The world watched.
Billions of eyes.
Billions of hearts.
Billions of regrets.
News broadcasts struggled to describe the apocalypse unfolding.
"We are receiving uncut footage from the Eastern Capital… the battle—no, the massacre—continues.
Survivors report a single entity leading the Abyssal Army… a figure they call…
Asura."
The footage was raw.
Chaotic.
Horrifying.
A lone figure wreathed in black flame,
moving like a god of death through the shattered streets.
Buildings crumbled behind him.
Sigil fields shattered at his approach.
Cities surrendered before his gaze.
And across every screen…
That name.
That face.
In a small, quiet house on the outer edges of the Western Reach,
two figures sat frozen.
An aging man and woman.
Eyes wide.
Hands trembling.
They recognized him instantly.
The eyes.
The hair.
The way he moved.
The boy they abandoned.
The son they forgot.
The life they crushed because it was easier to pretend he didn't exist.
The mother covered her mouth with shaking hands.
The father whispered:
"Kai…"
Not Asura.
Not Abyss Monarch.
Not World Ender.
Kai.
Their son.
Their mistake.
"We… we thought he'd…" the mother stammered, tears falling.
"We thought he'd grow stronger. We thought it would make him… better."
The father bowed his head.
Fingers clenching so tightly they bled.
"We broke him.
We built this.
We created this."
The TV screen flickered.
Arin's final desperate light clashing against the endless abyss.
Children fighting in the streets.
Civilians sobbing in the ruins.
The Eastern Capital collapsing.
And at the center of it all —
their son.
Not laughing.
Not crying.
Not screaming.
Just walking.
Silent.
Unforgiving.
Inevitable.
Across the world, the same realization struck like a blade to the heart.
It wasn't just the Guilds.
It wasn't just the powerful.
It wasn't just the broken system.
It was all of them.
Every sneer.
Every ignored scream.
Every abandoned child.
Every silent bystander who watched cruelty happen and turned away.
They had built their executioner with their own hands.
And now, he was coming for them.
Social media melted into chaos.
Newscasters wept live on-air.
Leaders begged for solutions that didn't exist.
But it was too late.
The boy they ignored no longer existed.
Only Asura remained.
Only ruin remained.
The System broadcasted its cold final analysis:
[Global Stability: 12%.]
[Projected Human Survival Rate: 4%.]
[Dominion Expansion: 93%.]
[Warning: Irreversible Collapse In Progress.]
At the edge of the battlefield,
under a burning black sun,
Arin still stood.
Wounded.
Bleeding.
Unbowed.
Facing a monster the world created —
and hoping, praying, that maybe, just maybe…
There was still something left worth saving.
But deep inside Asura's silent march,
there was no more hope.
Only silence.
Only ash.
Only ruin.