Far beyond the clouds, beyond the reach of mortal hands or chakra-bound jutsus, the air shimmered with distortion as space itself bent at the will of one being.
Shinsui stood alone in the void above the Earth, his golden eyes reflecting the pale light of the real moon behind him. He raised his hand, palm open toward the empty sky, and with a mere thought—creation began.
Stone and dust from forgotten dimensions responded to his will, forming into a spiraling mass. Ether and energy from every corner of the world's atmosphere converged like rivers toward a basin. Natural energy flooded the space as if drawn by instinct. And then it happened.
A second moon was born.
Unlike the original moon that hung silently above the world, this one pulsed with life. It spun with power—an infinite reservoir of natural energy pulled directly from the very fabric of the world below. The newly born satellite glowed dimly at first, then shone brighter as it stabilized, its size rivaling the original, orbiting just beyond the eyes of common men.
And at its center stood Shinsui, gazing at his creation like a painter admiring the first brushstroke of a masterpiece.
"A world above a world," he muttered. "A throne above all."
Without needing hand seals or effort, he raised his arm once more, and from the smooth surface of the moon, a palace began to grow. Obsidian towers with gold-veined tips, floating platforms that defied physics, a crimson sky overhead generated from pure imagination—the Demon Moon Palace stood as a twisted marvel of divine architecture.
At its heart was the Throne of Dominion—a massive seat of swirling crystal and metal, embedded with markings only the Abyss could understand. As he sat upon it, a quiet hum echoed through the entire moon. He closed his eyes, and immediately, his mind fused with the celestial body.
He could feel everything.
The clouds forming over distant oceans. The tectonic plates shifting miles beneath the Earth's crust. The countless chakra signatures flickering across the shinobi nations. But most of all—he could feel the pulse of his moon, breathing, absorbing, growing.
"This will be my vantage point," he whispered. "The Earth below will look up and pray to nothing... while the true god watches in silence."
With a flick of his finger, the palace's halls lit with infernal light. He extended his will, and deep within the moon's chambers, he began to create again—this time, not gods or demon kings, but laborers.
Devils.
Short, hunched creatures with twisted horns, hollow black eyes, and spindly limbs. Some bore multiple arms. Others had wheels of flame instead of feet. But none could speak. None could resist.
These were not born to rule. These were born to serve.
They crawled out of the moon's molten core, eyes glowing red as they bowed low before Shinsui's throne. With a wave of his hand, he assigned their duties—sweeping endless marble corridors, dusting the columns made of condensed time, polishing stained-glass windows that showed events from forgotten universes.
As he lounged on his throne, a soft chuckle escaped his lips. "Let them believe they still have a chance. Let them gather their strength, form their alliances. In the end, the moon watches all... and I control the moon."
The throne pulsed again, and from his position above, Shinsui watched the world prepare for a war it didn't even know had started.
And below, in the forests and mountains of the Earth, the skies began to change.
The age of gods had long passed.
The age of Shinobi was clinging to relevance.
And above them all, the age of Shinsui had begun.