A dark storm gathered over the horizon, swirling unnaturally as if the heavens themselves recoiled from the presence now staining the world. Ryuketsu, the embodiment of destruction, had no physical form—he was a void, an entity of pure malice, seeking a vessel strong enough to wield his chaos.

  And now, his gaze had settled on one man.

  Deep within the Shadow Fortress, Zyphor sat upon his throne, staring into the flickering flames of his chamber’s torches. He had always been a warlord, a conqueror driven by strength and ambition. But something in the air felt… wrong. A heavy presence loomed over him, unseen yet suffocating.

  The flames trembled, dimming to an eerie crimson. The shadows at the edges of the room stretched unnaturally, twisting and writhing. Then, a voice—low, cold, and ancient—echoed through the chamber.

  "Zyphor… You desire power, do you not?"

  Zyphor’s eyes narrowed as he stood. "Who’s there?" His hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his blade.

  Laughter, deep and hollow, vibrated through the room. The darkness pulsed, congealing into a swirling mass in front of him. Two glowing eyes—void-like yet burning with cruel intelligence—manifested from the abyss.

  "You seek dominion over this world," Ryuketsu’s voice whispered. "But you lack the power to take it. Your strength is… insufficient."

  Zyphor growled, gripping his sword tighter. "I am the strongest warlord alive. No force can stand against me."

  "Is that so?" Ryuketsu’s laughter grew, shaking the very walls of the fortress. "And yet, you could not defeat Raizo. You failed, and now the world sees you as weak."

  Zyphor’s teeth clenched. He had lost to Raizo before. The humiliation still burned deep.

  "But I can give you power, Zyphor. The power to surpass Raizo… to bend this world to your will."

  Zyphor hesitated. He didn’t trust this entity, but the temptation of power was undeniable. He had fought his entire life for strength—what was the price of a little more?

  "…What do you want in return?" he asked.

  The shadows surged forward. "Your body."

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  A black tendril shot toward Zyphor’s chest, wrapping around his torso. He gasped as unimaginable power flooded into him—his muscles surged, his aura darkened, and his mind became a battlefield between his own will and Ryuketsu’s overwhelming presence.

  Zyphor gritted his teeth, fighting to maintain control. "I… am no one's puppet!" he roared, slamming his sword into the ground. The force sent a shockwave through the room, momentarily pushing the darkness back.

  But Ryuketsu only laughed. "You will be mine soon, Zyphor. And when you are, the world will bow to my wrath."

  The warlord dropped to one knee, panting as his own energy fought against the invading force. His body was changing, his aura twisting into something unnatural. He could feel Ryuketsu inside him, lurking, waiting for his resistance to weaken.

  For now, he was still himself. But for how long?

  Miles away, Raizo and Tenzir stood atop a high cliff, overlooking the ruined city of Valtora. The battlefield from Raizo’s fight with Veyron was still fresh—scars of magic burned into the ground, shattered stone covering the once-mighty kingdom.

  Tenzir, ever the tactician, sighed as he adjusted his long coat. "So, Ryuketsu has taken an interest in Zyphor," he muttered. "This is bad."

  Raizo didn’t respond immediately. His piercing gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his mind already preparing for the battles to come. "Zyphor is strong, but he won’t last against Ryuketsu’s will. Once he loses control, he’ll become a weapon of destruction."

  Tenzir smirked. "That’s assuming he hasn’t already lost control."

  As if to confirm his words, the ground trembled. From the distance, dark figures began to emerge—warriors clad in corrupted armor, their eyes glowing with the same eerie crimson that had once belonged to Ryuketsu.

  "Here we go," Tenzir muttered. "He’s already making his move."

  The army that approached wasn’t ordinary. These were Zyphor’s elite warriors, now twisted into something far more sinister. Their bodies pulsed with dark energy, their movements unnatural, as if something else was guiding them.

  Raizo’s grip on his sword tightened. "He’s testing us."

  Tenzir cracked his knuckles. "Let’s make sure he regrets it."

  The first wave charged.

  Raizo moved like a storm, his sword cutting through the enemies like a force of nature. With each strike, entire squads were sent flying, their corrupted forms dissolving into black mist. He barely exerted any effort—his sheer presence alone was enough to shake the battlefield.

  Tenzir, meanwhile, weaved through the chaos, his movements precise and calculated. His magic wasn’t brute force like Raizo’s, but deception and precision. With a flick of his wrist, he manipulated space, warping the enemy’s attacks back at them, causing confusion and destruction among their ranks.

  The battle raged, but the outcome was clear—Raizo and Tenzir were unstoppable.

  Within minutes, the corrupted army lay in ruins, their bodies crumbling into dust.

  But Raizo wasn’t satisfied. His eyes turned toward the distant mountains, where he could sense the true source of the corruption.

  "Zyphor," he muttered.

  Tenzir dusted off his coat. "Looks like we’re paying him a visit."

  A chilling wind howled through the battlefield, carrying a dark voice with it.

  "Come, Raizo. Let’s see if you can stop what’s already begun."

  The time for battle was over. Now, the true war had begun.