AK : RISING MYTHIC

Rain fell in streaks, hissing as it struck glowing energy barriers across the Capital. The ground shook under the weight of roaring infernos, collapsing buildings, and the chilling cries of citizens scrambling for shelter. The sirens hadn't stopped since sunrise.

Across the skies, red runes cracked into existence as the Gate split wider — from it burst out hundreds of devils:

Hellhounds with flame-choked breath, their fangs dripping molten embers.

Goblins, small and fast, leaping from rooftops to attack fleeing civilians.

Imps, fluttering on torn bat wings, cackling and launching volatile blasts.

Shadow Stripes, faceless and pure black, shifting with oily fluidity — their touch drained stamina and silenced abilities.

And then...

Abyssal Rats — monstrous, fur-matted creatures as large as grown men, with serrated claws and tails that snapped like whips. One of their cruelest traits?

Every time one was killed...

Two more took its place.

> "We kill one, they double... dammit!" shouted a blood-soaked Alpha Knight, spinning his blade only to be knocked down by a fresh rat.

The battle had lasted more than three hours, stretching across every district. Buildings lay shattered. The skies above glowed orange from magical fire and demonic flames. The Echelon Knights, from Omega to Apex, were holding formation — fighting tooth and nail just to keep the horde back.

But they were tiring.

Blood soaked the earth. Dozens of Echelon Knights were down — some unconscious, others screaming for healing. Still, the devils kept swarming like a rising tide. Every time the Knights thought they'd cleared a wave, more came — faster, stronger, multiplying like nightmares.

From the high balconies of the Royal Tower, King Farhan watched it all unfold. Beside him stood Julius, his expression grim.

> "We're losing too many," the King said, gripping the edge of the balcony. "These aren't just common devils. They're testing our limits."

> Julius nodded, teeth clenched. "The Abyssal Rats are the problem. We kill one—two return. If this keeps up, they'll outnumber us by nightfall."

The King turned to his Council and gave the order:

> "Send in Elira Saelwyn."

The name rang through the command halls like a gust of divine wind.

Elira Saelwyn — the light-phasing Zenith — emerged from the barracks like a comet, her mirrored wings unfolding and reflecting every flicker of flame and lightning from the battlefield. She leapt high into the air, refracting through beams of sunlight, her form vanishing and reappearing across the rooftops.

With a motion of her hands, the light bent — spears of refracted magic pierced through ten demons at once.

She wasn't just fighting.

She was slicing through dimensions of light and presence, phasing through one devil to strike another from its blind side.

> "Focus on the rats!" she shouted. "Force them into corners — make space for blast zones!"

Under her command, several Echelon units regrouped, encircled the Abyssal Rats, and used their elemental skills to isolate and finally trap dozens at a time before landing a coordinated blow.

Still... even she couldn't stop the multiplying curse.

As the sun reached its peak and slowly began dipping into orange, the final wave of low-tier devils were driven back. Corpses of goblins and imps lay everywhere, twitching in blood puddles and smoldering under spell fire. Knights dragged wounded comrades to medical outposts.

But victory didn't taste sweet.

Because the real threat remained.

In the shadows, ZARELLE hadn't moved.

The Mid-Level Demon, larger than any creature yet seen, sat atop a long, bone-forged throne dragged out from the Gate. His form was hulking — nearly twenty feet tall, his body armored in ashen bone and bloodened steel, fused to his skin. His red eyes pierced through the chaos with intelligence — not just bloodlust.

He had watched everything.

He had judged the humans.

> "They're tired," he rumbled to his minions. "Let them taste small victories. That will make their despair... even sweeter."

He grinned — a beast's grin — teeth like jagged rocks grinding together.

At the Mythic Base Infirmary, Arslan remained unconscious.

Cold sweat gleamed on his forehead. His body twitched occasionally — a sign of internal struggle, or something more.

Beside him, the crystal lanterns flickered — reacting to his unstable energy.

The Mythic Courtyard lay in silence. None of his usual companions were there.

, King Farhan asked Julius:

> "Still no movement?"

> "None. We can't wait much longer... but I still believe Arslan is the key. He's more than he appears."

Farhan looked toward the Gate.

> "We'll need him... because ZARELLE has not even stood yet."

Just call the Doctors,we need him.....