CODE: ZERO is a fantasy novel set in a world of sorcery, names and places are fictional, and only imaginations of the writer. Any resemblance to anyone or place is coincidental.

The story is set in a world called Tenebrous, and Tenebrous is divided into four regions:

Centralis

Valtor (North)

Nefaria (East)

Eldrid(West)

Now let's go to the regions, starting with Eldrid, where the story begins

Eldrid is divided into two provinces:

Western Province (Wistal)

Eastern Province (Easton)

- Wistal is divided into two cities: Sylva and Hazen.

- Easton is divided into: Kaida and Azura

For now, let's stick to that. Further locations will be stated later on.

(This book contains gory details, and chapters like that are tagged "gory")

***

PROLOGUE:

In the beginning, humanity was gifted with a power unlike any other—Tenzen.

This mysterious energy awakened within the human race and gave birth to the art of Sorcery. With it, mankind soared to unimaginable heights, taming the earth and bending nature to their will.

For centuries, sorcery was not just a force—it was life. Cities rose, wonders were built, and humans explored the farthest edges of the world, their powers a source of pride and progress.

But a thousand years ago, everything changed.

From the shadows of the unknown, they came—beings twisted and unnatural, creatures that defied the laws of life. They were called demons, and they hungered for the blood of humans.

What followed was chaos. A war unlike any the world had ever seen.

Despite their might, the sorcerers were overwhelmed. One by one, nations fell, their strongest warriors crushed beneath demonic power.

And then came the end of hope: the demon king—Aidra.

He didn't need an army. He was an army. With one devastating blow, he erased the largest continent from existence, leaving nothing but silence and ash in his wake.

That day was carved into history as the Black Calamity.

And just as suddenly as he appeared, Aidra vanished.

Centuries passed. Humanity dwindled. Desperation clawed at the remnants of civilization.

Then, from the ashes, a new alliance was forged: the World Association of Sorcerers (WAS).

Unifying sorcerers across the globe, WAS reignited a spark of hope in a world buried under fear.

A fragile peace began to settle.

But one question haunts the world like a ghost:

Where is Aidra?

In the world of sorcery, breakthroughs had become a routine. Every sunrise brought new incantations, ancient seals unraveled, and strange, impossible powers awakened. The World Association of Sorcerers—WAS, for short—had fused sorcery with modern technology, catapulting the craft into a new era. Alongside this evolution came a strict hierarchy of ranks, each stamped like a brand upon a sorcerer's name:

1st-grade: The pinnacle - only the strongest, the legendary, were given this rank.

2nd through 8th-grade: The steady climb, each step a milestone in power.

9th-grade: The bottom rung. The forgotten. The weak.

Most sorcerers started as 6th or 7th-grade, with dreams of ascending—of tasting the divine heights of 1st-grade. But to reach the very top? That was a fantasy, a myth whispered in training halls. Some said those who were 1st-grade weren't human anymore.

And yet, the reality remained: someone had to be at the bottom. Someone had to be the 9th-grade.

That someone was Code Weber.

***

Hazen, Western Province, Eldrid Region

Seventeen-year-old Code Weber stood hunched in a narrow alley, flanked by crumbling brick walls soaked with years of rain and filth. The sun had long since sunk below the skyline, and the sickly orange glow of the streetlights did little to push back the darkness.

His eyes darted through the shadows—paranoia had become second nature. He'd been robbed twice that week already. Now, only lint filled his pockets, and the holes in his clothes were growing more numerous than the fabric itself.

"Code Weber!" a voice called.

Code turned sharply, hands instinctively balling into fists—until he saw the man.

The stranger walked toward him in black armor, the metal catching the dim light. A silver 5th-grade sorcerer badge gleamed on his chest. He had shoulder-length black hair, and though his frame was relaxed, the way he moved spoke of precision and strength.

"I'm Ran Cowell," the man said, stopping just short of him. He extended a hand, and Code hesitantly shook it. Ran's grip was firm, steady. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I've got a mission," Ran continued. "A mid-class demon's been spotted near Sylva. We need sixteen sorcerers. Thought you might want in."

Code blinked. "A mid-class demon? That was serious—and lucrative."

