The Great Square of the city was like an open wound in the night, bleeding a suffocating silence, its stones trembling under the weight of an expectation as heavy as death waiting for one last breath from its victim.
At the center of that fear-filled void, the chained man swayed above the bloody flames consuming him, his body already reduced to a twisted frame between life and nothingness.
His flesh burned slowly and painfully, crumbling like dry clay hit by scorching rain.
Yet his head stayed raised, and his burning eyes still shone with a rage that refused to die.
What terrified the crowd was not his dying…
but the strange determination clinging to his soul, as if he refused to fall before dragging the world down with him.
The city lord stood not far away, watching with a cold expression, but inside him a hidden tremble broke through his pride.
The clan leaders exchanged short looks, mixed with desire and fear.
This man was the last member of the Blood Pulse Clan, and everyone knew that his death was the final step before the power in his blood could be extracted and taken by the greedy.
But… before he collapsed,
before he fell like ash in the wind,
something happened that no one expected.
---
Suddenly… the fire stopped.
Yes, it stopped.
It was as if the time moving the flames had been pulled into a dark pit.
Fire that should have been raging froze in place like a statue made of solid blood.
The air stopped.
The sounds vanished.
The whole city fell into an absolute silence, as if the sky had placed a heavy hand over its people.
The old ritual master widened his eyes and whispered in a shaking voice:
"This… is not the fire's doing."
The chained man, despite the burned wounds exposing bone, raised his head slowly… as if lifting the weight of a thousand years of hatred.
When he opened his mouth, his voice came out distorted, mixed, as if several throats were speaking at once:
"…Halo Rin… Sha Nur… the blood… of the Void… listens…"
The chains trembled.
A cold shiver spread through the crowd, as if the air itself had turned into rust that scraped their bones.
The lord stepped back, trying to cover the fear pressing against his chest:
"Just dying madness… nothing more."
But the ground moved under his feet at that exact moment.
The stones of the square shook as if responding to a call only the dying man could hear.
The chained man lifted his arms as far as the chains allowed, and his voice suddenly rose:
"You who dwell in the nothingness…
You whose shadow we served for a thousand years…
You who feed on the pulses of blood…
Hear us!"
The air cracked.
Literally… cracked.
A thin black line appeared above the altar, cold and straight, as if the sky had opened onto another layer of darkness.
A woman screamed.
A soldier dropped his sword.
Even the clan leaders turned pale with terror, despite all the bloodlines and powers they had witnessed.
The city, in that moment, stood at the edge of something with no name.
Something like… the first birth of a disaster.
Silence spread again.
But this time… it was the silence before a storm.
The silence before the Void entered.
It was a silence not like the calm of night or the stillness before rain,
but a silence like an open grave waiting for its occupant.
The terrifying symbol formed from the remains of the bloody fire hovered above the ground like a black wound.
The chained man's eyes trembled, not with fear… but with longing.
His ruined body shook like a stretched thread, his chest rising and falling as traces of the chant clung to the air like invisible scars.
Then—
something unexpected happened.
A sound.
It did not come from the sky.
Nor from the ground.
Nor from the floating symbol.
It appeared inside the minds themselves.
A vast voice, as if mountains were speaking, as if space itself was crushing the soul:
"Why… did you call me, weak one?"
The scream did not travel through ears; it struck directly inside the mind.
People felt something heavy crush their heads from within.
Many screamed, some collapsed, and children cried without making a sound.
Even the lord lost his balance for a moment before pretending to stand firm.
The chained man raised his head with difficulty, blood flowing from his eyes and nose, but he smiled… the smile of someone who had waited for this day for years.
With a broken yet firm voice, he said:
"O power from beyond the Void… I want revenge. I want this city destroyed… its people… its rulers… and everyone who polluted the blood of my clan."
Silence filled the minds…
Then the voice returned, harsher:
"Revenge?… And what will you offer in return?"
The man took a deep breath, as if this vow was the reason he was born:
"My soul… take my entire soul… and let your wrath fall on them like a plague."
Some of the leaders smirked, thinking the man was speaking nonsense like any dying man.
But the voice… was something else.
It shook their minds with a tone that despised human existence:
"Your soul?… Do you offer me a straw and expect me to move a storm with it?
Son of dust… your soul is worthless. It cannot tempt a being that lives beyond the laws of power… above life and death."
The chained man trembled, not from fear… but from rage.
The air grew heavier, as if the Void itself was seeping into it.
The lord lifted his head and laughed softly:
"So this is it… just a voice ignoring him. A pathetic end."
One of the clan leaders smiled confidently:
"Even the Void demons see these weak creatures as nothing… this is reassuring."
The old ritual master stroked his dusty beard and said quietly, with the cunning of centuries:
"The Blood Pulse Clan's blood… I was certain.
It can be used as a bridge to communicate with the Void… and with time… and refinement… we will have power no one else in the continent can touch."
The common people did not understand his words, but greed shone clearly in the eyes of the lord and the clan leaders.
They saw the Void as a path to strength… not doom.
But the chained man was somewhere else entirely.
He screamed with all the breath left in him:
"We worshiped you for thousands of years!
We offered blood… souls… bodies!
And you cannot even avenge my clan?!"
The square shook.
Some people ran in fear.
The strange symbol pulsed like a hungry heart.
Then the voice came…
cold, emotionless, merciless—
speaking only truth:
"Silence."
The word stabbed the souls like a knife.
Then the voice continued:
"I felt something interesting.
You are lucky, son of Blood Pulse.
In return for your ancient worship… I will not grant you power…
I will grant this city… a calamity."
Everyone in the square shuddered.
The chained man's smile trembled, and he whispered in a broken, desperate voice:
"I want… I want to see them die… before you take my soul…"
The silence stretched.
As if the Void itself was thinking… or playing.
Then the answer came:
"Very well."
The single word held no mercy, no anger, no affection, not even interest.
It was simply acceptance.
A cold acceptance that felt like a curse.
The chained man smiled wildly, tears mixing with blood.
His soul began to glow inside his chest like a white ember.
His pain was terrifying, but he no longer cared.
The lord muttered mockingly:
"All this… for a single word? Pitiful."
The old ritual master laughed softly:
"Nothing will happen. It is only an echo of a distant voice. The Void never descends into this—"
He did not finish the sentence.
The sky above the city split open.
A sharp tear appeared, as if the heavens were cut by a blade of red light.
The tear widened… opening like a giant eye watching them, unblinking, merciless.
The black symbol on the ground pulsed violently.
The voice from the Void whispered into everyone's minds, without words, without form—
only a feeling:
"The calamity… has arrived."