Chapter 3: The Forsaken
Dax extended his hand slowly, fingers splayed against the crimson-soaked air. The black hole that had devoured the blood rain obeyed his silent command, compressing with a low, ominous hum. It shrank, folding in on itself until it was no larger than a dark marble, pulsing obediently in his palm.
"I'm not sure your world truly understands this concept…" A cruel, edged smile curled at the corners of his lips, eyes glinting with predatory delight. "Let me show you."
Without hesitation, he pressed the condensed sphere directly into his chest.
"Synthesis."
His fist struck his own sternum hard; deliberate power erupted, raw and unrestrained.
It surged through every cell, a flood that threatened to tear him apart from within, his muscles seized, and his bones creaked under the strain.
Master… you are insane.
Even Inerous, who was unflinching, could not hide the tremor behind her voice.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
×900.
The sound echoed across the plains like the breaking of a thousand chains forged in the deepest abyss.
{Congratulations. You have broken 1000 layers of your shackles}
{Commencing trait completion.}
{Insatiable Hunger → Origin Eater.}
{Race change commencing.}
"Ahhhhhh!"
Dax's scream ripped through the Plains of Vabos, a guttural wail that carried the agony of a star collapsing into itself. It shook the earth and made the very air tremble.
—
In a temple carved from sacred white marble and gilded with the light of a thousand eternal flames, the Church of Light's First Ancestor—an old man clad in heavy golden armor kneeling before an altar of fire—wept openly before it.
Tears carved silent paths down his weathered face, yet his posture remained unbroken, knees pressed to cold stone, back straight beneath the crushing weight of golden armor that had once been a badge of divine favor.
He had been everything humanity aspired to be: invincible, righteous, and loved by many.
Now he was reduced to begging.
"Please… my Lord," he whispered, his voice hoarse from hours of supplication. "I've served you all my life… do not abandon me now."
He lifted his head, but was blasted by the divine radiance of the flame, sudden and merciless, and he was hurled out of the temple, beating on the floor like a pebble cast upon a lake. His mouth was filled with blood, but he refused to taint the temple with his blood, so he gulped, forcing the iron-thick blood back in.
"One thing… I begged for one thing. And you strip me of your presence."
"When I needed you, you are leaving me. Did I not serve you well? I gave you my soul and brought honor to your name; I even razed kingdoms that dared offend your shadow... I thought I was something?"
A bitter laugh escaped him, hollow and broken.
"So this is the truth…."
Tears welled again, but he whipped them away, his jaw clenched in regret.
"All I asked… was for you to heal my granddaughter. Why punish a child for something that was out of her control?"
Instantly, a terrible rift tore open above the temple. An angel descended, radiant with terrible wings of pure light that resembled judgment itself.
"Micah," the angel intoned, its voice resonant with celestial authority. "My old friend, do not waste your life. I do not wish to kill you."
Their golden eyes met.
"Aron, my friend, that child is all I have left; I cannot let her die. If I can't heal her, how will I ever face that child?" Micah replied softly, rising slowly to his feet.
The angel sighed, sorrow flickering across its perfect face.
"I see you've made up your mind."
With a subtle gesture, four more figures materialized, golden bodies cloaked in blinding radiance. They all surrounded the old man in an instant, forming a perfect circle.
Aron, the leader, drew forth a white bell inscribed with ancient sacred runes.
Bang.
The sound reverberated through reality itself.
The four angels raised their spears, channeling the raw laws of Light that condensed at the tips—pure, world-shaking power.
"Darkness," Aron commanded.
Half of their golden auras dimmed, turning black, heavy, and suffocating; the air grew thick with corruption.
"All this for an old man," Micah chuckled, his voice laced with dark amusement. "You honor me… but my god must really be disgusted by me that he uses this to end me."
Micah looked up at the sky that poured heavily. Such a sad day, I've lost it all. Wallowing in self-pity, he heard an oddly familiar voice:
"Move forward, darling."
