The aftermath of the Crimson Gate's brief awakening still lingered in Biringan's air—like thunder threatening to return.
But it wasn't over.
From the fractured symbols etched into the sanctum's floor, a deeper rupture cracked open. This one was no summoning—it was an invasion. A massive, ancient portal snapped open mid-air with a deafening surge, vomiting forth waves of corrupted mist and the stench of the deep.
From it marched a legion of sea-born demons, twisted by abyssal pressure and volcanic taint—sharks with molten scales, jellyfish with serpentine limbs, crustaceans fused with humanoid torsos. They spilled into Biringan's streets, overwhelming the city's spectral guardians.
At their lead stood Krakus, now fully revealed in his war form—towering, regal, monstrous. A partial humanoid frame cloaked in abyss-black robes, his lower body trailing into coiling tentacles adorned with glowing runes. One of his four arms bore a staff made of drowned bone, another a trident humming with ancient power.
"This city sleeps on the bones of things older than gods," Krakus growled, voice echoing across the temple walls. "Perfect for awakening what should've remained buried."
Grim and Elyse met the charge in the heart of the sanctum. Shadows burst from Grim's palm, Silagan morphing into a triple-edged blade with each strike siphoning corrupted essence from foes. Elyse floated above the broken pillars, her gravity folding and snapping demon limbs midair.
But the onslaught didn't end.
Krakus himself moved—swift and brutal—warping water and shadow together into pressure-lances that nearly pierced Grim's ribs. Elyse deflected one, but a second sent her crashing into a column.
Grim gritted his teeth, pushing forward with everything. He whispered to Silagan—half-conscious, half-willed.
"Burn only the filth. Spare what's left inside."
A pulse of power answered.
The shadow blade shimmered faintly, its edge now guided by newfound precision. Each strike seared through corruption, yet shielded the essence that lingered within—be it human, beast, or creature. Only demons were offered no mercy, their darkness utterly consumed in cleansing flame.
---
Meanwhile, near the Philippine Hunter University, the storm clouds cracked open.
A second gate appeared—this one forged of black coral and volcanic obsidian. It opened at the sea cliffs not far from campus, thrumming with demonic intent.
From it emerged a Tainted Alpha—a grotesque leviathan, its flesh an armored fusion of barnacle-plated muscle and glowing magma veins. Its roar shook windows across the coastline.
Behind it surged another army—smaller, but fast. Winged demons, eel-bodied fiends, and quadrupeds covered in corrupted algae and molten bone.
Atop the PHU walls, the alarm rang out. Jack Rizalde himself appeared, sword in hand, glowing with lunar flame. Professors followed—lightning, wind, crystal, and fire rising to meet the sea's fury.
Marcus stood at the front line.
"Time to burn some sea scum."
Liya raised her staff. "Let's make sure they regret stepping foot on land."
Rizalde moved like a storm forged in flame, his sword a blazing arc of destruction. Each swing sent radiant waves of fire cutting through the corrupted horde, searing the ground and turning demons into streaks of ash. His eyes burned with a furious calm—the mark of a man who had seen war and refused to yield to it.
Marcus fought just behind the frontline, wild and relentless. Pillars of fire erupted from his fists as he incinerated corrupted vines, burning them to ash before they could reach the walls. His flame blazed higher with every shout, every motion, feeding off his will to protect.
Liya moved through the chaos like a silver comet, her staff glowing with radiant light. She stabilized the injured with swift, practiced hands, healing bursts flaring from her blessing. But her light wasn't just for healing—it pierced through demonic cores, scattering some of the lesser fiends in flares of divine fire.
Despite the scale of the attack, the defenders held their ground—unrelenting.
Then Rizalde activated the golden sigil embedded on his wrist. His voice rang out like thunder. "This is Rizalde to the Philippine Hunter Association. We are under full-scale demonic assault. I'm calling Code Crimson. Mobilize all available units. I repeat—Code Crimson!"
