Tanaki's pulse thundered in his ears.
The scent of aged wood, polished stone, and magic lingered in the air, unfamiliar yet strangely majestic, surrounding him like an undeniable presence.
The last thing he remembered—school, the collapsing walls, the suffocating dust, the scream of twisting metal—was now a distant memory, overshadowed by the grandeur of the hall in which he stood.
He wasn't alone.
Nine of his classmates, equally stunned, stood alongside him, their expressions mirroring his own confusion.
Before them sat five commanding figures, exuding an authority beyond human comprehension—the leaders of the five races that ruled this world.
At the center, Saro, the Elven Elder, raised a champagne flute, the golden liquid swirling under the soft glow of floating mana lanterns.
She spoke, her tone void of warmth but filled with undeniable reverence.
"To our heroes."
The other leaders followed suit, raising their glasses in solemn acknowledgment.
Confused but unwilling to break decorum, the summoned heroes mirrored the gesture, though their minds were flooded with questions yet unanswered.
Tanaki, his throat dry with apprehension, glanced at Haruto and Rin, both quietly requesting fruit juice instead of alcohol. The servants complied instantly, reinforcing the reality—they had been expected. Prepared for. Their arrival was no accident.
As he took the first sip, the conversation shifted.
"I am Saro, Elder of the Elven race," the woman stated, her emerald eyes sharp as a blade, cutting through the room's thick atmosphere.
She gestured toward her counterparts.
"Together, we ask for your aid in handling the Abyss Order—a sect that has proven to be a grave threat to our world."
The words hung in the air, pressing down with an invisible weight, far heavier than the heroes had anticipated.
A brief pause followed, allowing the meaning of her words to sink in.
Then, she continued.
"Rest assured, your well-being will not be overlooked. You will be treated well, and any requests within reason shall be granted."
Her tone held no deception, but Tanaki felt something hidden behind her words—something far more complex than mere hospitality.
The Beastfolk Elder—Garrow—rose, his massive form looming over the seated Elven Elder.
His wolf-like ears twitched, his single visible eye sharp yet welcoming.
"Nice to meet you folks," he greeted, his deep voice carrying warmth that contrasted against the Elves' strict formality. "I am Garrow, the representative of the Beast Folk, and trust me, I'm honored to welcome you."
His smile, despite his intimidating form, softened the tension in the room—if only slightly.
Then, his expression shifted.
The warmth faded, replaced by focused seriousness.
"Before anything else," he said, "we need to conduct a screening. To understand your capabilities."
The grand doors at the far end of the chamber swung open, revealing a vast room filled with ornate paintings, each depicting visions of war, victory, and ancient heroes lost to time.
At its center, a massive crystalline structure, glowing with raw energy, waited.
Garrow gestured toward it.
"Behold—the world's largest Mana Screener."
His single visible eye gleamed with anticipation, though beneath his confidence, Tanaki could sense something else—a quiet expectation.
"It will determine your mana rank, from H—the weakest—to S—the strongest. The last S-ranked warrior retired long ago. His strength was unmatched, his presence unforgettable."
The heroes exchanged glances.
Then—the screening began.
One by one, the heroes stepped forward, revealing their strengths, their affinities, and the powers that would shape their roles.
Takuma approached first, the smirk on his lips barely hidden. His movements were unhurried, confident, as though he already knew what was coming.
He pressed his palms onto the crystal's surface.
A heartbeat passed.
Then—light erupted, blinding and fierce, a mixture of gray and light green, rippling through the chamber like a sudden storm. A gust of wind whipped across the room, forcing several heroes to brace themselves against its force.
The Lizardmen Elder observed the spectacle, his slitted eyes gleaming with intrigue.
"Unbelievable..." he murmured. "We have a second S-rank."
Takuma stepped back, his smirk deepening, clearly enjoying himself.
Each hero followed—Rin with her ether manipulation, Kaito with his dark control, Akihiro with his thundering lightning, Aya with her illusions, Tetsuya with his precise ice, Daichi, Minato, and Yui with their elemental mastery—each display growing stronger, more refined, earning murmurs of approval and interest from the leaders.
Then came Tanaki.
He swallowed hard, stepping forward, willing himself to ignore the tension coiling in his chest.
The crystal waited, glistening in expectation.
Tanaki pressed his palms against the surface.
Silence.
Nothing.
Seconds stretched painfully as the crystal remained still, refusing to react.
A worker hesitated, shifting uneasily before delivering the first confirmation of failure.
"No readings detected."
Tanaki's stomach sank.
He pressed harder, desperately willing the stone to react.
A second, more refined crystal was brought forward.
