The sky was breaking.
Not like a storm rolling in or the slow decay of a setting sun—no, this was something worse. Something irreversible.
The sky cracked like shattered glass, fissures of pure white light splitting across the heavens, unveiling something vast and formless beyond. The stars flickered violently, their dying embers swallowed into the expanding void. What once held order, gravity, time—everything—was now coming undone.
Dark stood at the center of it all. The cause. The consequence.
His crimson aura flickered around him, unstable, as if his very essence was fracturing alongside reality itself. He felt it—no, he knew it—this world could no longer hold him. His existence was a paradox. Too much power. Too much destruction.
The ground beneath him had long since crumbled. There was no battlefield anymore. No place to stand. He was floating amidst the ruins of a collapsing reality, caught between existence and oblivion.
Alone.
No sky. No land. Just a vast emptiness swallowing what little remained.
Dark exhaled slowly, feeling his breath disappear into the nothingness. Even the air was fading.
Dark: (thinking) This is it. There's no fixing this.
His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. But even the pain felt distant.
His body was flickering. His fingers, his arms—he could see through them. Pieces of himself vanishing, dissolving into the void like sand slipping through his fingers.
Dark: (low, shaking) This can't be how it ends.
But it was.
There was no turning back. No miracle solution.
He had broken the very foundations of existence.
And this—this silent, dying world—was his punishment.
A Presence in the Void
Then, a voice.
Cold. Familiar. Unyielding.
???: (calmly) You knew this would happen.
Dark turned sharply, his crimson eyes narrowing.
Standing before him, untouched by the unraveling chaos, was himself.
No, not himself.
The Destroyer.
A perfect reflection—except more.
More composed. More absolute. More real.
And unlike Dark, he wasn't flickering. He wasn't fading.
Dark: (low, dangerous) ...You again.
The Destroyer smirked, stepping forward as if gravity still obeyed him.
Destroyer Dark: (softly) You really did it this time, didn't you?
Dark didn't answer.
Destroyer Dark: (mocking, tilting his head) You wanted power. You wanted control. And now? Look at you.
Dark clenched his fists, but even his anger felt distant.
Destroyer Dark: (softly) You're already fading.
Becoming less than human. Less than a god.
Less than anything.
Dark: (growling) Shut up.
The smirk deepened.
Destroyer Dark: (calmly) You don't even get to decide what happens next.
The cracks in the sky shuddered.
The world around them collapsed faster.
Destroyer Dark: (quietly) Reset.
Dark's breath caught in his throat.
That word.
It hit like a blade.
Dark: (low, hesitant) If I reset...
Destroyer Dark: (nodding) You lose everything.
His memories. His strength. His identity.
Dark: (whispering) ...Would it still be me?
Destroyer Dark tilted his head, eyes gleaming.
Destroyer Dark: (softly) That's not for us to decide.
A Choice That Was Never a Choice
Dark exhaled sharply, his vision blurring.
Memories flickered.
• Lara's voice, soft and distant.
• Leona's anger, sharp and cold.
• Tier's grim acceptance.
• Gilmuar's quiet, knowing stare.
They were gone.
And if he reset, they would never have existed at all.
But what was the alternative?
To die here?
To become nothing?
No. That wasn't an option.
There was only one way forward.
Dark: (softly, breaking) ...Fine.
He let go.
The Reset Begins
The moment he surrendered, the universe reacted.
A brilliant, all-consuming light erupted from within him, expanding outward like a tidal wave.
The sky shattered.
Time collapsed.
Reality folded into itself.
And Dark—everything that he was—was erased.
A World Without Shadows
Then.
A breath.
Not in a collapsing void.
Not in the wreckage of a dying reality.
Somewhere else.
Somewhere untouched.
The hall was massive. Stone pillars stretched toward a ceiling so high it disappeared into shadows. The only source of light was the flickering glow of enchanted lanterns, casting a dim, uneven glow across the room.
At the center, a boy sat hunched over a wooden desk, gripping a battered quill in trembling fingers.
His uniform was too big for him, the sleeves loose, the collar slightly askew. His glasses sat slightly crooked on his nose, and his eyes flickered nervously beneath the lenses.
He shivered.
Not from the cold.
From the eyes on him.
The whispers never stopped.
Student 1: (mocking whisper) Look at him. He can't even hold the quill properly.
Student 2: (laughing) Does he really belong here? What a joke.
The teacher sighed, tapping his fingers against the desk in irritation.
Teacher: (coldly) Dark. Stop shaking and cast the spell.
The boy flinched.
His heart pounded.
His mind screamed at him—why does that name feel wrong?
But he didn't know why.
It was the only name he had.
Dark: (softly, stammering) Y-yes, sir...
Laughter rippled through the classroom.
The boy swallowed hard.
And tried to cast the spell.
But failed....
Then....
Two months later...
End of Both Arc 4 and Arc 4 Chapter 20