"Confirmed," came the response from PHA. "Reinforcements are already en route."
Moments later, glowing streaks lit up the skies—A-rank and B-rank hunters descending like meteors. They landed with explosive force, diving straight into the chaos. A wind-slicer spun blades of air through the sky, cutting down winged fiends with elegant precision. Another hunter cracked the earth with seismic blasts, swallowing whole squads of demons into the ground.
But amidst the chaos, something darker stirred.
A section of the battlefield near the eastern training ground flickered with illusion magic—humanoid shapes emerging from the shadows, cloaked in red and black.
The Crimson Crescent.
Cultists whispered forgotten tongues as they tried to breach the wards of PHU, slipping through damaged outer barriers. They wielded corrupted blessings, some even commanding lesser demons like extensions of their own limbs.
"Cultists sighted at the east quadrant!" shouted one of the PHA hunters.
"On it!" came a growl.
A squad of PHA hunters intercepted, blades drawn and ready. The clash was brutal—steel against shadow, flame against curse—but the defenders were better trained. The cult's plan to sneak into PHU, to sow chaos from within, failed under the weight of elite resistance.
One cultist, wounded and bleeding, screamed toward the sky, "He awakens! The Prime must fall!"
Rizalde's eyes narrowed as he heard those words, even while locked in battle with the corrupted beasts. "So that's what this is about…"
But the true threat surged forward at that moment—the Tainted Alpha.
A towering monstrosity of sinew and black magic, the beast let out a roar that rippled through the air. Its presence twisted the battlefield like a sickness, warping the light around it.
It barreled toward the main building, claws glowing with abyssal fire.
Professor Karina descended from the tower like a falling star, emerald light coiling around her. Trees erupted from the ground in a living wall, their roots thick and wild, shielding the front of the academy. The Alpha slammed into it, snarling.
Karina's gaze was ice. "You won't take one step further."
And then Rizalde appeared—his cloak burning at the edges, sword flaring with radiant flame.
The Tainted Alpha lunged. Rizalde met it head-on, the force of their clash sending shockwaves through the courtyard. Sparks and fire erupted with each strike. The Alpha's claws grazed Rizalde's shoulder, burning his flesh with corrupted energy—but he didn't falter.
"Not enough," he muttered.
"Not even close."
He focused. "Sword Master's Radiance."
Flames erupted from his feet as he launched upward, ancient glyphs glowing around him. In a flash, he vanished—then reappeared above the beast in a streak of golden fire.
His blade came down in a blazing arc, cleaving into the Alpha's back. The beast shrieked and retaliated, spinning with a swipe that sent trees crashing down. Still, it couldn't land a killing blow.
The Alpha opened its maw, gathering a massive sphere of shadow—
But Rizalde had already moved.
He sheathed his sword in one fluid motion. Silence.
Then, "Final Form… Dawning Flame."
When he unsheathed it again, the blade burned with solar light so intense it lit up the battlefield. Hunters paused in awe, demons screamed and recoiled.
He sprinted toward the Alpha. "You chose the wrong academy."
With a flash-step and a roar, Rizalde delivered a horizontal slash that bisected the beast's chest. Fire burst outward in a circular wave, vaporizing lingering corruption. The Tainted Alpha let out one final shriek before collapsing in a crater of flame and ash.
Silence returned—this time for good.
"PHA has secured the perimeter," a hunter reported. "Cultists are retreating. No further demonic presence detected."
Rizalde stood over the corpse, breathing heavily. He didn't look back as he spoke. "Check all students. No casualties. Not a single one."
"Yes, sir!"
As the sun finally pierced the smoke-filled sky, the defenders began their recovery—injured carried, grounds cleared, and wounded pride steadied.
But those who saw the cultists knew: this wasn't just an attack. It was a message.
A war had already begun—and PHU was its first battlefield.
