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Chapter 3: The Beginning of Rebellion
The night, that black curtain that conceals the breath of fate, was unnaturally still. The air itself seemed to stand still, waiting, whispering into the darkness: "Something's about to happen..."
Deep in a semi-dark room, Ethan sat on the floor, his back against the wall, his right hand touching the glittering jewel carefully placed on the table in front of him. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and every part of his body pulsed as if his heart had become a thousand hearts. Yet his eyes remained fixed, fixed on the light emanating from the jewel, a light that was unnatural... but seemed to be looking back at him.
"Everything has changed..." he whispered, as if admitting it to himself for the first time.
He closed his eyes, the thought that had refused to leave him since his return echoed in his mind.
"If this jewel took me back through time... am I alone?"
He opened his eyes suddenly, as if struck by lightning. He stood up and began pacing the room like a madman.
"No... it can't be. This isn't some kind of personal miracle. This kind of power doesn't move randomly. If I've returned, someone must have noticed... or followed me..."
As he sank deeper into these thoughts, into another dimension, into a region beyond the grasp of time and space, into a spot of darkness unseen for thousands of years... something moved.
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The throne was there... a throne made of twisted bones, topped with eternal, windless ash. The walls around it weren't made of stone, but of the groans of victims and the congealed blood. In the center of it all sat a being who couldn't be identified as human.
That was the Emperor of Destruction.
As spacetime rippled, as one of the threads of fate trembled, he slowly raised his head.
His eyes? No, they weren't eyes, but two hollows of hellish fire, from which a thick black smoke billowed.
"Someone..." he said, his voice echoing the screams of a thousand dying souls.
"Someone pierced the fabric... and came back...?"
A faint laugh echoed. But it wasn't funny; it was an open invitation to chaos.
"Who are you... stranger? Who are you, a parasite who has pierced my time... and come to tamper with my destiny?"
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Far away, in a golden palace surrounded by dark towers and tattered black flags that fluttered windlessly, a man stood before a living map. This was no ordinary map, but a magical battlefield that shifted by the moment.
He stared, his eyes flashing with a widening madness.
"The Sixth... has appeared at last."
He said it slowly, his voice heavy, as if it were a seal on the world's fate.
He laughed.
His laughter cracked the windowpane with madness.
Then he turned and clapped his hands once.
A hooded servant emerged from the shadows, kneeling wordlessly.
"Gather for me the hundred chosen ones. Their names are here."
The servant handed a magic parchment, its surface pulsing like living skin.
But the servant looked at it, then hesitated for a moment, and said,
"My lord... these names are random! There is no truly gifted one among them. Why?"
Silence.
A second.
Two seconds.
Then...
In a flash, without rising or moving, the servant's head was in his master's hand, held like a wineglass.
He dipped his fingers into his neck, drew blood, and then drank quietly.
"Did you ask for your opinion? When I say choose... you choose. Or you become my drink."
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Elsewhere, in a room filled with ancient papers and symbols, Ethan stood before a mirror, staring at his veins, which had begun to glow. He extended his right hand forward.
"Summon the spear..." he whispered.
Nothing.
Purifying his lips, he closed his eyes.
"Focus... the spear..."
In an instant, the room split open with an intense blue light, and the spear appeared in his hand. A dark spear, pulsing with power, like a living being.
He grasped it.
He felt something like a pulse, as if the spear was glad to meet him again.
"Finally... but it's not enough."
He headed to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town.
"How much?"
"One thousand for the day."
"Only half a day."
"Pay upfront."
"Done."
He entered and closed the door behind him.
Then hell began.
He split the earth, destroyed the pillars, threw the spear, then summoned it again. He repeated it dozens of times, until his hands began to bleed. But his face... showed no sign of pain.
Only ecstasy.
Hours of fighting against the air, against the walls, against himself.
And when it was over, there was wreckage everywhere. The walls were destroyed, the floor was dug out, and the ceiling was partially collapsed.
He stood amidst the destruction, breathing heavily, blood pouring from his shoulder.
"How much... time is left? I have to get this right quickly..."
He went out, paying for the losses with a sarcastic smile.
"Thank you, Dad... Mom... If it weren't for what you two left us, you'd be sleeping in prison right now."
He returned home.
His room was silent, but he wasn't.
He lay on the bed, closed his eyes, and began absorbing the surrounding energy. This painful process required concentration beyond that of ordinary humans.
Every cell in his body was screaming, but he didn't stop.
And suddenly...
He opened his eyes forcefully, standing up as if reminded of death itself.
"Damn it! How could I have forgotten that? This is more important than anything else!"
But what had he forgotten? And why did it seem like something that couldn't be missed no matter what?
His face froze, his eyes widened, and his mind began to calculate...
The End.
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