"Come on... wake up...!"
In what appears to be a school, a twelve-year-old girl desperately shakes her friend, who lies motionless on the floor.
"Please... get up... we have to escape..."
Her voice trembles, choked by fear and anguish.
To understand her desperation, one only needs to look around. The building is drenched in blood, the bodies of students and teachers littering the hallways. No one stood a chance. The teachers tried to hold off that thing, sacrificing themselves to buy the children time... but it was futile. They died too quickly. No one could run.
Terror spread like a plague. Screams for help, cries of pain, wails of horror. To that creature, they were nothing more than a sweet melody. It didn't kill out of hunger. It didn't hunt out of necessity. It simply wanted to hear them beg before ripping their lives away.
With each passing second, the number of survivors dwindled.
"I promised her I would protect you... but..."
Tears well up in her eyes.
Her friend, a boy with white hair, lies in a pool of his own blood. A deep wound—a result of shielding her.
"Get up!"
She sobs, trying to drag him. But no matter how hard she tries, she can't move him. She can't do anything.
Around her, only death. The lifeless bodies of her classmates lie scattered. The air reeks of blood and despair.
"Please... don't leave me alone... I'm scared... I don't know what to do..."
She could run. The creature is still butchering the last survivors. But she refuses to abandon him.
"I'm sorry... I... I was supposed to protect you... because..."
Her voice doesn't stop. She knows he can hear her. He has to.
But it's too late. She doesn't know that his heart has stopped. That his organs have failed. That his body has given out.
"Please... I can't lose you..."
And then she sees it.
At the end of the hallway, the creature responsible for the massacre watches her.
There's no escape. Running is no longer an option. Only one path remains.
Her legs tremble, fear tightens around her chest, yet she steps between the creature and her friend.
"I...!"
She doesn't finish her sentence. A brutal strike sends her flying, her body slamming against the wall with a sickening crunch.
The creature grins—or at least, something resembling a grin on its grotesque, bloodstained face. It's enjoying this.
The screams, the agony of its victims, the thrill of killing—it's what a demon lives for.
That thing has slaughtered hundreds. Everyone is dead. And the worst part? It still hasn't eaten yet. And what better prey than the boy that girl tried to protect?
"Leave him... I'm still here..."
The girl spits blood, her body broken from the impact, but she doesn't give up. She has to protect him—that's the promise she made to that person years ago.
This act of bravery—or foolishness—catches the demon's attention. Its cold, merciless gaze shifts to her.
This was her only chance. She had drawn its focus. It would kill her. Tear her apart. She knew that. But she didn't care.
"DESMON, GET UP!"
Her desperate scream echoes.
But her words don't reach him.
The dead cannot hear.
Or so logic says.
But somewhere, in an abyss of endless darkness, Desmon still hears her.
He feels nothing. No light. No pain. Only emptiness.
Yet her voice reaches him. The sobs. The fear.
-Get up...
He doesn't know where the voice is coming from. He doesn't know what this place is. But he can't ignore it.
-Get up...
The words repeat in his mind. He can't leave her alone. He can't give up.
-GET UP!
Every fiber of his being screams it.
But no matter how hard he tries, he has reached his limit. As a human, this is all he could do.
The darkness engulfs him. Consumes him. There is no way out.
This is his end.
He lets himself drift into the silence. Nothing matters anymore. He will simply disappear and cease to exist.
Until... in the very last second, he hears her again.
…
On a highway connecting cities in Japan, a blue-haired policewoman stands next to a corpse.
Not even a minute has passed since she arrived at the scene, examining the grotesque state of the young man's body—twisted, mangled, as if he had suffered unimaginable agony until he finally found peace in death.
"He definitely didn't just fall off his motorcycle."
Asako walks around the area, deep in thought.
"What could have caused this level of damage in just minutes...?"
Though she has been reduced to a mere traffic officer, handing out tickets to reckless drivers, she was once part of CIRS (Central Intelligence and Research Second), where she handled threats to national security—terrorists, organized crime syndicates, and conspirators against the state.
However, while dismantling a network leaking confidential data, she uncovered several acts of corruption within her own superiors.
And a she continued to investigate, the higher-ups decided to demote her to a place where she wouldn't be a problem. Initially, they sent a few assassins to silence her, but Asako put a bullet between the eyes of every single one of them. So instead, they simply sent her far away, where she wouldn't be a nuisance.
Following standard protocol, Asako pulled out her radio to contact the police station, where her colleagues would request an ambulance and begin the process of determining the circumstances of the death.
It was the police's job to uncover the exact cause—whether it was a mere accident or something more sinister. Just another day in the police
"Officer Kusakabe, what's going on?" A voice crackled through her police radio.
