The little girl stumbled through the rubble, her dress torn, her face smudged with soot and tears. The distant sound of monsters echoed through the destroyed streets of Azalith—the guttural roar of magical beasts and the crackling of corrupted mana burning the air.

She ran without knowing where to go, her heart beating so fast that each step felt like thunder in her small chest. The houses were in ruins, the golden light of the old academy barrier flickering in the sky like a candle about to go out.

When the shadow moved behind her, the girl screamed. She thought it was the end—another creature, another death.

But then, a dry sound echoed: clack... clack... clack...—the sound of bones moving.

A figure emerged from the darkness, tall, slender, made entirely of bones covered in shadows. Its eyes were violet flames, and a black sword materialized in its hands. The skeleton placed itself between the girl and the creature that was chasing her—a distorted mana wolf, its body pulsating with corrupted blue energy.

The wolf leaped.

The skeleton raised its arm, and a blade made of pure dark energy cut through the air. The beast's body split in two, dissolving into smoke.

The little girl fell to her knees, trembling. The skeleton slowly turned to her, its eyes shining more faintly, as if wanting to… reassure her.

Suddenly, a deep voice echoed from afar, reverberating between the broken buildings:

—"Stay together. The northern gates are clear."

The girl raised her head, and there was Kael, standing on the roof of an old house. The moonlight shone on him, revealing his cloak stained with dust and blood, his cold and tired eyes, and the black symbol burned into his hand—the seal of the spiritual contract with Umbra. Behind him, a silent tide of undead walked in formation.

Skeletal soldiers, shadowy knights, beasts made of bone and shadow—all moving in absolute obedience.

The skeleton that had saved the girl approached, knelt, and gently lifted her. Kael simply waved his hand.

In response, the undead dissolved into particles of mana, and the girl was carried away by an ethereal current that guided her away—towards one of the shelters Kael had liberated.

He watched the scene in silence.

"Another one saved," Ahri murmured, settling on his shoulder in her spiritual form. Her voice sounded tired, but still with that sharp tone of irony that never left her.

Kael didn't answer immediately. His eyes scanned the horizon—the flames, the shadows, the confused people being rescued by the undead who were once monsters.

The air around him felt dense, heavy with ancient mana.

Necromancy not only obeyed Kael now—it reacted to him.

Umbra had been silent since the previous night. In the Spiritual Realm, she only watched, too frightened to interfere.

Kael took a deep breath and took the next step.

The metallic sound of his boots echoed among the ruins as he walked down a street that no longer existed on the city maps.

The civilians who had been found so far were all in shock—the same confusion, the same empty answers:

"I don't know where I am."

"The city…it's changed."

"The sky shouldn't be like this…"

Kael felt it too. The Azalith he remembered—vibrant, full of students and magic—had been swallowed by a distorted version of itself.

It was as if space itself was fragmented, cut into overlapping pieces of reality.

And in the center of that distortion, he knew what he would find.

Another circle. Another ritual. Another piece of hell.

Ahri followed him in silence now. She could feel the spiritual pressure increasing. With each step, the air grew colder, the ground darker. The sound of the dead marching behind them suddenly ceased.

Kael stopped.

The alley he entered opened into a courtyard that must have once been a square. There was a broken fountain in the center, and arcane symbols drawn with almost impossible perfection.

But what made him stop breathing... was the smell.

Blood.

A lot of blood.

The ground was covered in it. The stones of the square stained dark red, and the air too thick to breathe without tasting the metallic tang of death.

Kael walked slowly, his steps making the congealed liquid crackle under his boots. When he reached the center, he saw.

A pile.

Not of monsters.

Of people.

Bodies—dozens, perhaps hundreds—piled in a ritualistic manner, like offerings to some profane god. Men, women, young people, children. Some still wearing fragments of Academy uniforms, others in ordinary civilian clothes. All marked with sacrificial runes burned into their skin.

Ahri covered her nose and took a step back, her voice trembling.

