As Adonis slowly begins to awaken, a sensation of heaviness lingers in his limbs, as if he has been submerged in a deep, dreamless sleep for what feels like an eternity. The first thing he becomes aware of is the dim light filtering through the haze of his half-open eyes. His head pounds with a dull ache, his senses still groggy as he tries to piece together where he is and what has happened. Blinking several times, his vision gradually sharpens, and he notices a figure standing over him—a woman, her form outlined by the faint glow of the torches that line the walls.
The woman's presence is soothing yet mysterious, like a guardian watching over him in the shadows. Her voice reaches his ears, soft and melodic, laced with a tenderness that momentarily eases the disorientation swirling in his mind. "Hey, are you waking up?" she whispers, her tone gentle but insistent, as though she has been waiting for this moment. Then, with a bit more urgency, she calls out again, "Hey, he's waking up!"
Before Adonis can fully comprehend her words, another figure enters the room—a towering silhouette that nearly blocks out the light from the doorway. The atmosphere shifts as this new presence makes itself known, the air growing heavier with an aura of authority and power. His voice, in stark contrast to the woman's, is booming and commanding, leaving no room for defiance. "Stand, boy," he orders with a voice that reverberates off the stone walls. "We begin your training now."
Without waiting for a response, the figure turns and strides out of the room, his heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor. The abruptness of the encounter leaves Adonis stunned, his thoughts a jumble of confusion and unanswered questions. His vision, still adjusting to the dim light, gradually clears, and he finally gets a good look at the room around him. The space is grand yet eerily silent, the walls adorned with intricate patterns and symbols that seem to pulse with ancient power.
As his eyes continue to adjust, Adonis notices the young girl standing by the doorway, her small frame almost blending into the shadows. Her eyes, wide and innocent, are fixed on him with a mix of curiosity and concern. Desperate to make sense of his surroundings, Adonis calls out to her, his voice rough and edged with frustration, "Hey, kid, what are you doing here? What is this place? Who are those people?"
The girl doesn't flinch at his demanding tone. Instead, she offers him a reassuring smile, her voice as calm and sweet as the first light of dawn. "Don't worry, Adonis," she replies softly, her words carrying an inexplicable warmth that makes him want to believe her. "You are safe now. No worries are needed here."
But despite her comforting words, Adonis feels anything but safe. The unfamiliarity of the place, coupled with the looming sense of something much larger at play, fuels the fire of unease within him. His mind races with unanswered questions, his instincts screaming for him to find out where he is and how he got there. Driven by an urgent need for answers, Adonis attempts to stand, his legs shaky but determined. He makes a move toward the door, intent on finding the man who had spoken to him earlier, but the girl quickly steps in front of him, her expression firm despite her delicate appearance.
"You are not permitted to leave yet," she says, her tone firmer now, carrying an authority that belies her youthful appearance. "You have not healed fully."
Adonis, his patience already worn thin by the disorienting events, feels a surge of irritation. The need for control, for understanding, overwhelms him, and without a second thought, he shoves the girl aside, his voice dripping with anger. "Move, you little bitch! I have questions for the boss!" His words are sharp, meant to cut through the fog of confusion and assert his dominance in a situation that feels increasingly out of his control.
Ignoring the girl's startled expression, Adonis storms out of the room, his footsteps heavy with determination. As he moves through the castle, he becomes acutely aware of the grandeur and mystery that surrounds him. The walls are a mesmerizing blend of purples, golds, and whites, each color woven together in intricate patterns that seem to tell stories of ancient battles and forgotten gods. The black flames flickering in the torches cast long, wavering shadows that dance across the walls and ceiling, adding to the otherworldly atmosphere of the place.
The castle is vast, each corridor more elaborate than the last, and yet there is a sense of isolation, as if the structure itself is alive and aware of his presence. The deeper Adonis ventures, the more he feels the weight of history pressing down on him, as though he is walking through the remnants of a time long past, where legends and reality intertwine. His thoughts are a whirlwind of confusion and anger, the unfamiliar surroundings doing little to calm the storm brewing within him.
