(Narrator POV)

"Looks like I've fooled you all."

Allen's voice wasn't loud — yet it cut through the hall like a blade drawn in still air. Every sound seemed to vanish, leaving only that calm, dreadful voice echoing beneath the steel dome.

Then, with deliberate ease, he gripped the collar of his uniform and tore it apart. The rip of fabric was sharp, echoing like the first crack of a storm.

Underneath, his body was marked with old, glowing sigils — elegant and violent at once. Across his back, the word "PRIDE" burned faintly in a long-forgotten language, while another symbol below it pulsed with eerie light — the Blessing of Silent Death.

For a long, tense second, no one dared move.

Even Sara, who stood closest to him, felt something coil inside her chest — an instinct that whispered, run.

Then, everything shattered.

A sudden burst of energy hurled Sara backward it was Allen punch. She hit the marble wall with a heavy thud, and dust exploded into the air. Her ears rang. The soldiers froze, too stunned to react. Even the presidents seated behind their protective barriers forgot to breathe.

"Run! Everyone, get out of here!" a general shouted.

That single order broke the silence — and panic followed like fire through dry grass.

Leaders, officers, and guards surged toward the exits, tripping, pushing, screaming. The once proud assembly of world power had turned into chaos.

And amidst the madness, Allen laughed.

It wasn't human laughter.

It was cold. Hollow. Ancient.

The kind of sound that makes the air heavy and the heart forget how to beat.

He tilted his head slightly, watching them scatter like ants. His smile deepened, almost amused.

"Did I," he said quietly, "allow anyone to leave?"

The words spread through the hall like a curse.

In that instant, every sound stopped. Even the flickering lights above seemed to hesitate.

Then — snap.

A wave of black light exploded from Allen's hand, sealing every exit.

The walls bled into shadows. The doors vanished, replaced by a dome of humming darkness that swallowed the room whole.

The soldiers pointed their guns, but their fingers trembled too much to pull the triggers.

Sara groaned, forcing herself to stand. Blood dripped from her lip as she wiped it with the back of her hand. Her crimson eyes glowed brighter than ever.

"You…" she hissed, her voice low and shaking. "You're not following the plan. The Queen ordered a fake execution — not this."

Allen turned his gaze toward her, calm and unbothered, as though her words were a child's complaint.

"You still don't get it, do you?" His tone was light, almost pitying. "You were never in control, Sara. None of you were. The moment I surrendered, the game was already mine."

Her blood ran cold. "What are you saying?"

He stepped forward, each movement deliberate. The holy chains that had once bound him began to crack — faint lines spreading across the glowing metal — and then shattered like glass.

The sound of breaking chains echoed like thunder.

Allen rolled his shoulders, letting the broken links fall to the ground. His aura flared — dark, vast, suffocating. It wasn't just power; it was dominance itself. The kind of energy that bent reality around it.

The strongest among the guards fell to their knees, gasping. Some fainted without even realizing why.

Sara's grip tightened on her blade. Her voice trembled, not from fear, but from disbelief.

"You're insane. Do you think you can disobey the Queen of Atlantis and walk away alive?"

Allen's smile widened, cruel and knowing.

"Disobey?" he said softly. "Oh no… my dear little bat. You were fooled from the very beginning."

Her heart skipped.

"What…?"

"Every step," Allen continued, his voice now cold as steel, "every move, every word about the 'eternal mistress' — all of it was mine. I made you dance to my script while you thought it was hers."

Sara's eyes widened in horror. "You—"

"Yes," he interrupted with a laugh that sent shivers down her spine. "I lied to her, too."

The ground trembled as his aura surged again, shaking the entire facility.

The world leaders screamed. The soldiers backed away, though there was nowhere left to go.

Sara gritted her teeth and raised her sword, fury overtaking her fear. Blood began to rise from her hands — crimson droplets swirling like tiny comets.

"I should've known," she spat. "You've always been nothing but a snake."

The air around her thickened as her power bloomed, her own blood forming a halo of glowing spears.

"Blood Art — Vampiric Spears!" she shouted, her voice breaking through the trembling air. "You fooled the world, but you won't fool me again!"

Allen lifted his chin slightly, the faint trace of a smile still on his lips.

"Good," he said softly. "Let's see if hell still remembers me."

And then the hall erupted.

Red fury clashed against black pride. The air screamed. The ground cracked.

The order was never given—yet the soldiers moved.

In a single heartbeat, chaos swallowed the hall whole. Gunfire roared. Magic flared. Screams tangled with the thunder of boots and the metallic scent of blood and ozone.

Every nation's pride—mages, cyborgs, assassins, and elite soldiers—unleashed their fury toward a single man standing at the heart of it all.

Allen didn't even flinch.

He just smiled, faintly, like a man watching a show he'd already seen before.

A massive warrior surged from the front line—a giant of a man, his dark skin glinting like forged obsidian under the pale dome light. He was nearly seven feet tall, muscles carved with veins of liquid steel, and when he swung his fist, it came down like the judgment of gods.

The floor split beneath his blow. Dust erupted like a storm.

But Allen merely lifted a single finger.