"This is… this is an offering ritual. But it's not simple, Kael. This was done with…"

She stopped.

Kael, without visible emotion, knelt beside the pile and ran his hand over the symbol on the chest of one of the victims.

The rune pulsed, still alive—charged with residual mana.

"They didn't die in vain." He murmured, softly. "They were used."

Umbra appeared beside him in ethereal form, her face pale with horror.

"What… what is this?"

Kael glanced at her.

"An amplification ritual. Each soul sacrificed here feeds the circle that is hidden beneath the bodies. It's the same kind of magic that was draining the city. Only… bigger."

Umbra approached slowly, observing the runes. The purple flames in her eyes flickered.

"This… wasn't done by ordinary humans. No mage from Azalith would do something so complex. Not even the oldest instructors."

"I know."

Kael placed his hand on the ground, feeling the mana pulsing beneath the stone.

"The core is still active. They are using these souls as anchors. Even dead, they remain trapped here, feeding the spell."

Ahri looked around, uneasy. "Then we need to break the circle. Like you did before."

Kael remained silent.

His gaze wandered again over the pile of bodies. There were so many that the entire square looked like an altar. The wind blew slowly, and strands of hair and fabric danced like funeral banners. "I can't just break this."

Umbra frowned. "Why?"

"Because this… is alive."

The sentence hung in the air like a death knell.

And then, the ground trembled.

The runes began to glow bright red, and a scream echoed from the center of the pile—a human scream, hoarse, desperate.

Kael immediately stood up, his gaze sharp.

From the midst of the bodies, something began to move. Arms, legs, fragments of people—all writhing, stitching themselves together, fusing. The circle of sacrifice wasn't just an offering. It was a vessel.

Umbra recoiled, horrified. "They… used the people as conduits!"

The colossal body began to rise, formed from dozens of others.

The shapeless mass screamed again—a sound made of overlapping voices.

Kael clenched his fists. "So that's what's left of Azalith…"

Ahri transformed back into her nine-tailed fox form, golden flames enveloping her body. "Kael, if you fight this, the whole place will collapse!"

"Then let it collapse."

His sword reformed in his hand—the black steel pulsing like a living heart. The runes on the hilt glowed, responding to the pure mana flowing effortlessly from his body.

Kael's black blade shimmered under the trembling light of the smoke-shrouded moon. The air vibrated around him, and the ground cracked as if trying to escape the power accumulating there.

Ahri leaped back, her tails bristling, feeling the spiritual pressure increase to unbearable levels. Umbra floated nearby, her spectral body distorting with tension, as if even her spiritual connection was about to break. The shapeless mass of bodies rose completely, a living mountain of flesh and bone, stitched together by veins of pulsating red mana. Human faces emerged and sank back into the layers of the monster, screaming, pleading, moaning in a cacophony of pain and despair.

"Free us…"

"Please…"

"It hurt so much…"

The voices echoed within Kael's mind, as if each sacrificed soul was trying to speak through him. The spiritual weight hit him full force—a torrent of despair, hatred, and fear.

For an instant, he staggered.

Umbra stepped forward, alarmed. "Kael! If you let them in, you'll go mad!"

But he was no longer listening.

Kael's eyes glowed a deep purple, and the shadow beneath his feet expanded—alive, like a creature of its own. The souls, the voices, the emotions… everything merged around him.

That thing before him was a blasphemy, yes. But it was also the ultimate symbol of Azalith's decay—of the arrogance of the mages who thought they could play with the power of the gods.

Kael took a deep breath, raised his sword, and murmured, his voice hoarse and firm:

"May the Netherworld receive what the living have corrupted."

The ground trembled.

Shadows rose like a storm, twisting and taking shape. Thousands of specters, skeletons, and bone soldiers emerged around the square, rising from the ruins, the alleyways, and even the buried debris.

"Well, it seems there's nothing left but to go straight to Azalith Academy. If we don't find the culprit here… He's in there." he said, looking at the golden barrier that was losing strength.

"Let's go."