Just after the fierce and blood-drenched Grudge War, the great Mythos Empire stands fractured. Out of the smoke and silence, a new force begins to rise. Born of tragedy, raised in chaos, and defiant of fate, they are prodigies and warriors, rebels and legends in the making.

They are the Monster Generation.

But before they became the unpredictable, chaotic icons that reshaped the world, they were mere children—fragile, broken, and hunted by shadows both within and without. Origins of the Monster Generation is a forbidden chronicle, a top-secret collection of first-hand accounts revealing how these figures clawed their way from obscurity to infamy.

Each story is a raw confession: betrayal that shattered innocence, heartbreak that blurred the line between love and madness, trauma that could’ve destroyed—but instead transformed. Through their own voices, the Monsters unveil the truth behind the myth—each tale a spark that would ignite a firestorm across the lands of Mythos.

Recorded by a scribe of the Central Tower for historical preservation, these stories demand to be remembered.

I watched Victoria disappear into the forest, using the stealth techniques I drilled into her. Her movements were precise—quiet, swift, calculated. She had learned well.


Behind me, I could feel them—the pursuers closing in like insects drawn to a flame. I turned to face them.


These lesser beings dared to lay their filthy hands on me?


The mountain was cloaked in shadow, but light wasn't something I needed. My sight was flawless. I saw through the dark like it was midday.


"Aye, Prince," came a voice. A man stepped forward, thickly armored, his warhammer resting lazily on his shoulder. "You look a little rough."


I glanced at my cracked sword… then down at myself.


Blood drenched my cloak, my wounds open and raw. With one swift motion, I threw the cloak off.


It fell to the earth like a discarded skin, revealing the ugly map of cuts and bruises across my body. My lips twisted in a grim frown.


"Formless Technique: Fifth Hell of War — Demon King's Pride."


A surge of pale blue light burst from within, then shifted—boiling into a thick, blood-red aura that enveloped my form.


My wounds vanished. My skin repaired itself. The blood evaporated.


The peasant in armor stared, wide-eyed—caught between awe and terror.


Another emerged from the trees—a bald man with a wild beard, dual axes clenched in bloodstained hands. They both watched, frozen.


Before, I held back. I fought with mercy.


I felt them: more of them slinking from the shadows, converging like cockroaches. My Hashi pulsed, responding to my rage. The air warped. The ground trembled beneath me.


"Formless Technique: First Hell of War — Blades of Slaughter: Stroke of Extinction!"


My Hashi erupted—a pillar of light shooting heavenward, white-hot and divine, illuminating the cursed battlefield.


"Everyone, fall back!" the armored one shouted. Wiser than the rest, but still too slow.


I brought my blade down in a single motion.


A slash of white light, pure and absolute, cut through the forest.


Then—nothing. Nothing remained. Only two survived.


The bearded one, now missing an arm, lay bleeding and dazed. The armored man—cleaved nearly in half—twitched on the ground.


I walked toward him, sword lowered but still burning with my aura.


I knelt beside the armored one. He struggled to speak.


I tilted my head. "Monster? No. I am a King. And you are a peasant who forgot his place."


He laughed—broken, bitter—and died with blood on his lips.


The bearded one was crawling away, trailing a line of red in the dirt. He looked back, eyes filled with terror. He clutched the stump where his arm used to be.


Chapter 9 - Part 09: Demon King's Pride