Chapter 15: The System Reset

A blinding white light consumed the world.

For a single, terrifying moment, everything ceased to exist—no sky, no land, no sound. Just an endless void of pure white nothingness.

Rheon couldn't feel his body. He couldn't hear the voices of his companions. He couldn't even think—his very existence trembled at the edge of oblivion.

And then—

Reality shattered.

---

The Ruins of a Forgotten World

When Rheon's vision returned, he was no longer in the temple.

He stood in the center of a vast, desolate wasteland. The air was thick with the stench of decay—not of rotting flesh, but of something far worse. The remnants of forgotten time.

Towering ruins stretched in every direction, their surfaces covered in symbols older than the first civilizations. The sky above was neither dark nor light, but a suffocating, empty gray, like a world caught between life and death.

The wind howled, but there was no warmth in it. Only a whisper—a chorus of lost voices, crying out from the depths of oblivion.

The earth beneath Rheon's feet felt wrong. Not solid, not unstable—just empty, as if it no longer belonged to any realm. He looked around, heart pounding.

Lorien, Elara, and Hadric lay unconscious beside him. Their bodies were pale, drained of color, as if some unseen force had begun to erase them from existence.

But there was no sign of the Devourer.

No sign of the System's presence.

No sign of the world they had known.

Rheon's breath came fast. What happened?

And then, a deep, inhuman voice rippled through the ruins.

"Welcome to the End of Time."

Rheon spun, spear raised.

From the shadows of a crumbling monument, a figure emerged.

It was neither human nor beast, but something in between. Wrapped in a cloak of shifting stars, its very presence twisted the air around it.

Its face was hidden behind a golden mask, polished like a mirror, reflecting a distorted image of Rheon's own face—except his reflection was smiling.

The figure stepped forward, its footsteps making no sound.

"You are the first to survive a System Reset and remain aware," the figure said. "And now, you stand at the precipice of a choice."

Rheon clenched his fists. "Who are you?"

The figure tilted its head in an almost unnatural manner.

"I am the one who once tried to destroy the System."

Silence fell.

Elara stirred, eyes fluttering open. When she saw their surroundings, her face paled with dread. "Rheon… where are we?"

Rheon didn't answer. His focus remained locked onto the masked being.

"Destroy the System?" he repeated.

The figure nodded. "Yes. And now, you must decide—will you finish what I started?"

The sky rippled. The ruins groaned, shifting like the dying breath of a world long forgotten.

Then Rheon heard it.

A whisper.

Not from the masked figure. Not from the ruins.

From beneath the ground.

He looked down. The dirt beneath his feet was… moving.

No—something was writhing beneath it.

He took a slow step back as the whispers grew louder, shifting from an unintelligible murmur into something he could almost understand.

"Let us out."

A thin, withered hand burst from the ground near Elara's leg.

She screamed.

The ground erupted, and they crawled out.

Dozens of them. Twisted remnants of those who had been erased by the System.

Their bodies were half-formed, as if they had been forgotten mid-creation. Some had missing eyes, others had limbs bent in impossible angles. Their mouths moved, but no words came out—only the sound of a world unraveling.

Lorien shot up from the ground, his voice trembling. "Rheon—what is this place?"

The masked figure simply watched.

"This is where the System buries its mistakes," it said. "This is where those who defied it were sent to be… forgotten."

Rheon's hands tightened around his spear. "Then why are we here?"

The figure smiled beneath its mask.

"Because you are now a mistake that cannot be erased."

A deafening howl rose from the horde of forgotten souls.

And the End of Time began to awaken.

The Graveyard of the Forgotten

The howl that erupted from the horde was not a sound made for mortal ears. It was a cry of agony, of rage, of souls that had been erased from existence but refused to be silenced.

And then—they charged.

The ground buckled as the Forgotten Ones swarmed forward, their bodies twisting as they moved. Some crawled on all fours, others floated, their forms distorted—their faces blank, their mouths stretching open in silent screams.

Elara's hands trembled as she reached for her dagger. "They—They aren't human!"

Lorien gritted his teeth. "No. They were never meant to be remembered."