Finally, he approaches a large golden door, its surface gleaming even in the dim light. The door is adorned with intricate designs, depicting a battle between men and gods—figures locked in combat, their forms frozen in a moment of eternal struggle. The scene before him stirs something deep within Adonis, a sense of familiarity that he cannot quite place. His heart pounds in his chest as he reaches out to push the door open, his hands trembling slightly as they come into contact with the cool, smooth surface of the realmic gold.
With a low groan, the door swings open, the weight of the counterweights shifting with a sound that echoes through the hall like a distant memory. Beyond the threshold, Adonis finds himself in a grand chamber, its vastness almost overwhelming. The ceiling arches high above, adorned with murals that depict scenes of both glory and devastation, their details so intricate that they seem to come alive in the flickering torchlight.
At the far end of the chamber, seated on a raised throne, is a figure that commands immediate attention. The throne itself is a masterpiece of craftsmanship, carved from dark wood and inlaid with gold, its high back reaching toward the ceiling as if to touch the heavens. The figure seated upon it is surrounded by soldiers, their armor shining in the soft light—gold and deep purple, with white capes that drape elegantly over their shoulders. They stand in disciplined silence on either side of the long, red carpet that leads up to the staircase of the throne, their expressions hidden behind ornate helmets.
As Adonis' eyes lock onto the figure on the throne, a chill runs down his spine. Recognition dawns on him, slow but undeniable, as memories of old stories and legends resurface in his mind. His breath catches in his throat, and he struggles to find his voice, his words emerging in a shaky whisper, "Y-you... you're the Forgotten King from the legends... the man who holds the sun and moon."
The Forgotten King, a figure shrouded in both myth and mystery, rises from his throne with a grace that belies his immense power. His presence fills the room, casting a long shadow over Adonis as he begins to descend the staircase. A deep, rumbling laugh escapes the King's lips, echoing off the walls like the roll of distant thunder. "Shahhahaha! Child, those are merely legends. Do not confuse them with reality."
Each step the King takes is accompanied by a soft wheezing, a sound that hints at a vulnerability hidden beneath his imposing exterior. As he approaches, Adonis' eyes are drawn to the large cavity in the King's chest plate—a gaping wound that speaks of a battle fought with unimaginable ferocity. The sight of it stirs a mixture of awe and unease in Adonis, and he cannot help but voice his thoughts.
"You're injured," Adonis says, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and concern. "Who's strong enough to do that to something like you?"
The Forgotten King pauses for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he regards Adonis with a strange blend of amusement and pity. Another laugh, though softer this time, escapes his lips. "Ha, you fool! This is merely a flesh wound compared to the injuries I have received in battle."
Now standing mere feet from Adonis, the Forgotten King's expression shifts to something more serious, his eyes locking onto Adonis' with an intensity that makes the younger man feel as if he is being scrutinized down to his very soul. "Child," the King begins, his voice taking on a tone of solemnity, "I know what has just happened in the Seventh Rim. Your father was a dear friend of mine. We fought side by side in many battles, and he saved my life more times than I can count. When it was reported that you had received Excalibur, I rejoiced, for I knew the sword had found a worthy heir. But then... I heard the news of his death, and of the many other innocent lives lost—lives taken by your brother's hand. I have sent my strongest warriors to slay him for—"
But before the King can finish his sentence, Adonis interrupts, his voice raw with emotion. "He's dead," he says, his words cutting through the air like a blade. "I killed him. I plunged my father's sword into his chest and cleaved his head off." The weight of his confession hangs heavy in the air, the gravity of what he has done sinking in as the room falls into a stunned silence.
The Forgotten King listens in silence, his face a mask of stoic contemplation as he absorbs the news. But before he can respond, a young female watcher, who has been standing quietly to the side, steps forward. Her voice, though soft, carries a note of doubt that pierces the heavy atmosphere. "Are you sure he's dead?" she asks, her eyes searching Adonis' face for any hint of uncertainty. "Because when I saw him fight at the ceremony, his eyes were that of two different souls. Are you certain he had no transformations after death?"
