_Majin_

Betrayed. Buried. But never broken.

Lucien was a prodigy—gifted with a power the world feared, envied, and ultimately destroyed. Framed by his mentors, abandoned by his lover, and cast into the deepest prison by the gods themselves, he was left to rot in darkness… alone.

But in the silence beneath the realms, something ancient whispered to him.

Centuries passed. Kingdoms rose and crumbled. Gods fell. And in the depths, Lucien changed. Hardened by solitude. Sharpened by pain. Molded by the Void.

Now, the world has forgotten him.
But he remembers everything.

He walks free—not as a hero, not as a villain—but as a force that bends reality itself. As realms clash and war consumes the skies, one name will echo louder than the gods:

Lucien. The Void’s chosen.

Whisper of the void

The skies wept with thunder, yet no storm formed.

Mountains in distant lands cracked at the peak, birds in mid-flight dropped from the air, and mystic beasts growled and retreated deeper into their dens. Something primal whispered through the ley lines of the world.

On the fractured outskirts of an abandoned empire

Three young cultivators trudged through the ruins of a forgotten warzone. The land was dead — dry, ash-colored. Nothing grew. Not even the wind dared speak.

"Why are we even out here?" one of them groaned, adjusting the glowing compass on his wrist. "There's no qi flow, no beasts, not even echoes—"

Then the compass snapped in his hand.

He looked down, confused — just in time to feel something pass through him. Not wind. Not presence. Not even killing intent.

It was as if reality itself had flinched.

The lead cultivator turned sharply, eyes wide.

Behind them, at the edge of the cracked horizon, a figure walked.

Barefoot. Silent. Pale robes ragged, flowing in a breeze that didn't exist. His face unreadable, gaze heavy with something deeper than hatred — it was remembrance.

The air around him shimmered as qi dissolved unnaturally. Their protective auras, their weapons, their sensing techniques — all nullified in a breath.

"He— he's suppressing us?" one of the cultivators stammered, reaching for his blade.

They were silver. Cold. Reflective. Like the void had grown a soul.

But his aura rippled once — a pulse.

The three cultivators collapsed, unconscious. Not from attack… but submission. Their souls couldn't bear the weight of his existence.

Lucien walked past them without a glance.

In a high temple of golden flame, a woman jolted upright in the middle of meditation. Her breath sharp, hand clenching her robes.

A voice she thought she'd never hear again.

"No," she whispered. "He… he was sealed forever…"

But even as she said it, her fingers trembled. Deep within her soul, guilt began to surface.

The world No longer Recognizes Him