rastq12

A world ruled by Sovereigns, beings of absolute power bound by an eternal cycle. Every 1,000 years, reality resets, and history is rewritten. The strong ascend, the weak are erased, and none remember what came before.

Except for one.

When he awakens in a shattered battlefield, marked as “Forsaken,” he knows something is wrong. Fragments of past cycles burn in his mind. He remembers dying—again and again—fighting against a fate he could never escape. But this time, something is different.

His power is corrupted, broken beyond recognition. His existence is an anomaly, rejected by the world itself. The cycle should have erased him, but he remains.

Now, hunted by immortals who do not remember their crimes, he must uncover the truth behind the Pantheon of Sovereigns, the Architect who designed this prison, and the lost history of those who defied fate before him.

For the first time in eternity, the cycle is fracturing.

And he is the one breaking it.

Sovereign of the Forsaken Realm

Unlike the Forgotten, whose forms flickered like shadows, this one was solid. Defined. Its body was wrapped in tattered black robes, its face obscured beneath a cracked, featureless mask.

But its presence—ancient, suffocating.

The voice didn't come from its mouth. It resonated in the air itself, vibrating through his bones.

The stranger beside him remained still. "You're lucky." Their voice was unreadable. "Most don't survive meeting a Hunter."

The name alone sent a chill down his spine.

"Survive?" he asked, trying to steady his breathing. "You mean fight it?"

The stranger chuckled. "Fight?" Their gaze flickered toward the approaching figure. "No. You survive by not being caught."

A single step—and it was upon him.

His body reacted on instinct. He threw himself backward, barely dodging the swipe of a long, curved blade that tore through the ground where he had stood.

The air howled as the weapon carved through it—too fast to follow.

It moved like a force of nature, relentless and precise.

He had no time to think—only react. He ducked, rolled, barely avoiding another attack. But his movements were slowing. The air itself felt heavier.

Something was pressing down on him.

The Hunter wasn't just attacking—it was erasing his presence.

His limbs trembled. His vision blurred. It was happening again.

The whispers of the Forgotten returned.

He gritted his teeth. No. Not again.

A spark flared in his chest—the same golden light from before. His mark burned.

And this time, he didn't just resist.

Chapter 10: The Nameless Hunter