Adonis' anger flares at her insinuation, his fists clenching at his sides. The memory of that final, bloody confrontation with his brother plays out in his mind like a waking nightmare—each slash, each thrust of the sword, every drop of blood that was spilled. "I'm sure he's dead!" Adonis snaps, his voice rising in intensity. "I killed my own brother with my own hands! He's dead!" His words echo through the vast chamber, filled with a mixture of grief, anger, and the desperate need to be believed.
The room falls into an uncomfortable silence, the tension palpable as everyone present seems to feel the weight of Adonis' pain and the harsh reality of his actions. The Forgotten King's soldiers remain motionless, their faces hidden behind their helmets, but their collective presence feels heavier, more ominous, as if they are silently judging the young man before them.
Adonis' chest heaves with the effort of containing his emotions, and in the silence, his thoughts turn to the deeper source of his rage. "The gods," he mutters, his voice low and dangerous, "are at fault for her death." His eyes, darkened with fury, dart around the room as he continues, louder now, "The gods killed the love of my life. I promised I would protect her, and the gods killed her!" His voice cracks with the weight of his grief, but it quickly hardens again, transforming into a vow of vengeance. "I—I'm going to kill every last one of them, even if it kills me."
The intensity of Adonis' declaration sends a shiver through the room. The others exchange uneasy glances, the gravity of his words settling over them like a dark cloud. They have all heard such words before—many warriors have vowed vengeance against the gods—but few have survived long enough to see it through. The gods are powerful, vengeful, and merciless; challenging them is a path fraught with unimaginable peril.
A girl, appearing to be around the same age as Adonis, steps forward from the group. Her presence is gentle, yet there is a quiet strength in her demeanor that commands attention. She approaches Adonis slowly, her eyes soft with understanding and empathy. She stands before him, her gaze locked with his, and in one swift motion, she wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace. Adonis stiffens at first, unaccustomed to such tenderness after so much loss and pain, but her embrace is warm and steady, and slowly, he begins to relax, the tension in his body easing just a fraction.
"Listen," the girl whispers into his ear, her voice soothing like a balm for his wounded soul. "Don't kill yourself over this. Make yourself stronger, so that you can truly avenge her and the others who were killed. I can see that you are physically weak in comparison to your foes. Stay with us, train, and become stronger. If not for yourself, then do it for her."
Her words, spoken with such sincerity and compassion, cut through the fog of anger that has clouded Adonis' mind. He feels the weight of her message, the truth in it. She's right—his raw fury, though powerful, is not enough to defeat the gods. He needs strength, skill, and the discipline to harness his rage into something that can truly challenge the divine.
After a long moment, Adonis nods, his resolve hardening into something more focused, more controlled. "I will grow strong enough so that I can defeat the Forgotten King," he declares, his voice steady with newfound determination.
The room, which had been heavy with tension, suddenly erupts into laughter at Adonis' bold statement. The soldiers, who had remained silent and still, exchange amused glances, and even the young girl who had just comforted him looks at him with a mix of pity and incredulity. To them, the notion of this young, inexperienced warrior challenging the Forgotten King—a figure of immense power and legend—is nothing short of ridiculous.
But the laughter is abruptly silenced when the Forgotten King raises a hand, his expression unreadable as he gazes at Adonis. The air in the room shifts once more, growing thick with anticipation as the King's eyes narrow in contemplation. After a moment, he speaks, his voice carrying a weight of both challenge and respect. "Alright, kid," he says, his tone grave, yet there's a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I will hold you to that threat. Five years from now, I will face you. If you defeat me, you can leave. If I defeat you, you stay for ten more years, then twenty, and so on. Do you understand?"
Adonis meets the King's gaze without flinching, his heart pounding in his chest, but his resolve unshaken. "I only need the first five years to beat you," he replies, his voice firm with the certainty of youth and the fire of his determination.
The Forgotten King's lips curl into a small, knowing smile, one that suggests he has seen many warriors like Adonis before—young, brash, and full of fire. But there's something different in Adonis' eyes, a depth of pain and purpose that intrigues the King, though he does not show it. He nods slowly, acknowledging the boy's courage, even as he recognizes the long and arduous path that lies ahead of him.
