The air was unnaturally still.
The sun hung low on the horizon as Rimuru Tempest, returning from Ramiris' Labyrinth, stood alone on a forest path. His clothes were tattered from his fight with Hinata Sakaguchi, his face solemn as he watched over the children riding on Ranga's back ahead.
But just as he took a step to follow them—
A sudden burst of black smoke appeared in front of him, followed by a violent gust of wind.
"Wha—?!"
From the smoke emerged a broken, bloodied figure. It was Souei, or rather, one of his clones. His body trembled, blood dripping from his mouth.
"L-Lord... Rimuru…" he gasped, barely standing.
Rimuru's heart dropped.
"Souei?! What happened—?!"
"You... need to run... Tempest is under... attack…" the clone wheezed.
Before Rimuru could move, the clone's body turned to mist and faded into the air.
"Souei! Damn it!"
Rimuru's eyes glowed with panic. He reached out and tried to teleport back to Tempest—but was met with resistance.
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"Damn it! Then send me outside the barrier!" Rimuru shouted.
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The world around him twisted and warped—and then he landed hard on the scorched ground just outside the city.
Smoke rose from the distance.
There was blood in the air.
Standing before the cracked outer gates of his city, Rimuru saw Benimaru and Goramu, their bodies battered, clothing torn, and faces dark.
"Benimaru!" Rimuru rushed over.
"Lord Rimuru..." Benimaru bowed low. "We failed to protect them."
"They came from all sides," Goramu added. "The barrier... it suppressed our strength. They slaughtered our people."
Rimuru stepped past them, his hands trembling.
The barrier still lingered—but this time, he forced his way through.
Tempest—once a beacon of hope—was now a city of shadows.
Smoke blackened the sky. Flames crackled on rooftops.
Bodies lay in the streets: goblins, ogres, orcs, even children. Some were still clutching toys. Blood stained the white walls. Mothers screamed over the lifeless forms of their sons. Some clawed at the dirt, calling names that would never be answered again.
Shion's hair ribbon... sat soaked in blood.
Gobta's armor... cracked, still holding a broken sword.
Rimuru dropped to his knees.
His hands pressed against the dirt, trembling.
"No... no no no no—" he whispered, breath hitching.
His vision blurred as hot tears streamed down his cheeks.
He saw Shuna lying still, her face peaceful.
Rigurd, unmoving, arm outstretched as if trying to protect someone.
"Why... why did this happen...?"
"Rimuru..." a voice called.
He turned—three familiar faces stood nearby. The adventurers, the ones who had once journeyed with Shizu. Eren, the elven mage, knelt beside him.
"This didn't have to happen..." Rimuru muttered.
"There... might be a way," Eren said softly. "It's not guaranteed. But it's real."
Rimuru's eyes lifted.
"...What?"
"A legend," Eren continued. "There was a girl... a young human girl who lost her best friend—a dragon. She was so devastated, so filled with rage... she destroyed a city. Thousands died. And in doing so... she became a Demon Lord."
"That girl... was Milim Nava," added her companion, Kabal.
Eren placed a hand on Rimuru's shoulder.
"If you become a Demon Lord, there's a chance... a small chance, that you can bring your people back."
Hope—dim and fragile—sparked in Rimuru's chest.
He looked around at the corpses, the destroyed homes, the dreams shattered in silence.
"If there's even a chance... I'll take it."
Back at the temporary war tent, Rimuru gathered his remaining generals—Benimaru, Souei, Hakuro, Goramu, Geld, and others.
A map of the region lay before them, pinned down with stained daggers. The air was heavy, filled with rage and sorrow.
"Maintain the barrier," Rimuru ordered. "Don't let the souls of the fallen drift. We'll need them."
"Understood," Benimaru said.
"The enemy... they said they'll return," Hakuro growled. "With the Church."
Souei's clone appeared again, barely able to stand.
"Lord Rimuru… I followed their trail... I saw them... marching." He took a deep breath. "There are... over 20,000 of them. Knights. Paladins. All headed... here."
Rimuru stood, fists clenched so tightly that blood dripped from his palms.
"Great Sage..." he whispered. "Tell me. How many souls do I need?"
<
"Then let them come."
"We can't take on twenty thousand with our weakened forces," Goramu said.
"We won't have to," Rimuru replied coldly. "We'll strike first."
He looked up, eyes burning blue with fury and resolve.
"I will become a Demon Lord. I will bring them back. And I will wipe out every last one of those bastards who laid a hand on my people."
The flames of war had been lit.
The monsters of Tempest—mourning their dead—now stood with one goal: vengeance.
Rimuru, standing at the head of this grief-stricken army, was no longer the kind-hearted slime who just wanted peace.
He had been broken.
And now—he would be reborn.
In the cold vastness just beyond the Cardinal World — a realm untouched by time or essence — stood a figure, tall as judgment itself.
Clad in ancient black armor veined with pulsating silver lines, Atraval, the Bane of All Power, gazed through a swirling veil of space. His body was real — solid, sharp, and terrifyingly still. Not a wraith. Not a whisper. But a force in flesh.
He stood at the edge of an endless abyss, staring into the Cardinal World like a god studying an ant farm.
