Not What?

The two stood in silence, staring each other down. A-2 gripped his ragged blade tightly, while M-8 held his curved blade close to his chest.

As blood dripped from M-8's snow-white hair, carried by the wind, the only sound that could be heard was the soft howl of the desert air. Both of their minds raced, anticipating the battle to come.

Finally, the drop of blood, hanging onto the end of M-8's hair, let go. As it splattered onto the red-stained sand, both fighters vanished.

Their blades collided, sending sparks into the air as the sharp edges scraped against each other, producing an ear-piercing echo that rang in their ears. The force of their blows caused both of them to pull back, only to dash forward again, colliding once more. Blow after blow, the sound of metal clashing filled the barren landscape as they circled each other, both fighters moving like shadows amidst the shifting sands.

M-8's movements were fluid, like a wave, constantly adjusting his stance to follow A-2. Meanwhile, A-2 backtracked slightly, keeping up with M-8's rhythm, waiting for an opening.

With every clash of their blades, the sand between them parted. A-2 pushed his blade forward, slashing horizontally, but M-8 deflected it by pulling his curved blade upward. M-8 spun around, aiming to leave another scar on A-2, but as he planted his foot in the ground, it sank into the loose sand. M-8 glanced down and realized they had fought their way back to the edge of the pit.

Seizing the moment, A-2 activated his special skill, driving his blade into M-8's chest, puncturing two deep wounds, and following up by stabbing him in the shoulder—the shoulder that held his curved blade. Despite the pain, M-8's senses sharpened, and he moved swiftly, his scarlet eyes leaving an afterimage. With all his strength, he slashed A-2's left side completely off.

A-2 instinctively let go of his blade and clutched at his side, but M-8 took the opportunity to stab him in the back, piercing A-2's body with his curved blade. Both men fell into the pit together.

As they plummeted, A-2 continued clutching his side, while M-8 planted his foot against A-2's hand and pushed him away, sending A-2 crashing into the jagged, pitch-black rock wall. M-8 managed to rip his blade out of A-2's body before jamming it into the wall to slow his descent, but the brittle rock gave way.

Looking down, M-8 saw a massive spike rising toward him at a rapid pace. Unable to react in time, he let go of his blade just as it reverted to its marble form. He hit the ground hard, feeling a crack in his left shoulder as he rolled onto his back. Gasping for air, he coughed up sand, spitting it out onto the bloodstained ground.

Though his body felt lighter and his right arm stronger, M-8 barely had time to catch his breath before he felt a sudden pressure around his neck. A-2, despite his grievous injuries, had survived. With half his face torn and his back covered in bloodied rock fragments, he stood over M-8, his left eye bleeding tears of blood.

"You know..." A-2 muttered, pressing his blade deeper into M-8's gut.

M-8 groaned in pain.

"I was going to spare you..." A-2's voice grew more strained.

Another groan escaped M-8's lips, interrupting him.

Frustrated, A-2 punched M-8 in the face, sending blood spurting from his nose. "SHUT UP, WILL YA?!"

Continuing, A-2 leaned closer. "I was going to spare you, keep you alive by a thread—BUT." He twisted the blade, causing more pain. "You pissed me off. Now, you'll die here, along with me, and A-1's legacy will die with you. No one will leave this hellhole."

M-8, barely conscious, braced for the final blow as A-2 raised his blade. But it never came.

Opening his eyes, M-8 saw two enormous, bony fingers—each one larger than his body—grasp A-2's head and crush it into a pile of blood and gore. M-8, clutching his pendant over his bleeding stomach, watched as the pendant glowed brighter than ever.

The hand retreated into the brittle walls of the pit, causing them to collapse. A voice echoed around M-8, eerily similar to his own but pitched slightly higher.

"You've reunited me with my lost existence."

Those were the last words M-8 heard before a bright light consumed his vision, and he lost consciousness.

As the ground trembled beneath him, M-8's unconscious body rose with the shifting earth, lying on the palm of a massive, bony hand. From a distance, a giant skeleton emerged from the sand, holding M-8. Its skull gazed down at its lifeless form, the eye sockets glowing with the same light as the pendant.

"Now then," the voice said again, "I shall take my revenge."

The world froze. The sand, the wind, and even time itself stood still. Everything—the sand, the blood, the people, and all the memories—was sucked into the pendant's swirling, reality-warping energy. In an instant, nothing remained but M-8 and the pendant floating above him.

A message appeared.

[You have absorbed: "The World of the Non-Existent"] 

[You have obtained the Resonance X-Factor] 

[Rank: N/A] 

[Your boon is: "Observation"] 

[Your flaw is: "Forgotten"] 

[You have obtained the unique soul-binded item: "Odachi of the Unwritten"] 

[You have obtained the unique item: 'Fragments of the X Blade'] 

[You have obtained a God-Given Name] 

[God-Given Name: The Unwritten Exile] 

[You have successfully conquered "Your First Trial"] 

[Now transporting you to: "Central Utopia"]

A blinding white light enveloped M-8 as he was transported.

A city filled with people walking down bright, clean streets. Cars with glowing blue underbellies drove by, emitting no pollution. Children ran and played, families reunited, and teenagers chatted happily. The city was vibrant and full of life.

A sudden scream pierced the air, and a crowd gathered. In the middle of the scene lay a pale, bloodied boy with white hair and dark clothing. Clutched in his hand was a pendant with a scarlet red X.

A man behind the crowd spoke calmly into his phone. "Yes, sir, it appears a new Fateweaver has appeared."

— "Understood," the voice on the phone replied. "Sending medical units immediately."