With a wave of his hand, the soldiers step back, clearing a path for Adonis. "Very well," the King says, his voice echoing through the chamber. "The countdown begins now. Use your time wisely, Adonis. Train hard, grow strong, and perhaps… you may even surprise me."
The tension in the room dissipates as the soldiers return to their positions, the moment of confrontation passing as quickly as it had come. The girl who had embraced Adonis earlier gives him a small, encouraging smile before stepping back into the crowd. Adonis, still brimming with anger and determination, feels a new sense of purpose taking root within him.
As he turns to leave the grand chamber, the ornate designs on the walls—depictions of battles between gods and men—seem to take on new meaning. He realizes now that these are not just decorations, but a testament to the countless warriors who have come before him, each one fighting their own battles, each one challenging the very forces of the universe. Adonis knows that his path will be fraught with challenges, that the gods themselves will try to break him, but he also knows that he cannot turn back. His fate is tied to this place, to the Forgotten King, and to the vow he has made.
As he walks back through the castle's corridors, the black flames flickering in the torches seem to burn brighter, their light casting long, twisting shadows that dance along the walls. The intricate patterns of purples, golds, and whites that adorn the castle's architecture begin to feel like they are watching him, as if the very walls are alive, bearing witness to the choices he has made and the battles yet to come.
Every step he takes echoes through the vast halls, each sound a reminder of the time slipping away, of the five years he has to prepare for the ultimate challenge. The weight of his mission presses down on him, but it also drives him forward, fueling his determination to become stronger, to harness his anger, and to one day face the Forgotten King as an equal.
As he reaches the room where he had first awakened, the young girl is waiting for him. Her expression is calm, but there is a spark of respect in her eyes. She nods to him, acknowledging the decision he has made. "Your training will be difficult," she says quietly, her voice carrying the weight of experience. "But you are not alone. We are all here to help you, to guide you. Together, we will make you strong."
Adonis looks at her, his mind racing with thoughts of the battles ahead, of the gods he will one day face, and of the promise he has made to himself and to the memory of the woman he loved. "I won't let her down," he murmurs, more to himself than to the girl. "I won't let any of them down."
The girl's expression softens, and she places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Then let's begin," she says, her voice steady and sure. "There's no time to waste."
And so, with the echoes of the Forgotten King's challenge still ringing in his ears, Adonis takes his first step toward the long, arduous path that lies ahead. The journey will be filled with trials and tribulations, with moments of doubt and despair, but also with growth, strength, and the unbreakable resolve to defy the gods themselves. The path to vengeance is not one of rage alone—it is one of patience, strategy, and the will to endure whatever the gods may throw his way.
As the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into months, Adonis immerses himself in his training. The castle becomes his world, its grand halls and hidden chambers filled with the sounds of his relentless pursuit of strength. The soldiers, once merely onlookers, now become his mentors, teaching him the ways of combat, the art of war, and the wisdom needed to face the challenges that lie ahead.
The girl, who has become his closest ally, trains alongside him, pushing him to his limits and beyond, reminding him of the promise he has made. Together, they prepare for the day when Adonis will stand before the Forgotten King, not as a boy seeking vengeance, but as a warrior ready to claim his destiny.
And as the fifth year approaches, Adonis stands at the threshold of his greatest challenge, his body and mind honed to perfection, his heart burning with the fire of his resolve. The time has come for him to face the Forgotten King, to prove that he is worthy of the power he seeks, and to fulfill the vow he has carried with him through every trial, every battle.
The gods are watching, the castle is waiting, and the Forgotten King is ready. The final confrontation is at hand, and with it, the fate of Adonis, the warrior who dared to challenge the divine.
The room remains heavy with the silence that follows Adonis' bold declaration. The laughter has died down, and the gravity of the situation settles in once more. The soldiers exchange wary glances, and the young woman who had just embraced Adonis steps back, her eyes still fixed on him with a mixture of concern and curiosity.
Adonis' heart pounds in his chest as he turns away from the Forgotten King and walks back through the grand chamber. His footsteps echo ominously against the intricately designed floors, and the memories of the battles depicted on the walls seem to come alive as he passes by. Each step he takes is a reminder of the long, grueling path ahead of him, a path that will demand every ounce of his strength and willpower.
