Zyneth stepped out of the shattered coffin, fragments of mercury and stone clinging to his form like remnants of a forgotten prison. His bare feet touched the cold floor of the ritual chamber, and yet the air around him began to warm, warping as if responding to an unseen force.
The ritual had succeeded partially. The coffin no longer held him, and though the Seals still clung to his essence like leeches, something ancient had begun to stir. Power. Memory. Identity.
[System Initialized…]
[Memory Restoration: 10%]
[Divine Power: 0.01% – Sealed]
[Primary Seal: Broken]
[Next Objective: Trial of Will]
He stared down at his hands, pale and trembling. They were not yet worthy of his former self. Still, they sparked with power, and deep within, the Red Mark of Judgment pulsed like a heartbeat from another world.
His thoughts drifted.
'Sereth…'
There was no answer, no whisper, no guide. The voice that had once awakened him had fallen silent. Yet Zyneth could still feel the echo of its presence lingering at the edge of his mind, like a promise yet to be fulfilled.
Then came the sound—the unmistakable clash of war. Steel against bone. Fire meeting earth. The ancient sanctuary trembled not with his awakening, but from the chaos unfolding just beyond its walls.
Zyneth turned.
At the end of the sacred corridor leading out of the ritual chamber, light flickered torchlight mixed with the iridescent glow of divine invocations. Shouts and screams rang through the passageway. They were here.
The Celestial Church of Origen had come to stop the awakening.
But the Clans who had long prepared for this moment were ready.
Dozens of warriors some old, some young, many wounded fought with desperation in their hearts and faith in their blood. Their weapons were crude compared to the polished relic-blades of the Church's soldiers, but their spirit was bound to something older than any god the Church revered.
The Apostles led the charge radiant figures cloaked in artificial divinity. Each one bore symbols of judgment etched in gold, blessed by their gods to suppress the ancient powers of the world.
But they had come too late.
Zyneth had awakened.
A soldier in white steel kicked open the final gate to the chamber and rushed in, blade raised high. Behind him came a second, carrying a banner of light. The moment they saw Zyneth standing still in the broken remains of his coffin they faltered.
One stopped mid-charge, his breath catching in his throat.
The other dropped his sword. His knees buckled.
Zyneth didn't speak.
He simply looked at them.
And reality answered.
[Judgment Initiated.]
From his chest, the Red Mark of Judgment surged with a flash of crimson light. It did not strike the soldiers. It did not tear them apart.
They simply ceased to exist.
No scream.
No fire.
No blood.
Just nothing.
A gasp echoed through the corridor as an Apostle, a woman clad in robes that shimmered like glass, stepped into the light and witnessed it. Her staff trembled in her hands. Her eyes widened in primal, ancestral fear.
"He walks…"
The words escaped her lips as though pulled from her soul.
Another Apostle behind her barked an order. "Destroy the heretic! Purge the corruption!"
Dozens of soldiers surged forward at his command, glowing relics raised to cast divine strikes but the moment they crossed the threshold into the sanctuary, they stumbled.
The air itself resisted them.
Zyneth stepped forward.
The ground beneath his feet darkened, not from shadow, but from something older than shadow a pressure that swallowed light and reason. Even in his weakened state, the world could not ignore him.
And yet the battle beyond the chamber had not ceased. In the narrow passages, the Clans held their ground. Flaming arrows flew from concealed openings in the cavern walls, striking down the soldiers who dared advance too quickly. Spears found gaps in polished armour. Old chants, forbidden by the Church, filled the air with war-songs that empowered the faithful.
One of the older Clan warriors, his beard soaked in blood, raised a rusted blade toward an Apostle and shouted, "You cannot stop what's already begun!"
The Apostle responded with a beam of holy light, obliterating the warrior's chest, but the man smiled as he fell because he had seen Zyneth rise.
More Apostles now approached the chamber entrance, forming a half-circle.
There were five of them.
One stepped forward. Elrion. His robes marked him as First Apostle. His face, normally calm, was tight with fury and… fear.
"Abomination," Elrion hissed. "You are not meant to exist."
Zyneth tilted his head slightly. There was no malice in his expression only awareness.
[Warning: Energy Surge Detected.]
[Divine Hostiles Identified – Threat Level: Moderate.]
[Judgment Level: Passive.]
A low rumble echoed as the mark on Zyneth's chest flickered. The light grew heavier.
Elrion hesitated.
The other Apostles prepared for combat, summoning blades of celestial fire and constructing wards in the air with their chants. Sigils spun in the air like halos, spinning faster with each second.
But Zyneth merely raised one hand.
Not to attack.
To test something.
The energy of the System pulsed, subtle but undeniable, and within him, a thought formed:
'This is only the beginning.'
The runes at his feet shifted slightly, responding to his divine presence, and a pressure built one that made even the ground seem to whimper.
A soldier behind the Apostles dropped to his knees, vomiting from the weight of it.
Still, Elrion stood tall.
"Fall back," he ordered, his voice tight. "We will regroup. This is not over."
The Apostles reluctantly stepped away, their sigils slowly dissipating.
Zyneth did not pursue.
He did not need to.
The war had already begun, and now the world would know he had returned.