsuki Rebirth
Far from the ruined battlefield, across valleys and rivers, a band of survivors watched the sky burn red with distant light.
They were starving, hunted, broken — the last of the warriors who had once served under Amaterasu.
They would later be known as the Mitsuki Clan.
"We opposed the dark pact," said their leader. "But the Yami grew too strong… and we lost everything."
They fled into the mountains, into exile. Cold, hungry, and on the brink of extinction.
But then—
A light descended upon them. Gentle, warm, yet faint… like a dying flame.
Amaterasu herself, bloodied and weak, emerged before them.
"You… still live?" whispered a warrior.
She collapsed in their arms.
Yet even as she neared death, she summoned divine food, healed the worst of their wounds, and told them:
"Do not follow hate. Do not chase revenge. Carry my light… and you will never be lost again."
Thus, the Mitsuki Clan was born—carriers of Amaterasu's last light.
They became nomads, priests, and warriors of purity.
Meanwhile, far below the surface of the world… Chernobog whispered from the void, giving strength to the Yami who had accepted his curse.
And so… the war of light and shadow never truly ended.
It simply began again—this time… through mortals.