Still nothing.
Another worker exchanged glances with his colleague, uncertainty now clearly visible.
The third crystal was tested, but Tanaki's mana remained nonexistent, unfelt, unreadable.
Finally, Saro spoke, her voice detached, composed—but undeniably final.
"Bring the last mana stone."
The weakest screening crystal, barely larger than a fist, was placed before him.
Tanaki placed his hands upon it.
A tiny pulse flickered—weak, fragile, barely measurable.
The worker sighed, shoulders dropping as he delivered the final verdict.
"Rank H."
The chamber remained still, but the silence was no longer filled with awe.
It was drenched in quiet disappointment.
The Lizardmen Elder observed him, his slitted eyes gleaming with disinterest.
Saro lowered her gaze, not out of judgment—but out of disinterest.
Tanaki stepped back, his throat tightening.
Then, Reika stepped forward.
Her palms met the crystal, and two distinct energies surged outward—a golden-white light infused with rich metallic hues, forming a delicate balance between divine healing and craftsmanship mastery.
The Elven Elder's eyes flickered with intrigue as she studied the display.
"A rare fusion," she noted. "The strongest healer… and a master crafter."
The official confirmed the reading.
"Rank B."
Reika exhaled, stepping back. Finally, Haruto stepped forward
The crystal shattered instantly, sending him crashing to the ground. Tanaki rushed forward without thinking.
"Haruto!" Tanaki called out
"His mana is beyond measurable limits."
Saro's voice rang out through the chamber. Something had changed. Not just for Haruto. For all of them. The chamber was tense.
Each hero reacted differently to what they had just experienced—some pleased with their results, a few still processing the implications of their rankings, while others remained quiet, their thoughts heavy with uncertainty.
Haruto questioned what had just happened, his mind circling around the last few moments. Hadn't Garrow just assured them that they were safe? That they would not be harmed? Yet the weight in the air felt like something unspoken still lingered.
And Tanaki—he questioned everything. His existence, His purpose, His role in this world. Was he meant to prove something? Or simply fade into obscurity, a mistake among legends?
Then—suddenly, Garrow laughed. It caught them all by surprise. Not a simple chuckle, not the restrained amusement of a politician, nor the snide superiority of a commander. It was deep, unapologetic, resonating like the growl of a beast that knew its place atop the food chain.
A sound meant to be heard, meant to be felt.
The walls seemed to carry the weight of his voice, reverberating through the chamber, disrupting the silence, twisting the tension into something else entirely. Some of the heroes instinctively straightened, their bodies reacting before their minds caught up. Even Saro, ever composed, allowed her eyebrows to lift slightly, a rare flicker of curiosity and amusement crossing her features. The Demon Elder, however, shifted, his expression momentarily flickering between mild annoyance and unease, sensing the subtle dominance within that voice.
But Garrow did not laugh to threaten. He laughed because he could. He laughed because he knew something others didn't. He laughed because it was his nature—because he understood strength wasn't just force; it was presence. And in that moment, the summoned heroes knew exactly who had just taken control of the ceremony.
Then—as if reading the room, Garrow's grin settled into something sharper, something knowing. His single visible eye flickered momentarily toward Tanaki—not long enough to linger, but enough to acknowledge him, the one who stood apart not because of his power, but because of the absence of it. But Garrow did not dwell. Because while the others saw only rankings, only ability, he saw potential.
His grin softened, his massive arms stretching outward in welcome, the aura around him shifting from commanding to comforting, as if willing them to breathe freely again.
"I can feel it—the energy, the tension, the questions swirling through your minds."
His voice carried warmth, but his stance never faltered, reminding them that his kindness was backed by undeniable power.
"This world may be different from the one you knew, but let me make something clear—every one of you has a place here."
Some of the heroes relaxed slightly, absorbing his words, finding some reassurance in them.
"You will not be cast aside. You will not be forgotten. You will serve, you will grow, and you will find your path—because power alone does not make a legend."
Tanaki felt something shift within him, an ember of hope that he couldn't quite grasp—but was thankful had sparked at all. Garrow gave a sharp nod.
"Now, let's get to it, shall we?"
And so, the divisions began. One by one, the placements were announced.
"Takuma and Haruto—you're with the Elves."
Takuma smirked, clearly pleased, stepping forward with ease. Haruto remained still, unreadable.
"Kaito and Akihiro—Demon race."
Akihiro nodded, looking satisfied. Kaito simply gave a lazy grin, saying nothing—but there was something calculating in his posture.
"Daichi and Yui—you'll be with the Beastfolk."
