The fortress loomed on the horizon, its jagged spires stabbing at the swirling clouds like the talons of some ancient beast. Ubuntu trudged forward, the dark stone underfoot crunching with each step as the wind howled through the empty plains. The fight behind him had left a mark, both on the world and on him, but he didn't stop to admire his work.
He felt alive. More alive than he had ever been in his old life, where every breath had felt like a struggle against something invisible, something suffocating. Here, every breath was power. Every movement was freedom. No more chains, no more insults or jeering laughter. No more Lumumba.
The fortress ahead promised answers—maybe not all of them, but enough to give him some control over his situation. Who had sent those shadowy figures? What was this world? And more importantly, what was he supposed to do with all this newfound strength? His fists itched with the desire for more. More fighting, more testing his limits. The pain of the blows he'd received had already faded, his body regenerating so quickly that even the memory of injury seemed distant, like a bad dream.
The wind carried the scent of something burning—something foul and ancient, like the aftermath of a wildfire. Ubuntu narrowed his eyes as he drew closer to the gates of the fortress, tall and foreboding, made of some dark stone that seemed to absorb the light around it. Flames flickered in the distance, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls.
"Well, this definitely doesn't scream 'friendly neighborhood castle,'" he muttered to himself. The voice inside his head had gone quiet for now, and part of him missed its sly commentary. Another part was glad it had shut up. This moment was his.
The massive gates loomed closer, their black surface etched with strange, glowing symbols—symbols that pulsed rhythmically, like the slow heartbeat of something ancient and alive. Ubuntu approached cautiously, his fists still clenched. Every instinct told him this was another test, another level of this sick game. And he was ready.
As he stood before the gate, a deep, rumbling sound vibrated through the stone, and the ground trembled beneath his feet. Slowly, the massive doors began to open, groaning as they swung inward. Behind them lay a vast courtyard, bathed in the pale light of the storm-choked sky.
He stepped forward, crossing the threshold.
The gates slammed shut behind him with a force that shook the earth.
Yeah, saw that coming, he thought with a smirk.
Before he could take another step, a voice echoed through the courtyard—a low, guttural growl, dripping with malice.
"Who dares step into the sanctum of the Sovereign?"
The voice came from everywhere at once, bouncing off the towering stone walls, filling the space with its oppressive weight. Ubuntu looked around, his eyes scanning the shadows, but he couldn't see the source.
"'Dares'?" he said aloud, his own voice carrying through the empty courtyard. "I didn't know I needed an invitation. You should've sent a more polite welcome party."
The ground trembled again, and from the far side of the courtyard, a figure began to emerge from the darkness. Tall, broad-shouldered, and wrapped in a cloak of swirling shadows, the figure moved with an unnatural grace, its feet never quite touching the ground. The air around it shimmered, crackling with dark energy.
As the figure drew closer, Ubuntu's eyes locked onto the gleaming red eyes beneath the hood. It was like staring into the heart of a furnace, the heat from those eyes scorching the air between them.
"You," the figure snarled, its voice colder now, more focused. "You are not like the others."
"Nope," Ubuntu replied, his tone casual but his muscles coiled, ready for anything. "I'm not like anyone, really."
The figure stopped a few feet away from him, its eyes narrowing as it studied him. "You survived the Gauntlet. No one has done that in—"
"—a thousand years?" Ubuntu interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, let me guess. I'm special. The chosen one. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Heard it before."
The figure's eyes flared with rage. "Do not mock what you do not understand, boy!"
"Oh, I understand plenty," Ubuntu said, stepping forward, unbothered by the figure's towering presence. "I understand that I'm not playing by your rules. Whatever this is—this world, this 'Gauntlet,' these little shadow puppets you keep sending after me—it's not going to work. I'm not one of your pawns. And I sure as hell am not going to bow to some 'Sovereign.'"