"I need to report…"
KRIIIK... KRRRSH... KCHHHH!
"Something wrong?"
A few seconds passed, but Asako didn't respond. She had heard something strange coming from the roadside.
The officer kept talking, but she ignored him completely. Her focus was locked onto an abomination emerging from the earth.
GLUURRCH... SKLAAK... CHRRRCH!
A wet, gurgling noise accompanied the creature's appearance, its movements unnatural—like its very existence defied the laws of nature.
-What…?
Before Asako's eyes, a monstrosity took shape—something that vaguely resembled a crab, yet far more grotesque and horrifying. It stood over ten feet tall, its exoskeleton covered in jagged spines and irregular protrusions, giving it a beastly, aggressive appearance. Its body pulsed with hues of black, red, and an eerie spectral green that seeped through the cracks in its armor, as if something dark and unnatural writhed beneath its shell.
Its eyes—two glowing orbs of searing orange—burned with a ravenous, predatory hunger. Its maw was a tangled mess of razor-sharp filaments and deformed fangs, oozing a thick, viscous substance that dripped in long strands from its mouth, as if the creature itself was rotting from within. Its legs, lined with spikes, ended in curved claws sharp enough to tear through flesh and bone with ease.
But the most terrifying feature was its massive pincers—jagged, serrated, and powerful enough to shatter boulders effortlessly.
Asako couldn't look away. In all her years of service, she had never seen anything like it.
If there existed a book cataloging the horrors of the underworld, this creature would be listed under one name: Kragnalith. But information on this demon was scarce—until now, there had been no known survivors who could describe it with certainty.
The Kragnalith lumbered toward Desmon's corpse and, without the slightest hesitation, buried its pincers into the lifeless body, lifting it as if claiming a trophy.
The immense demonic energy unleashed during the battle between Desmon and Kagenra had drawn this abomination. Like a scavenger from another world, the demon had come to claim its feast.
-That thing… is it going to eat him?
Anyone else would have panicked. But Asako was not just anyone. Her training and experience in combat had hardened her. Her analytical skills far exceeded the average, and she had survived situations where a single mistake meant death.
Without hesitation, she drew her gun and opened fire on the Kragnalith.
The bullets struck the creature's exoskeleton… and bounced off without leaving so much as a scratch.
"Tch… Useless…"
It was the first time her shots had failed to make even the slightest dent. Worse still, the creature didn't even react. Its exoskeleton wasn't just tough—it was impenetrable.
Ignoring Asako entirely, the Kragnalith widened its maw, preparing to devour Desmon's corpse.
But then...
SKRIIK… RHHAAAAAH!
A deep, agonized shriek erupted from the creature.
Something—or someone—had grabbed the point where its face connected to its body with a bare hand. A hand that should have been pierced by its spines. Yet, it remained still, unaffected by pain.
Hrrgh… Hhhk… Ghhhrrr…!!!
The Kragnalith let out strangled, guttural noises, its body convulsing as tiny fractures spread across its exoskeleton. The pressure crushing its skull was inhuman—impossible to endure.
Desperate, the demon slammed its pincers into the corpse, as if trying to pierce its prey would somehow alleviate its own suffering.
But it was useless.
GYYYRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHOOOOOHHH...!!!
A deafening howl of agony echoed through the air as, with a sickening crack, the creature's skull exploded into a thousand pieces. Black blood and viscera splattered across the ground, drenching the scene in a putrid stench.
And then, silence returned.
But this time… a new presence rose amidst the demon's remains.
The supposed corpse had stood up once more.
Freed from its clutches, Desmon rose again.
...
…
…
Just like years ago, in that vast darkness—the one that marks the absolute end, the point of no return from which no one escapes… Something or someone met that infinite darkness with a gaze.
As if a buried fragment of his subconscious had unearthed a forbidden memory, a voice rang out with an intensity that shook him to his very core.
"DESMON, GET UP!"
And then, it resurfaced. That scene, seared into his memory.
The lifeless body of the girl who had protected him until the very end.
"GRRRAAAAAAAAHHHH!!"
A raw, unearthly roar erupted. A surge of demonic energy burst forth, darkening the air with a suffocating shroud. The pressure unleashed was like an overwhelming tide, pressing down on everything around it with a force so crushing it made the very air feel heavy.
Asako struggled to stay on her feet, to resist—but it was useless. She was sent hurtling through the air, flung far into the distance.
-What the hell is happening…?
She thought from the ground, unable to move.
Can something defy death?
Yes.
Can it die?
No. He will not die.
Not yet.
Not until he fulfills that vow he made to himself years ago.
And until then—until he reaches her, until he sees his purpose through—He will keep getting up.
