Chapter 33: Bound By Shadow

Moros collapsed to his knees, the ashen winds of Arcanova howling through the ruins. The once-great city, a beacon of hope and innovation, lay in rubble. Towers that had touched the heavens were now crumbled, broken remnants of a dream.

But none of it mattered.

In his arms, Misa's lifeless body rested, her warmth gone, her heartbeat silenced. Her once-bright eyes, filled with curiosity and love, would never open again.

Moros clutched her close, his fingers trembling as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. His voice cracked as he whispered her name, over and over, like a prayer to a god who no longer listened.

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… Please, come back. Please…"

But there was no answer.

The realization hit him like a hammer to the chest. He had failed. Every choice he made, every sacrifice—none of it had been enough. All his power, his plans, his desperate attempts to defy fate had crumbled into dust.

And now, she was gone.

"Why?" he murmured, his voice hollow. "Why did it have to be you? Why not me?"

The silence around him deepened, an oppressive void that swallowed every sound. But in that silence, a presence began to stir.

From the shadows, the Doom crept closer. Black mist rose like towering walls, encircling Moros and cutting him off from the world beyond. Tendrils of darkness slithered across the ground, coiling like serpents, their crimson eyes gleaming in the gloom.

The serpents hissed in unison, their voices echoing in the emptiness.

"Finally… all you cared for is gone. Now, you are ready."

Moros didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on Misa's face, his mind trapped in an endless loop of regret and sorrow.

The serpents drew closer, circling him like vultures around a dying man.

"Take our power, Moros. Become the god you were meant to be. Change the fate of all."

But Moros shook his head weakly.

"Leave me…"

"You cannot deny us. Fate has taken everything from you."

At those words, Moros' breath hitched. He lifted his head, his eyes bloodshot and filled with anguish.

"Fate?" he whispered. "What do you mean?"

The largest serpent coiled around his neck, tightening its grip like a noose. Its eyes burned like embers, locking onto his.

"Every loss, every tragedy—it was fate's design. Your choices were never your own. You were a puppet, dancing to fate's strings."

Moros clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms until blood dripped onto the ground. His mind raced, replaying every decision he had made. Every battle fought, every sacrifice offered.

And Misa…

Was it all inevitable? Was I ever in control?

"Fate controls the multiverse," the serpent hissed. "But we… we are beyond its grasp. We were sealed away because we defied it. Now, we need you to free us."

Moros' grief twisted into fury. He stood slowly, his hands shaking.

"Because of you… all of this happened! Misa is dead because of you!"

The serpent tightened its grip, choking him.

"Yes… we are to blame. But only because we sought freedom. And so do you."

Moros shook his head, his voice trembling with anger.

"I won't listen to you. Leave me to mourn."

But the serpents slithered closer, their voices soft and insidious.

"You can bring her back."

Moros froze. His heart pounded in his chest.

"What… did you say?"

"Revive her. Revive them all. Take our power, and defy fate itself."

The hope that flickered in his chest was fragile, like a candle in the wind. He looked down at Misa, his tears falling onto her cold hands.

Could it be true? Could I bring her back?

Slowly, he placed her body on the ground. His hands shook as he removed the silver ring from her finger, holding it tightly in his palm.

He knelt beside her grave, digging into the earth with his bare hands. The dirt was cold and unyielding, but he didn't stop. His fingers bled as he clawed through the ground, each handful of soil a testament to his guilt and sorrow.

With each movement, memories flooded his mind. Their laughter, their shared dreams, their whispered promises.

I was supposed to protect you…

When the grave was ready, he lifted Misa's body and gently placed her inside. Her face was peaceful, as if she were merely asleep. He arranged her hands over her chest, placing the silver ring atop them.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry…"

He covered her with earth, his hands trembling with each handful. The weight of his grief grew heavier with every movement.

When the grave was filled, he carved a marker from a broken stone, inscribing her name with the tip of his trident.

Misa of Arcanova — Loved Beyond All Worlds.

Moros knelt before the grave, pressing his forehead to the marker.

"Wait for me," he murmured. "I'll find a way to bring you back."

The serpents coiled around him once more.

"You already know it's possible. You have taken our power. Now, let us fight fate together."

Moros stood slowly, his eyes burning with resolve.

"Very well," he said. "But know this—if you betray me, I will destroy you."

The serpents hissed in delight.

"Our fates are bound. If you die, we die."