Hadric, still dazed, grabbed his war hammer. "I don't care what they are. If they try to kill us, I'll send them back to oblivion."

Rheon barely heard them. His focus was locked on the masked figure, who stood unmoved as the horrors rushed toward them.

"You knew this would happen," Rheon said, his voice low.

The figure tilted its head. "Of course."

Rheon's grip tightened on his spear. "Then why bring us here?"

The figure's golden mask shimmered, reflecting the approaching tide of Forgotten Ones.

"Because you need to see what happens to those who fail."

Then it vanished.

The Forgotten Ones reached them.

---

The Battle Against the Erased

The first creature leaped at Rheon, its body half-formed, its arms stretching like shadowed tendrils.

He spun his spear, slicing through the limb—but it didn't bleed. Instead, the severed arm dissolved, turning into a swirling mist that pulled toward the others. The creature barely slowed.

"They're reforming!" Elara shouted as she drove her dagger into one's chest—only for it to collapse into mist and reform behind her.

Lorien muttered a spell, his hands igniting with blue flames. "Then we burn them!"

He thrust his hands forward, releasing a torrent of fire. The flames engulfed several Forgotten Ones, their bodies screeching in silence—but instead of dying, the fire dimmed, consumed by the unnatural void that made up their forms.

Hadric swung his war hammer, crushing one of the creatures into the dirt, but the ground itself shifted, swallowing the impact as if time had rewound.

Rheon cursed. They weren't fighting enemies—they were fighting a place that refused to acknowledge their existence.

Then—

A whisper entered his mind.

You do not belong here.

The ground beneath him rippled like water.

The world around him flickered.

And for the briefest moment, Rheon saw something beyond the ruins—a city of shadows, where figures moved like ghosts, their faces blurred, their voices echoing with memories that had been erased.

Then—a presence turned its gaze on him.

A force so vast, so ancient, so utterly consuming that his very soul shuddered.

It had no face. No voice. No name.

But Rheon knew what it was.

The True Will of the System.

And it had just noticed him.

A deep pressure crushed down on his chest, forcing him to his knees. His vision darkened, his very existence threatened to unravel—

Then—

A hand grabbed his shoulder.

The masked figure had returned.

"Do not look at it."

Rheon gasped for air as the pressure vanished.

The ruins around them stabilized, and the Forgotten Ones suddenly staggered, their forms glitching—flickering between being and nothingness.

Hadric took the opportunity to swing his hammer with all his might, sending several creatures crashing into the ruins. This time, they didn't reform immediately.

Elara clutched her dagger, eyes wide. "What just happened?"

Rheon turned to the masked figure. "What was that?"

The figure's voice was calm. Too calm.

"The System is watching you now."

Silence.

A cold chill spread through Rheon's veins.

The System had always been a force, a presence, a law that governed their reality. But now—it was aware of him in a way it hadn't been before.

It wasn't just correcting an anomaly.

It had recognized him as a threat.

"What does that mean?" Rheon asked.

The masked figure turned, looking toward the crumbling skyline of the ruined world.

"It means that if you do not leave this place soon…"

A deep rumbling echoed through the wasteland.

The ruins shifted, the sky above fracturing like broken glass.

The Forgotten Ones began to scream—loudly this time. Their bodies convulsed, twisting unnaturally as they turned their heads toward the sky.

They weren't attacking anymore.

They were afraid.

"…Then the System will erase this place entirely," the figure finished.

Lorien clenched his fists. "We need to move. Now."

Rheon looked around. The ruins were collapsing, the sky warping—as if reality itself was breaking apart.

There was no time for hesitation.

He turned to the masked figure. "How do we leave?"

The figure simply raised a hand, pointing to the tallest ruin in the distance—a black tower, untouched by the decay around them.

Rheon's heart pounded.

It looked familiar.

Too familiar.

Because he had seen it before.

Not in his past.

But in his dreams.

The masked figure's voice was final.

"You must reach the Tower of the Forgotten before the System erases you completely."

Rheon exhaled sharply.

No choice. No time. No hesitation.

"Then let's move."

And as the ground behind them vanished into nothingness, they ran toward the tower—toward the last place in existence where the truth had yet to be erased.