When a Filipino got Isekai'd with a twist!
Volume 2 "only I can summon those!"
Chapter 21: stay or Go!
The world around Kieth was weightless, soaked in silvery fog. He floated somewhere between waking and sleep, between life and death—between worlds.
Before him stood the hooded figure, robes shifting like smoke in a breeze, face hidden beneath a deep cowl. Yet his voice was clear—calm, almost too human.
> "You stand at a crossroads," the figure said. "Two paths, one decision."
"Go back—and you'll return to your body, to the battlefield, where the Demon Lord's full army is already moving. The Demon God himself walks with them. You'll fight with your friends… but face the storm head-on."
His voice grew quieter. Not softer—heavier.
> "Or stay. And face the Demon God here. Alone. No allies. No second chance. But if you kill him now, their chances grow. Your sacrifice could change everything."
Kieth's fists trembled at his sides.
Lycana's face flashed in his mind—blood on her lips, her tear-filled eyes locked on his as she spoke that last desperate plea.
Serena's scream still echoed, raw and sharp, as if it had carved into his bones.
And then the demon's voice—Xandros—cold, unfeeling, echoing like a death sentence.
He clenched his teeth.
> "So that's it?" Kieth asked, voice low. "Die here to give them hope? Or go back and face it all with them... probably die anyway?"
The hooded man didn't answer right away. Instead, the fog stirred, showing him both paths.
To the left: the battlefield. Flames tearing through the sky. Serena and Lyra standing together, bloodied but still alive. Behind them, walls cracking, civilians fleeing. A tide of darkness closing in. And far behind it all... a figure—taller than any mortal, cloaked in shadows, wearing a crown of horns. The Demon God. Waiting.
To the right: an empty stone platform surrounded by abyss. Floating runes pulsed dimly. The Demon God stood there too—but alone. Weaker. Unaware.
> "This is the only place he's vulnerable," the hooded figure said. "He's bound here, partway between dimensions. You can end him before he merges completely. But you won't walk away."
Kieth stared at his own hands—shaking, scarred, calloused. Just a kid who played games and dreamed of fantasy. And yet here he was.
He thought of Serena's laugh. Of Lyra's stubborn courage. Of Lycana's sacrifice.
> "If I go back… I might buy them time."
"If I stay… I might buy them a future."
The silence stretched long enough to feel like forever.
Then Kieth looked up. His voice didn't shake.
> "I'll stay."
The fog coiled tighter. The world around him trembled.
The hooded figure nodded slowly.
> "Then draw your strength, Kieth Deyviel martin. The moment you strike… he'll know. And he will not hold back."
> "Neither will I."
Light blazed beneath Kieth's feet, a summoning circle carved by will alone. The air warped, and the stillness shattered. Across the platform, the Demon God stirred.
And Kieth stepped forward, not as a boy summoned by accident—
—but as a hero who chose the impossible.
"Very well, I shall wish you luck! Will the God's bless you at your journey!"
The fog had vanished.
Now there was only stone—an ancient platform suspended in a void of swirling red and black. Lightning cracked silently across the skyless expanse, revealing tears in the seams of reality. They were somewhere between worlds, where time forgot to breathe.
And then came the howling.
From the swirling edges of the void, they came.
Demons. Dozens. Maybe hundreds.
Some crawled on bone-laced arms, others marched on iron limbs with skull-helmed faces. All bore the mark of their master—the seal of the Demon God, glowing like fresh wounds on their chests.
"Formation!" barked Hero King Antares, stepping forward with his greatsword aflame. "We hold the line here!"
Saint Lycana moved like a beacon behind him, white magic circling her staff. She dropped beside a small figure already cut and bleeding—Dern Riona, petite but iron-willed, her sword slick with demon blood.
> "Still with me?" Lycana asked softly.
> "Barely," Dern growled, wiping her face. "You heal. I kill."
> "Deal."
A bolt of corrupt energy shot from the dark—Cique, cloak fluttering, raised her hand and deflected it mid-air. Runes flared across her arms as she turned and hissed, "They're testing us. Sizing us up."
And then, the first wave hit.
Chaos. Teeth. Steel. Screams.
Antares met the charge head-on, cleaving through monsters with crushing precision. His greatsword spun, a blur of flame and steel. "I've slain kings," he roared, "and your skulls'll be lighter than theirs!"
Beside him, Dern darted like a dagger—fast, low, surgical. A lunge. A cut across a demon's hamstring. A leap to bury her blade into its spine. She rolled under a claw swipe, countering with a stab straight through the jaw.
> "One," she muttered. "Next."
Up high, Cique raised both hands and chanted. Fire burst outward in a cyclone, incinerating a group of winged fiends. Her lips bled from overcasting.
> "Minna!" she called. "Help, or I start dropping!"
Minna appeared behind a horned brute—barefoot, her dress in tatters, eyes glowing softly red. She reached into its back. A crack like splintered ice echoed as she tore out a shrieking black core.
> "Okay," she said. "More?"
> "Kid's a menace," Cique muttered.
