Chapter Thirty-Four: Between a Forged Oath… and a Fortress Aflame

Black tents were erected at the edge of the new land, right at the precise border between the Kingdom of Shadows and the void.

There, the sky was silent—as if listening—but the ground beneath it pulsed with energies that belonged to no known dimension.

At the heart of the encampment stood three of the ancient pillars:

Nazarim, emissary from the depths;

Seralin, Lady of the Torn Edges;

and Aliera, the Still Note of Shadows.

They were weaving the strands of what seemed like an oath—one unlike any pact known to this age.

It was preparation for an army that could cross between worlds, not just lands.

Nazarim, watching his soldiers emerge from temporal rifts, their faces scarred by eras unwritten by history, said:

> "These are no longer mere soldiers… they are echoes of ages strangled before birth."

While Seralin trained a selected elite of shadow warriors in the art of "Spectral Step"—the technique of instantaneous shifting between two locations within the same dimension—

Aliera worked from the shadows, coordinating with Arthur and Leon Azur to link the energy of the Grand Gate to the heart of the Shadow Fortress, turning it into a command center capable of summoning hell in a heartbeat.

She said to Sajibro during a swift meeting surrounded by maps and dim violet light:

> "This land is the steed of your war… but it may become your prison if the Gate falters."

Sajibro replied with a soft voice laced with something broken deep within:

> "Prisons don't scare one who died twice… and returned to break the lock with his own hand."

That night, the commanders gathered around a three-dimensional map representing the Demon Kingdom—its terrain, its fissures, and its dark points pulsing slowly.

Kain, staring at one such point, said:

> "This… isn't traditional demonic magic.

It's something older.

Something that has waited a long, long time."

Sajibro, his gaze fixed on the void, answered:

> "Jinro will tell us… if he survives."

Beneath a sky sliced by tongues of flame, Jinro crept through the ruins of the Demon Kingdom, across the wreckage of a city where stone had melted and logic had shattered.

His appearance had changed… his voice too… even his shadow no longer obeyed him.

He no longer resembled a soldier of the Shadow Kingdom.

But rather a creature born of the sin of escape.

He infiltrated the defenses, slipping past distracted demons installing massive cannons aimed westward.

He passed a wounded demon whispering in fractured tones:

> "Zaramos… no longer speaks… he only listens… to the voice…"

Jinro continued his infiltration until he reached the heart of the black city, where new banners hung—no longer purely demonic.

They were hybrid, bearing symbols from a world that did not belong to any known realm.

And then he heard it…

A song.

Feminine.

Not music, not a spell.

But something between a call… and a warning.

He entered a vast throne hall and saw the unthinkable:

Zaramos, King of Demons, sat in silence—eyes wide open, as if dying while awake.

Beside him stood another shadow—half of him burned, the other half glowing with false light.

They were speaking… but not with words.

They exchanged sigils hurled into the air, causing the walls to ripple.

The fractured voice said:

> "Sajibro… will come. Let him.

This world doesn't know… it has already died."

Jinro whispered to himself:

> "What… is that?

Who… is he?"

Then came the line that should never have been spoken.

Zaramos, in a lifeless voice, declared:

> "Strike first… tomorrow night.

Let the Gates of the Wise Kingdom… be opened with flames of doubt."

At that moment, Jinro froze.

But the worst… had not yet come.

The shadow—that half-bright, half-burned being—suddenly turned.

He stared directly at the corner where Jinro was hiding… and said nothing.

Had he seen him?

Did he know him?

Jinro didn't wait.

He crushed the black stone.

It burned… and the song stopped.

End of Chapter Thirty-Four.