The air was saturated with death and energy.

The sky—once golden with the reflection of the protective barrier—had now become a mosaic of gray and purple, where sunlight barely managed to penetrate the dense waves of dark mana.

Kael stood motionless on the broken roof of one of the houses on the edge of Azalith, his body still, his eyes fixed on the devastation below.

The streets, once vibrant, were now rivers of moving shadows—an endless tide of undead.

Spectral knights marched among reanimated ogres, skeletal mana beasts scaled walls, and floating specters patrolled the skies like black birds.

The wind carried the echo of the screams of creatures being torn apart—the sound of breaking bones, of blades striking ethereal flesh.

The city, alive in its death, trembled under his dominion.

Kael watched it all in silence.

There was no glory in his gaze. No satisfaction.

Only the pale reflection of the black flames that burned everywhere.

Umbra floated behind him, her translucent body trembling.

Her expression was one of pure astonishment—and a contained fear that even an ancient spirit like her couldn't hide.

She looked around, speechless, and then at Kael.

"This… this is impossible…" her voice came out trembling, almost a whisper. "Not even I could do this without draining half of the Umbral…"

Kael remained motionless.

The wind ruffled his hair, his torn cloak fluttered behind him, but he didn't answer.

His lilac eyes, lit with an inhuman light, scanned the city as if evaluating the result of a dangerous experiment.

Umbra descended slightly, hovering beside him, her spectral hands clenching.

"Kael… how many… how many are you controlling now?" He looked at her, and the gleam in his pupils seemed to swallow the very light.

"All of them."

The word fell heavily in the air, like a sentence.

Umbra blinked, confused. "'All of them'? What do you mean, all of them? You mean… dozens? Hundreds?!"

Kael averted his gaze to the horizon—where the outer walls of the city trembled under the advance of the legions of the dead.

The shadows marched towards the golden barrier that still protected the Academy, but not with the intention of attacking it—only as an obedient tide, moving under his will.

"Thousands," he finally replied, his voice hoarse and calm. "Perhaps more. I stopped counting when the ground started to move."

Umbra blinked several times, incredulous.

Her spectral body glowed for an instant, the outlines trembling as if her very spiritual structure was disintegrating before it.

"Thousands…? B-but… there isn't enough mana in the entire continent to sustain something like that! That's insanity!"

Kael finally turned his face to her.

There was something unsettling about his calmness—a serenity that bordered on apathy.

"I'm not using any mana."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Even the wind seemed to stop.

Umbra blinked. Twice. Three times.

Her mouth slowly opened, her expression one of pure shock.

"You… what?"

Kael rested his sword on his shoulder and looked down at the dead marching through the destroyed streets.

The energy that animated them didn't come from him—it was the world itself, or rather, the void between the world and death, responding to his command.

"I just gave the order. They rose on their own."

Umbra was speechless.

Literally, for long seconds, she couldn't utter a sound.

The glow that formed her spectral body flickered, the edges trembling as if it were about to disintegrate.

Finally, she exploded. "ARE YOU CRAZY?! HOW DID YOU NOT USE ANY MANA?!"

Kael shrugged, still calm.

"I only channeled what was already here. The battlefield was saturated with corrupted mana, death, and soul fragments. I didn't need to impose anything. I just... opened the way."

Umbra's eyes widened. "Opened the way…?"

She laughed—a nervous, trembling, hysterical laugh.

"You… you didn't open a path, Kael! You opened a direct route to the Umbral! That's suicide! You should be in pieces right now! No human body can withstand that kind of contact!"

Ahri appeared in a golden flash, landing beside Kael in her spiritual form.

"And he seems perfectly fine for a suicidal person," she commented, flicking her tail.

Umbra ignored her, moving closer to Kael.

"Do you have any idea what this means? The Umbral responded to you, Kael! It doesn't obey anyone—not even me! If it listened to you… then…"

She stopped.

The sentence hung in the air, the air vibrating around her.

Kael finally looked at her, and for a moment, Umbra saw something that chilled her to the bone:

His gaze was different.

Not empty, not cold—but profound.

As if there was another presence there, observing through him.

"Then?" he asked.

Umbra swallowed hard.

"Then maybe the Umbral didn't just hear you, Kael… maybe it chose you."

Ahri turned her head, confused. "Chosen?"

Umbra nodded slowly, her voice now grave.

"The Umbral is a living dimension. It's not just a plane of death—it is the very concept of cessation, of ending. If it has chosen to respond to a mortal… that means it recognizes him as a part of itself. And that… that is impossible."