"What's the cut?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

Ran's smile widened into something smug. "One percent."

Code's heart sank.

"One percent? For a demon-hunt?"

That wasn't a cut - that was a joke.

His face must have betrayed him, because Ran let out a dry chuckle. "What, you expected a better offer? You're a 9th-grade. Be grateful anyone's letting you tag along."

Code's fists clenched at his sides, but the anger didn't last. Ran was right. In a world ruled by strength, he was little more than background noise.

"…Fine," he muttered.

Ran gave a satisfied nod. "Sylva. Tomorrow. Two sharp."

As Ran turned to leave, his words echoed in Code's mind like a hammer striking glass.

"Be grateful anyone's letting you tag along."

---

The Next Day

Code boarded the train to Sylva with a half-empty wallet and a head full of doubt. The worn seat beneath him creaked as the train lurched forward, leaving behind the soot-streaked rooftops of Hazen.

He stared out the window, watching the city dissolve into green hills and winding rivers. Every bump of the tracks rattled something loose inside him—memories, fears, hopes long since buried.

All his life, he'd been branded weak. Rejected from squads, sneered at in duels, laughed out of jobs. Being a 9th-grade sorcerer wasn't just a rank—it was a curse. A mark of shame.

But maybe… just maybe, this mission was a way out. A single step toward something greater.

He closed his eyes and whispered to himself, "I'll make them see me."

---

Sylva

The moment Code stepped off the train, the air struck him—clean, sweet, tinged with blooming flowers and a faint hint of factory smoke. He flagged down a taxi and gave the address Ran had told him: a forest on the outskirts of town.

The city passed in a blur—stone buildings worn with time, shops with faded signs, children chasing each other through narrow streets. But Code barely saw it. His mind was ahead, already in the woods, already fighting demons.

When the car finally pulled to a stop, Code stepped out into the shade of towering trees. The forest loomed, dark and still, like it was waiting.

Ran and the others were already there—fifteen figures in a loose semicircle, their faces lit with quiet focus.

"Right on time," Ran said. His tone was different now—no smugness, just command.

Code joined the group silently, trying not to shrink under their stares. One by one, the sorcerers introduced themselves.

"Ran Cowell. Mission leader. I specialoxe in demonology and combat specialization."

"Kael Jensen," said a towering man with cold blue eyes. "Elemental tenzen and strategy."

Code swallowed. When it got to his turn.

"…Code Weber. I'm, uh… I'm good with a dagger."

A silence passed, as Kael raised an eyebrow.

Then the group moved on, taking their formations.

Swordsmen took their places at the front. Sorcerers formed the rear, glowing faintly with tenzen energy. Healers took the center. Code drifted toward them, unsure where else to go.

Then the march began.

---

The forest swallowed them quickly—branches crowding the path, shadows dancing on the ground like restless spirits. Code walked beside a woman named Elara, trying to keep his steps light, his eyes sharper than his fear.

The deeper they went, the more Code's skin prickled. Something was wrong. Too quiet. No birdsong. No demon sightings. Not even a scrap of movement.

And then—

"I can't go any further!" Dane, a 6th grade sorcerer, shouted from the back, his voice tinged with exhaustion and irritation.

Elara turned, concern in her eyes. "Let's just go a bit farther. We're close, I can feel—"

"Nonsense!" another snapped. "It's sunset. We're wasting time."

Before the group could argue further, Ran raised a hand.

"I sense it," he said quietly.

The tension cracked like ice underfoot. Without another word, the group snapped back into formation.

The trees thinned.

And then they saw it.

Beyond the final line of trees, the forest opened up into a vast, barren field.

At its center stood a lone structure—ancient, enormous.

A castle.

At the heart of the forest, the trees thinned out, revealing an impossibility—a colossal castle rising from the earth like a forgotten god's monument. Its towers pierced the sky like giant fists, and its walls pulsed with an ancient, suffocating menace.

A hush fell over the group.

"What... the hell is a castle doing here?" Ran muttered, eyes wide. His voice was thin, brittle, swallowed by the silence pressing around them.

Code stepped forward, heart pounding. The structure seemed unreal, like it had no right to exist. Yet it loomed, cold and absolute, casting long shadows over their fear.