Then came the shadow flash—Kieth.
He appeared mid-sprint, battered exo-suit hissing from strain, power cells flickering orange at the seams. Durability readout: 70%.
> "No rest for the summoner," he said, smirking through grit teeth.
He reached over his shoulder—and summoned his AK117, now enhanced. The barrel glowed faintly from the heat of its Dragon's Breath rounds.
> "Lucky shot," he muttered.
He pulled the trigger.
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM. The air lit up as flame-trail bullets tore through the next line of demons, each shot punching through armor like wet paper, igniting their insides.
> "Covering fire!" Kieth shouted. "Push now!"
> "Show-off," Cique grinned.
Despite having no class, no specialized magic—just that freak skill, Super Luck—Kieth moved like someone who always pulled a miracle at the last second. He was already level 1658, with maxed stats not through training—but surviving a thousand stupid, suicidal odds. Luck wasn't strategy. It was chaos. And he thrived in it.
> "Don't stop shooting!" Antares roared.
But the ground shook again—deeper this time. Rhythmic. Thunderous.
> "Those aren't just footfalls," Cique warned.
From the far end of the void, a second wave spilled forth—elite units.
The Six-Armed Executioner, blades soaked in centuries of blood.
The Bone Witch, floating on a cloud of ash and stitched wings.
The Drowned King, bloated and armored, dragging a corrupted anchor.
And the Black-Eyed Twins, laughing in sync as they flitted through the shadows.
The air chilled. Even the first-wave demons paused at their arrival.
> "Legends," Lycana breathed.
> "Killable legends," Dern growled.
> "Stay behind me," Antares said, readying his blade again.
> "No chance," Kieth stepped forward. "I've got this one."
Lycana blinked. "Kieth—"
> "Just a hunch." He smirked. "Statistically, I should've died by now. But I didn't. So maybe I'm due to win big."
He adjusted his rifle, the magazine glowing red-hot.
> "Let's see how long I can keep beating fate."
And with that—he ran straight into them.
The second wave descended, blades and magic flashing, and the heroes met them head-on—fury and flame, blood and will.
The platform trembled again, deeper now, slower. Like something ancient breathing beneath the stone.
Something not yet seen.
Something watching.
The world burned around them.
The second wave hit like a hammer from hell. The air warped with the weight of their power. Just standing near them made the heroes' bones ache.
The Six-Armed Executioner lunged first, his jagged cleavers blurring like a storm of iron. Antares met him mid-charge, their blades clashing in a ring of sparks that cracked the air like thunder.
> "You want a real fight?" Antares growled. "Then bleed with me!"
Each swing from Antares was met with three counters, the Executioner laughing with every miss. Fire danced across the platform as their battle became a whirlwind of strength and brutality.
Across the field, Minna stood at the edge, her dress torn at the shoulder, ash clinging to her skin. Her red eyes were wide—not with fear, but desperation—as she saw Kieth rush headlong into the worst of it.
> "P-Papa!" she shouted, her voice cracking.
Kieth didn't look back. His rifle barked flame, cutting a path through the encroaching horrors. He weaved between cursed blades and shadow bolts, each dodge barely a breath away from death.
His exo-suit groaned under the strain, warning systems blinking red. Durability: 64%.
> "Not now," he muttered, slamming a fresh mag into the AK117. "One more round."
The Drowned King surged toward him, water spilling from its mouth like black sludge, anchor spinning with the force of a wrecking ball. Kieth ducked just in time—the anchor whistled past his head, smashing a crater into the stone.
> "Nice swing," Kieth said, kicking off the ground and firing point-blank. Dragon's Breath bullets set the king's tattered robes alight—but it barely flinched.
> "Papa!" Minna screamed again, and this time she moved.
Her body blurred as she dashed forward—too fast for most eyes to follow—and appeared beside Kieth just as the Black-Eyed Twins launched twin daggers for his back.
CLINK-CLINK.
Minna's arm caught both blades bare-handed.
She hissed in pain—but held firm.
> "Don't hurt my Papa."
Then her aura changed.
A black-red glow enveloped her, hair floating like she was underwater, eyes now burning with unfiltered rage. She drove her hand into the ground—and the shadows answered.
Tendrils shot up, snatching the Twins mid-air and slamming them into the platform with a sickening crack.
> "Minna—" Kieth turned, stunned.
> "You're not dying," she said flatly, standing in front of him. "Not again."
He stared at her for a second—then smiled faintly.
> "You really are my girl."
Behind them, Dern Riona was bleeding from her temple again, fighting tooth and nail to keep the flank from collapsing. Her blade was chipped now, her breathing ragged, but she stood firm—dodging the Bone Witch's spells by inches.
> "I hate floating witches!" she snarled, deflecting a burst of bone shards with her arm guard.
Lycana moved behind her, barely keeping up with the injuries, her healing magic overextended and faltering.
> "I can't hold this pace much longer!"
> "Then don't!" Dern snapped, slicing off a demon's arm. "Just trust me!"
