The chamber was quiet. No flicker of fire, no hum of machines, only silence and the slow breathing of shadows. The Tribunal sat in a perfect circle, surrounded by the darkness of their eternal hall, their eyes fixed on the floating projection of Earth. Above the world's image burned the moment they could not forget — the satellite capture of Mirshad's return. His body suspended in the sky, light pouring from his veins, power bending the air around him. A memory that looked more like prophecy. One elder's voice cut through the stillness. "He is not the same." Another answered, quieter, almost to himself. "He died… and came back louder than life." The Tribunal leader rose from his seat, the glow of the projection painting his face in gold. "We need to rethink the future. Because the god we thought we killed… is waking."
The doors opened. Footsteps echoed like drums through the hall. The warrior who had broken MRD in battle entered, his stride calm but his eyes carrying no trace of mockery this time. No grin. No taunt. Only purpose. Four others followed behind him — beings the world had never seen, names never written, powers never spoken beyond the Void. He stopped before the Tribunal, his voice steady. "If he's becoming what you fear… then I brought what he cannot face alone."
They stood in silence, then stepped forward one by one. The first floated into view — pale, his frame thin like glass, limbs motionless, no mouth or eyes, only a soft glow in the space where his mind lived. The air bent and twisted around him with each pulse of his presence. "Varnax," the warrior said, "the one who bends reality." And Varnax's voice slipped directly into their thoughts without moving lips. "He does not belong to your laws. And neither do I. If he controls force… I control what force means."
The second emerged — a woman, her skin painted in shimmering veins of silver, her eyes two flawless pieces of glass. She smiled, but the smile held no warmth, only the weight of control. "Xera," he named her, "Mistress of Mind Chains." Her voice was almost a whisper, but it spread like smoke through the chamber. "He may remember his soul… but I will make him forget his name."
Then came the third — heavier, darker, his veins glowing with an inner storm. Energy cracked in his hands, but never left him, feeding him instead. "Dren," the warrior said, "the Devourer of Energy." Dren laughed under his breath. "Send me first. Let him light the sky. I will swallow it whole and return it as darkness."
The fourth moved differently — not walking, not gliding, but stalking. A shadow with bones. Skin like a predator's hide, face locked in a permanent snarl. The chamber itself seemed to draw back as his growl shook the air. "Kalyx," the warrior said simply. "The Beast Without Mercy." He dropped to all fours, breathing slow, muscles coiling, waiting for the first scent of blood.
And then came the fifth — the man who had once stood alone against Mirshad, the man who had thrown him to the ground and made the world believe he could die. But now he carried no smile. His voice was stripped of arrogance. "I underestimated him once. That mistake is mine." He turned to the Tribunal leader. "Now I won't go alone. If he dares to rise again… he won't rise far."
The Tribunal looked at them — five born in the silence of the black hole, shaped by power, raised on destruction. The leader's voice was slow. "And if he is no longer the man you defeated?" The warrior's gaze shifted to the projection of Earth, his answer as sharp as a blade. "Then we finish the job… before the god inside him remembers how to roar."
Far below their words, far from their chamber, on Earth itself, Mirshad's body lay still. But the air around him had already begun to change. Because even before his eyes opened… the war had already begun.