Return of the Forsaken.
When the first ray of light touched the horizon, the villagers gathered like a rising wave. Faces lifted toward the dawn, eyes filled with hope and faith. Every heart waited for their king.
Ray stood with Falker and Mimir, speaking softly about the road ahead. Whispers moved through the crowd, a ripple of breath and anticipation. Then the door opened, and their king stepped out. Behind him stood Falker and Mimir—silent, steady, loyal.
"Today,"
Ray began, his voice clear across the field,
"as the sun rises and its rays cleanse the darkness, we too shall rise. This will be our first step toward our liberation."
He paused, letting the sound settle.
"Preparation will take time, but our enemies are already moving. So we must vanish for now—hide, gather strength, and prepare for our grand rise."
His tone sharpened.
"For justice. For vengeance. For liberation—we fight."
The crowd repeated his words, their voices building into thunder.
"For justice! For vengeance! For liberation!"
Ray raised a hand, and silence fell over the civilians.
"It seems,"
he said with a faint smile, "our journey will not be easy."
Fear glimmered in their eyes, but hope burned brighter.
"Let's move."
Children, women, and the elderly formed the center of the group. The strong surrounded them like armor. Ray led from the front beside Falker, the rest following close behind. The forest welcomed them with the soft gleam of rain still clinging to the leaves. Light broke through in golden shards. The air smelled of wet earth and new beginnings.
They walked in silence at first, the crunch of boots and the low rustle of leaves filling the air. Then murmurs began—quiet talk, reassurance, even a few laughs. For the first time in years, their march did not sound like escape. It sounded like purpose.
After some time, Ray stopped near a clearing.
"We'll rest here," he said.
"Stay together. I'll return shortly."
He turned toward the familiar path leading to the cave where he had lost consciousness. The closer he came, the heavier the air grew. The ground was scorched, trees cut clean on one side while the other stood erased entirely, as if swallowed by flame itself.
Three figures stepped out of the cave. They wore white armor etched with the emblem of the Enforcement Regime. Ray stayed still, watching. The soldiers spoke briefly, then vanished into the forest. His jaw tightened. Without a word, he turned back.
When he returned, he said simply, "Everyone, we move." He didn't mention the soldiers. Panic would do nothing but break the fragile courage they carried.
They walked for another hour, maybe more. Ray's steps never faltered, and the steadiness in his back gave strength to the rest. Then he halted suddenly and lifted a hand. The villagers froze. His expression changed—focused, alert. "Hide," he whispered.
They obeyed at once. Mothers pulled children close. Men crouched behind trees. Ray walked forward alone.
He could feel them—dozens of signatures moving through the forest, heavy and disciplined. Fifty soldiers, perhaps more. The Enforcement Regime had found them.
He clenched his fists. Only a day had passed since he woke. His body was still healing, his strength incomplete. But a king does not turn his back. "I have responsibilities," he murmured. "I can't afford doubt."
Armor flashed through the trees. The soldiers appeared in formation, their steps precise. Without warning, one lunged. The sword cut through the air toward Ray's neck, coated in gray aura. He moved his head slightly. The blade passed harmlessly by.
Ray looked at the man who had attacked him. "Is this all the Enforcement Regime amounts to?" His calm provocation burned hotter than fire. The man's comrades shouted in anger. Fifty blades rose, and the squad charged.
Ray inhaled, the Void Cells beneath his skin pulsing faintly. His right hand tightened. "I call it…" His crimson eyes flared. "Fist of Reckoning—First Move: Astral Fist!"
His fist blurred, splitting into countless strikes that landed almost together. The air cracked with impact. Six soldiers fell instantly; several more staggered back, their armor splintered. Dust and blood filled the clearing. Yet it was only a shadow of the strike Ray had once unleashed with aura.
Ray exhaled slowly. The void within him stirred. Black tendrils slid from his wrist, weaving together into a sword of living darkness — sleek, black, and majestic, streaked with red veins that glowed like molten cracks. Around him, the enemies regrouped, though their commander still hadn't made a move.
He analyzed quickly. Fifty men — trained, armed, disciplined. His strength was fading, his qi and mana still bound by the Void Cells. To win, he would have to release the seal — but doing so might cost him everything. "That might be my only chance," he thought grimly.
Then a whisper brushed his mind. "I'll help you…" The voice was ancient, calm, and vast. Ray froze. "How?" he murmured, but there was no reply—only a rising hum within his chest, a pulse that wasn't his own.
The ring appeared on his finger and began to shine. Its violet threads emitted crimson light that spread through his veins, painting his skin with streaks of living fire. The ground beneath him cracked as the light grew denser, surrounding him completely. He felt weightless. Then—silence..
He rose from the earth, suspended in the air, his eyes turning as dark as the abyss and as emotionless as the void. The air bent around him as black mist, like living shadows, spilled from his body, chilling the world around him. To the soldiers, he no longer looked human — he looked like something sacred, absolute. He gazed upon them from above as if they were nothing but ants beneath his feet.
Several fell to their knees. Others stumbled back in terror. The commander forced himself forward, though his hands trembled. "Who… are you?" he demanded.
Ray turned his head slightly. When he spoke, his voice was not his own—deeper, majestic, and resonant, like thunder rolling across a valley.
"You have forgotten your king."
The words rippled through the forest. Then, with a wave of his hand, light bent and shadows scattered—and in the next instant, every soldier vanished. Fifty men, erased from existence. Not a sign remained.
The mist around him thickened once more. The being that had possessed Ray turned toward the villagers hiding in the shadows. When it spoke, its voice was calm yet commanding.
"Believers… I leave the king in your hands."
The darkness folded inward, drawing back into Ray's body. He fell gently to the ground, unconscious. The ring's glow faded to a soft ember before melting into his skin. For a long time, nothing moved. Even the wind seemed afraid to breathe.
Then, faint and distant, an echo resonated through the forest.
"We await our king's return..."
End of chapter 8