Rain had been falling for hours, a slow and relentless drizzle that blanketed the neon-dim streets of Metro Nyos. The gutters overflowed with a cocktail of blood and oil—runoff from the latest gang war two blocks over. No one blinked. Not even the city.
Matt Salurga sat beneath the rusted canopy of a forgotten arcade, hoodie soaked, blood on his knuckles—not his own. He counted the heartbeats between thunder, like he always did after a fight.
One… two… three…
Still alive.
His breaths came sharp, his head pounding like a war drum. The bastard had pulled a knife. Matt had pulled his rage. The fight ended quickly.
He didn't know why he reacted the way he did. Lately, he'd been getting flashes. A shimmer in the air. A whisper in a language he didn't know but understood. And every time he fought, something inside him surged—like a dam about to break.
"Still alive, huh?"
Grey Saimon's voice cut through the static rain, familiar and reckless. He tossed Matt a drink can, which Matt ignored. Grey flopped down beside him, reeking of cigarette smoke and fried noodles.
"You put the guy in the hospital," Grey said with a crooked grin. "Again."
Matt didn't answer. His knuckles still trembled.
"Dude, seriously. You ever think you're like… cursed or something?"
Matt turned his head slowly. Not out of offense, but because the question struck a strange chord in him.
He'd been having dreams—visions. Screams from a battlefield that didn't exist. Names he didn't know echoing in his head. Nyuga. Nitine. Amiya. A sword wrapped in black flame. He'd wake up covered in sweat, pulse thundering, tears he couldn't explain.
He wasn't cursed. He was broken.
And something old inside him wanted to break the world back.
---
Back in their shared apartment, Mailane was waiting. She sat cross-legged on the floor, practicing blade forms with a wooden sword. Each arc of her swing shimmered faintly—as if light bent around her movements.
The room always felt warmer when she was around.
Her expression tightened the moment Matt walked in, soaked and silent.
"You fought again."
Matt tossed his jacket over a chair. "He started it."
"You finished it. With enough force to break ribs," she replied calmly. "You promised you'd try."
"I am trying."
Mailane stood, her eyes narrowing. "Try harder."
She stepped forward, hesitated, then softened. Her hand touched his. The bruises faded where she laid her fingers—like the pain bent to her presence.
Matt looked at her. For a moment, the tension vanished.
Then it returned. Harder.
A scream. Distant. Inhuman.
Matt blinked. And suddenly, he wasn't in their apartment.
He was somewhere else.
Flames. Ash. Bodies.
Swords clashed above skies filled with burning clouds. Screaming gods. Blazing paladins—light devouring light. And in the center of it all… a child, crying under the floorboards.
Him.
"Matt!" Mailane's voice pulled him back.
He collapsed to one knee, vomiting blood and shadows onto the floor. Grey jumped forward, panicking.
"Dude—DUDE—what the hell?!"
Matt looked up.
His pupils were gone. Only swirling void.
Then the room exploded.
---
In a forgotten place between realms, five beings stirred.
Cloaked in eternal armor, the Imperial Paladins stood before a shifting pool of energy—one that pulsed with Void, flickering like a wounded star. It showed them a crater, a boy, a blade.
"He's remembering," Monshin muttered, eyes narrowing behind an ivory mask.
"We should've erased the soul," Thermuz growled, arms crossed over a massive hammer of light.
"We tried," said Analice with a smirk, fingers tracing the rim of a goblet filled with black fire. "But the Nitine blood clings harder than even the curse."
Nimistran's many eyes twitched, refracting images of endless war. "Let him awaken. Let him hate. In the end, hate is a leash."
Arshimest said nothing. He merely opened his hand and crushed a realm crystal to dust.
The hunt had begun.
---
Matt awoke in a crater.
The apartment was gone. Burned to cinders.
Mailane and Grey… missing.
But in his hand was something that hadn't been there before.
A hilt.
Black, pulsing. Alive.
And from deep within the earth, a voice—not his own—whispered:
> The Void spoke: "Welcome back, my executioner."
Matt stared at the hilt.
And for the first time, he wasn't afraid.
He was home.