Rebirth Of The Forgotten

Nothing happened immediately after Jack, Donald, and Eddie left the chamber. The massive doors sealed themselves shut, swallowing the room once more in suffocating darkness.

Despite Eddie's suspicions and the readings he'd picked up from a peculiar pile of rocks, his concerns were dismissed—brushed aside by Jack's unease. Jack hadn't felt right in the chamber, and in his discomfort, he chose to leave rather than investigate further.

Yes, something did happen after they left.

The rocks shifted.

Something stirred beneath them.

But that was it—nothing more, nothing less. Or so it seemed.

No one could say for certain how long it had been since Chairman Cryer and his Association scientists had left the chamber. But one thing was undeniable—it had been a very long time. Not just days or weeks. Years had passed. Possibly more.

Yet, the chamber looked the same. The darkness still reigned. The ruins remained untouched. The pile of rocks that once radiated a mysterious energy lay in the same position as before. No signs of disturbance. No evidence of change.

Except for one thing—the rocks kept crumbling.

More and more stones had fallen, slowly, over time. Judging by the scattered debris, whatever was happening beneath them had been at it for years.

Though the chamber was pitch-black, an unsettling presence could be felt. A shift. A pressure in the air. Something had changed.

The place hadn't been touched by humans for what felt like ancient centuries. Yet, the aura lingering in the chamber told a different story—something had awakened.

The stench in the air was more than foul. It was nauseating. A warning. It screamed danger. A silent message: no one should ever discover this place. And if you do—run.

The source of that overwhelming aura? The same pile of stones that had unnerved Donald. The same energy that had made Jack crumble in fear and had left Chairman Cryer feeling as though his life force was being siphoned, his very age accelerated in mere minutes.

They had assumed the aura was everywhere—undetectable, undefinable—because their instruments had failed. Their excavation tools malfunctioned. Even the ancient hieroglyphs on the walls seemed to distort under the aura's pressure.

Only one thing remained untouched: the dried blood stains scattered across the chamber.

Now, the rocks began to crumble more violently.

The stir beneath them grew stronger—no longer a tremble, but a quake.

Though unseen, the aura gathered. It pulled itself from every corner of the chamber, slowly converging in one place: the pile of stones.

Its color? Unknown.

Was it dark like the chamber? Colorless? A mere presence?

No one could see it. Even if someone were present, they wouldn't see it—they would only feel it. That is, if they could survive it.

The aura wasn't just unknown—it was crushing.

Each time it moved under a stone, that stone shattered. It didn't matter how dense or strong. They were being pulverized effortlessly, reduced to useless dust.

Crush.

Crush.

Crush.

The sound echoed—stones crushed by a force invisible, oppressive.

The crushing went on for hours.

Even if the aura could blot out the night sky, it still needed time.

As the stones were ground into powder, another crack appeared.

Not near the stones—on the chamber wall.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

The fissure spread like wildfire.

Then, the wall gave way. The outside world peeked in, revealing a full moon.

Night had arrived.

Back at the center, the last of the stones fell. All that remained was dust—golden, shimmering, beautiful. A sand unlike any on Earth.

A warm breeze drifted through the broken wall, swirling the golden dust into a mesmerizing dance. Then, as mysteriously as it came, the wind reversed direction and vanished.

Silence returned.

The dust settled.

The aura lingered.

And then—

Something happened.

Something inevitable.

A hand emerged from the dust.

Not a normal hand.

It was made of raw, red muscle—like the exposed anatomy of a human body stripped of skin.

Thud.

It touched the ground.

Something—or perhaps someone—emerged from the shimmering golden-yellow sand.

It was hard to tell whether it was human or something entirely different. Like its hand, its entire body was composed of raw, red muscle—no skin, no features—just exposed anatomy, like a walking diagram of a person stripped to their core.

With an eerie grace, the figure pushed itself out of the sand. Strangely, it didn't sink. It stood firmly atop the surface, untouched by gravity's pull. It turned its head, scanning the environment with hollow intensity. Though it had no eyes, it felt as if it were searching for something—or trying to remember something long forgotten.

It looked at its own hands, curling and uncurling its fingers as though seeing them for the first time. Then it gazed at its feet, which looked just as alien and unfamiliar. It tried to speak, to utter something—anything—but when it opened its mouth, no sound came out. Just silence.

