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, razor-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, unyielding, deliberate.
Power erupted.
Raw. Violent. Unrestrained.
It surged through every vein, every cell, a cataclysmic flood that threatened to tear him apart from within. His muscles seized. His bones creaked under the strain. A storm of pure, primordial energy raged inside his flesh.
Master… you are insane.
Even Inerous, ancient and unflinching, could not hide the tremor in 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 Vabos Plain—a primal, guttural wail that carried the agony of a star collapsing into itself. It shook the earth, scattered carrion birds from the sky, 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—Lord Blink—knelt in prayer.
Lord Micah Blink, once the strongest human to ever walk the realm, the chosen champion of Sterion, the God of Light himself, wept openly.
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: invincible, righteous, beloved.
Now he was reduced to begging.
"Please… my Lord," he whispered, voice hoarse from hours of supplication. "I served you all my life… do not forsake me now."
He lifted his head—
Boom!
A divine backlash—sudden, merciless—hurled him backward out of the temple. He crashed onto the stone terrace, armor clanging against rock.
"One thing…" His voice cracked like fragile glass. "I begged for one thing. And you strip me of your grace."
"When I needed you, you are leaving me—like smoke in the wind."
"I gave you my soul. I brought honor to your name. I razed kingdoms that dared offend your shadow... I thought i was something to you?"
A bitter laugh escaped him, hollow and broken.
"So this is the truth… I was nothing."
Tears welled again, but he forced them back, jaw clenched.
"All I asked… was for you to heal my granddaughter. To grant her your blood."
The sky screamed.
As a rift tore open above the temple, an angel descended—radiant, terrible, wings of pure light unfurling like judgment itself. A spear of divine flame aimed straight at Micah's heart.
"Micah," the angel intoned, voice resonant with celestial authority. "As your friend, I advise you to leave. I do not wish to kill you."
Their golden eyes met.
Without his mask of faith, Micah looked no different from the angel—same sharp features, same unyielding gaze.
"My friend," Micah replied softly, rising slowly to his feet, "I cannot let her die. She is all I have left."
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 angels cloaked in blinding radiance. They surrounded Micah in an instant, forming a perfect circle of judgment.
Aron, the leader, drew forth a white bell inscribed with ancient sacred runes. He rang it once.
Bang.
The sound reverberated through reality itself.
The four angels raised their spears, channeling the raw laws of creation. Light condensed at the tips—pure, world-shaping power.
"Darkness," Aron commanded.
Their golden auras dimmed, twisted, inverted—turning black, heavy, suffocating. The air grew thick with corruption.
"All this for an old man," Micah chuckled, voice laced with dark amusement. "You honor me."
Then—
"Move forward, darling."
A gentle voice.
A voice from beyond the grave echoed in tge deptgs of his heart.
"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, voice breaking.
His grief cracked the world.
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 a thunderclap.
Aron froze mid-strike.
He saw her—Helga—holding Micah, guiding his movements with spectral grace.
Impossible. The dead could not cross the veil unaided.
"How…?"
Rain began to fall.
Pat.
Pat.
Pat.
Aron lifted his hand. Scarlet droplets stained his flawless palm.
"No… this is blood."
"Excalibur."
In Micah's grasp, a blade of ocean-blue steel materialized—radiating overwhelming, ancient glory. Its edge hummed with power that made the very air bow.
"If you stay with your master, you will fall and become a demonic sword," Aron warned, voice tight.
The rain intensified.
Silence stretched like a drawn bowstring.
"Excalibur… he is right," Micah murmured, staring at the blade.
But the sword answered—with the pure, innocent voice of a child.
"Even if I am destroyed… I will stay with Master. He saved me from my loneliness. I will never leave him."
Excalibur hummed softly, its aura swelling with divine authority—a relic that remembered its master's soul across lifetimes.
Even the gods remembered it. Yet now it doesn'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 corrupted darkness—braced their spears.
"Excalibur… show them your wrath."
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 tgey where not dead.
"Impossible…" Aron gasped, stepping forward to shield the others.
Micah moved like a storm given form—fluid, relentless, devastating. Every swing of Excalibur cleaved deeper than flesh: it severed laws, shattered bindings, holding the angels together.
Helga remained at his back, silent guardian, her spectral hands weaving faint barriers that turned aside lethal strikes.
"Your master has given you power beyond comprehension," Aron said grimly. "But that does not excuse your interference."
He blurred forward.
Crack!
He punched into Micah who moved an insane speed. The punched didnt stop him.
"Falma," Micah commanded, 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 micha move 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.
"I fight for her," Micah said quietly, eyes blazing with gold and silver fire. "And for all who were taken from me."
I blame you all. What did we do wrong one mistake and he punishes us.
The blood-rain fell harder.
Excalibur whispered again:
Master, do not falter. They cannot comprehend our bond.
A low, resonant hum built within the blade. Its aura rippled outward in concentric waves, warping reality—trees splintered, rocks exploded, the ground fractured into a maze of destruction…..
Under the heavy blood rain the aingles hair flowed in silence, Micah you are suffering…. Let me end it for you friend. Tears trailed down his face.