The world did not scream when Xturdia changed.
It did not tremble.
It did not collapse.
It simply… went quiet.
In the eastern frontier, a fortified outpost failed to report at dawn. By noon, a patrol was sent. By dusk, the patrol vanished as well. No signs of battle were found. No blood stained the stone walls. No alarms had been triggered.
Only shadows remained—longer than they should be, darker than the dying sun allowed.
By midnight, the incident was classified.
---
Far away, beneath layers of marble and steel, a circular chamber lit itself as ancient runes awakened. One by one, figures took their seats, their faces hidden behind veils of light and distortion.
The High Council had convened.
A projection formed in the center of the chamber: a map riddled with darkened zones. Each mark pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
"Confirm the anomaly," a voice commanded.
A hooded analyst stepped forward. His hands trembled as he activated the archive.
"This is not a natural disaster," he said. "Nor a demonic incursion. The energy signature is consistent across all affected zones."
A pause.
"It's singular."
Murmurs rippled through the chamber.
"A person?" another voice asked.
The analyst swallowed. "Yes."
The projection shifted. Reports scrolled rapidly—missing operatives, collapsed watchtowers, silent cities at the edge of civilization.
Then, slowly, a name appeared.
XTURDIA
The chamber fell silent.
"That name again," someone muttered. "We erased him once."
"You erased the record," an elder replied coldly. "Not the existence."
Another figure leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Is he confirmed hostile?"
"No," the analyst said. "Worse."
The council turned to him.
"He's no longer hiding."
---
Elsewhere, in a place where light refused to linger, Xturdia stood alone.
The throne behind him was unfinished—formed of shadow and silence, its shape unstable, as if reality itself resisted its existence. Darkness flowed like mist around his feet, responding to every breath, every thought.
He did not command it anymore.
It answered.
Xturdia lifted his hand, and the shadows obeyed without hesitation, folding into his palm like loyal beasts. Power thrummed through him—not wild, not raging—but controlled, heavy, inevitable.
He felt it then.
A shift.
Not in himself—but in the world.
"They're watching now," he murmured.
The darkness stirred, pleased.
Let them, it whispered.
Xturdia's eyes darkened, reflecting no light.
"No," he said calmly. "Let them come."
Somewhere far above, alarms began to ring.
And for the first time since the descent began, the world understood a terrible truth—
The darkness was no longer something to be feared in stories.
It had a name.
It had a will.
And it had begun to move.
END OF CHAPTER I...
COMING UP...
ACT II - CHAPTER II : CLASSIFIED THREAT
The council's decision is sealed in silence.
Xturdia is no longer listed as a fugitive.
He is no longer an anomaly.
His name is entered into a category that has not been used in centuries.
A sealed archive is opened.
An execution protocol is reactivated.
And a group that has never failed is summoned from the shadows.
"If this entity continues to exist," the decree states,
"the balance will not survive."
Far from the council chamber, Xturdia pauses mid-step.
For the first time since his ascension, the darkness around him stiffens.
Something old has awakened.
TO BE CONTINUED...