The moment stretched—

and clang!

Metal screamed as the impossible happened. The giant's massive punch froze midair, caught effortlessly between Allen's finger and thumb.

A ripple of disbelief crossed the giant's face. His arms trembled, straining, but it was as though the world itself refused to move.

Allen tilted his head slightly, a faint gleam of pity in his eyes.

"Too slow," he murmured.

Before the man could react, Allen's knee rose in a clean, brutal arc. The strike connected dead center—

between the legs hitting his ball.

The sound that left the giant wasn't human. It was pain stripped of pride, a strangled cry that made even the bravest soldiers wince. He staggered back, clutching his stomach, the color draining from his face.

Allen exhaled softly, almost disappointed. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he brought his palm across the man's face.

The impact cracked like thunder. Bone shattered. Blood misted the air. The giant fell lifelessly, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Even the gunfire stilled.

Sara froze mid-step, her blade half-raised. Her breath hitched as reality settled in.

That wasn't a tactic.

That wasn't part of Erza's plan.

He wasn't pretending anymore.

He was enjoying it.

Allen kicked the corpse aside, the sound of it colliding with the bleachers echoing through the hall. He ran a hand through his hair, his grin widening.

"Subarashii…" he whispered, savoring the word. "How refreshing. The Queen told me to cause chaos, but not to avoid killing you dirty pest."

More agents poured into the hall — men and women from every nation, armored and desperate, wielding blades infused with spirit light and rifles humming with lightning.

They surrounded Allen in a widening circle. The air itself buzzed under the pressure of so many powers colliding. Orders echoed, boots thundered, and the hum of charged energy filled the air like the prelude to a storm.

One among them — a cybernetic soldier from the Eastern Federation — launched himself forward. His metallic limbs burned white with compressed energy, every joint hissing with the sound of overworked machinery. He was fast, a blur of steel and fury.

Allen didn't even flinch.

He raised one hand and caught the man midair, as if stopping a child's punch.

The soldier's eyes widened — then Allen's other hand drove through his chest. Metal cracked, wires split, and beneath it all something warm and pulsing beat against his palm.

A heartbeat.

Allen's fingers curled around it. For a brief moment, he stared at the trembling red glow in his grip — fascinated. Then, with an almost gentle squeeze, he crushed it.

The heart burst like wet paper.

The cybernetic soldier's body twitched once… then fell apart in two halves, sparks and blood scattering across the marble floor.

The Blonde hair woman moved with the confidence of someone who had ended monsters before.

A veteran hunter—an elite agent from a foreign nation—she raised her shotgun without hesitation and sprinted straight toward Allen. Her boots hammered the floor, her voice sharp as she shouted orders to the others.

"Target the demon! Bring him down!"

She fired the first shot.

The blast roared through the air, sparks cutting through the smoke.

Allen didn't flinch.

Black shadows rippled behind him—

And then his wings snapped open.

Thick, jagged, alive.

The bullets hit the demon wings and vanished inside the darkness like stones thrown into the ocean. Not a single scratch touched him.

The woman froze mid-step.

No one had ever blocked her holy-shot rounds. No demon had ever stood so casually in front of her.

Still, she reloaded. Fingers trembling—but pride forcing her forward.

Allen's eyes narrowed.

A heartbeat later—

He moved.

To everyone else, he simply disappeared.

To her, he appeared right in front of the shotgun muzzle, his breath cold against her face.

She panicked and tried to lift the gun—

Too slow.

Allen's hand slid over hers, wrapping around the weapon with a gentle, terrifying ease.

He angled the barrel upwards, pressing it under her jaw.

"You hunted many demons," he said quietly, almost kindly.

"But you walked into the wrong hunt today."

She squeezed the trigger out of instinct—

BOOM.

A red spray exploded upward.

Her body dropped instantly, knees buckling first, then collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.

Allen let the shotgun fall beside her corpse, smoke drifting from the barrel as he turned back toward the remaining agents.

That was when chaos truly began.

Bullets roared.

Spells streaked through the air like shooting stars.

Lightning arced, wind screamed, fire bloomed.

Allen moved through it all like a shadow. No — faster. He was everywhere and nowhere, his movements smooth, fluid, almost elegant. A phantom cloaked in carnage.

Every strike ended a life.

Every step left the ground darker.

Bodies fell before they even realized they were dead. Weapons shattered upon touching him. Elemental magic flickered out, devoured by the black aura that trailed behind his every move.

Blood rained in sheets, glistening under the failing lights. The pristine white floor turned crimson.

From the viewing decks above, presidents, generals, and dignitaries huddled behind their reinforced chairs. The same mouths that once shouted commands now muttered prayers. Pride and politics meant nothing here — only survival.

One man tried to crawl away, whispering something about mercy. His voice broke halfway through, lost beneath the symphony of screams.

Sara stood at the center of it all, trembling — not from fear, but despair. Her sword dangled in her grip, heavy as guilt.

She had seen wars in her own world. She had led them. But this… this was something else.

This wasn't battle. It was pure slaughter.

The demon before her wasn't fighting for survival — he was enjoying it.