Kael remained silent for a moment.

The wind blew, scattering the ashes and making the shadows below move in almost choreographed patterns.

Down below, the dead obeyed his every breath, as if they were an extension of his will.

"Impossible is a word that doesn't mean much lately," he replied.

Umbra ran a hand over her face, completely stunned.

"You don't understand… if the Umbral has accepted you, you are no longer just human. You are its conductor—a channel. If you lose control, this entire city will turn to dust, and the souls here will never reincarnate again."

Kael sighed, emotionlessly.

"Control is relative."

And then he knelt down, resting one knee on the rooftop.

From there, he could see everything—the gates of Azalith, the distant towers of the Academy, the gleam of the golden barrier that trembled under pressure.

But now, between the barrier and the destruction, there was something new: order.

The dead, lined up in formation, moved with military precision.

They didn't attack randomly—they protected routes, blocked access points, eliminated remaining threats.

It was an army.

Organized. Disciplined.

And loyal.

Umbra continued to tremble.

"This… this is wrong on so many levels…"

Ahri watched in silence, and even she—a goddess accustomed to divine battles—seemed impressed.

"You realize what you've done, don't you?" she asked softly. "These souls… they were enemies, victims, even innocents. And now, they all serve you. Not by necromancy, but by will."

Kael kept his eyes fixed on the city.

"Their will was to protect Azalith. I only gave form to that."

Umbra clenched her fists, frustrated. "You're playing with laws that even the deities don't break!"

Kael turned to her, his voice low and firm.

"Umbra… what do you think the deities broke to get where they are?"

The silence that followed was heavy.

Umbra wanted to answer, but couldn't.

The words simply wouldn't come.

The distant sound of combat began to cease.

The dead had won.

Kael slowly rose, resting his sword on his shoulder, observing the horizon.

Smoke rose from the remains of battles, and the sky began to lighten—the sun trying, in vain, to pierce the black veil that now covered Azalith.

Ahri placed her paw on his leg, looking up.

"What will you do now?"

Kael took a deep breath.

"See if the Academy is still standing."

Umbra blinked, alarmed. "You're going to leave this here?!"

"They don't need me anymore," he replied, looking at the army standing in the streets.

"They have purpose. And purpose is all that remains to a dead man."

Umbra fell silent.

The echo of those words remained etched in the air.

Kael took a step forward—and the ground seemed to give way beneath him.

But instead of falling, the shadows rose, forming a living bridge that carried him to the next rooftop.

With each step, the dead below bowed in silent reverence.

Ahri, still in her spiritual form, followed him in the air, her nine tails fluttering in the pale light of dawn.

Umbra followed close behind, still stunned. As they advanced towards the Academy, the entire city watched them—no longer alive, but awake.

And in the streets of Azalith, an army of undead marched in absolute silence, the shadows undulating under the command of a single man.

A man who did not use mana.

A man who did not command death—but who persuaded it to serve him.

"I'm going crazy..." Umbra murmured, her voice choked with disbelief.

Before Kael could say anything, her spectral body dissolved into a spiral of black mist, being sucked back into him—into the Spirit Realm, the domain where the contract between them existed.

The world around Umbra slowly materialized, like a dream shaping itself to the will of the dreamer.

First came the ground: an infinite carpet of liquid shadows, moving like water under moonlight.

Then, walls formed by strands of dark mana and floating arcane symbols.

Finally, the air filled with a pale glow—fragments of Kael's consciousness echoing in the space, pulsating like distant hearts.

Umbra ran her hands through her hair, exhausted, and snapped her fingers.

The shadow around her reacted immediately, bending and taking on more comfortable forms.

A large armchair appeared, made of solidified smoke, with translucent details that pulsed in shades of violet and silver.

She sank into it with a long sigh, one arm thrown over the backrest.

"Goddesses of the underworld… what have I helped create?"

In front of her, the darkness folded again, forming a large circular mirror—or perhaps a living window.

From within, Kael could be seen in real time, in all his terrifying glory: standing on the rooftops of Azalith, commanding an army that did not breathe.

The reflection expanded to fill the space, transforming the Spirit Realm into a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree observation room.

Umbra stared at it, speechless, her legs crossed and her gaze lost.

Every movement of Kael made the shadows react, as if the world obeyed the rhythm of his breath.

It was a scene that mixed power and blasphemy. She rested her chin in her hand and said, with weary irony:

"I, the Lady of the Umbral, queen of shadows, fearing a mortal… it's the end of times."