The corridors of the castle stretch out before him like a labyrinth, their walls adorned with tapestries and carvings that tell stories of ancient wars and forgotten heroes. The flickering black flames in the torches cast eerie shadows that dance along the walls, as if the very spirits of the warriors who once walked these halls are watching him, judging him, and perhaps even guiding him.
As Adonis walks, his thoughts drift back to the day he received Excalibur, the legendary sword of his father. It had been a day of celebration, a day when the world seemed full of promise and hope. But that hope had been shattered by the betrayal of his brother, whose jealousy and greed had led to the deaths of their father and countless others. The weight of that betrayal still hangs heavy on Adonis, driving him forward with a singular purpose: to become strong enough to avenge those he has lost, and to destroy the gods who had taken everything from him.
He soon finds himself back in the room where he had first awakened, the memory of that moment still fresh in his mind. The young girl is there, waiting for him, just as she had been before. Her expression is calm, but there is a new resolve in her eyes, as if she too has been affected by the events that have transpired.
"You've made your decision," she says quietly, her voice carrying an undertone of both respect and concern. "The path you've chosen is not an easy one, Adonis. But it's the only way forward."
Adonis nods, his resolve hardening. "I know. I don't care how hard it gets—I'm going to do whatever it takes to get stronger."
The girl steps forward, her eyes locking with his. "Then we start now. The King has given you five years to prepare, but the time will pass quickly. You'll need to push yourself harder than you've ever pushed before. Every day, every hour, will be a test of your strength and determination."
Without another word, she leads him out of the room and into a series of hidden chambers within the castle, where the real training begins. These chambers are unlike any Adonis has seen before—each one filled with ancient weapons, training dummies, and other strange contraptions designed to test and enhance a warrior's abilities. The walls are lined with scrolls and books containing the knowledge of countless warriors who came before him, each one offering insights into the art of combat and the strategies needed to defeat the gods.
The first few weeks are brutal. Adonis finds himself pushed to the brink of exhaustion each day, his body and mind constantly tested by the rigorous training regimen. The soldiers who once stood as silent observers now become his instructors, each one imparting their own unique knowledge and skills. They teach him the ways of the sword, the art of hand-to-hand combat, and the strategies of war. But more than that, they teach him how to harness his anger, to channel his grief and rage into something powerful and controlled.
The girl, who has become his closest companion in this journey, is always by his side. She trains with him, fights alongside him, and offers words of encouragement when he feels he can go no further. Her presence is a constant reminder of the promise he made—to himself, to his fallen loved ones, and to the memory of the woman he loved.
As the months turn into years, Adonis begins to change. His body grows stronger, his reflexes sharper, and his mind more focused. The pain of his past, once a source of torment, now fuels his determination to succeed. The castle, which once felt like a prison, becomes a place of transformation—a crucible in which he is forged into the warrior he was always meant to be.
But the journey is not without its challenges. As Adonis delves deeper into his training, he begins to encounter the darker aspects of the castle's history. The ancient warriors who once walked these halls did not all meet glorious ends; many were consumed by their own quests for vengeance, their spirits lingering in the shadows, warning him of the dangers of losing himself to hatred.
There are nights when the weight of his mission feels unbearable when the memories of his lost loved ones haunt him, and the faces of those he has killed—his brother among them—torment him in his dreams. But each time he falters, the girl is there to pull him back, to remind him of the purpose that drives him forward.
The bond between them deepens as the years pass. They share their hopes, their fears, and the burdens of their pasts. Though the path they walk is one of pain and hardship, they find solace in each other's company, a quiet strength that sustains them through the darkest moments.
Finally, the fifth year approaches. Adonis, now a formidable warrior, stands at the threshold of the final test. His body is honed to perfection, his mind sharpened by countless battles, and his heart filled with the fire of his resolve. The day of reckoning is at hand.
The Forgotten King has not forgotten his promise. The grand chamber is prepared for the battle that will decide Adonis' fate. The soldiers stand at attention, their expressions serious as they await the outcome of this long-awaited confrontation.