The sun had barely begun to rise.
A faint light crept over the barren fields where tents stood like silent watchers, fluttering in the breeze. Soldiers stirred in their sleep, the scent of morning fires and steel filling the air. The Demon Lords stood quietly, each one watching the horizon, feeling something strange in the air—something wrong.
Then it happened.
Like meteors screaming from the sky—the Nullborns returned.
Thousands. Tens of thousands.
They came from the heavens in waves, tearing through clouds with trails of dark smoke. Their bodies glowed with an eerie purple aura, their eyes now burning with something far more terrifying than hunger—awareness.
Alarms blared. Horns screamed. The ground trembled.
"THEY'RE HERE!"
"ALL UNITS—DEFENSIVE FORMATION!"
"TO YOUR POSITIONS!"
Soldiers scrambled from their tents, grabbing their weapons, forming battle lines just as they had trained over the past few days.
Guy Crimson, now standing at the front lines, raised his voice for all to hear:
"LISTEN UP!" he roared. "NO MAGIC! DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT! THEY'LL FEED OFF IT! THIS IS HAND-TO-HAND! STRIKE HARD, STRIKE FAST—NO MERCY!"
Everyone shouted in reply, rallying behind the flame-eyed Demon Lord.
Then the first Nullborn hit the ground.
Its landing shattered the earth.
Then another.
Then another.
Then hundreds more.
And then they ran.
No screaming. No roaring.
Just deadly, cold silence as they sprinted forward like trained assassins.
The first clash was instant.
A Nullborn ducked under a soldier's sword slash and delivered a perfect sidekick to his ribs, sending him flying. Another used a tornado roundhouse to knock out three men at once. These weren't the same creatures from before. They were fighting with **discipline, technique—**like they had studied every move in the books of war.
Martial arts. Combat tactics. Precision.
"THEY'RE STRONGER NOW!" screamed a knight as he was forced back, blood flying from his lip.
"FALL INTO YOUR UNITS! FIGHT SMART!" shouted Benimaru, cutting through one with a wide arcing blade, then grabbing another and slamming it down with brute strength.
Milim Nava came crashing down from above like a meteor herself. She slammed her foot into a Nullborn's skull, cracking it like a melon. Two more rushed her, but she flowed through them like water—karate, aikido, every move clean and precise.
"You freaks learned to fight, huh?" she spat. "So did I!"
She spun and delivered a backfist to one, followed by a rising palm strike that shattered its jaw.
Velzard was a vision of ice and violence. Without her magic, she relied on raw skill.
Muay Thai. Elbows. Knees. Crushing power.
She moved like a dancer in a storm, breaking the neck of one Nullborn with a spinning elbow and smashing another's knee in with a low strike.
"They thought I was only dangerous with magic," she said, wiping blood from her face. "They forgot I was a warrior first."
Veldora grappled three Nullborns at once, slamming them into each other with judo throws so hard the ground cracked.
"BACK TO BACK! COVER YOUR SIDES!" he roared, defending two soldiers about to be overwhelmed.
Rimuru ducked a spear thrust, kicked the weapon from the Nullborn's hand, and spun into a kickboxing combo, striking at its knee, ribs, then head.
"They evolve… but so do we."
He turned just in time to block an axe with his forearm and headbutt the Nullborn back.
Rudra moved like a ghost. Jiu-jitsu. Holds. Locks. Precision takedowns.
"Don't rely on strength alone," he told a soldier he'd just saved. "Use technique. Let their power work against them."
All across the battlefield, the Demon Lords fought like living legends. The soldiers, trained under their guidance, held their ground.
The screams of pain were loud—but so were the roars of defiance.
Steel clashed against bone. Fists met flesh. Blood sprayed. Dust rose.
For hours, the fighting continued.
And then—suddenly—it stopped.
Every Nullborn froze.
Mid-swing. Mid-run. Mid-roar.
Just… still.
Like machines that had been shut off.
One soldier stood trembling before a Nullborn that had stopped an inch from his throat.
"W-What's happening?" he whispered.
The Nullborns began… walking backward. Step by step. All of them. Moving toward the sky, as if being pulled by invisible strings.
Everyone was still. Even the Demon Lords.
"This doesn't make sense," Rimuru muttered.
"It's too… organized," said Guy, voice tense.
"They're… retreating?" asked Leon.
"No…" Milim whispered. "They're making room."
Then the air changed.
The sky darkened.
Clouds twisted into a spiral. The winds reversed. A low hum buzzed in the bones of everyone alive.
And then—a tear opened across the sky.
A demonic portal unlike anything the world had ever seen.
It bled shadows.
It oozed darkness.
It roared like the voice of extinction itself.
Lightning crackled inside it—black, not white. Thunder boomed without delay.
And then he stepped out.
ATRAVAL.
The Bane of All Power.
Wings like night.
Eyes like twin abysses.
A face half-shrouded in a demonic grin, half a skull wrapped in cursed metal.
He hovered. He did not walk. The sky dimmed around him, and the world bowed without wanting to.
Every soldier, Demon Lord, monster—even the earth—felt his presence.
And then… magic died.
Every spell. Every aura. Every ounce of energy—gone.
"W-What?! My power!" Velgrynd clutched her chest.
"He's nullified everything," whispered Luminous.
"No… he's erased it," Rimuru said coldly.
Atraval's voice was soft. Calm. But it filled every inch of the sky.
"I've watched long enough. You learned to fight. To struggle. Admirable. But pointless."
"Now, the true trial begins."
He raised one hand—and the earth cracked beneath the army's feet.
"Let the final cycle begin."
The world shook.
The portal expanded.
The sky screamed.
And the final war began—not with spells. Not with gods.
But with flesh. Bone. Sweat. Blood.
TO BE CONTINUED...