Yui brightened, an expression of genuine excitement flashing across her face. Daichi nodded, though his expression remained calm, focused—the perfect balance for their race's defensive mastery.
"Tetsuya and Aya—you'll serve under the Lizardmen."
Tetsuya's cold precision suited their battle-hardened military ranks. Aya's illusion magic and mind disruption would be a tactical asset.
Finally—
"Tanaki and Reika—the Humans."
Tanaki had expected it, yet the words still landed like a blow. He swallowed the feeling down, standing stiffly, while Reika already looked ahead, her gaze sharp with opportunity. She wasn't like Tanaki. She wasn't meant to be stuck in the weakest race.
Garrow gave a satisfied nod, thinking the assignments were finalized.
"That's everyone—"
Haruto stepped forward, his movement deliberate.
"I refuse. i want to join the humans Reika can join the elves"
His voice cut through the chamber. The energy shifted violently, leaving behind stunned silence. Hearing her name made her smile she was happy she was not with the weak race but was joining the strongest. She had a grin on her face she truly wasn't like Tanaki.
Kaito chuckled.
"Since we're all switching things around, I'll take Garrow instead."
The Demon leader bristled.
"You were meant for our ranks."
Kaito smirked. "Yeah, I think I'll pass."
De-Vallion the Demon elder stepped forward, his horned silhouette dark against the chamber's lights. His voice was low, simmering with quiet aggression. His mana leaking out uncontrollably
"You mistake our patience for weakness."
For a moment, silence thickened.
Then—
Garrow laughed.
But this time, something slipped.
His aura cracked open just enough—and the entire room felt it.
The Demon leader stepped back, stiffly, as his own instincts betrayed him.
Garrow grinned.
"You're welcome to challenge the boy," he said, voice smooth. "But I doubt you'll like how it ends."
The matter was settled. The leaders then moved to formally welcome their chosen heroes.
Saro, for the first time, allowed a small, faint smile to cross her lips—not one of joy, but of calculated admiration. She walked forward gracefully, handing rings to Takuma and Reika.
Garrow embraced Kaito and Yui, pulling them close in a warm, fatherly gesture. The Lizardmen gave their warriors stone carvings, and the Beastfolk awarded wooden necklaces.
Then—the Human leader was brought forward. A woman in a sleek wheelchair, her steel-gray eyes piercing. She studied Tanaki calmly, then smiled.
"You are not alone."
Tanaki swallowed.
She then turned to Haruto.
"And thank you—for choosing us."
Behind them, Saro stole one last glance at Haruto, smiling to herself. She was pleased.
Even though his choice had hurt the Elves' plans—only a fool would ignore a warrior who carved his own path. The ceremony had ended.
The summoned heroes had been assigned, their paths chosen—some willingly, some with uncertainty, yet none against their will. The rulers had welcomed them into their ranks, sealing their allegiances with rings, gifts, and promises.
But even as the chamber settled, even as the tension of Haruto's rebellion and Kaito's defiance faded into quiet acceptance, something lingered in the air—a presence neither seen nor understood.
An unseen force.
A distant ripple.
A whisper carried through shadows untouched by the light.
The Human leader, seated in her wheelchair, paused mid-breath, her steel-gray eyes shifting ever so slightly. At first, it was nothing. Then—a flicker.
The mana-infused crystals embedded in the chamber dimmed for just an instant, their glow faltering before returning to their steady brilliance.
None of the heroes noticed. None spare for Tanaki who at that time had no idea what It was and thus brushed it off
None of the rulers spoke of it.
But Garrow, sharp as ever, exhaled lightly, his single visible eye narrowing. Somewhere beneath them, something had shifted. Far below the surface, deep in the forgotten ruins of a world untouched by mercy, figures gathered in absolute silence, their cloaks dragging against the damp stone, their eyes gleaming with something far worse than hunger—purpose.
The dungeon stretched far beneath the scorched earth—a labyrinth of decay and suffering, long forgotten by time. Its stone walls, once adorned with sacred carvings, now lay fractured and burned, twisted by dark magic. The air was thick with damp rot, carrying the stench of blood and bile, remnants of countless rituals etched into its past.
Deep within its cavernous expanse, a gathering had formed—figures draped in black and gray cloaks, their faces obscured by veils of shadow. They stood in perfect formation, circling a towering obsidian brazier, where flames burned in an unnatural purple-black hue, casting eerie streaks of light against the warped walls. The fire did not crackle—it whispered, coiled, moving in ways that defied nature.