Around him floated floating shards — crystalline mirrors showing images from every corner of the world:
Rimuru, preparing for vengeance.
Guy Crimson, still proud.
Milim, laughing through chaos.
The war of Tempest, raging with blood and screams.
The true dragons flexing untold power.
Atraval's golden eyes burned as his deep voice echoed in the void:
"Even after Lord Veldanava gave them Yujiro Hanma… even after they tasted defeat — true, raw, human strength — they still cling to their illusions."
He stepped forward, his metal boots scraping the edge of a floating black monolith. His voice grew colder.
"They were warned. Yujiro showed them.
No magic. No skills. No divine blessing.
And yet he crushed them all — the Demon Lords… the True Dragons… with nothing but the strength of his own flesh and fury."
His fingers clenched.
"Still… they remain blind.
They lick their wounds.
They cling to their titles, to their magicules, their Ultimate Skills.
They think power defines their worth."
He turned away from the veil, stepping into the Throne of Null — his personal citadel carved into a dying star, where not a single skill could activate.
Atraval knelt before a massive, glowing sphere of pale cosmic light — Veldanava's Will —
And he had made only one command:
"Strip them of the illusion… and let truth rise."
Atraval spoke to the sphere, like a son to a father.
"Yujiro was your first message. But they mocked it.
They said it was a fluke. A beast with no technique.
But I… I will be the final act. The one they cannot ignore.
I will take it all — their magic, their pride, their borrowed strength.
And then… they will finally understand."
"They will either grow… or perish."
Atraval raised his hand — the runes across his armor pulsed.
Dark portals opened throughout the Hollow Bastion, and from them stepped The Nullborn — beings sculpted from antimagic, their bodies matte and jagged, cloaked in unnatural silence. Eyes empty. Hearts sealed.
They did not speak. They had no names. They were created for one purpose:
To unmake.
Atraval walked down the central platform of the Bastion as his army lined up.
"You will not kill," he said. "You will erase.
The moment they cast a spell, nullify it.
The moment they swing a sword empowered by a skill — shatter it."
"Make them remember the one thing they forgot:
Who they are without power."
He raised his sword — Oblivion Reborn — a weapon forged to devour abilities on contact.
"You are not destruction."
"You are revelation."
Above a massive black table, holographic maps of the Cardinal World flickered — leyline centers, energy nodes, teleportation corridors, major cities of power.
Atraval marked targets:
Tempest, nexus of reincarnated power.
The Ice Continent, home of Guy and his pride.
El Dorado, where Leon schemes with golden hands.
Ruberios, burning with Luminous' false light.
The Eastern Empire, already fractured from within.
"Strike the leyline roots. Collapse their magicule supply."
"Embed Null Cores in their dungeons. Let their powers fade over days."
"Do not strike their bodies… strike their beliefs."
A Nullborn General knelt.
"What of Yujiro Hanma… the one born without power, yet who overpowered all?"
Atraval's eyes glowed golden once more. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then—he chuckled, low and deep. Not mockery. Not amusement.
But reverence.
He stepped off the throne, his heavy boots echoing across the obsidian floor as he approached the kneeling general.
"Yujiro Hanma…"
He stared at the stars through the high arched window. Images swirled around him—Yujiro throwing Veldora to the ground, knocking Milim unconscious with a single blow, dodging Guy's flares with animal grace.
Atraval closed his eyes.
"He will be my end."
The chamber tensed.
Even the Nullborn seemed to flinch in their silence.
"He is the truth I was created to bring."
"He does not rely on magicules, on divine blessings, on authority or fear."
"He is raw will. The one being in this world that already walks the path I was born to carve."
Atraval's voice dropped lower, darker.
"But it is not yet time.
No... I am not here to fight him. I am here to make the world understand him."
"Because they still… don't… get it."
He turned to face the army.
"He beat them all—and they call him a monster."
"They whisper 'freak of nature,' 'accident of creation.'
But I see what Veldanava sees. I see the truth."
He raised his hand. Power surged—not bright or violent, but null—a consuming wave of silence.
"They define themselves by the powers they were given… not the strength they've earned.
That is why they are weak."
He pointed toward the swirling images of the world.
"So let them be stripped.
Let them face war as humans. Let them bleed, fall, and crawl—not with divine magic, but with flesh and spirit."
"Let them remember what it means to be alive."
"Then, and only then—when they've cast off the crutches they worship—
"Yujiro Hanma will stand at the end of the path… and I will kneel."
Atraval looked down at the general again.
"Not as his enemy. Not as his ruler. But as the final lesson he was born to teach."
Then he turned back toward the grand chamber and raised both arms.
"Begin the Silence Protocol. Strip the leyline cores. Nullify the Great Barriers. Plant the Void Spires in Tempest's outskirts."
"And watch. Watch as the world falls into despair… and begins to crawl out of it—on its own legs."
"No more gods. No more Demon Lords. No more heroes blessed by systems."
"Only truth. Only self."
And in the skies above the Cardinal World, unseen by Rimuru, Milim, Guy, or even Velgrynd…
A shadowed army moved.
And at its head, Atraval watched…