Nova_Verse

In the world of NOVA, death is not the end. Beneath the mortal realm lies the Soul Land, where the spirits of the departed linger, sustained by the memories of the living. But once the last person who remembers you is gone, so are you.

For most, this is an inevitable fate. For a rare few, it is a chance to rise.

Those who leave behind a lasting impact—be it through legend, power, or sheer will—gain the ability to defy the boundaries of life and death. These beings, the Soulbound, can forge bonds with the living, exchanging power for emotion. The greater their influence, the stronger they become, even gaining the ability to walk between worlds.

But not all spirits wait to be remembered. Some claw their way back through sheer hatred. Some carve their names into history through blood and fire.

This is the story of one such soul.

A man betrayed. A warrior forgotten. A legend reborn.

And now, Rael Noctis will forge his own destiny—one soul at a time.

The masochists

The moment Elara unleashed the pendant's energy, the air in the chamber twisted. Shadows coiled around her arms, lashing out like living tendrils. The masked figures reeled back, their defenses flickering as if they hadn't expected the artifact to respond so violently.

The leader steadied himself. "Contain her."

Two figures surged forward. Elara barely had time to react before the first one swung a curved blade, aimed straight for her throat. She ducked, the weapon slicing just above her head. The second attacker thrust a palm toward her, releasing a wave of violet energy. She countered with her own shadows, the two forces colliding in a burst of crackling darkness.

Rael was already moving. His blade cut through the first figure's defenses, forcing them back. "Elara, don't let it take over!"

She heard him, but the power flooding through her made it hard to focus. The pendant wasn't just amplifying her strength—it was pulling at her, urging her deeper into the abyss. The whispers in her mind grew louder, unintelligible but insistent.

More enemies poured into the chamber. The leader remained at the entrance, watching, analyzing. He wasn't fighting.

Elara clenched her jaw. "Rael, we can't hold this position."

Rael deflected another strike, his movements precise but strained. "Then we make an exit."

Elara turned her focus to the carvings on the wall—the ones Rael had touched earlier. If this wasn't just stone, then maybe...

She pressed the pendant against the carvings. The moment it made contact, a pulse of energy rippled outward. The walls trembled, cracks forming along the surface. A deep, ancient groan echoed through the chamber as something shifted beneath them.

The masked figures hesitated. The leader's eyes narrowed. "Stop her."

The wall behind Elara collapsed inward, revealing a darkened passage lined with glowing sigils. A gust of cold air rushed from within, carrying the scent of damp earth and something far older than the Bazaar itself.

They bolted through the opening just as the stone ceiling above them began to crumble. The masked figures didn't follow—not immediately. The leader simply watched as the darkness swallowed them whole, his expression unreadable.

Then he turned to his subordinates. "We follow. But not yet."

As the dust settled, he glanced at the broken carvings on the wall. A single phrase had been revealed beneath the rubble, written in an ancient tongue.

THE AWAKENING