The figure's cloak rippled with dark energy, and for a moment, Ubuntu thought it might attack. He hoped it would. His blood was still pumping, and he was itching for another fight.
But instead, the figure smiled—a slow, twisted grin that sent a chill down his spine.
"You think you have power, don't you?" the figure said, its voice dripping with mockery. "You think this strength makes you free. But you are wrong. You have been given only a taste of what true power is. And in this world, power comes at a cost."
Ubuntu's smirk didn't falter. "You think I don't know that already?"
The figure's grin widened. "Perhaps. But tell me, hero—how much of yourself are you willing to lose to keep it?"
Ubuntu's brow furrowed, and for the first time, a flicker of doubt passed through him. The question was simple, but the weight of it hit him like a punch to the gut. How much of myself am I willing to lose?
He thought of the boy he had been—the powerless, angry, broken version of himself, always on the outside, always taking punches from the world and never punching back. He had left that behind. He wasn't Lumumba anymore. He was Ubuntu now, and this power—this freedom—it was what he had always wanted.
Wasn't it?
The figure seemed to sense his hesitation. "You crave vengeance, do you not? Against those who wronged you. Against the world that cast you aside. But know this—vengeance is a path that consumes all. And soon, you will become nothing more than a tool for destruction. A slave to the very rage that drives you."
Ubuntu took a slow breath, shaking off the doubt. "Save your philosophical BS for someone else. I've been a slave before. Not again."
"Such arrogance." The figure's eyes flared once more. "Perhaps you need to be reminded of your place."
Before Ubuntu could react, the figure's cloak exploded into a whirlwind of shadow, and from the darkness, a massive, clawed hand shot out, grabbing him by the throat. The force of it lifted him off his feet, slamming him into the ground with crushing power.
Pain shot through his body, but it was dull, distant, as his regeneration kicked in. His lungs burned as the hand tightened its grip, cutting off his air.
"Is this the power you seek?" the figure hissed, its voice cold and merciless. "The power to be invincible, to destroy all who stand in your way? Then you shall have it, boy. But know that it will cost you everything."
Ubuntu gritted his teeth, his vision blurring as the pressure on his throat increased. But even as his body struggled against the pain, something inside him refused to give in. He wasn't going to let this thing control him. Not here. Not ever.
With a surge of adrenaline, Ubuntu grabbed the shadowy hand around his neck, his fingers digging into the darkness. His body burned with renewed energy, and with a roar, he ripped the hand from his throat, throwing it aside.
He stood, gasping for breath, his eyes blazing with fury. "You talk too much," he spat, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. "Now let me show you what real power looks like."
Without warning, Ubuntu lunged forward, his fist glowing with dark energy. The figure barely had time to react as Ubuntu's punch connected with its chest, sending shockwaves through the air. The figure's cloak of shadows shredded under the impact, revealing a gaunt, skeletal form beneath.
The figure let out a screech of pain, staggering backward, but Ubuntu didn't let up. He was relentless, his body moving with a speed and precision that felt almost supernatural. Every strike was precise, every blow landing with devastating force. His fists moved like lightning, and with each hit, the figure's form crumbled further.
Finally, with one last, thunderous punch, Ubuntu drove his fist through the figure's chest, shattering it into a cloud of dark mist. The remnants of the figure swirled in the air for a moment before dissipating into nothingness.
Ubuntu stood there, breathing hard, his fists still clenched. The courtyard was silent once more, the storm above slowly dying down.
But as he stared at the spot where the figure had stood, something nagged at him. A quiet voice in the back of his mind, asking the question he had tried so hard to ignore:
How much of yourself are you willing to lose?
He shook his head, brushing the thought aside. He wasn't losing anything. This power—it was his. He controlled it. Not the other way around.
Still, the figure's words lingered in the air, haunting him like a shadow he couldn't shake.
Vengeance is a path that consumes all.
Ubuntu looked up at the fortress ahead, the gates now wide open, inviting him in.