Earth.
The wind was different.
Matt stepped through the fractured veil, landing on a rooftop that once overlooked the peaceful district of Lumina Heights.
Now? Smoke.
Shattered glass, sirens, buildings warped with flickers of erased time. People walked in loops. Some stood still, whispering names they didn't remember. Others looked through him—eyes glazed, like history had been burned from their minds.
He gripped the hilt of the Shadowsidian Blade tighter.
"This... isn't an invasion."
The Void inside him shuddered.
"It's a rewrite."
---
Down in the plaza, he saw it.
A single figure floating above the crowd.
Pale gray robes. No face—just a porcelain mask marked with five black dots. Its voice echoed like wind across static.
"You are not written in the Codex of the Living. You are anomaly. Error. Flame to be extinguished."
Vorenn, the Pale Whisper.
Lieutenant of Imperial Paladin Thermuz.
Its weapon: a Void Mirror Halberd, capable of copying Matt's own movements and reflecting them back—twice as fast.
Matt dropped into the street.
"Tell Thermuz… I'm coming for him next."
Vorenn raised a hand.
And the world glitched.
---
The fight wasn't just physical.
Every time Matt swung, Vorenn dodged before he even moved. Memories were torn from Matt's head mid-battle—names, faces, childhood smells.
His blade clashed against mirrored void steel.
Each cut he took made his head bleed thoughts.
He dropped to one knee.
Void Corruption: 44%
His rage surged. But that's what Vorenn wanted.
"You burn with remembrance," the Whisper said. "Let me silence you."
Matt exhaled.
Activated Stormpulse.
Activated Ember Rift.
Then… he did something new.
All three sigils aligned.
His body lifted.
His aura surged.
Stellar Void Fusion Activated.
A tricolored storm—Void, Thunder, Ember—spiraled into his blade. Wings of radiant shadow unfolded behind him.
He moved faster than thought.
One slash.
The halberd shattered.
The mask cracked.
Vorenn screamed—not in pain, but in revelation.
"I see you now…
I see the throne."
He dissolved into static.
Matt landed, the street shaking.
People gasped.
Some recognized him. Others cried.
He sheathed his blade.
Then looked to the sky.
---
Far above the clouds, in a celestial hall lined with moving star maps, five figures watched from floating thrones.
One of them—Thermuz—stood.
"You see?" he growled. "The Reincarnate has become the Flame once more."
Monshin didn't answer.
He only smiled.
Analice licked her lips. "He's handsome when he's angry."
Arshimest turned his back. "He'll break or burn. All things do."
And Nimistran? He just sharpened his blade.
The war had begun.
And Matt Salurga just became its spark.