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

The impact knocked the air from his lungs. His vision swam as he rolled onto his back, staring up at a sky that shouldn't exist.

Deep violet clouds churned above him, laced with fractures of white-hot lightning. The ground beneath him felt wrong—solid, but shifting, as if reality itself was second-guessing its own existence.

He wasn't in the collapsing safe house anymore.

He wasn't even sure he was still in his world.

A ragged cough snapped him out of his daze.

She was a few feet away, struggling to push herself up. Her rifle was gone, her breathing unsteady.

But she was here. They had survived.

Riven pushed himself upright, every muscle aching. He scanned their surroundings, pulse hammering.

They were in a city. Or what was left of one.

Skyscrapers loomed in the distance, half-formed and flickering, their outlines shifting as if undecided on whether to exist. Streets stretched out ahead, but some roads led to nowhere—abruptly ending in gaping voids.

Like a sketch abandoned before completion.

Vera got to her feet, her gaze sweeping the city with sharp unease. "Where the hell are we?"

But a whisper curled through the air, cold and familiar.

Riven tensed. He felt it again—the presence pressing against the edges of his mind.

He turned to Vera. "We need to move."

She didn't argue. That was a bad sign.

They set off cautiously, moving through the empty streets. The silence was suffocating, thick with the weight of something unseen.

Riven whipped around, heart lurching.

But there was nothing. Just shifting shadows at the edge of his vision.

Vera saw it too. "We're not alone."

And whatever was out there wasn't human.

They kept moving, staying close. The further they walked, the more wrong the city became.

Shattered billboards displayed familiar faces—but their eyes were blank. Their names were missing.

They passed a newspaper stand, the headlines unreadable. The ink was smudged, the words slipping away like sand through fingers.

Reality wasn't just unstable here.

Figures stood in the distance. Silent. Still. Watching.

Faded outlines of men and women who had been erased.

Was this what happened to the others?

Was this what had happened to Vex?

Vera exhaled sharply. "We need to find a way out of here. Now."

Before Riven could respond, a voice cut through the silence.

Riven and Vera spun toward the sound.

A figure stepped out from the shadows of a crumbling alley. Cloaked. Hooded. Real.

Vera lifted her fists instinctively. "Who the hell are you?"

The figure hesitated, then slowly pulled back their hood—revealing a scarred face.

Because standing before them—alive, against all odds—

Chapter 12: The Hollow Refuge