The skies had cleared, but the weight of the battle still hung heavy over the campus. The demon army that had erupted from the sea gates had not simply vanished—they had been driven back, their forces obliterated by the relentless counterattack of PHU's finest. The gate, however, remained partially open, pulsing with residual energy, as if daring the world to glance into the abyss it had briefly unleashed. The Tainted Alpha—a grotesque fusion of coral, molten stone, and jagged bone—had fallen, sealed and annihilated by the combined might of the faculty and elite students. Yet even in victory, the air hummed with unease. The breach may have closed, but something was watching from the other side.
No lives had been lost—but the sea, now tainted with a residue of infernal power, simmered with an unnatural energy.
In the midst of the wreckage, Dean Rizalde stood unmoving, his gaze locked on the horizon. He had witnessed such events before—patterns that had nearly torn the world apart in the past. His face was grim, a silent premonition lingering in his eyes.
---
Back in Biringan, Grim and Krakus clashed amid crumbling ruins. Elyse returned to his side, her form cloaked in a shimmering aura, using newly honed microgravity spikes to pin down Krakus' limbs mid-swing.
Silagan flared with increasing hunger—consuming darkness and releasing balance.
Krakus hissed. "Your blade dares resist the tide?"
But as Grim pressed harder, Krakus began to retreat. He raised one clawed hand—and across the world, the PHU gate shimmered.
A signal.
As one, the demons in Biringan and those near the university began to **retreat**, dissolving into mist or diving into the sea. The cultists faded into smoke, their chants broken.
Krakus offered Grim a final look—not of defeat, but of warning.
"The sea does not forget. And we are just the first wave."
Then he vanished into the portal. It snapped shut, leaving behind only echoing silence.
Grim lay on the floor of the Biringan temple, exhausted. Elyse leaned against a shattered pillar nearby, equally drained.
They had survived.
But as Grim drifted into sleep, the air around him rippled. This time, the dream was clear.
He stood in a field of ashes beneath a pale moon, and from the darkness came the sound of wind chimes made of bones.
The fifth shadow approached.
A woman cloaked in veils of dreamlight and broken lullabies, her face ever-shifting. Behind her rose a shattered moon.
"To master the storm, you must first silence the echoes."
Her hand reached toward Grim's chest—and something deep inside responded.
The fifth trial had begun.
But the world wasn't waiting anymore.
The battlefield in Biringan was still—eerily still. The silver fire of Siklaban flickered weakly across the cracked stones, its glow a faint echo of the battle that had raged. Krakus had retreated, his armored form dissolving back into the rift he had conjured, leaving behind nothing but the fading resonance of darkness. The Crimson Gate pulsed once before collapsing in on itself like a dying star.
Grim remained frozen in place, chest heaving as his eyes flickered between the world of the living and the shadows. His sword—Silagan, now a curved black blade—throbbed with the remnants of the demons it had consumed. But despite the chaos he had survived, Grim felt no triumph.
Instead, a deeper stirring within the seal on his arm whispered of change. *He was evolving. Something was awakening*.
As the moon rose, something ancient stirred within Grim—pulling him away from reality.
When his eyes opened, he found himself once again in the silver void—but this time, it was different. He was not alone.
A figure clad in obsidian armor, its edges shaped like crescent moons, stood across from him. Two twin blades shimmered in the figure's hands, reflecting both shadow and light. The figure's presence was commanding, yet cold, a judgment forged in time.
"You have faced flame, vision, sorrow, and void," the figure spoke, its voice a haunting echo.
"Now, face the blade that divides fate—Arawdan, the Eclipse Blade."
The fifth trial had begun.
---
Beneath an ancient cathedral, drenched in a blood-red hue, Xavier stood before an altar, a scene of dark ritual unfolding. A cult had gathered—hundreds of hooded figures chanting a forbidden refrain, their voices rising in unholy unison.
"Let shadow swallow soul. Let god devour god."