Ahhh, I must be about to die, that is why I hear your voice. Don't worry, Helga, I'll soon be with you. I'm sorry, Dmitri, I couldn't save your daughter. I thought I could, but I have fallen short.
"My shining blade." This time the voice was clear, but it was like a dream to him. A gentle voice that suited his soul.
"Helga…" his eyes widened in shock.
A beautiful, translucent woman materialized behind him, arms wrapping around his shoulders in a tender embrace.
Sob.
Sob.
"Helga… I'm sorry," Micah whispered, his voice breaking.
His grief was evident, but at his vulnerable moment he wasn't alone.
Crack!
The ground within a fifty-meter radius shattered like glass beneath an invisible hammer.
Micah vanished, moving faster than sound itself. His heavy armor clanked comically as he stepped through the air, each footfall resounding like thunder.
Aron froze mid-strike.
He saw her—the woman holding Micah, guiding his movements with spectral grace. Impossible, the dead cannot cross into the world of the living, especially not in these holy grounds.
"How…?"
Aron lifted his hand. Scarlet droplets stained his flawless palm.
"Is it because of this strange rain?"
"Excalibur," Micah's voice was low but audible, like a ripple. A blade of ocean-blue steel materialized, radiating with overwhelming, ancient glory. Its edge hummed with power that made the very air seize.
"If you stay with your master, you will fall and become a demonic sword," Aron warned, his voice tight.
The rain intensified.
Silence stretched like a drawn bowstring.
"Excalibur… he is right," Micah murmured, still moving with purpose.
"Even if I am destroyed… I will stay with Master. He saved me from my loneliness," the sword answered with the pure, innocent voice of a child.
It hummed softly, its aura swelling with an ancient pressure; it was a relic that remembered its master's soul across time.
Even the gods remembered it. Yet now it didn't mind being tainted. "Good, Micah, you are truly loved."
Micah inhaled deeply. Helga's embrace steadied him, her ethereal warmth seeping into his bones. Righteous fury and bottomless grief intertwined, sharpening his will into something unbreakable.
He advanced.
Each footstep cracked the earth. The four angels—now shrouded in darkness—braced their spears.
"Excalibur… let this old man show them."
The blade ignited.
Bang!
A torrent of radiant light exploded outward, tearing through the blackened auras like dawn piercing night. Two angels were hurled backward, their divine forms scorched and fracturing, but they were not dead.
"Impossible…" Aron gasped, stepping forward to shield the others.
Micah moved like a storm given form, his movements fluid and relentless. Every swing of Excalibur cleaved deeper than flesh: it shattered the binding holding the angels together. He was ready to commit an abomination against the world.
Helga remained at his back like a silent guardian, her spectral hands weaving faint barriers that turned aside lethal strikes.
"Micah, you shall experience darkness and never experience rebirth. I cannot forgive your defiance against God."
He blurred forward.
Crack!
He punched into Micah, who moved at an insane speed. The punch didn't stop him.
"Falma," Micah commanded, his voice ringing with ancient authority.
Helga's presence flared and the air thickened, swirling into a vortex of holy and corrupted energy. Like a surge, Micah moved, stepping on the air, his only goal being to get past the angel.
But every move was utterly blocked, which increased his struggle. Now he was moving like trails of gunshots concentrated at a spot.
What are you fighting for? Aron's tone was calm, but his gaze was filled with complex emotions.
"Isn't that stupid to ask… I'm fighting for what I've lost!" Micah's eyes blazed with something new: anger.
I blame you all. What did we do wrong? One mistake and he punishes us.
The rain fell harder.
A low, resonant hum built within the blade. Its aura rippled outward in concentric waves, bent space, trees splintered, rocks exploded, the ground fractured into a maze of destruction…..
Under the heavy blood rain, the angels' hair flowed in silence. Micah, you are suffering…. Let me end it for you, friend. Tears trailed down Aron's face.