ZAWISH THE UNSEEN – ( vol 3) PART 7: RISE OF THE BLACK ECHO
Full Novel Form — Begins Now
The silence was deceptive.
After the chaos, after the blood and burning screams of Part 6, the Earth stood still. The air was heavy, but calm. Too calm. As if the universe itself was holding its breath.
Zawish lay on the edge of a mountain ridge, his body still recovering from wounds that no doctor could name. His glove, cracked and dimmed, pulsed faintly with the last echo of Dar Metal's core power. He blinked slowly, blood dried across his brow, ribs broken, heart racing.
Below him, the remains of the battle stretched across scorched fields. Pieces of Thragorr's forces — dark, wormlike minions of the Realm of Black Echo — littered the ruins like twisted shadows. The sky above had returned to blue.
But Zawish knew better.
The real threat hadn't even begun.
A voice whispered on the wind.
"You survived."
Zawish groaned, sitting up, his muscles screaming.
"You always survive, don't you, Guardian?" the voice teased. Mocking. Familiar — yet older. Colder.
From the black fog that began to gather behind the cliffs, something ancient stirred.
A massive hand — skeletal, yet armored in obsidian — reached forward, planting itself onto the earth with a crack that shook the tectonic plates below.
And then it rose.
Thragorr the Forgotten.
Now fully reborn.
Not as a voice in the shadows… not as a whisper in the minds of cowards… but as a being. A towering colossus of wrath and sorrow, fused from the screams of forgotten civilizations. His eyes were black holes that devoured the light. His chest was a broken hourglass leaking stardust.
"You think the glove is your strength?" Thragorr spat, his voice folding space around him. "You are a child playing with your father's bones."
Zawish rose to his feet, slowly — painfully — and tightened the glove.
"No," he said. "I'm the nightmare that hunts monsters."
And with that, he launched forward — faster than sound.
The collision split the clouds.
Fist met chest. Glove against void armor.
Thragorr was thrown backward into the mountain, vaporizing half of it in the crash. But he rose, laughing, his cracked ribs regenerating instantly.
He opened his mouth — and a beam of oblivion shot out.
Zawish dodged it by inches, the beam cutting through the sky and severing a passing satellite. He grunted, flipping through the air, then slammed both fists into the ground. Spikes of Dar Metal erupted from the earth like fangs, trapping Thragorr's limbs.
But Thragorr roared — and the spikes turned to dust.
"You can't use the Earth against me," he said, walking forward through fire and debris. "I am beyond the dimension that birthed your gods. I was erased from the pages of reality for a reason."
Zawish panted, wiping blood from his mouth. "Then I'll erase you again. But this time… I'll make sure you stay forgotten."
The fight that followed shattered cities.
Zawish punched so hard the air ignited. Thragorr's roar summoned meteors from the black edges of space. Dar Metal met Abyssal Steel. Each strike sent out shockwaves that traveled the globe in seconds.
And then, in a brutal twist — Thragorr grabbed Zawish by the throat and slammed him into a crater.
"You are not the Chosen One," he growled. "You are the last mistake."
Zawish coughed blood, fingers clawing at the glove.
But then — a flash.
His eyes went white.
A memory triggered. A code etched in his bones.
A whisper of Lore Zom himself:
"Should the Black Echo rise… use the Second Flame."
Zawish's glove ignited. Not just with light — but with something older. The Second Flame. The Breath of Lore Zom. A power that hadn't been unleashed since the forming of the first star.
With a scream of fury and pain, Zawish exploded in golden fire.
Thragorr reeled back, actually staggered.
"What is this?!"
Zawish hovered in the air, now glowing like a living sun. His wounds closed. His hair stood on end. The ground beneath him lifted. Trees bent. Oceans rippled.
"This is what happens," Zawish whispered, "when you push a Guardian too far."
And then he vanished.
Appearing behind Thragorr in a blink, he drove a charged fist into the villain's spine, cracking his abyssal armor. Thragorr roared in agony — actual agony — for the first time in millennia.
The battle went nuclear.
Zawish broke the sound barrier five times in one second, slamming Thragorr through layers of bedrock. He called lightning from three planets. He bent moonlight into swords. The glove reshaped into a spear, a cannon, a blade of pure time.
And still… Thragorr fought back.
Laughing.
Crying.
Bleeding black infinity.
Until both collapsed — one broken, one glowing.
Zawish knelt, panting. The world was burning around them. Smoke rose from ten cities. But he stood again.
"I am not chosen," he said, stepping forward. "I was created."
Thragorr looked up, barely standing.
Zawish raised his hand — and summoned the final charge.
Dar Metal pulsed. Earth trembled.
And then…
A fist.
Right through Thragorr's chest.
Silence.
Thragorr coughed stars. He smiled.
"Then we are both… mistakes."
His body disintegrated.
Zawish fell to his knees.
And the Earth — for now — was safe.
But in the distance, far beyond the shattered dimension of Black Echo… something else stirred.
Watching.
Waiting.
Smiling.