Temple of Light — Zekaa
"My Lord, please—we only need a little more t—"
SWISH!
In the massive hall dominated by towering pale statues, a single figure dressed in gold armor sat upon a high throne. He flicked a finger downward, almost idly.
A spear of light materialized and impaled the white-robed ascendant to his right, piercing through robe and flesh before embedding several inches into the stone floor. Then it vanished, as though it had never been.
CRASH!
The body slumped. The other white-robed Ascendant remained bowed, trembling. He did not dare look up. He did not dare speak.
The golden figure shifted his gaze upward. When he spoke, his voice was barely raised, yet it echoed through the hall with tangible force.
"More time? It has been 9 years since we activated the Holy Relic. Zafyrus… tell me. Do you need more time?"
Zafyrus—the Red Blade, a man whose name stirred fear across battlefields—kept his forehead near the cold stone. His reply was rushed, panicked.
"No, my Lord! Ninety percent of the population has been assessed. The God Rank Relic will be found. Soon."
Silence.
Zafyrus trembled with each passing second. He did not dare break the quiet. To anyone who knew him, the idea that he could be reduced to this—forehead pressed to the floor, fearing for his life—would have been a joke. But the body beside him was real. The golden figure on the throne was real. And his fear was very, very real.
"Hmm… 'soon.'" The golden figure let the word linger.
"You have five more days. Any longer, and I will consider you as incompetent as Belius."
"Y-yes, my Lord," Zafyrus stammered, still bowed.
"You may leave now. Remember… you have five days. I sincerely hope you do not need to step into this space again with excuses after that time."
The golden figure's tone was icy and final. "Take his body as you go. His position is yours to fill. Appoint a new subordinate as you see fit."
"Yes, my Lord."
There was no joy in the promotion. Only the urgent, clawing need to escape. Still bowing, Zafyrus lifted the lifeless body effortlessly and backed toward the huge stone doors, never once raising his eyes.
When the doors closed, silence reclaimed the hall.
The golden figure sat alone, his armored fingers resting lightly on the arms of the throne. After a long moment, he spoke again, voice heavy, words meant for no one but the statues and the void.
"This war…" he whispered, a low sound like grinding stone for the first time showing some emotion. "Tsk. I cannot lose. Not after so many sacrifices."
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Almost as if he had only closed his eyes for a moment, Neo opened them to an unfamiliar brown ceiling, not the familiar, stained ceiling of his apartment.
"Where is this now?"
He stretched his neck, looking around, before slowly sitting up on the bed. His body felt stiff, as if he'd slept in the wrong position for days.
"No, seriously…ughh... where is this?"
He stood, and immediately noticed something was different. After nine months alone on Earth alone, he had grown accustomed to the eerie, absolute silence that followed the disappearance of all living things.
But here… there was sound. Faint, but unmistakable. Voices. Movement. The silence that was his companion for 8 months was gone. Replaced by murmurs. His heart hammered against his ribs as he pushed himself off the bed.
A wide, disbelieving smile broke across his face. He walked toward the door at the end of the room, his earlier appreciation for the unfamiliar space forgotten. The closer he got, the clearer the voices became—raised, tense.
"Arguing? People?… Actual people? Amazing."
His hand was on the door when caution finally caught up to his enthusiasm. He pushed it slowly, peeking through the crack slowly.
"Huh?… Ma?"
The loudest voice belonged to his mother.
He pushed the door fully open and stepped out on unsteady legs. The scene before him snapped into focus.
Curtis was struggling in the grip of a man dressed in a white robe, who held him aloft like he weighed nothing. His mother on the other hand was clinging desperately to the robe of the same man, refusing to let go.
"What's happening here? Curtis… is that you?"
All eyes in the room turned to him.
The white-robed man holding Curtis sneered, his gaze cutting toward Neo's mother, who was the only one who hadn't yet noticed Neo's entrance.
"You dare lie to the Temple?" the man spat. "What happened to your son being in a coma, huh?"
It was only then that she turned. Her eyes found Neo, her son who had been asleep for so long. Her voice was a fragile, hopeful fracture in the air.
"Neo?"
SLAM!
Neo's vision sharpened, zeroing in. The robed man had kicked her in the chest. She fell to the floor and did not move.
Motionless.
