He wandered through nothing.
A young man. Alone.
His steps were steady, but without direction—like he was walking not to reach somewhere, but to escape the stillness. His long, black hair flowed behind him, unaffected by gravity, swaying like shadows in water. There was no ground beneath him, no sky above—only the abyss. A place where time didn't tick, and distance didn't matter.
He didn't know his name.
He didn't know how long he had been walking.
He didn't know why he existed.
All he knew was that something wasn't right. The air—or whatever passed for it—was heavy, cold, thick with silence that pressed against his skin. It wasn't darkness. It was absence. The kind of emptiness that made thoughts feel loud, that made memories dissolve before they could form.
And yet... something inside him stirred.
A feeling that this place wasn't new. That he'd been here before.
Then—something shattered the silence.
A light bloomed ahead. Not warm. Not inviting. A divine radiance that pulsed with authority, sharp enough to make his lungs tighten even though he didn't remember breathing.
A figure descended from the void, wings unfurling behind him—golden, immense, each feather etched with symbols that shimmered and danced like fire. A halo hovered behind his head, spinning slowly, inscribed with runes that shifted faster than thought.
He wasn't human. He only looked like one.
His face was perfect. Too perfect. Skin like polished marble, eyes like twin suns, lips shaped in serene judgment. The kind of face that made you forget how to speak, forget what pain was. The kind of beauty that was dangerous.
The man in black—still silent—felt something inside him recoil.
He didn't know why, but he took a step back.
The radiant being raised a hand, palm outward. His voice, when it came, was calm—eerily calm—but layered with command.
> "You have no right to be here."
Then came the light.
A spear of pure energy formed in the angelic figure's hand and burst forward, tearing through the void like thunder made solid.
The dark-haired man didn't think. He moved.
His arm shot up, and from nowhere, a bow appeared—sleek, curved, and humming with strange energy. Ancient markings glowed across its limbs, symbols he didn't recognize yet understood. His fingers moved on instinct, forming an arrow of pure force from nothingness. Words slipped from his lips—foreign, primal.
> "Dhanu...ya."
He loosed the arrow.
It screamed through the air and struck the golden figure in the chest.
For a moment—just a heartbeat—the divine light dimmed. The being's body arched, and from his lips came a cry. Not just pain. Rage. Fear.
But then—pain.
The dark-haired man stumbled, eyes wide, as agony exploded in his back. It felt like fire crawling inside his spine. He turned—
The radiant figure stood untouched.
Unburned.
Still smiling.
That same hand lifted again, but this time, no words followed. The void swallowed everything. Even sound.
And then—he fell.
—
He woke to sensation. Real sensation.
Solid ground. Air that smelled of stone and moss and something older. Coldness against his cheek.
He was no longer in the abyss.
He lay beneath a massive statue—a lion, carved in mid-roar. Its mane was flowing stone, its eyes twin marbles of intricate design. But they glowed. Not with magic. With presence.
He touched the lion's paw, and the stone felt alive.
The world flickered.
Reality twisted.
Suddenly, he was somewhere else—still under the lion, but not a statue anymore. It moved. Its breath was deep and ancient. Its fur rippled like moonlight on a lake, and its eyes stared through him, not at him.
It stepped forward.
He raised his hand—bow forming again without command.
But before anything could happen—
A scream.
Sharp. Human. Female.
He turned.
A girl—no older than him—ran, barefoot, dress torn, breath catching. Behind her, the forest burned, and from its edge emerged... them.
Not beasts.
Not men.
Something between.
One towered above the others—skin like molten stone, red and slick. Its claws dripped heat, and its fangs gleamed wet. But its eyes... were human. Twisted by something deeper than rage.
The creature saw him—and stopped.
It stared.
Then it spoke.
Its voice was hoarse, like rust scraping metal, but unmistakable:
> "An...tam...bha..."
The word echoed. It meant nothing.
But it struck something inside him.
A pressure built behind his eyes. The ground trembled. Cracks split beneath his feet, and in the silence that followed, reality groaned.
A portal ripped open in the air. Not summoned. Torn.
And from it stepped a new figure—worse than the beast.
Half-white, half-black. Skin split perfectly down the middle. One eye glowed with celestial warmth, the other with abyssal cold. Its grin stretched too wide.
It walked like a man.
But no part of it felt human.
It raised a hand and—snapped.
The red beast vanished. Not slain.
Erased.
The girl fell to her knees, shaking.
The split entity tilted its head, giggled, and said in a sing-song voice:
> "The Antambha has awakened."
Then it turned, opened the portal again, and stepped through.
But not before releasing others—silver, sleek, crawling on all fours. Beasts of razors and speed.
They charged.
The man lifted his hand again, ready to summon the bow.
But this time, he hesitated.
Why a bow?
Why did it feel natural?
Who was he?
The beasts lunged. There was no time.
He had no answers.
Only instinct.
And power.
---
[To be continued...]