Time passed, but the scars of the cataclysm never healed. The once-familiar cities of Earth became desolate wastelands, dotted with blackened craters and overgrown ruins. Humanity, battered but unbroken, adapted to the new reality. Massive domes, shimmering with protective magic and reinforced steel, rose across the globe. These fortresses housed the remnants of civilization, shielding them from the horrors of the wild.
Inside the domes, life teetered between normalcy and chaos. People who had awakened magical abilities were trained to fight, their skills classified into ranks: E, the weakest; D, competent; C, skilled; B, exceptional; A, elite; and S, the legends. Guilds formed, their banners flying high as they ventured into the untamed wilds to hunt Voidborn and recover resources. Each guild sought fame, fortune, and dominance, but the threat outside the domes remained ever-present.
For Damian, survival was not enough. Weeks of wandering the wilderness had left him gaunt but determined. The whispers of power from the voice had grown fainter, but his resolve burned brighter. The betrayal, the monsters, and the destruction—they were connected, and he needed answers.
The Guilds and Rankings
Inside the central dome of Europa City, the largest settlement in what was once Europe, life bustled with a grim urgency. The Council of Domes oversaw operations, ensuring resources were shared, though tensions simmered between the domes. The most powerful guilds ruled the wilds, their S-rank hunters becoming legends among survivors.
Damian stood in the shadow of a towering building adorned with the crest of The Silver Fang, an A-rank guild renowned for its precision strikes against Voidborn. Hunters in sleek Armor moved past him, their enchanted weapons glowing faintly. Their confidence annoyed him.
"They fight for glory," Damian muttered, his voice laced with disdain. "Not for truth."
His clothes, torn and stained from weeks in the wild, made him stand out among the polished civilians and hunters. He clutched the blackened map he'd scavenged, its edges frayed but its markings clear—a network of ancient symbols and coordinates leading to something buried beneath the surface of the world.
The Wild Hunt
Damian's journey took him to the outskirts of the dome, where a market bustled with traders and rogue hunters. Information was currency here, traded alongside relics and supplies salvaged from the wilds. He approached a stall managed by a woman with sharp eyes and a scar running across her cheek.
"What do you know about this?" Damian placed the map on the counter, his dark aura flickering faintly as he spoke.
The woman's eyes narrowed. "Old-world symbols. Dangerous places. Some say the Voidborn came from sites like these."
"That's what I need to know. Where do I start?"
The woman hesitated, then pointed to a location circled on the map. "There's a ruin two days from here, past the gorge. Few come back from there. They say the air itself eats your soul."
Damian smirked. "Good. Then no one will get in my way."
The Ruins
The journey to the ruins was harrowing. Damian crossed the jagged landscape, his steps dogged by smaller Voidborn that seemed to sense his presence. His growing mastery over destruction kept them at bay, but each encounter left him drained. By the time he reached the gorge, his body ached, and his mind raced with questions.
The ruins loomed ahead, a sprawling complex of shattered stone and eerie glyphs carved into blackened walls. The air was heavy, charged with an oppressive energy that made his skin crawl. As Damian stepped inside, the voice returned, faint but distinct.
"You are close."
The chamber ahead was vast, its floor carved with concentric circles of glowing purple runes. At the center stood a massive obsidian obelisk, pulsing faintly with light. Damian approached cautiously, his eyes scanning the carvings that adorned its surface.
He reached out, his fingers brushing against the cold stone. The moment he made contact, the obelisk surged with energy, and a vision overtook him.
The Revelation
Damian saw the world as it was before the cataclysm: vibrant cities, flourishing life, and skies untouched by the void. Then came the relics—artifacts of immense power, unearthed by greed and ambition. Each one tore at the barrier that protected reality, opening cracks for the Voidborn to seep through.
The vision shifted, showing him the Obsidian Heart, now embedded in Jonah's chest. Its light grew dimmer as it drained his essence. Beyond Jonah, Damian saw something far worse: a massive tear in the fabric of reality, pulsating with chaotic energy. From it emerged a shadowy figure, its form shifting and indistinct, but its presence unmistakable.
An ancient myth.
The voice in Damian's mind roared. "The barrier is broken. The end is inevitable. Unless…"
Damian snapped back to reality, gasping for air. He staggered away from the obelisk, his heart pounding as he processed what he had seen.
The voice spoke again, quieter now. "Find the truth. Stop the ancient myth. Or become it."
A deafening roar echoed through the ruins, and the walls began to crumble. Damian turned, his eyes widening as a massive Voidborn, unlike any he'd seen before, emerged from the shadows. Its form radiated destruction, and its gaze locked onto him.
Damian clenched his fists, the dark aura around him flaring to life. The obelisk's glow dimmed, but he felt its energy within him—a fragment of the truth, a fragment of power.