"You are the reason... you are the one who led us to this fate."
The words weren't spoken, but pulsated in the air, like the buzzing of an insect under the skin of his skull.
A voice without a source. An accusation without a judge.
The voice alone was enough to make his skin feel tighter than his bones.
Then came the scene.
No walls.
No sky.
Rather, a land stretching like an old wound that never healed, strewn with the corpses of children, their faces fixed in a moment of unfinished crying, their eyes wide open, as if they were still waiting for an explanation.
Mayoth was standing in a corner far away from them, pale. He sees them drowning and tries to save them, but he can't move. He is unable to do so. He starts repeating:
"No... it's not me I did nothing ..."
He said it, or dreamed he said it.
Then came the fall.
Not the fall of a body... but the fall of an entire idea.
He fell.
But this time, he wasn't falling down...
but inward.
It was as if gravity had transformed an idea inside his chest and made him shrink, until he became a point.
Until he was erased.
..His eyes suddenly open
It seems he had a short nightmare.
Mayuth was feeling was A sharp gasp, as if he had just emerged from underwater.
He opened his eyes... but the world he saw wasn't worth seeing.
A sick sky.
Its color was somewhere between purple and old bruises.
And in the middle... a moon? No. More like an open wound in the face of the sky, hanging above it like the world's tombstone.
There are... birds... no. Bird-like.
Beaks, fangs, long feathers of a forgotten color.
Hovering in silence.
A heavy silence, as if the world had forgotten how to make sounds.
:
Mayuth was a young man in his late twenties, slightly tall, his body thin but possessing a strange solidity, as if his bones had known the taste of fatigue.
His black hair was long, reaching his shoulders, disheveled, with strands of gray hair sticking out from the sides and front of his head. It wasn't the gray hair of old age, but the gray hair of heavy days and endless nights.
His face was slightly thin, his cheekbones slightly prominent, his skin pale as if he hadn't seen the sun in ages.
His eyes were completely black, with no whites, like two pieces of polished black stone. The look in his eyes combined fatigue, repressed anger, and emptiness.
His clothes were black and tattered, like those of someone who had been lost for a long time. Mud stains, torn threads, and bits of fabric were torn as if they had fought thorns and rough roads. There was no mark or symbol on his clothes, just a dull blackness filled with dust.
His hands were thin, but the fingers were long. His nails were dirty, and his palms bore the marks of old scratches and wounds that hadn't healed properly.
His scent was faint, but it carried the traces of sweat, dirt, and dried blood... the scent of a long journey.
He didn't look weak, despite his worn appearance... He looked like someone who had lost everything except his body—and the body itself wasn't sure if it had.
And he was standing on a rocky hill beside a cave, as if he had been created a moment earlier and didn't understand why he was here.
He should have been dead.
He should have been a corpse in a hole.
But now... he stood.
He remembered...
Poison in the shoulder.
Escape through suffocating passages.
Then his fall into a bottomless pit.
And now... here.
He raised his hand.
He tried to summon the strength he'd always felt.
That current that once ran through his veins as if his very soul were fire.
...
Nothing.
His body was heavy, as if his bones were made of false promises.
He began to move.
Not in search of salvation... but in search of an answer.
Each step left an echo behind him, as if he were walking over ground-up bones.
Then he saw it...
A lonely tree.
Its leaves were a deep blue, as if night had taken on its shape.
He climbed it... not for the love of life, but because life demanded that he move.
He found black fruit...
Black in a way that would disgust even hunger.
Then he began to feel it...
The tattoo.
A faint glow beneath his skin.
As if his skin were burning from within with a fire that didn't produce heat.
A pale blue mist rose from his forearm...
Above him...
A stone tablet appeared, hovering in the air like an idea rejected by the universe.
Words were engraved on its surface, in letters half alive, half dead:
"The Law"
The Forgotten Tablets — First Pillar
First and Last Text:
"You have become a Ghosts ... after sin branded your marrow."
"You are now in the 'Black Arena'... the land of the dead who find no door to oblivion."
"To survive is not a right... but a challenge."
"Ascend or evaporate... there is no third option."
"Your first level: ghost Then you can move on to other levels. "
Risks: Chaos Creatures Stay away from her and don't resist if you can't
You will also pass through a series of places here in this area. called the hat
Then the tablet disappeared, as if it had never been.
It was as if Truth itself apologized for staying so long.
Mayoth stood there, for a moment lost in a sentence whose meaning was incomplete.
He did not belong to this world.
And he would not return to that world.
He's become something else... a shadow of the memory of a man who's no longer here.
Mayoth knew he was no longer alive. But he didn't know anything, he could barely comprehend what was happening to him.
What is his upcoming journey and how will it be after he discovers that there is not an opportunity, not a desire, but a new life that he will live in the black square?
What's next, amateur?