The sky was a wound of black clouds.

  The ground had ceased to be ground: it was broken, sunken, scorched. Great fissures split the earth in every direction, and columns of smoke rose like open sores.

  The air itself trembled, as if the world were holding its breath.

  In the middle of that battlefield, an enormous figure took a single step forward. The earth shook beneath its feet, loose stones bouncing from the impact.

  "Heh... heh... heh..."

  The laughter was deep, slow, heavy with mockery. It didn't merely come from its throat—it seemed to push against the air itself, to make it vibrate.

  "Is that all?" its voice boomed. "Is this the best your world can offer?"

  The creature was gigantic. Curved horns. Muscles taut as living rock. Eyes burning with a dark light. Black energy poured from its body, rippling like thick smoke.

  Before it stood a single man.

  His robes were torn, scorched in a dozen places. The wind snapped at them without mercy.

  A cracked staff rested in his right hand, humming faintly. Before him floated an open grimoire, its pages stirring on their own, as if something inside were trying to escape.

  He breathed with difficulty.

  Blood ran down his arm and dripped to the ground.

  "No..." the mage said, his voice low but steady. "Not yet."

  The colossus clicked its tongue.

  "Stubborn. You mortals are all the same."

  It raised one arm.

  The darkness around it gathered, swirled, compressed until it formed an enormous black mass. The air around it cracked.

  "Try surviving this ."

  It threw the projectile.

  The attack advanced like a giant bullet, tearing rocks from the ground in its wake. Stone fragments sprayed outward.

  The mage drove his staff into the earth.

  "Now!"

  The grimoire's pages blazed.

  Circles of light appeared before him, one after another. A barrier formed just before impact.

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  The explosion was brutal. The sound crushed the air. Rocks and dirt flew in all directions.

  The mage was thrown backward, dragged several meters, leaving a deep gouge in the ground.

  He fell to his knees.

  The colossus laughed again.

  "Heh... heh... heh..." It leaned forward. "Was that your plan?"

  The mage spat blood.

  He clenched his teeth.

  "No..." he murmured. "Not yet."

  He forced himself to stand. His boots crunched against broken stone.

  The grimoire trembled.

  Pages began to detach one by one, spinning around him like leaves caught in a storm. Each page glowed with different symbols.

  The colossus frowned for the first time.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Finishing it," the mage replied.

  He raised both hands.

  The pages snapped together, returning to the grimoire with a dry sound.

  The cover changed. It grew darker, heavier, as if hiding something alive within. A strange symbol appeared engraved at its center.

  The air grew dense. Heavy.

  The colossus took a step back.

  "...That wasn't in your tricks."

  The mage took a deep breath.

  "No," he said. "This wasn't in mine either."

  The grimoire opened on its own.

  An intense light burst from its pages, devouring the chaos in an instant. In that moment, the battlefield was submerged in absolute silence: the wind stopped, the fire extinguished, the laughter drowned. The world itself seemed to hold its breath before the impossible that was about to occur.

  "Damn you!" the Demon King's roar shattered the void, his fangs gleaming with a red glow of pure rage. "Did you think you could... seal me ?!"

  The black grimoire floated before the mage. Its cover shone with a crimson pentagram embedded at its center, pulsing with its own energy. The pages spun, striking the air, releasing a scent of pure, ancient magic. Each symbol burned with force, resisting the mage's will, yet obeying.

  "No!" the Demon King roared. "This isn't a seal! No... it can't be!"

  He struck the air with both hands, unleashing a torrent of darkness that tore fragments of earth and rock. Each blow thundered, making the battlefield shake.

  The mage held his staff firm, striking the ground. A wave of light spread in circles from his staff, crashing against the Demon King's darkness, making the air explode.

  "Ahhhhhh...!" The Demon King howled as his body began to yield, fragments of his darkness and black flesh being absorbed toward the grimoire. "I... am eternal! You cannot... make me disappear!"

  The grimoire trembled, pulsed, and a sharp hum filled the air as the Demon King's essence was dragged toward its pages. His enormous hands struck the book, but each impact was useless. The surrounding rocks fractured, raising columns of dust and splinters.

  The mage raised the black grimoire before him, steady, and spoke in a clear voice:

  "I will hide you where no one can ever find you."

  A flash enveloped the grimoire with a light so intense it momentarily blinded the mage, and then it vanished.

  The Demon King roared with fury, striking the void, throwing flashes of energy that shook the ground. But there was nothing more he could do. His prison was absolute.

  The mage remained standing for a few seconds, breathing with effort. His tunic in tatters, his staff broken at his side, his body trembling from the tension of containing so much power.

  And then, the mage ceased to be one to become everything. His body began to fragment in a silent explosion of light and matter that condensed in the air, giving shape to hundreds of grimoires of different colors and sizes. Each book pulsed with unique energy, safeguarding the secrets of elemental spells, combat techniques, and healing arts that he had mastered throughout his life.

  "It makes sense... to disappear..." he whispered with a smile of absolute peace. "This is my sacrifice... my legacy to the world."

  The grimoires shot outward like shooting stars toward the ends of the earth. Some sought refuge in ancient dungeons, while others created new sanctuaries with their mere touch, leaving a trail of vibrant magic in mountains, rivers, and forgotten forests. There they would sleep, waiting for the day someone capable of claiming their power would come.

  The battlefield was left empty. Only silence, stone remains, dust, and the sensation that something impossible had occurred.

  The Demon King... sealed forever within the black grimoire with the crimson pentagram. The other grimoires... slept, waiting for the world to someday discover their power.