Rain fell like static from a dying sky.
Not water—[but] ashes in disguise, soaking the glitch-lit streets of Metro Nyos in oil, blood, and broken promises.
Skyscrapers loomed like gods who'd forgotten how to speak. Their windows blinked with failing neon, each billboard a prayer half-erased by time.
Beneath a rusted arcade canopy, Matt Salurga sat—soaked, silent, knuckles raw.
The storm didn't touch him.
The cold didn't matter.
Only the weight inside did.
A pulse.
Then another.
Still alive.
But he wasn't sure [which part of him] was.
His breath came sharp, each inhale scraping like razors down his throat. Another blackout. Another fight. Another body.
And always the same ending:
He stood.
The world broke.
And something inside him—[something older, something waiting]—watched through his eyes.
---
Beside him, a flickering terminal screen lit up.
Just static. Then—
Not his reflection.
Eyes like collapsing stars.
Not human.
Not yet.
"Still breathing, huh?"
Grey Saimon's voice cut through the storm like a poorly timed joke. He tossed a can of coffee. Matt didn't catch it.
Grey sat beside him, cigarette untouched by rain. "That's two for two this week. Want me to start a killboard?"
No response.
Matt's hands still trembled. Not from cold.
Grey studied him. "You ever think you're cursed?"
Matt flinched.
Not from the question.
From the truth it carried.
---
He'd had the dreams again.
Dreams soaked in fire and war.
A sword of black flame.
A voice whispering through smoke:
Nyuga.
Amiya.
Nitrine.
Names that meant nothing in this world—but carved trenches through his mind.
He always woke with the same ache.
Like he was missing something.
Or maybe, something was missing [him].
"I'm not cursed," he muttered.
"Then what the hell are you?"
Matt didn't answer.
Because part of him already knew.
---
Elsewhere: Home
The apartment was quiet.
Mailane Minari moved like a ghost across tile—barefoot, blade in hand. Her sword traced shadows mid-air, every movement the memory of a storm barely leashed.
Then—the door clicked.
Matt entered, soaked in rain and blood.
"You fought again."
"He started it."
"You ended it. With enough force to crack stone."
"I'm trying."
"Try harder."
She approached—blade gone, touch soft.
Fingers on his wrist. Shadows curled where her skin met his.
Bruises vanished. But not the damage.
"I'm here," she whispered.
And for a breath, it was enough.
Then the world fractured.
---
The First Break
Screams.
Not from this city. Not from this age.
He stood in a dream—or a memory.
Flame.
A temple in collapse.
Children crying in a language the earth had buried.
Paladins descending from the sky, blades drawn like commandments.
A name cried out, half-choked by smoke—
Matt.
---
Then—
Pain.
Real pain.
Blood poured from his mouth, black and boiling.
Grey caught him mid-collapse. "DUDE—WHAT?!"
Matt looked up—no whites in his eyes. No pupils.
Just spirals.
The Void opened.
And the room exploded.
---
Elsewhere: Between Worlds
Five figures stood beyond time, cloaked in memory and sin.
Monshin adjusted his ivory mask. "He remembers."
"He shouldn't," growled Thermuz.
Analice sipped from a goblet of black fire. "The Nitine soul clings. Even when we burn the threads."
Nimistran's many eyes flickered. "Let him hate. Hate makes a good leash."
Arshimest crushed a glowing crystal. A realm died in silence.
The hunt began again.
---
Matt, Reborn in Ash
He awoke in a crater.
No walls. No ceiling. No sky.
Just ash. Wind. Silence.
No Grey.
No Mailane.
Only one thing remained.
A hilt, pulsing faintly with lightless flame.
It breathed.
It whispered.
"Welcome back, my executioner."
The Void had spoken.
And Matt Salurga didn't flinch.
He remembered.
He was home.