The world folded in on itself.
Rayon's body lay split cleanly in half, the upper torso barely clinging to existence, eyes wide as the thin scent of blood, smoke, and something metallic filled the air. Then it all reversed. The crimson spilled backward, wounds stitching, the ground uncratering, the silence snapping back into place.
The artifact's symbol—a small black circle burning faintly into his wrist—flashed once, then vanished.
He gasped awake.
Same forest. Same gray sky. Same ruinous field before the Third Seal's altar.
Only this time, the air wasn't still—it was waiting.
"Fuck…" Rayon muttered, still catching his breath. "That beam was faster than light."
Erethon burst into laughter from behind him, the sound echoing through the Hollow Strings inside Rayon's mind like cruel music.
"Ahahaha! You actually died! Hah! Splendidly, too. Split like butter. I couldn't even warn you, boy."
Rayon dusted off his jacket, straightened his tie, and glanced at the black mark on his wrist.
"That thing wasn't supposed to move. It wasn't even fully awake."
Erethon's laughter died off into a low hum. His tone darkened.
"It didn't move, Rayon. It reacted. You were seen. And that… that's something I didn't think was still possible."
Rayon frowned. "You know what that was?"
"Of course I do," Erethon muttered, voice deep and edged with restrained anger. "That's a Fragment of Letharion."
Erethon stepped forward in the mindscape—a tall, shadow-coated version of Rayon himself, with crimson eyes that burned with memory. The forest seemed to warp around his words.
"Long before the Hollow Strings existed in mortal vessels, before men learned to twist chaos into form, there was Letharion—the Obsidian Seraph. The first of the Null-born. He devoured dimensions, consumed echoes of reality, and turned gods into echoes."
Rayon looked unimpressed, but his eyes flickered.
"And what's standing there now?"
"A remnant. What's left after his fall—pure will with no body, no morality, no restraint. You saw how fast it attacked? That's because it no longer exists in time. It moves between the beats of reality. Faster than thought."
"So that's what killed me…" Rayon murmured, cracking his neck. "Cute."
Erethon chuckled again. "You really are insane, boy."
Rayon crouched down, picking up a piece of his shattered cufflink. The silver edge reflected his pale face.
Vorthalaxis, coiled around his wrist in its serpent form, flicked its tongue uneasily.
"You should not go back there," the dragon's low voice hissed. "That being—whatever it was—bent the light itself."
"I don't plan on dying twice in the same week," Rayon replied, standing up and adjusting his coat.
He stared across the forest. The altar where the Third Seal slept glowed faintly again—unchanged. As if mocking him.
Then, as though drawn by instinct, he flexed his right hand. Threads of black light unfolded from his fingertips, weaving through the air. The Hollow Strings shimmered—visible even in daylight, thin as hair but sharp as judgment.
"Erethon," he said calmly. "Before we go again… Tell me. Where do I stand right now?"
Erethon tilted his head, curious. "You want to know your power level?"
"Yeah. Everything. Abilities, stats, limits—don't sugarcoat it."
Erethon sighed and leaned against the void within Rayon's mind, arms crossed.
"Fine, listen up, Stringborn."
He began reciting with measured, deliberate tone, as if reading an ancient scripture.
"Your base strength? Beyond human. You can bend reinforced steel barehanded. Your speed? You move faster than most beasts, but nowhere near light-level yet. You're powerful, Rayon, but you're still growing."
"Now, your Hollow Strings—that's your true weapon. They're extensions of your soul and the chaos sealed within you. You can:"
Stitch flesh, bone, and even souls, binding your wounds mid-fight. Sever intangible concepts, like illusions, bindings, even light if you focus long enough. Control movement, puppeteering enemies or redirecting attacks using trajectory control. Manifest bindings, creating zones where anything caught within can't move or think straight. And most dangerously… you can use them on reality itself. That's why the world rejects you at times. Your strings rewrite cause and effect when you push too far."
Rayon blinked once. "So basically, I'm overpowered, but my body can't keep up."
"Exactly," Erethon said, smirking. "And if you overdo it, your heart stops. Permanently. Unless your artifact feels generous again."
"Heh. Noted."
Rayon moved quietly through the trees, his boots crunching over dry leaves. The altar came into view once more, glowing with a haunting violet hue.
But this time, the air around it was trembling—cracks of black lightning darted across the sky. The remnant had awoken fully.
