The battlefield of the Eternal Rift was collapsing. Fractured chunks of reality floated in a void of swirling chaos, where the laws of existence twisted under the weight of interdimensional war. Towering rifts bled abyssal energy into the skies, casting the ruins below in an eerie, flickering light.
Ravok stumbled through the debris, his crimson armor cracked and his spear dragging behind him. The weight of exhaustion bore down on him, but it was nothing compared to the storm raging in his mind. Around him, the once-proud army of the Dread Sovereigns lay scattered—some dead, some torn apart by the abyssal invaders, and others abandoned by their fleeing commanders.
He was alone.
The grotesque creatures of the Shattered Abyss prowled nearby, their monstrous forms shifting in and out of reality like flickering shadows. They circled him, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Ravok tightened his grip on his spear. His breathing was shallow, and his energy—once a blazing fire—was now a faint ember, flickering on the edge of extinction.
But he wasn't ready to die. Not yet.
---
"Ravok."
The voice froze him in place. It was commanding, calm, and suffused with an authority that could silence worlds. Ravok turned slowly, dread pooling in his chest.
Descending from the fractured sky was Lord Veynor, his master, the one who had taught him the path of cultivation and divine warfare. His presence radiated celestial power, a golden light that seemed untouchable by the blood and ruin around him. Behind him hovered his other disciples, each exuding an aura of strength that eclipsed Ravok's many times over. They stood tall, weapons gleaming, their expressions smug and self-assured.
Ravok felt a flicker of hope. "Master," he croaked, his voice raw from battle. "Reinforcements… we need reinforcements to push back the invaders."
Lord Veynor descended further, his golden eyes meeting Ravok's. There was no warmth in that gaze. Only cold detachment. "Reinforcements?" Veynor's voice was quiet, yet it carried an unspoken finality. "No, Ravok. You misunderstand."
Confusion flashed across Ravok's face. "What… what do you mean?"
"You've done enough," Veynor said simply. His tone was devoid of malice, yet it cut deeper than any blade. "Your role here is finished."
---
Ravok staggered back a step, his grip on his spear tightening. "My… role?" The question felt foreign on his lips.
Lord Veynor stepped forward, his golden armor gleaming even amidst the chaos. "Did you truly believe I kept you among my disciples for your strength? You've always been the weakest, Ravok. A shadow clinging to my light." His words carried no anger, only calm indifference. "But even a weak tool has its use. Your unique demonic energy has served as a perfect furnace to refine the powers of your brothers and sisters."
The truth struck Ravok like a hammer. His knees buckled, his crimson eyes wide with disbelief. "You… you used me?"
A soft laugh broke the silence. It came from Khoris, the strongest of Veynor's disciples, his golden blade resting casually on his shoulder. "Of course, he used you. What did you expect? You were a battery, Ravok. A stepping stone for greater men."
"You've spent centuries cultivating energy," Veynor continued, his voice steady. "Energy that I carefully siphoned to strengthen my chosen disciples. Every ounce of your effort has gone to a greater cause."
Ravok's hand trembled as he reached out, desperation spilling from his cracked lips. "I was loyal… I was faithful…"
"And for that, you've served your purpose," Veynor said, turning away. "Be grateful. Few tools are afforded such dignity."
---
Khoris stepped forward, his smirk growing wider. "Shall I do it, Master? Put the poor fool out of his misery?"
"No," Veynor said, his tone dismissive. "The invaders will do it for us. Let him perish as he was born—insignificant."
The disciples began to ascend with their master, their laughter echoing across the crumbling battlefield. Ravok's gaze followed them, his trembling hands clawing at the ground. "Veynor!" he roared, his voice breaking with fury and despair. "You'll regret this! I swear—"
But they were gone. His words dissolved into the void, unheard by the one who had betrayed him.
The creatures of the Shattered Abyss closed in, their jagged teeth glinting in the dim light. They moved slowly, savoring the inevitability of their prey. Ravok collapsed to his knees, his vision swimming. His spear fell from his grip, clattering against the broken stones.
Was this it? Was this how his story would end?
---
Then, in the silence between breaths, a voice stirred.
"Do you see now, Ravok? You were never destined to serve. You were destined to destroy."
Ravok's head snapped up. The voice wasn't his own, but it resonated deep within him, ancient and unyielding. "Who… who are you?" he rasped.
The voice chuckled softly, like a shadow whispering secrets to the night. "Who I am is irrelevant. What matters is what you will become. Your master hollowed you out, broke you, and discarded you. But from the void comes creation. Do you wish for vengeance?"
The creatures lunged, their claws and teeth tearing into his broken body. But Ravok didn't cry out. He didn't flinch. The hatred within him burned too brightly to feel pain.
"Yes," he growled, his voice laced with venom. "I'll make them pay. I'll burn everything they've built."
The voice grew stronger, wrapping around him like a shroud. "Then embrace the void. To rise again, you must first die."
The world around Ravok faded. The pain disappeared. All that remained was the consuming darkness and the faint flicker of something far greater—a power that whispered of vengeance and rebirth.
---
Scene Transition: Rebirth
Ravok awoke to cold, suffocating and relentless. His chest heaved as he opened his eyes, gasping, and found himself staring at a rotting wooden ceiling. His hands—thin, pale, and frail—trembled as he sat up.
This body was not his.
Memories flooded his mind, fragmented and jarring. A name surfaced from the chaos: Kael Voidstrider, once a prodigy of the Crimson Veil War Sect, now cursed and forgotten. His lips curled into a bitter smile. Even in death, he had been cast into another's suffering.
He stumbled to a cracked mirror on the wall. A youthful, gaunt face stared back at him, but the fire in his crimson eyes burned just as fiercely as before.
The voice returned, calm and resolute. "This body, this curse… they are tools. Rise, Ravok. Do not squander this second chance."
Ravok clenched his fists, his reflection unwavering. "They thought they could erase me. But they've only made me stronger." His voice was steady, sharp as steel. "I'll rise again. And when I do, they'll beg for mercy. And I will give them none."
From the ashes of betrayal, Ravok would rise. The Crimson Veil War Sect would be his foothold. And the gods themselves would tremble when he came for them.