The once-sacred grounds of Astraeus Academy had been defiled into a grotesque cemetery.
What was once a sanctuary of prayer had now become a domain of nightmares, steeped in horror and despair.
A mountain of corpses loomed high, with NOX seated at its peak, an eerie throne of the fallen. Rivers of blood streamed in all directions, saturating the earth beneath, as if the land itself was drowning in death. The once-pristine grounds were now stained a deep crimson.
Amidst the carnage, the last standing Dharma Soldiers struggled to process NOX's chilling declaration—a war against the very order of the world.
Did he truly believe that slaughtering a handful of Rank 6 Awakeners would be enough to stand against the might of the Human Supreme Society?
Was he so ignorant, so reckless?
Did he truly think raw strength alone could unravel the very laws governing this universe?
Questions swirled within the soldiers' minds, but none dared to voice them aloud, lest they provoke the monster before them.
NOX, blindfolded yet unwavering, fixed his attention on the lone Rank 7 soldier, who hesitated, weighing his next move. This was the dilemma anyone who faced NOX would encounter—how does one engage an opponent who acts on mere whims yet follows an unseen purpose lurking beneath?
A knowing smirk deepened on NOX's lips. He understood their fear, their doubts. And he knew, more than anything, that his current power alone was not enough to make the world tremble.
But the unknown—that, they would fear.
With a casual air, NOX spoke, his voice laced with amusement.
"Now then, how about you all scurry home and warn the others? Tell them to stay far, far away from me—unless, of course, they wish to die. Because I will kill every last soldier under the Human Supreme Society."
At that moment—
"Hahaha… Ha ha ha…"
Laughter, bitter and broken, echoed from among the ranks. It belonged to a Rank 7 soldier, his sharp frame trembling, his grey hair disheveled.
He had finally reached his breaking point.
He had stood by, watching as his comrades were butchered, their bodies desecrated for nothing more than a warning.
And now, he was expected to endure NOX's arrogant threats, his delusions of grandeur?
Yet, perhaps NOX was bluffing. After all, he hadn't laid a finger on a single Rank 7 soldier.
So how could someone so weak dare to challenge the order of the world itself?
NOX tilted his head toward the soldier, yet in his perception, he did not see a man—only an erratic pulse of emotions. This soldier burned with a seething, near-black rage, an unstable storm on the verge of collapse.
And that made NOX all the more entertained.
The soldier no longer cared for his life as he roared, "You think you can tear down the order of this world? With such pathetic strength? Do you even understand the vastness of—"
His words spilled out in an unhinged tirade, his voice trembling with rage and desperation. Yet, NOX merely smirked.
To him, the soldier's outburst was no different from a chicken boasting about the might of its coop—utterly oblivious to the god that loomed above it.
As the rant continued, NOX stifled a yawn.
His head tilted slightly upward, sensing the violent tremors rippling through the battlefield.
Space itself seemed to groan under the sheer force of the clash between Tirius and the generals. He could feel the terrifying energy surging above, but worry never crossed his mind.
Because he knew his uncle was a monster.
A monster who could have claimed the title of Astral Ruler—if he hadn't suddenly walked away from it all.
As long as his Shadow Uncle didn't face dozens of Rank 9 Awakeners at once, NOX had no doubt he would emerge unscathed.
His attention drifted back to the enraged soldier, who was still ranting about the grandeur of the Society, its righteousness, and its irrefutable importance.
NOX cut through the nonsense with a single question.
"Do you truly believe the higher-ups in the Society care about a mere soldier's death?"
The words hung in the air like a blade.
Because the truth was simple. The Dharma Soldiers were nothing but expendable pawns. Would the Society risk everything for them?
No.
After today—after the deaths of Rank 9 generals and the 'resurrection' of Tirius—the Society would grow even more cautious. Not because they sought justice, but because they feared risk. They would make no rash moves, not until the Devil Invasion began.
Only then, when the Dark Heaven Clan had suffered immense losses in the battle against the Devils, would the Society strike again—like scavengers preying upon the wounded.
They had done it before.
They tried to brand NOX as a Devil. And when his clan resisted, they retreated, manipulating the public into believing they were sheltering a Devil's Seed. They had painted them as traitors, as heretics—and yet, when the time came to defend the world, it was his clan that bled.