Antares shouted from across the battlefield, his sword now glowing white-hot, blazing from core to tip. "Fall back! They're stalling us—something's building under the stone!"
Kieth looked down.
The platform… was breathing.
Faint pulses ran through the stone beneath his boots—like a massive, slumbering heart.
> "We need to end this now!" he shouted.
Minna stood beside him, eyes locked on the Drowned King who rose again, half his body on fire but grinning like death.
> "I'll help," she said. "Let's kill him."
They moved together.
Kieth opened fire, strafing left, bullets carving glowing trails through the air. Minna dashed right, flanking the Drowned King and vanishing mid-step—reappearing above him with a dagger made of his own shadow.
> "Die!" she screamed, slamming the dagger into his neck.
Kieth emptied the clip into his chest, the impact pushing the giant back toward the edge—then over it.
The Drowned King fell screaming into the void.
One down.
> "Minna," Kieth said, panting. "Good job."
> She smiled weakly. "Thanks… Papa."
But there was no time for comfort.
Because the platform cracked.
A line split down the center, glowing red from within—and a sound like a dying god exhaled from the void below.
They had survived the second wave.
Now something worse was waking up.
The platform groaned like a dying beast.
Cracks spidered outward. Red light seeped from below like blood from an open wound, but the second wave still clawed forward—relentless, monstrous, hungry.
And the heroes?
Tired. Bloodied. But not broken.
> "Hold your ground!" Antares shouted, his armor scorched black and smoke trailing from a fresh gash on his shoulder. "Kill them before this whole place comes down!"
The Six-Armed Executioner was still alive—barely. Two arms hung limp. One cleaver had shattered. But the other three blades spun with deadly speed as he came at Antares one last time.
Antares didn't flinch. Instead, he pulled something from his belt—an old dagger, runes etched into its handle.
> "For the old gods," he muttered.
He took the Executioner's lunge head-on, twisted between the blades, and rammed the dagger into the monster's throat. The runes flared—and the Executioner exploded into a burst of black flame, vanishing with a shriek that echoed across the void.
Two down.
Across the field, Dern Riona dueled the Bone Witch, ducking under a curved bone-blade and rolling into a slash across the witch's ribs. But the Bone Witch laughed and scattered into bone fragments, re-forming behind her.
> "Behind—!" Lycana called out.
Dern pivoted on instinct—driving her sword backward without looking.
SHHK.
It went clean through the witch's chest.
> "Your tricks are old," Dern growled, yanking the blade free. The witch collapsed into dust.
Three down.
Up above, Cique was dancing through the air, twin wands flashing. She was a blur of flame and fury, riding explosions like stepping stones. The Black-Eyed Twins flanked her, striking in perfect sync—one from above, one from below.
> "Annoying little bugs," she snapped, crossing her wands.
The air warped.
A blast of condensed heat pulsed outward like a miniature sun—BOOM—vaporizing the twin demons mid-air in a flash of light.
Four and five. Gone.
Only one left.
The battlefield went quiet for a breath.
Then they heard it—dripping.
The Bone Witch's pet, a crawling wall of flesh and bones and stitched screams, burst out of the cracks and surged toward Minna from behind.
> "Minna, move!" Kieth shouted, but she was locked mid-spell, finishing a shadow weave.
The creature lunged—
And Kieth blinked.
Time seemed to slow.
His legs moved without thought, burning every bit of his suit's boosters. He slammed into Minna, shielded her with his body as the beast crashed into him instead, sending them both flying across the platform.
Kieth hit the stone hard, exo-suit flaring with sparks.
Durability: 42%
Warning alarms screeched in his HUD.
Minna rolled beside him, dazed.
> "P-Papa?" she said, crawling toward him.
> "Still breathing," he gasped. "This damn thing's gonna kill my back."
The creature charged again, roaring.
But Minna stood first.
And she screamed.
> "LEAVE! MY! PAPA! ALONE!"
The shadows answered her.
A massive spike of darkness erupted from beneath the beast, impaling it mid-charge. It howled, thrashing wildly—but Minna raised both hands, chanting in a forgotten tongue.
The shadows swallowed it whole.
Silence.
Minna collapsed to her knees, breathing hard. Kieth crawled beside her and gently ruffled her hair.
> "You did good, kid."
> "You almost died," she mumbled, eyes wet.
> "Yeah," he smirked. "Would've been unlucky."
Then, finally, the last of the second wave was gone.
Silence settled.
Only the crackling energy beneath the platform remained.
Antares dropped to one knee, gripping his sword like a crutch. Cique hovered down beside him, sweat dripping from her brow. Lycana collapsed beside Dern, her magic drained to flickers.
Minna rested her head against Kieth's side. He looked out over the battlefield, blood on his brow and rifle still smoking.
> "That… was too close," Dern muttered.
> "Still standing," Antares grunted.
> "For now," Kieth said quietly.
Because even with the generals gone… the worst wasn't over.
The cracks in the platform were glowing brighter now.
Something ancient… massive… hateful… was stirring beneath them.
And it was only just waking up.
To be continued...