Even as the soldiers of the Scorpion Empire stared skyward, they could scarcely comprehend what they were witnessing. Josh Aratat was not simply descending — he was announcing himself.
His fall from the heavens was like a storm wrapped in flesh, a streak of black fire that split the sky. As he descended, an explosive force could be felt around him, it was raw power —as if they were monstrous wings or merely the wind answering his presence —it sent a shockwave that rattled shields and quaked the ground.
Some soldiers dropped their spears and shields entirely, clutching their helmets as though that might save them. Others knelt instinctively, whether in terror or reverence, none could say.
Their emperor, Cailan Gravis, stepped out from his tent with deliberate slowness, his imperial spear gleaming in the pale light. He stood proud, the shadow of his crest dancing in the gale, but even he felt the weight of the approaching figure press against his chest like a boulder.
Then the wind struck.
It came like a living thing — a roaring tempest that tore through the camp, flattening banners and overturning supply wagons. The warhorses reared and screamed, some falling to their knees as if bowing to an unseen king. Soldiers were flung back, others collapsed where they stood, sitting stunned in the dirt like children caught in the path of a giant.
And then, silence.
Josh Aratat landed.
The world seemed to exhale all at once. Dust rose in a circle around him, spiraling upward before vanishing as if swallowed by some unseen maw. He did not crash or stomp — his feet touched the earth as softly as falling ash. But the ground shivered as though the land itself recognized him.
The black dragon had come.
Josh's dark hair fell around his face, his eyes burning with the weight of a storm contained in a single man. His presence seemed to drink the light from the air, leaving only a sense of crushing inevitability. The camp was frozen, every man, woman, and beast too stunned to move. Even the Emperor's fingers tightened around his spear, not in readiness — but in grim understanding.
Josh Aratat should have been here days ago. The people of the Nazare Blade Empire had been waiting, bleeding, dying — yet he was trapped. Not by choice, but by the cruel paradox of the 5th dimension.
He had done everything right. After forging his pact with the Serpent Goddess, after crafting the exit spell that should have freed him, he was already halfway out when the air around him warped — and the Guardian appeared.
The Guardian was an ancient thing, its form neither man nor beast, a silhouette of shifting light and shadow that radiated authority. When it spoke, its voice echoed across the entire dimension like the toll of a funeral bell.
Guardian: "You cannot leave."
Josh's eyes burned with frustration. "I was unjustly imprisoned here. You know it. This isn't justice — this is cruelty."
The Guardian's faceless head tilted ever so slightly.
Guardian: "Cruelty or not, someone must occupy the cell. It is the law of this place. If the cell remains empty for more than three days, the Wipeout will begin. Every prisoner, every guardian, everything contained here — all of it — will be annihilated."
Josh's fists clenched. "So you want me to be unfairly imprisoned forever, just to keep this prison stable?"
Guardian: "it doesn't have to be you. Anyone could be imprisoned here to take your place, but are there any replacements?"
And there it was — the unspoken truth. When the Trickster God had escaped, the entire dimension had been thrown into panic. The Guardians had been on the brink of starting a dimensional reset — until Josh appeared and willingly took the Trickster's place. That choice had saved them all.
But now?
Now they knew he was about to leave — and this time, he wasn't coming back.
So the Guardian blocked his path, and Josh, for the first time since arriving, had to beg. He argued, reasoned, even threatened, but the Guardian would not relent.
Guardian: "We cannot risk the Wipeout. Your departure endangers everyone."
Josh finally made a promise — reckless, desperate, and perhaps impossible.
Josh: "I will bring the Trickster back."
But the Guardian did not believe him.
Still, something greater than negotiations was already at work.
---
Far away, in the mortal plane, millions of voices were crying out. Not just any voices — but the voices of those who still believed. The Nazare Blade Empire was burning, its people crying for salvation, and somewhere deep in the marrow of existence, that cry resonated.
In this world, Legends has it that gods were not born, but forged — forged by belief, by prayers, by faith that refused to die. That as long as multitude cry and worship a particular god, he would be born. No one knows if this is true or false, infact most dismissed this as myth, but in that moment, Josh felt the call of his people like a tidal wave breaking through the walls of the 5th dimension.
Day by day, the pull grew stronger. The Guardians tried to reinforce the seals, to hold him there, but belief was not something they could fight.
Then came the final spark — Granero.
Granero, beaten half to death, his blood soaking the earth, still looked up at the sky and whispered the black dragon name with defiance. Not once, but over and over, with a faith so fierce it defied despair.
And the prison shook.
Josh felt the grip of the 5th dimension loosen around him, the chains unraveling, the walls cracking. The Guardian watched in silence as light began to pour from Josh's form.
Guardian (softly): "So it has come to this…"
They could do nothing but watch as Josh was pulled from their realm, not by force of will, not by spellcraft, but by faith itself.
---
And now — he was here.
Josh stood in the center of the battlefield, dust swirling around him like smoke. His dark hair framed a face that was calm, almost serene, though his eyes burned with something divine.
He turned, scanning the sea of faces, until his gaze landed on Granero.
Granero, bloodied and broken, still kneeling in the mud and tied to a pole, but his eyes were shining with a hope so intense it almost hurt to look at. His mother was beside him, it was unknown if she was alive or dead from the pain of her broken spine.
Josh's lips curved into the faintest smile.
Josh (spoke quietly, but the words carried): "It was you, you believed in me despite the odds, thank you!"
Granero's breathed deeply, his faith and hope had at times wavered slightly, but in the end, it held firmly, and now it paid dividends. His chest swelled with pride despite his wounds. His faith had reached the heavens — and brought a god back to earth.