And when the war against the Devils finally left them weakened, the Society would strike again.
None of this was Dharma.
And NOX hated the Dharma Soldiers all the more—for it was their blades that had slain most of his clan.
The soldier scoffed, his voice righteous with blind faith. "Of course, the Society would! Do you think we are like your Demonic Clan?"
NOX's amusement vanished.
Behind his blindfold, his gaze turned cold.
Demonic.
He almost laughed. He had nearly forgotten—that was how the world saw them. It was why the Society so easily convinced the masses that he was a Devil.
The Dark Heaven Clan had always been labeled a Demonic Clan simply because they refused to follow the rigid, hypocritical Dharma Path. They lived by their own truths. They walked their own path.
And for that, they were condemned.
The soldier sneered at NOX's silence and declared, "The Society will not ignore this. Our comrades may not strike today, nor tomorrow, but one day—you will face their wrath. Even if it takes a thousand years. Not just you, but your entire lineage. Your father, your moth—"
"You're right."
NOX's voice was terrifyingly calm.
"The Society will not ignore this. And my clan will suffer."
A pause. Then, his voice sharpened. "Which is why I would rather slaughter thousands of you than lose a single member of my clan."
The air grew suffocatingly silent.
The soldier took an instinctive step back, sensing something shift.
NOX exhaled, almost leisurely. "So… thank you." His smirk returned. "For reminding me. For giving me a reason to kill your brothers and sisters again."
And with that, he leapt from his throne of corpses, landing effortlessly in front of the soldier.
"This has dragged on long enough. And frankly—"
He cracked his neck.
"It's not fun anymore."
The soldiers, professors, and students who had been watching felt a sudden chill crawl up their spines. The moment of playfulness was gone. A terrifying calm settled over NOX, far more dreadful than his previous amusement.
His blindfolded gaze swept over the last of the Dharma Soldiers—a dozen Rank 7 warriors.
Then, without warning, NOX spoke.
A single word.
"[Explode.]"
His voice was quiet. Not a threat, nor an order—just a casual suggestion, as if he were merely asking them to die.
[Your title, Vritrahan, is responding to your command.]
[Consuming 500,000 EP to use the command – Explode!]
Reality bent.
For a fleeting moment, there was silence—an unnatural, suffocating pause. The soldiers barely had time to register what was happening.
A sharp, searing heat bloomed from within their cores, spreading like wildfire through their veins.
Then—
Boom.
The world fractured in an instant.
A sickening shockwave tore through the battlefield as the soldiers' bodies ruptured from within. Blood erupted in torrential waves, bones cracked and dissolved into dust, and armor—crafted to withstand the might of gods—proved meaningless.
A crimson mist expanded outward, drenching the land in the remains of warriors who had once stood as symbols of power.
Yet, as the carnage settled, one figure remained.
A lone Rank 7 soldier with gray hair stood amidst the storm of blood and viscera, his breath ragged, his body trembling. He was drenched in the remnants of his fallen comrades, yet somehow, he still existed. His fingers twitched, his mind struggling to process the horror that had just unfolded before him.
He was the sole survivor.
The remaining soldiers, the professors, and the students—all were horrified, unable to grasp what they had just witnessed. Even the most powerful among them, those who stood at the pinnacle of strength, could not fathom such a thing.
NOX had struck down a dozen Rank 7 warriors with but a word. Even Astral Rulers couldn't achieve something like that.
But NOX did not give them the luxury of processing the gravity of what had just occurred. There was more to come—far more.
The Rank 7 soldier, the one who had dared to threaten NOX moments ago, now stood frozen. Blood and gore from his comrades clung to his body, his face pale with shock and disbelief.
NOX stepped closer, his blindfolded gaze never leaving the soldier's eyes.
"You're responsible for their deaths," NOX whispered, his voice low and cold. "You… and you alone."
The soldier, still shaken and covered in the remnants of his brothers and sisters, looked at NOX with a gaze full of terror. He could no longer deny the truth. NOX was no longer just a threat. He was something far worse.
He had become the embodiment of the Devil's Seed.
"No need to look at me like that," NOX said, his voice tinged with amusement. "Do I look like a devil now? Don't worry—your opinion will change in a few minutes. I promise."
At that, NOX turned inward, his focus shifting to the system that lay at his command.
"Consume my Emotion Points. Construct the Curse."