"We have a job to do," Ran said, scanning the area. "The demon's here. I can feel it."

"You're out of your mind!" a sorcerer near Dane snapped, panic warping his features. "We're not ready for this! That thing—it's beyond us!"

"We can't back down now," Ran growled, his grip tightening on his blade. "We knew the risks."

But the sorcerer's face twisted in horror. "Our lives are worth more than this suicidal mission!"

He turned to run.

The air cracked.

Dark energy flared, warping reality around the fleeing man. His scream choked mid-breath as his body convulsed—bones bending, skin tearing—and then burst, his head detonating in a spray of blood and shattered bone.

Screams erupted.

The group staggered back in terror, faces pale with shock. Ran's breath caught in his throat.

"What... was that?" Elara whispered, voice shaking.

Before anyone could answer, the shadows congealed. A towering figure stepped forward from the gloom, its presence so vile it made the air taste like ash.

"We're trapped," Dane whispered, his voice hollow.

The demon stood before them—a grotesque parody of man, with curved horns jutting from its skull and burning eyes that sliced through the darkness. Its grin stretched too wide, gleaming with cruelty.

Ran's hand trembled, but his voice held steady. "We fight."

Teno and Soudra moved first—silent, synchronized. Their swords shimmered through the gloom, one aiming for the neck, the other the chest. The demon met their attack with casual power, swiping away blades with monstrous strength.

Elara conjured a veil of illusions, spiraling around the demon's head like smoke. Lyra raised a glowing barrier, recharging the group's energy, while the others circled for position.

Except Code.

He stood frozen, gripped by fear. His element refused to obey him. His breath came shallow and fast.

"Code!" Ran barked. "Focus!"

Code blinked, his body numb.

"Keep pressure on it!" Ran shouted.

For a moment, they had momentum—the demon staggered, confused by the illusions, pushed back by the relentless blades. Hope flared.

But it didn't last.

With a howl of fury, the demon lunged. Its fist blurred forward—too fast. Kael turned, barely raising his arms before the blow landed.

Crunch.

Kael flew back. Blood fountained from his abdomen, soaking the grass. His body hit the ground hard, limbs twitching.

"Kael!" Ran cried, racing to his side.

Kael's mouth moved. "...I'm sorry..." he gasped.

His eyes went still.

Ran screamed, anguish breaking through like a storm. His sword lit up with raw energy as he charged. "You bastard!" His strike carved through the air, a wild arc of fury.

The group held their breath as he leapt overt the demon, aiming to land a spinning slash from behind, but the demon was faster.

It twisted and slammed its fist into Ran's chest.

Ran didn't scream.

His body detonated into a mist of red, limbs scattering like broken glass. His sword hit the ground with a mournful clang.

The battlefield went still.

Code stumbled back, choking on disbelief. Ran was gone. Kael too. The world tilted.

One by one, the others fell.

The demon cut through them like grass—Dane, crushed underfoot; Lyra, torn apart mid-sob; Soudra, impaled mid-strike. Each death more brutal than the last.

Elara stood paralyzed, her illusions gone, eyes empty. Lyra's screams had faded into silence. Only four remained—then three—then two.

Then Code screamed.

The demon's blow missed his chest, but not his hand. His left arm tore away, blood gushing like a fountain. He dropped to the ground, shrieking.

Then—crack—the demon's foot slammed down, pinning his legs. Bones snapped.

Code's world dissolved into agony. He looked to Elara, who stared back, tears carving lines through the dirt on her face.

He wanted to speak. To say goodbye.

But the demon loomed.

Its massive foot lifted for the final stomp.

And then—

A voice rang out. Sharp, clear, defiant.

"Don't give up!"

Code's eyes widened, as his head jerked toward the source.

And then his jaw dropped.

A man stood beside him.

He wore a black hoodie, its hood pulled low. A silver-white ponytail spilled out from beneath it, tied in a neat knot. A mask covered the lower half of his face, hiding everything but a pair of piercing eyes that glinted with calm defiance.

But that wasn't the shocking part.

He had caught the demon's foot.

***

T.B.C