Wokji_Dimfwina

Superheroes were supposed to be immortalized. Legends. Symbols of hope.

But one by one, they vanished. Erased from history, from memory—like they never existed at all.

Riven Steele, once the world’s strongest protector, awakens from a decades-long stasis to find reality itself rejecting heroes. No statues, no stories—only fragmented echoes of a world that refuses to remember them. A new generation of unstable, dying heroes rises in their place, their powers unraveling, their existence hanging by a thread.

At the heart of it all is a whispered name: The Hollow Monarch. A being that doesn’t kill. Doesn’t destroy. It simply erases.

As Riven fights to uncover the truth, he begins to unravel, his own reflection warping, his memories twisting. The Monarch’s influence isn’t just erasing heroes—it’s rewriting them. And when it finally speaks to him, it says the one thing that chills him to his core:

"You were never real."

Now, Riven must lead the last surviving heroes in a battle not just for survival—but to prove they should exist at all. Because if they fail, history itself will erase them forever.

And this time, there will be no one left to remember.

THE LAST SENTINEL

Riven moved through the city's underbelly, a ghost in a world that no longer remembered him.

The streets above were too exposed, too dangerous. The people here walked without fear, oblivious to what was happening in the shadows. They didn't question why some faces vanished overnight, why no one spoke of the legends that once protected them.

But the underground was different.

Down here, in the twisting maze of forgotten subway tunnels and abandoned construction sites, whispers still lived. A few remembered—or at least suspected.

Riven pressed forward, keeping low as he entered an old maintenance corridor. The air smelled of rust and stagnant water. The walls were lined with flickering neon tags—symbols left by those who still fought the system. Not heroes, not anymore. Just people trying to hold on to something real.

At the end of the tunnel, a rusted metal door loomed before him. No handle. No keypad. Just a blank, seamless surface.

Riven took a slow breath. Vex was paranoid. Always had been.

He raised his fist and knocked—twice, pause, once, pause, three quick taps.

The metal shimmered like liquid before melting away, revealing a dimly lit interior crammed with monitors, cables, and outdated tech scavenged from a dozen different eras. A hacker's den.

And at the center of it all, hunched over a console, was Daemon Vex.

He hadn't changed much—lean, wiry, with sharp features and eyes that gleamed behind digital overlays. His hands danced over a holographic interface, fingers moving faster than Riven could track.

Riven frowned. "Good to see you too, Vex."

A sharp laugh. "No, I mean it." Vex leaned back, finally turning toward him. "You're not supposed to exist."

Riven folded his arms. "And yet, here I am."

Vex studied him, his expression unreadable. "That's the problem, Steele. You shouldn't be."

He tapped a few keys, and one of the monitors shifted. Data scrolled in glowing blue text, listing timestamps, reality scans, event anomalies. Riven barely understood half of it.

"The holes," Vex said. "The tears in reality. The places where something used to be—but isn't anymore."

Riven felt his stomach tighten. "The heroes."

Vex nodded. "They're not dead. They're erased. Like they were never real."

Riven exhaled slowly. He had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed made his skin crawl. "Who's doing this?"

Vex hesitated. His fingers twitched over the keyboard, as if debating whether to tell him.

Then, he tapped a final key, and the screens all glitched.

For a brief moment, every monitor displayed the same image—a faceless figure wrapped in shifting shadows, its body unraveling and reforming as if it were barely clinging to existence.

The words sent ice through Riven's veins. He staggered back, his head ringing with a pressure he couldn't explain. The screens flickered wildly, distorting.

Vex slammed his fist on the console, and the image vanished. The screens went dark.

Riven clenched his fists, his breathing uneven. "Who. Was. That?"

Vex rubbed his temples. "We don't know. But it's been appearing more and more. Before every erasure. Before another hero disappears."

"The Hollow Monarch," Vex muttered. "That's what we're calling it."

Riven took a slow breath, forcing himself to stay steady. "And what does it want?"

Vex met his eyes. "To make sure heroes never existed in the first place."

Silence stretched between them. The weight of those words settled deep in Riven's chest.

His whole life—**everything he had fought for—**was being erased.

Chapter 3: Phantom Warning