No matter what. No matter who stands in his way. He will up, again and again, until every last demon is eradicated. It doesn't matter where they hide. It doesn't matter how long it takes. Sooner or later, he will find them. And he will exterminate them.
Is it childish? Impossible?
Maybe.
But when he was twelve years old, he hadn't allowed himself to think that way. He hadn't reasoned. He hadn't searched for logic in his words. He had simply clung to that idea—because it was the only thing keeping him alive.
Because the day he wipes out every last demon, there will be only one left to kill.
Himself.
Only then will he atone for the sin he will never be able to forgive.
And now, something within him had awakened. Something his own subconscious had buried deep, locked away to prevent further bloodshed.
Because that "something"… that demon…
Was what killed his friend.
A massive surge of demonic energy erupted from Desmon's body, releasing thick black smoke from within—the true cause of his suffering, the very poison that had left him on the brink of death.
And now, freed from that corrosive, lethal toxin, his wounds began to mend at an inhuman pace. Shattered bones, punctured organs, torn flesh—everything was restored within seconds, as if death itself had been forced to return what it had stolen.
Desmon, the demon hunter, had returned.
But something about him had changed.
The red-black aura surrounding him did not fade.
And his eyes—rather than returning to their usual state—burned from within. His sclera had cracked, shifting into a molten red, fissures spreading across his pupils, radiating an energy so chilling it made the blood freeze.
In this moment, he could not think. He could not reason.
He was nothing but a beast, driven by instinct. A creature that would annihilate whatever stood before it.
KRIIIK... KRRRSH... KCHHHH!
KRIIIK... KRRRSH... KCHHHH!
KRIIIK... KRRRSH... KCHHHH!
From the shadows, from the cracks in the earth, from the depths where light does not reach…
Hundreds.
The Kragnalith emerged like a tide of living nightmares, answering the final cry for help and pain of the demon
They were like ants—creatures of darkness that built their massive nests deep within the earth. Divided into three castes: workers, tanks, and the queen. And when a scout fell in battle, its death did not go unpunished.
It was a call to war.
Like an unstoppable flood, the worker class charged—exoskeletons as tough as steel, capable of reducing an entire city to rubble. They rushed at Desmon.
He was trapped. Surrounded.
Or at least… that's how it should have been.
One of the Kragnalith let out a shriek and lunged at him.
But…
The sound of the exoskeleton shattering echoed through the air as Desmon's fist tore through it with overwhelming brutality. The creature didn't even have time to scream before being ripped apart.
No.
Desmon isn't the one trapped with demons.
The demons are the ones trapped with him.
And right now…
This isn't a demon hunter against demons.
It's a demon against other demons.
Taking the death of one of their own as a signal, the remaining Kragnalith swarmed toward Desmon. They had the numbers—they should have been able to overwhelm him, trap him like an unstoppable tide, and tear him apart.
But instead of retreating or resisting, Desmon advanced.
His body crashed into the horde, tearing through them. Blood and viscera splattered through the air as he charged forward without stopping.
One of the demons tried to grab him with its pincers, but Desmon caught them instead and, with a single wrenching motion, ripped them off. Wasting no time, he drove his new weapon straight into the demon's face, then sent it flying into its own kind with a brutal kick.
Desmon moved faster than ever. One moment, he was ripping demons apart with savage blows and kicks; the next, he was already on top of a Kragnalith, raising his leg high before bringing it down in a devastating axe kick that turned the demon's head into a pulpy mess of blood and gore.
There could be hundreds of them, but if they couldn't match his speed and strength, it didn't matter.
There was no comparison.
Desmon was an unchained beast, tearing through demons without rest. Every strike cracked their exoskeletons as if they were made of glass. The Kragnalith, known for their resilience, were being slaughtered at an absurd rate. With each passing second, their numbers dwindled.
It was as if Desmon was their natural predator.
Blood and entrails covered his body, but he didn't stop. He kept going. Again and again.
Of the hundreds of Kragnalith, fewer than fifty remained. The road was stained red, littered with shattered remains that slowly vanished, but the marks of their slaughter lingered.
-This doesn't make sense...
From a distance, Asako could only watch the one-sided massacre. She couldn't process what she was seeing, couldn't make sense of it.
Desmon kept moving, cutting down demons as they failed time and time again to land a single hit.
It didn't matter if four or more lunged at him at once. Desmon would vanish in a blink, and before they could react, he'd already be behind one—plunging his arms into its exoskeleton, lifting it, and using its body as a club against the others.
The crunch of exoskeletons colliding echoed with each devastating swing. The demon in Desmon's hands shattered piece by piece with every impact. And before its body could fully break apart, he hurled it like a bowling ball, smashing it into its kin and obliterating them.