Neo's breath hitched. Curtis's eyes were wide with terror. His mother had spoken her first words to him in eight months, and this stranger in white had just—
"Tsk. Weakling. Daring to lie to the Temple," the man muttered, as if brushing off dust.
Something in Neo's chest 'snapped'.
A wildfire, hotter than any despair, incinerated the chilling calm that had imprisoned him for months. It sputtered and died under the inferno. His body moved before his mind. One step. Then another.. The chill was still there, but for the first time, it felt useless—a distant echo drowned out by a roaring, single-minded heat.
He just kept walking, step by step.
"You, go check his relic grade. If we're lucky, his potential might be worth something to the Temple."
The ascendant who had just delivered the kick—Hepburn—spoke to his subordinate without shifting his gaze from Neo's furious stare or the crumpled form of Neo's mother on the floor.
"Yes, Master Hepburn," the subordinate replied. He drew a transparent orb from a fold in his robe and moved toward Neo.
Stopping before him, the man extended the orb. Mistaking Neo's blank, shock-fueled stare for fear, he spoke with dripping confidence.
"Place your hand here—"
CRUNCH!
Neo moved faster than thought. He grabbed the man's white robe, yanked him forward, and drove his forehead into the man's face with a sickening crunch. The subordinate staggered back and dropped to the floor, clutching his now bleeding nose.
Neo didn't spare him another glance. He strode past the shocked ascendants and knelt beside his mother, his hands trembling as he checked her pulse. It was faint, but there. The relief cooled his rage only a fraction.
He lifted his head, eyes locking onto Hepburn.
"You… drop him. Right now."
Hepburn smirked, unfazed. He turned toward his groaning subordinate.
"A month of your resources, and you'll spend a week in the dungeon. Waste any more time, and you'll wish that was your only punishment." His voice was icy. "Now, check if he possesses a relic. Do it fast. The brother to the God's rank Relic holder should be anything but ordinary."
The threat cleared the subordinate's head instantly. He stood, blood still dripping from his nose. With a flick of his wrist, a white dagger materialized in the air and shot toward Neo.
Neo froze, saved from panic only by that ever-present chill as the supernatural sight registered. The dagger halted, its point pressed lightly against his throat.
Seeing Neo restrained, the temple ascendant—Mev—approached again, orb in hand, teeth gritted.
"Now place your hand here," he hissed. "Or I'll help you do it."
Neo, eerily calm, ignored him. He looked to Curtis, who was nodding urgently, eyes wide with fear. Then to Hepburn, who still wore that infuriating smirk.
They were three. He was one. And they clearly weren't 'human'—not with flying daggers and casual cruelty.
Hepburn spoke again, his tone bored. "Two months of resources, Mev. Keep wasting my time."
Panicked, Mev made the dagger bite deeper. A thin line of blood welled along Neo's neck.
"Now!!"
"Neo, please," Curtis pleaded, voice shaking. "Just do it."
Neo's gaze softened. He placed his palm on the orb.
One second. Two. Three.
Nothing.
He kept his hand there, waiting.
After five seconds of silence, Hepburn scoffed. "All that hope for nothing. The God Rank Relic is more important anyway. Let's leave."
He turned, Curtis still clutched in his grip, and walked out without another glance.
"No—no! Where are you taking him? Curtis!" Neo shouted, struggling against the dagger.
Mev made the orb vanish. He watched, bewildered, as Neo fought the blade drawing more blood. *Doesn't this boy fear death?*
He wasn't about to leave without repaying his humiliation. An idea, cruel and petty, took shape.
"Maybe this will teach you a lesson," Mev muttered.
He shifted his will. The dagger withdrew from Neo's throat and shot downward—aimed at the unconscious woman on the floor.
Time seemed to slow. Neo saw it—the gleam of the blade, the trajectory—but he was too slow, too human.
It plunged into his mother's forehead. The white steel stained red.
"No… No… Ma?" His voice broke. He fell to his knees, pulling her into his lap, staring at the hilt jutting from her skull.
He looked up. Mev recalled the dagger with a sickening squelch, made it disappear, and walked toward the door as if he'd merely swatted a fly.
A sound tore from Neo's throat—raw, animal. He lunged.
Mev, expecting it, sidestepped neatly and tripped him. As Neo fell, Mev drove a heavy blow into the back of his head.
"Tsk. Stupid commoner. You'll live knowing your stupidity caused this. That should make up for my losses today."
Neo didn't get up. Darkness swallowed him whole.