Oddly enough, it didn't seem startled by this. No panic, no fear—just a dull awareness, as if it had no expectations to begin with.

Then, a gentle beam of moonlight brushed across its back.

It turned slowly, noticing a cracked stone wall behind it, where the moonlight painted its shadow on the surface. The beauty of it—simple, serene—could've inspired wonder in most beings. But not this one.

It didn't react. It merely turned away, uninterested.

Let's call it the Anatomy Person, for now.

The Anatomy Person faced the opposite direction, staring into a stretch of nothingness. Yet, it felt like that nothingness was somehow alive—watching, waiting. It took one step forward, then another, the motion surprisingly fluid.

Despite its condition, it remembered how to walk, how to move with purpose. It kept going, ignoring everything else. Even as something strange stirred behind it.

The golden sand it had emerged from began to rise, floating into the air like glittering dust motes, swirling like a slow-moving storm. The tiny particles shimmered beautifully as they trailed behind the Anatomy Person.

But when the sand caught up with it...

Its color changed.

That once radiant golden-yellow hue transformed into a coal-black shimmer laced with crystal-like fragments. The sand clung to the Anatomy Person, starting at its legs. It wasn't just following—it was merging, infusing itself with him.

Still, the Anatomy Person never looked back. Never flinched.

It just walked.

There was a sense of destiny in its steps. It moved forward as if nothing—and no one—could stop it.

Eventually, it reached the end of the chamber.

For a moment, it stood still.

Then, something impossible happened.

The doors—massive, ancient, sealed shut for ages—creaked open at the Anatomy Person's touch. Despite their enormous size and the darkness that had devoured the chamber, it pulled them apart with sheer strength, no hesitation, no resistance.

As the doors groaned open, it stood at the threshold.

And stretched.

Before it lay a cave. Long, empty, quiet.

It stepped through without looking back, and the blackened sand still danced behind him—slowly integrating itself into his form as he moved through the hallowed tunnel. No creatures lurked. No traps triggered. Only silence.

Eventually, in the distance... light.

But the Anatomy Person didn't rush. No excitement, no urgency. It just walked—calm, deliberate.

When it reached the exit, it paused.

It stretched a hand outward, letting the cool, gentle night breeze brush over its raw, red body. There was no skin to feel with, no nerves to react—but somehow, it smiled. Not visibly—but inwardly, something stirred.

Then came the final step.

As it crossed into the outside world—into moonlight—the floating sand began to circle him wildly, like moths to flame. The very moment his foot touched the earth outside...

The Anatomy Person was gone.

In its place stood someone else.

Someone new.

Someone reborn.

Skin now covered the once-exposed muscles. Flesh wrapped around bones. Youth returned to his form. He was no longer naked—his body cloaked in dark robes, nearly identical to the ones worn by the Entity… except this one bore no crown of thorns.

His hood concealed his face, shadowed and enigmatic. But one thing was clear:

He had returned.

Alive. Whole. Changed.

And though his face was hidden… the world would soon come to know him.

The outside world seemed almost unrecognizable to him. Everything he once knew—everything he had expected to see—was starkly different from what now lay before him.

It was as if he no longer belonged to this world.

The sky above sparkled with clarity, and the cityscape shimmered with beauty and technological advancement far beyond what he remembered. But more than the physical changes, it was the atmosphere that unnerved him most.

Everything and everyone radiated peace.

There was no panic. No alarms. No sense of urgency. No guards shouting at civilians. No police cordoning off the massive cave he had just emerged from. There wasn't even a strip of warning tape to seal off the area behind him, let alone a single soul who looked concerned.

Instead, people strolled by with carefree ease—smiling, chatting, laughing. Children clung to their parents, giggling and licking their ice cream cones. The massive portal that had just birthed him into this world shimmered ominously behind him, yet no one even glanced at it.

It felt… wrong.

Unnatural.

Like something was deeply off.

The cloaked figure stood still, his face hidden beneath the hood, yet his body language betrayed his confusion. His eyes scanned the smiling faces, the calm streets, the blinding normalcy of it all.

And in the silence of his thoughts, two unshakable questions echoed within him:

Where was he?

And why is everyone acting like this?

[ End of Chapter ]