He could see it now. A figure forming—humanoid in shape, but without features, as if the world itself couldn't decide what it looked like. Its body flickered, half mist, half light, wearing the form of something remembered by gods.
The temperature dropped.
Erethon whispered low, almost reverent:
"It's taken a corporeal form. Rayon… this isn't just a remnant anymore. It's waking up."
The being turned slowly, its face—or lack thereof—shifting toward Rayon's direction. Light condensed in its palm, and before Rayon could blink, another beam screamed through the air.
He barely dodged this time. The impact carved a canyon through the forest, melting trees into black glass.
"One wrong move, and you'll die before the artifact resets again," Erethon said sharply. "It's learning your patterns already!"
"Then I'll make new ones."
Rayon's fingers snapped. The Hollow Strings erupted, spreading through the battlefield like webs of living ink. Dozens of threads shot forward, slashing through the air, anchoring trees, stones, and fragments of aura.
The creature moved—it didn't walk, it shifted. Its presence was unbearable. Rayon's strings brushed against it and disintegrated.
"The hell… it's cutting through my bindings."
"It's not cutting," Erethon corrected grimly. "It's erasing. Your strings function in cause and effect. That thing erases both. It's nullifying the concept of what your strings connect to."
Rayon's grin widened. "That's insane."
"So are you," Erethon muttered.
The forest howled as Rayon charged forward, closing the gap. Every step shattered the ground, Hollow Strings dragging behind him like shadows given purpose. The being lifted its hand again, releasing another blast—but this time, Rayon's fingers twitched, altering the angles of his strings midair.
The beam split, redirected straight into the sky.
He appeared before the remnant and slammed his fist into it. The impact shook the air—like thunder without sound. The being staggered. Just for a moment.
"You actually touched it…" Erethon whispered, astonished.
But before Rayon could press the attack, the remnant's body pulsed—and time itself stuttered. He found himself frozen mid-motion, muscles locked, senses lagging.
A whisper echoed through his mind.
You do not belong here.
Rayon's eyes narrowed. "Neither do you."
He released a surge of energy. Every string he'd spread around the battlefield snapped back at once, slicing through space like invisible razors. The forest shredded. Mountains split. The Third Seal's altar cracked down the middle.
The remnant reeled, its light flickering erratically. For the first time, it breathed.
"Rayon," Erethon said quietly. "I know what it wants."
"Yeah?"
"It's drawn to you. Your strings are a mirror of its nature. It's trying to merge—become whole again."
"You mean—"
"Yes. The Hollow Strings and the Remnant of Letharion were created from the same origin. The same power. That's why it's attacking—you're its missing fragment."
Rayon clenched his fist. "Then I'll remind it who's in control."
He pulled every last bit of Hollow String energy into his arm, the glow darkening until it turned violet-black. The ground trembled, clouds spiraled above him, lightning spiraled from his body.
The entity opened its chest, revealing a pulsing black core. It charged another beam.
Rayon smiled.
"Try me, bitch."
The two forces collided.
For a split second, everything vanished—sound, color, air. The explosion swallowed the world.
Silence.
When it cleared, the forest was gone. Only ash and gray sky remained.
Rayon stood, chest rising and falling, his arm burned to the bone but still attached, stitched back by his own strings. The entity lay motionless before him—its light flickering like a dying star.
"You won…" Erethon muttered, almost shocked.
"No," Rayon said. "Not yet."
He stepped forward. The core of Letharion still pulsed faintly. Rayon raised his hand and whispered—
"Contract."
Every Hollow String he owned wrapped around the core, pulling it in. A single pulse of black light shot into his chest.
His body jerked. His eyes glowed faintly violet. Erethon's voice echoed through his head.
"You fool… You actually absorbed it!"
"Yeah," Rayon muttered, grinning through blood. "Now it's mine."
The air stilled. Vorthalaxis stirred uneasily on his wrist.
And then—out of the ashes—came a sound.
Not from the remnant. Not from Rayon.
From beneath the altar.
A second voice. Deeper. Older.
"So… one of the Strings survived."
Erethon froze. His tone dropped.
"Rayon. That voice—no. That's impossible."
Rayon looked down at the cracked ground, where glowing symbols began to emerge, one after another.
"What now?" he sighed.
"That…" Erethon said quietly, eyes wide, "is the Second Seal. You weren't supposed to wake it yet."
The earth split open, and a massive black hand crawled out, dripping in voidlight.