With a final, guttural cry, Xavier raised his arms. Dark tendrils of power wrapped around his limbs like living chains. The seal of Apep erupted across his chest, its jagged edges glowing with an insatiable hunger. In a single, horrific moment, Xavier *consumed his followers*, their bodies transforming into fuel for the malevolent god festering within him.
"If the underworld will not open for me," Xavier snarled, his voice now a mixture of man and serpent,
"Then I will break the veil myself."
A tremor rumbled through the ley lines of the Philippines, an ominous pulse that would not be ignored—not even by the gods.
---
PHU's Archive
Dean Rizalde descended alone into the hidden chamber beneath the university's archives—an ancient vault sealed since the founding of PHU. Dust hung like mist in the air, untouched by time. As he stepped inside, a pulse of energy stirred the silence.
From the highest shelf, a sealed scroll unrolled on its own, drifting gently to the center of the chamber.
It wasn't just parchment—it breathed with celestial energy.
As Rizalde approached, the scroll shimmered, revealing a living map. Constellations danced across its surface like stars shifting in the sky. At the heart of the map, Mount Apo glowed fiercely, surrounded by elegant lunar script.
His eyes narrowed.
"This was created by the Lunar Shadows," he murmured, reverently. "Not merely a guide… but a warning."
The symbols shifted again. One constellation broke away—an eclipse-marked serpent coiling toward a darkened rift.
Rizalde's jaw tightened. "A confluence of realms… and a seal still untouched."
He could feel it now. Something ancient stirred beneath the mountain. And it was
Later that day, deep within the mystic realm of Biringan, Grim stood alongside Elyse in a controlled summoning trial, surrounded by the soft hum of divine energy. The air shimmered with celestial tension as he raised his hand—and from the summoning seal, **Minokawa** descended like a streak of light from the heavens, wings stretching wide across the sky.
From the shadows, Silagan emerged—formless and shifting, a phantom of silver bone and white flame. The two legendary beings stood side by side, embodiments of light and shadow, sun and moon.
And then, for the first time, they moved together.
Their essences pulsed as one, merging in a dazzling burst of light and shadow that swept across the field. Grim's eyes glowed, and in that exact moment, he instinctively activated both **Soul Drain** and **Purification**—two powers that should have clashed, but instead resonated in harmony.
At the center of the circle, a bound tainted creature screamed, writhing as the fused energy surged into it. The clash of light and shadow wasn't destructive—it was transformative.
Then, silence.
Where corruption once festered now stood a creature reborn—its form clean, its aura serene. Its eyes, once wild and lost, now gleamed with clarity and peace. Slowly, it lowered itself and bowed before Grim, not out of fear, but reverence.
Around them, the elders of Biringan, Elyse, and even the ancient divine beasts watched in stunned silence. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.
A miracle had just occurred.
A being had not only been cleansed, but willingly accepted Grim as its summoner—through harmony, not domination.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Then the murmurs began. Whispers of awe. Of fear. Of prophecy.
Elyse stepped beside Grim, her voice barely above a whisper. "Grim… you just purified a tainted being."
Grim exhaled, his heartbeat thundering in his chest. "I didn't even know that was possible."
Above them, Minokawa let out a soft cry, and Silagan dissolved into shifting wisps—almost as if both were acknowledging the truth.
This was no accident.
This was a power that could change the world.
Far to the south, near Mount Apo, the earth trembled, and the sky cracked open. From the rift emerged a winged figure—its form wreathed in smoke, its blazing wings as hot as molten lava. Its sorrowful eyes were fixed on the moon, as though drawn by some ancient, unfathomable force.
The creature's presence was overwhelming, its very essence speaking of untamed power, and something more.
A new divine beast awaited a master—one who could tame it. Icarus.
Grim, in the distant expanse of Biringan, readied himself for the trial ahead, unaware of the looming threat—and the promise of a new, untapped power awaiting him.