A place called Voicilies
It was raining hard.
Thunder echoed in the sky.
CRACK… CRACK…
In an open field, surrounded by the embrace of a deep, ancient forest, a young man stood alone. He was panting, his chest rising and falling in ragged heaves.
Pant… pant….
His black hair was long and messy, covering his tired eyes. His clothes were torn and bloody. His body was strong, but every breath he took looked like a struggle.
He looked up at the sky with a tired face.
Across from him, an old man floated in the air, stroking his beard.
"Aether Noctvain, Heir of The forgotten God," the old man mused. "Now I understand why they're weary of you."
The old man had a long, clean beard. He looked proud and calm.
Behind him, the sky had turned completely dark. It looked like the sun had been swallowed. That was the young man's power…'Engulfing Void'
"…Huff… huff… You're different from the other slaves I've killed so far," the young man, Aether Noctvain, said with a mocking smile. "What are you, some kind of higher-tier slave?"
"Hohoho. Bold words for a mere demigod. You bark like a god, but bleed like a man… boy"
"…."
"You see now, don't you, boy? You gave them your kindness… and they cast you away like nothing. Never be kind to the wrong people. You'll regret it."
Hearing this, Aether Noctvain smiled calmly, wholeheartedly. Smile that shows his indifference.
"People often misunderstand something. They say: 'Never be kind to the wrong person. you'll regret it.' But regret only exists when your kindness depends on the outcome."
"..." The old man raised his eye brows.
Aether Noctvain believes true strength lies in doing something not because it benefits you… but because it aligns with your will.
"I am kind when I choose to be. Not because you deserve it, not because I expect anything in return But because it is my choice."
The old man scoffs, but Aether's voice only steadies further.
"Betray me? Lie to me? Take advantage of me? That is your nature. But my kindness? That is mine. And I do not change who I am just because the world fails to meet my expectations."
Aether Noctvain's gaze cold yet resolute.
After hearing this the old man click his tongue and spoke in a cold voice
It's amusing to watch a villain speak like an honorable hero"
Aether Noctvain's eyes didn't flinch. He smiled…slow, composed, and hollow.
"You call me a villain because it makes you feel safe."
"If I'm the villain, then everything you've done..your obedience, your silence, your cruelty…can be justified. It became righteousness."
As soon as Aether's words ended the old man thrust out his hand in fury. The darkened sky, conjured by Aether's own power, began to twist, spiral, and collapse, drawing inward toward his palm. As the shadows vanished, the sun pierced through, blazing once more.
Aether Noctvain staggered back, eyes wide in disbelief.
"He… absorbed my darkness?!"
As the old man released the absorbed power, the sky turned a deep crimson red. The rain changed. It was no longer clear. It had turned red like blood. Everything was soaked in it.
CRACK… CRACK…
The floor trembled beneath Aether's feet, cracks spreading wide as if the very ground were splitting open.
Then, with a deafening roar, molten lava surged forth, its hiss and crackle filling the air...a searing wave of heat and fury.
It splattered and sizzled as it poured over the broken earth, the sound of its fury drowning all other noise, like the voice of the planet itself screaming in agony.
Faced with overwhelming odds, Aether found himself pushed to the edge. In that moment, a distant memory echoed through his mind. a conversation with his familiar dragon.
[I mentioned that experiencing death is necessary to ascend to the 9th Form of Moonless Void sword art, didn't I?]
"Yes." Aether replied
[To ascend to the 10th Form, you must die and then awaken.]
"!!!!!"
[ You may attempt to imitate the Form, but without proper enlightenment, you risk harming yourself. As you have already experienced, you may not survive the next time.]
Aether's eyes snapped open, blazing with renewed clarity. A dark green aura erupted around his body, swirling like a living storm. He reached for the sword at his waist. a black weapon with a dark green blade and a pitch-black hilt, humming with latent power.
Sensing the shift, the old man's eyes narrowed. Without hesitation, he began chanting his strong eight-star magic.
[ Blazing lava ]
Crimson molten energy formed in front of his hand and surged forward in a roaring torrent, racing toward Aether like a wrathful tide.
Aether stood his ground.
[ Noctvain style, 4th form ]
With a swift, precise motion, he unleashed his sword art, cleaving the lava spell in midair. The magic split apart, dissipating in a shower of steam and scorched light.
Infuriated, the old man summoned another devastating eight star spell.
[ Meteorite ]
The sky darkened. Hundreds of colossal meteors, each a hundred meters wide, began plummeting from the heavens, shaking the air with their descent.
Aether closed his eyes, drawing in a long breath. Then he raised his blade once more.
[ Moonless Void sword art , 8th form : Dimensional slash ]
With a single motion, he tore through space itself. A rift of pure energy split the battlefield, meeting the falling meteors with a blinding flash.
The two forces collided….
Boom!
The world shook as the clash of power echoed across the land, a testament to two titans locked in battle at the edge of their limits.
The sky cracked open as sword met spell, the battlefield shaking under the weight of power neither mortal nor divine. Aether stood firm, his blade humming with the echoes of ancient will.
As the dust began to settle, his dark green aura still flickering, a single thought rose in his mind, clearer now than ever before.
This world is not mine.
He looked down at his trembling hands, the sword forged from a fate he never chose.
I do not belong here.
He was not born of this world. He was a transmigrator—a soul torn from one life and cast into another, bound by forces he could not understand.
And yet, here he stood.
Dragged from death. Chosen by a destiny not his own.
And somewhere deep within, the memory of the world he came from still burned, refusing to be forgotten.
To be continued....