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Wes Carter is dying.

A black sword pulses with corruption in his chest, his strength fading as blood seeps into the battlefield. He has no regrets—his people escaped, the war was fought, and he killed the man with void-black eyes.

But it wasn’t enough.

It never was.

As darkness claims him, two figures appear—enigmatic, powerful, and knowing. And with cruel certainty, they reveal a truth that shatters everything Wes believed:

His future was stolen.

Wes remembered that day. The day, as a child, he met the man with void-black eyes. The man who stood before him, bathed in the blood of those Wes cherished. The man who could have killed him but didn’t. Instead, he burned Wes’s soul, severing something deep within him.

That was the day everything changed.

That was the day he became a Null.

He should have been able to claim a Void Crystal, to rise like the others. Instead, he was cut off from that power, forced to forge his own way through Essence alone. And despite that, despite everything, he became peerless, a warrior standing at the edge of the Grand Stage—the universe beyond Earth’s wars.

And then, all these years later, that same man returned.

Not alone.

This time, he led an army—not just soldiers, but Fallen, beings marked by corruption, their eyes the same void-black as his own. They descended upon Wes with overwhelming force, and though he fought, though he killed his greatest enemy, it still wasn’t enough.

More questions than answers. Why had his future been stolen? Why had that man, all those years ago, chosen to cripple him instead of killing him?

Now, as Wes breathes his last, the two figures offer him something impossible:

A second chance.

They will sever the future—a phrase Wes doesn’t yet understand—but before he can question it, they shove a black seed, dark as night, into his chest.

And then—rebirth.

No longer fighting for survival in a dying world, he enters a new era—one where humanity has rebuilt, where Void Crystals, Essence, and Mana-Tech shape civilization, and where the truth of the universe is within reach.

Yet, the past is not erased. The man with void-black eyes may be dead, but the forces behind him still move. The answers he seeks are still out there. And this time, he will find them.

Monsters. Rival races. Forgotten legends. The enemies lurking beyond the void.

This time, Wes Carter will not be denied.

His rise is inevitable.

(NOTE READ AUXILLARY CHAPTER)

Void Tree Chronicles

Wes had a full tummy, the kind of warm, cozy fullness that only came from a mother's milk and whatever mystical nutrients babies thrived on. His sister was equally content, her tiny hands curled into fists as she drifted off.

God, it was so comfortable. He was nestled in a pack-and-play, a padded paradise with soft walls and a faint hum of technology. The thing monitored him and his sister like they were tiny celebrities under house arrest. He was pretty sure there was an AI involved—the way Big Mother and Abel talked to their electronics had that distinct "I'm talking to a smart house" vibe. But he didn't dive too deeply into it.

He'd adapted to Orc culture, after all. Many planets never eased up on their restrictions for mana tech. It was a crutch. He'd heard the tales—battle puppet users, armored warriors who relied on tech, ending up on "cold planets." The term had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with a world's mana-tech restrictions. They'd end up as walking tin cans, their crutches useless, and most of them died with a confused look and a dead battery.

As much as he wanted a robot hand, he'd settle for a Void Crystal. There had to be one he could use. Hell, he was a bad motherfucker without a Void Crystal—he didn't need something super powerful. Besides, affinities were tied to your soul, and he already had one. A good one.

One day, he'd bleach Victor's skull and make the finest wine mug in the world. That bastard didn't know who he was messing with, Wes had been one bad mother fucker!

Gas slipped out in a quiet betrayal, and then the floodgates opened.

He let out a practiced wail, a perfect, high-pitched cry that babies around the world would envy. Abel appeared like a shadow, calm and steady. He scooped Wes up, his hands as gentle as ever, and got to work. Wes's sister slept through it, oblivious to the horror of a dirty diaper.

Abel paused, fingers still deftly maneuvering the disaster zone of Wes's diaper.

"Felicity," Abel said, addressing the AI, "who is it?"

The fact that he had a watch that talked back was not lost on Wes. The little gadget on his wrist blinked with soft blue light, and the AI's voice responded in crisp, polite tones.

"It is the Lady's father, Master Abel."

Now that was interesting. Wes had never seen Abel rush. The guy had a Zen master kind of aura, the Blues Clues grandpa who never cursed and always had a friendly smile. But now? He was moving fast, dude never rushed anything.

Abel muttered under his breath, and for the first time in Wes's short, second life, he heard the old man curse.

Well, well, well. Things were getting spicy.

Wes felt his sleepy instincts urging him back to dreamland, but no way. He wasn't about to miss this. If Abel tried to put him back to sleep, he'd cry. And not just a little. He'd unleash the banshee wail, the kind that made adults rush to check for scorpions in the crib.

He wanted to see something, he was very anti drama but with nothing to do, literally and figuratively, he wanted to meet his grandfather.

And if it took a little weaponized baby crying to make it happen? So be it.

Bad Bad Guy