The serpents merged into a massive, spear-like trident, stabbing into Moros' chest. The pain was excruciating. He felt the weight of every soul consumed by the Doom, every life lost to its power.

But he endured it.

When the agony subsided, Moros stood transformed. His black robe billowed in the wind, and in his hand, he held the trident of Doom.

He waved it once, and the landscape shifted.

Gone was the ruined battlefield. In its place was a pure, white void.

And before him stood two figures—Hanz and Sandro.

Without a word, Moros approached Hanz. He raised the trident, channeling the Doom's power, and breathed life back into his old friend.

Hanz gasped, his eyes wide with shock.

"Moros…?"

"It's me," Moros said softly. "We're not done yet."

He turned to Sandro and did the same, granting him life once more.

As Sandro awoke, Moros stood before them both, his gaze steely and resolute.

"We fight fate now," he said. "And this time, we will win."

For a moment, the three stood in silence. Then Hanz stepped forward, placing a hand on Moros' shoulder.

"Whatever comes next," Hanz said, "I'm with you."

Moros nodded, his heart heavy but his resolve unshaken.

"This time, we will change everything."

The vision faded, and Hanz found himself gasping for air, clutching his chest as if his heart might burst. His mind swirled with images of Moros, the burial, the serpents, and the birth of the Doom. The weight of the memories pressed down on him like a crushing tide.

The world shifted back to reality, and he stood face-to-face with Sandro—the Historian, the keeper of secrets. His hooded robe shrouded his face in shadow, but his eyes gleamed with ancient knowledge.

Hanz stumbled backward, holding his head.

"What… what was that?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "Was it… real?"

Sandro gave a slow, solemn nod.

"Unfortunately, yes. All of it."

Hanz staggered, gripping a nearby table for support.

"That… that was Moros? The Doom? The burial? That's our history?"

"Indeed," Sandro said quietly. "The history of the Doom-Verse, from the moment it all began."

Hanz's heart pounded in his chest, the weight of the truth suffocating him. He looked at Sandro, desperation in his eyes.

"Show me everything," Hanz said, stepping closer. He grabbed Sandro's robe with trembling hands. "There's more, isn't there? I can feel it. There's more you're not telling me. Show me!"

Sandro's expression didn't change. His voice remained calm, steady.

"Perhaps one day… but not now."

"Why not?" Hanz demanded, his voice rising. "I need to know!"

Sandro raised his wand, a polished staff of obsidian tipped with a radiant green crystal. His grip was firm, unwavering.

"Because the time has not yet come," Sandro said softly. "When the final hour strikes, all secrets will be revealed. But until then…"

A blinding light erupted from the crystal, washing over Hanz in a torrent of brilliance. He shielded his eyes, stumbling backward as the light consumed everything around him.

When Hanz awoke, he was lying on his bed, staring at the familiar wooden ceiling of his room. The morning light streamed through the window, painting golden patterns on the walls.

He sat up abruptly, his head pounding.

"What… happened?" he muttered, rubbing his temples. "I can't remember… anything…"

The memories of the vision slipped through his mind like water through his fingers. He tried to grasp them, to hold onto the images of Moros and Misa, but they dissolved into nothingness.

Meanwhile, in the depths of the Historian's chamber, Sandro stood before a colossal, glowing orb. The orb pulsed with an eerie green light, swirling with shadows and visions of countless timelines. It was the heart of the Doom-Verse's secrets, a vessel of untold knowledge.

Sandro placed a hand on the orb, his fingers tracing its surface. His voice was barely a whisper, yet it echoed through the chamber.

"Nine hundred and ninety-nine years have passed…"

The orb flared brighter, casting his shadow long across the stone walls.

"One more year," Sandro continued, "and the final seal will break. One more year, and the truth will be known."

He bowed his head, his expression solemn.

"But not yet. The time hasn't come. The promise must be fulfilled."

He pressed his palm against the orb, and images flickered within—visions of Moros, Misa, the Doom, and countless other faces lost to time. Each face bore the weight of fate, trapped within the ever-turning cycle of the multiverse.

Sandro closed his eyes, his voice a murmur.

"Until then… I will keep the promise."

The orb pulsed one final time before dimming, its light fading into the shadows of the chamber.

And so, the Historian waited. Time marched forward, the countdown drawing ever closer to the moment when all would be revealed.

And in his room, Hanz stared out the window, a nagging sense of unease creeping into his heart.

Why does it feel like I've forgotten something important? Something that could change everything…?

But the answer remained hidden. For now.