Somewhere far from light, where even hope doesn't reach…
The chamber was silent.
A massive, circular hall carved deep beneath the earth, lit only by a strange violet flame that flickered without warmth. Shadows danced across stone pillars, and the air was thick—oppressive, like the stillness before an execution.
At the center of the room stood a raised obsidian dais, above it… a throne.
And on that throne sat Nemesis.
She didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
Her presence alone silenced the 200 seated below—warriors, mages, and assassins. Every one of them was cloaked in black, their faces covered, their hearts hollowed by tragedy.
They weren't just survivors.
They were the Forsaken.
And Nemesis was their anchor.
Her skin was pale, almost like fallen moonlight. Her hair, longer than her back, flowed like living shadow—black as the abyss so deep it seemed to absorb light. Her eyes mirrored the same—voids of night, reflecting no emotion, no mercy.
She wore a long, sleeveless black dress stitched with dark silver veins. When she shifted even slightly, the shadows bent around her form, as if she were the night itself.
Always in black, always hidden in darkness. Her voice, when it came, was like the hush of a funeral bell.
She didn't command with rage.
She ruled with silence.
A man stepped forward from the lower platform.
Council Member Rivek, the strategist of the Eastern Wing.
He bowed.
"My lady," he said with reverence. "The preparations are complete. We await only your command."
She tilted her head slightly, granting him silent permission to speak.
Rivek turned toward the gathering, voice crisp and cold. "Each council member will now present their operational strategy."
Four others stepped forward, aligning with Rivek. They were the Five Broken Stars—each in command of forty Forsaken warriors, each having lost everything to the so-called 'heroes.'
Rivek began.
"Our division will strike Windfall Village, a small farming region near the western marsh. It is isolated, under-defended, and frequented by young hero trainees. Perfect bait."
He continued, tone sharpening.
"Twenty of our operatives will approach under the guise of refugees. At nightfall, we will ignite the village from two ends—force chaos and panic. Simultaneously, a distress call will be sent to the Hero Association."
He smirked.
"They'll send a few A-rankers. Perhaps an S-ranker, if we're lucky. Nothing we can't handle."
"The moment they engage," another council member, Velda, took over, "we activate the Anti-Mana Field. No spells. No communication. No escape."
"Our true forces—hidden in the shadows—will surround them. Not one breath leaves the field."
Rivek added, "We are not seeking death… yet. We are collecting justice for the fallen."
A hush fell over the chamber.
Everyone faces were serious and solemn.
Another council member, Maelis, a woman with scars across her jaw, spoke next.
"We will mirror the plan at Elderpine Hamlet. Same pattern. Different location. Two attacks in one night. They won't expect synchronization. We strike fast. We strike clean."
The fourth, a towering man named Gorein, added with a dark chuckle, "Let them come hunting us after that. They'll march into a maze of death."
"And bleed for every step."
The fifth council member said, "We will not harm villagers."
"Our wrath is not for the weak. Not for the innocent."
"It is for the ones who wear shining armor while corpses rot under their banners."
"We'll capture them."
"Break them."
"Offer them to the Lord."
"All for the flame!" he shouted raising his hand in the air.
"FOR THE FLAME!!" A loud union of forsaken rang through chamber.
There was a rage in everyone's eyes whenever they thought of them.
Then—all eyes turned back to the throne.
Back to her.
Nemesis.
She stood.
The movement was so slight, yet everyone straightened, like a cold wind had swept the room.
She raised her hand—pale, gloved in shadow.
Silence.
Even the flames stilled.
She didn't speak loudly. She didn't need to.
Her voice was quiet. Cold.
But it carried like thunder.
"We do not kill for pleasure."
"We do not slaughter the innocent."
"Our hatred is singular. Pure."
"We do not hate the world…"
"We hate the ones who claimed they would save it."
Her eyes scanned the Forsaken.
"The Heroes."
"They watched us beg and did nothing."
"They called us weak when we wept."
"They never came—while we burned."
A pause.
Her voice dropped lower—barely above a whisper, yet sharper than steel.
"So now… we burn them."
And in an instant, two hundred broken hearts fell into perfect, synchronized silence.
No resistance.
No question.
They had no kingdoms. No laws. No families left.
Only one cause.
One vengeance.
She stepped forward into the light, her presence suffocating.
"Let the world call us monsters."
"We were never their people anyway."
She pointed one delicate finger toward the high ceiling where no sky existed, and whispered:
"Let the Retribution Begins."
The violet flames flared black for a moment—then vanished.
And with them, so did the Forsaken.
Vanishing into the night to set fire to hope itself.
Meanwhile… Noah remained deep underground, unaware that as he chased perfection—vengeance had already begun to move.
To be continued...