Behind them, iron-barred cages lined the chamber, their occupants barely visible beyond the veil of darkness. The monsters within stirred—some grotesque beyond recognition, others resembling twisted mockeries of men. Fangs gleamed in the dim light, claws scraped against stone, and hollow, glowing eyes fixated upon their masters.
The gathering's chanting began, a haunting murmur that dripped with agony—not mere words, but echoes of past torments, suffering that had bound them together under the Abyss Order's doctrine. Beneath their cloaks, horns twisted from unseen skulls, marking the presence of demonic lineage. Others bore scaled tails, twitching slightly, remnants of lizard folk warriors reforged by darkness. And then, there were those with neither horns nor tails, their identities buried beneath the fabric—but their aura was suffocating, as if something far worse than flesh had shaped them.
Then, as if commanded by an unseen force, the chanting abruptly ceased.
The purple-black flames recoiled—as though something had entered their presence that even they dared to acknowledge.
A wave rippled through the chamber, unseen yet undeniable. It was neither wind nor mana—something deeper, something that did not belong to the natural world. The figures stiffened, some gripping the edges of their robes, others fighting the primal instinct to bow, to submit.
From within the ranks, a single figure stepped forward, moving through them like a blade slicing water—smooth, effortless, absolute.
The air grew heavier, an unseen pressure tightening its hold on the chamber. The iron cages groaned. The mana stones embedded in the walls pulsed erratically, no longer smooth and rhythmic. The monsters behind the bars did not snarl, did not growl—they simply stopped moving altogether.
Not out of respect.
But out of fear.
The figure ascended the obsidian platform, her presence expanding, uncoiling like a coiled serpent finally stretching its limbs.
The wave struck again. Sharper. Deeper.
A shiver ran through the gathering. Some involuntarily trembled, their robes barely concealing the reaction. Even the higher-ranked black-cloaked members shifted, their bodies instinctively reacting to the oppressive force pressing against them.
She raised her hand, a single motion drenched in authority beyond question.
A low, guttural phrase escaped her lips—the formal greeting of the Abyss Order, known only to those bound by the abyss.
As if shackled by ritual, the gathered figures responded, their individual replies intertwining into a singular rhythm, their voices falling into eerie harmony.
A pause. Silence thick enough to suffocate.
Then came her decree.
"The collection begins."
A ripple of tension passed through the chamber. Some figures tightened their stances, others lowered their heads just slightly—not in submission, but in understanding.
She continued, her tone absolute:
"For the Abyss to rise, for true peace to be restored, the artifacts must be claimed. Only then will the chains that bind this world be shattered."
The purple-black flames twisted violently, pulsing as if they understood the weight of her words. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the chamber, bending, shifting—but there was no wind to move them.
Then came the eruption—voices crying out in exaltation, their chant transforming into a vow. No longer mere words—a sworn declaration, pleading, swearing their devotion to the sect, promising to fulfill the mission no matter the cost.
The dungeon trembled, the mana-infused stones reacting violently to their fervor. The monsters twitched behind their cages, sensing something far greater than ritual—something irreversible.
Then, she raised her hand once more.
The chanting halted.
She stepped back, her golden eyes gleaming for the briefest moment.
Not with satisfaction.
But with hesitation.
For the first time, one of the gray-cloaked figures shifted uneasily, their tail flicking against the floor—not out of excitement, but fear.
The purple-black flames recoiled again, dimming for just an instant, as if rejecting the energy she had summoned into this world.
The largest beast behind bars let out a low, guttural groan, pressing itself against the stone as if trying to shrink away. It knew—even the monsters knew.
Something had changed.
Because she knew—the words she had spoken, the decree she had given—were not truly hers to deliver.
She was not the master of this war, merely a vessel for their leader's command, a soldier granted authority but never true power.
And though the assembled cloaked figures had sworn loyalty to the Abyss Order, it was not her they feared.
It was the one who had given her this decree—the true force behind the abyss.
Somewhere, beyond the reach of light, their true leader watched. Unseen. Unchallenged. Waiting.
For a brief second, the shadows behind her twisted, curling unnaturally despite the still air.
Her breath caught—was she truly alone in delivering this decree? Or was something—someone—watching?
She did not dare turn to look.
Instead, she took a slow step backward, lowering her hood ever so slightly—a gesture that was neither submission nor defiance, but something in between.
"The artifacts will be ours," she declared, her voice steady. "And when the world understands the truth of its chains, it will beg for salvation."
The purple-black flames flared, and in that moment, the obsidian brazier flickered—just once—as if something had disturbed it.
Then the chamber fell into absolute silence, its weight pressing down on the cloaked figures like an unseen hand resting upon them all.
The ritual was complete . Their war had truly begun.