He might not have been fully conscious, but his body remembered.
And that made him even more terrifying.
A Kragnalith lunged, pincers snapping—but Desmon intercepted them, tore them off, and drove them straight into the demon's eyes. It shrieked, feeling its own weapons bury deep into its skull, until they plunged so far that it died.
Now, only two remained…
Desmon and one last Kragnalith.
The demon advanced without hesitation. Not out of bravery, but because it was a creature built to kill.
But if there was a predator here, it wasn't that crab.
Desmon closed the distance before it could react, driving his hands deep into the demon's eyes and lifting it off the ground.
RHHHRYYYYAAAAHHH!!
The Kragnalith's scream ripped through the air as its body began to buckle. Desmon didn't hesitate. With a single, brutal motion, he tore it in half—putting an end to the last of the worker-class demons.
Silence fell once more.
Every last Kragnalith had been destroyed without mercy.
Desmon stood still. There were no threats left, and yet, he was waiting.
He was a demon. He could sense others.
And in his current state, there was no way he was wrong.
Then…
The earth began to shake. Not just a tremor—but a warning. A harbinger of something monstrous.
Cracks spread across the ground, and from them, the tank-class Kragnalith emerged.
If the worker hordes had failed, then it was time for these colossi to take their place.
The tremor escalated into a devastating quake. The earth fractured and twisted.
Their numbers didn't compare to the previous swarm, but their presence alone carried more weight than an army.
There were fewer than a hundred of them...
But each was worth a thousand.
The Kragnalith are a living horror. Their exoskeleton, black as absolute void, is an impenetrable armor—a moving fortress lined with spikes as long and sharp as spears. Their massive pincers are grotesque deformities, scarred and shaped by brutal evolution, forged in war and suffering. At the center of their torso, a fissure glows crimson red—a core of demonic energy pulsing with an undeniable ferocity.
Their eyes are not mere orbs but burning rifts that gleam with pure malice. They don't just look… they stalk. Their twisted, curved spines form a macabre crown, a silhouette worthy of an unstoppable predator.
But to Desmon… they are nothing more than mere demons.
Without hesitation, he steps forward and drives his fist into one with the same force he had used to annihilate demons before, holding nothing back. The impact echoes like a thunderous crash. But this time, the demon does not shatter or break—it merely staggers back slightly, completely unscathed, undisturbed, and invulnerable.
The flesh and bone of Desmon's hand give way before the Kragnalith's armor. His fist bursts into a mess of blood and shattered bone. The pain is absolute… and yet, his face remains unreadable. His mangled hand begins to mend in the blink of an eye, flesh and tendons knitting back together as if the injury had never happened.
Just as Desmon had been the predator to the previous demons, now he is the prey.
The Kragnalith charge at him. In response, Desmon leaps and swings down with an axe kick—but as expected, his leg is obliterated upon impact with the demons' exoskeleton.
There's no time to dwell on his crushed flesh and bone, as one of the demon's pincers spears through his stomach, ripping out his intestines.
Desmon kicks the demon's face, his foot embedding into the spiked exoskeleton, but with sheer force, he manages to push it back.
There is no moment to rest—upon landing, the other Kragnalith lunge at him.
No matter how hard he hits them, no matter how much force he uses, he can only make them stagger. He cannot wound them. He cannot destroy them.
Little by little, Desmon is overwhelmed. As if their vision is linked, each time he moves, a demon is already in place, ready to intercept him, to tear into him with their pincers.
His body begins to suffer severe damage, and though he regenerates, it is not limitless.
The demons coordinate, attacking with precision. With their invulnerability, there is no fear—Desmon is just another prey to be devoured.
Even if Desmon had faced these demons at his peak, the result would be the same—his defeat. The end is inevitable.
The demons close in. With no room to maneuver, he jumps—but one of them intercepts him midair, slamming him into the ground. There is no escape.
Like ravenous beasts, the demons pounce. Jaws and pincers tear him apart mercilessly. Muscle, skin, and bone are crushed and ripped away. Each bite, each slash is a symphony of shredded flesh and splintered bone.
The sound is nauseating.
The Kragnalith were superior. There was nothing more to be done.
If he truly wanted to pierce through their invulnerable exoskeletons, he would need something of unimaginable power—an instrument of destruction with unprecedented lethality, a weapon capable of stripping away the very armor the Kragnalith took pride in.
More and more Kragnalith join the feast. Their jaws and pincers tear into him. An endless hell.
But then, amidst the chaos, a sound. A whisper, barely audible beneath the roar of the massacre. A voice—soft, calm.
So calm, it was terrifying.
"Rox."