Allen paused for a moment, standing amidst the ruin. His chest rose and fell slowly, almost peacefully. Then he raised his hand, licking the blood from his fingers as if tasting wine.

"Still no one from Lebius moves," he murmured, his tone calm, conversational — as though they stood in a courtroom, not a massacre. His gaze shifted toward the silent agents (Fioan, Erika, Elga, Rika and all) who had yet to draw their weapons.

"Smart," he added, smiling faintly. "You at least understand what power means."

The air was thick with iron and death. Sparks flickered, dying lights reflected in pools of blood.

Sara tightened her grip, jaw trembling. Her lungs burned from the smell — but her heart burned worse.

The moment Sara realized the truth..that Allen had lied to Erza, lied to the Agency, lied to everyone who had ever trusted him—

something inside her finally cracked.

Her fist trembled at her side.

Her breath shook.

And in a voice so soft it barely moved the air, she whispered,

"So it was all just another trick… like always."

The battlefield went still as Allen listen to Sara.

Around him, the stadium had fallen into a suffocating stillness. Bodies lay across the ruined stage, some groaning, others silent. Weapons were scattered like broken memories. Dust filled the air, faintly lit by the flickering emergency lights. Even the generals and presidents who were earlier shouting orders now hid behind shattered barriers, staring at the battlefield with empty, terrified eyes.

Sara stepped forward, her boots crunching over broken debris. The sound was small, but in the dead silence, it felt loud enough to stir the entire arena. Another step. Then another. With each movement, she gathered the words she needed—the only words that could hold this crumbling room together.

When she finally raised her voice, it wasn't loud. But it carried steady, shaped by resolve rather than fear.

"Everyone… look at me."

Dozens of faces turned toward her, some smeared with blood, others twisted with hopelessness. Her own team stood shakily, uncertain if they were even capable of fighting again. The sight struck her harder than anything Allen had done.

"He fooled us," she said, the bitterness in her tone sharpening each syllable. "All of us, Who are still breathing you are enot weak. And yes… he is insanely strong. You've seen his power. You've seen what one monster can do."

Her gaze swept across the battlefield—across the wounded, the fallen, the broken weapons and shattered shields.

"But strength isn't the only thing that defines a battle. Some of you lost your homes because of him. Some of you lost people you loved. Some of you weren't even born naturally—you were created because of his cruelty, shaped for a life you never chose."

Her voice wavered for just a moment, but when she continued, it carried a fierce warmth—a strength born from pain, not pride.

"And yet… here you are. Standing. Fighting. Breathing." She took another step forward, her presence grounding the room. "Every one of you carries a scar because of that Devil. But scars also mean you survived his Cruelty so that own day you can pay him back what he did to you."

A ripple moved through the soldiers. They straightened. Their expressions shifted. Something fragile inside them began to mend.

"So I'll ask you… are you really going to throw away everything you endured—every tear, every loss, every sacrifice—simply because he scared you today?" Sara's voice deepened with emotion. "If that were the case, then none of you would be alive right no, if you are alive then grab a weapon and Rip him apart."

The silence that followed was different—no longer empty, but heavy with awakening determination.

Captains lifted their heads.

Warriors tightened their grips on their blades and rifles.

Even the political leaders stopped trembling, remembering why they had formed the Agency in the first place.

Sara drew in a breath, then raised her sword high above her head. The gesture alone felt like the spark that finally hit dry firewood.

"This is our stand," she declared. "Not for glory. Not for reputation. For the people who can't fight anymore. For the ones we lost. For the future we refuse to let him crush."

"My Captains," she commanded, her voice steady and cold.

"Rip this monster apart."

In an instant, her strongest warriors moved.

Fiona and her team surged forward like lightning, Erika's blades glowing with icy fury.

Elga let out a thunderous roar, releasing her inner power—her aura shaking the floor.

Rows of soldiers raised their weapons and opened fire with holy bullets, the air vibrating with divine energy.

Allen watched it all with eyes shining like a child in a festival."ecstatic sound that chilled even the bravest hearts.

He spread his arms wide, laughing—a wild,

Across from them, Allen watched—

He opened his arms wide as if welcoming the chaos.

"Subharshi… SUBHARSHI!" he shouted, voice echoing through the stadium.

"Come at me—All of you! I want to taste your hope—tear it from your hands!"

And with that—

The war truly began.

To be continue....

(Author POV — Polished & Cute)

"Hey, you! Uncle Reader!"

Elena peeked out from behind the page, her tiny hands gripping the edge of the chapter. Her golden eyes sparkled—but her cheeks were puffed up in a full toddler pout.

"I saw you not giving Elena a power stone," she said, stamping her little foot. "Elena is very angry with you!"

She turned her head away with a dramatic "hmph," arms crossed as if the whole world had betrayed her.

"I'm not talking to you anymore…" she declared.

But then she peeked again, her pout wobbling.

"If you want to apologize… you must give Elena a power stone, okay, Uncle Reader?"

A mischievous giggle escaped her before she hopped away, waving her tiny hand.

"Bye-bye, Uncle Reader, don't forget to comment!"

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