The Return of the Blade
The Phantom Knight charged—a monolith of steel and shadow, its massive blade cleaving the air like thunder ripped from the lungs of a dying god. Every step ruptured the obsidian beneath its feet, shockwaves echoing through the whispering tomb like the heartbeat of a buried war god. Void-shadow burst from its joints with every movement, staining the air in flickers of unreality. Time bent around it. Gravity recoiled.
Matt didn't think—he moved.
Pure instinct.
He ducked just as the blade screamed down, missing him by inches. But the pressure alone hurled him backward. The ground erupted. Stone fractured behind him as jagged debris tore across his shoulder. He hit a pillar, crumpled, then rolled to his feet, blade already in hand.
The Shadowsidian Blade pulsed—cold, alive, furious. The weapon was no longer a mere tool; it was a tether to something far more ancient than this crypt, pulsing with a will of its own.
Matt's eyes glowed—not just with Voidlight now, but with veins of red lightning pulsing beneath skin pale as ash.
The Whisper Rift hadn't just given his memories back.
It had rewired his soul.
"Reflexes from another lifetime..."
The blade hummed, resonating.
Void Technique: Blink Slash
Time stuttered—hiccuped.
Matt vanished.
In the next breath, he reappeared mid-strike behind the Knight. The Shadowsidian Blade carved a diagonal arc into its molten spine. Shadowfire erupted, splattering the stone. The Knight stumbled—metal grinding, armor screeching.
It didn't fall.
It turned—fast.
The greatblade flared—not with ordinary flame, but molten Furnacefire. The temperature in the room spiked. Air shimmered. Light warped. Symbols burned into the walls just from its presence.
Matt's blood screamed at the memory. This fire wasn't natural.
It was divine.
Thermuz.
The blade struck like a comet. Matt's dodge came too late. It hit him full-force, launching him across the chamber. He crashed into obsidian, which cracked on impact, sending spiderweb fractures up the wall. Pain exploded. His ribs gave under the pressure. Blood spilled from his mouth.
He slumped to one knee.
But didn't fall.
Because under the agony—burned something older.
Rage.
Ancient. Coiled. Sacred.
"Do you remember now?" the Knight growled. Its voice was layered metal, echoing with centuries. "Do you remember how they burned?"
Matt gasped—then steadied.
Yes.
He remembered the screams. The molten sky. The furnace winds.
His mother's hands, scarred by flame, sealing him beneath the earth.
His father's silver-flame body standing between them and the Paladins.
Thermuz. Laughing. Burning. Ending.
Matt rose.
His voice was no longer his own. It echoed—distorted. As if all the past versions of himself spoke through him now.
"I remember."
The Shadowsidian Blade flared, spitting sparks of Void and bloodfire.
Void Technique: Rift Counter
The Knight came again, blade descending like a divine sentence.
Matt didn't flinch.
He vanished—no flash, no noise.
Just silence.
Then he reappeared inside the Knight's guard—too close for the greatblade. He drove his sword straight through its molten core.
Metal screamed.
Not steel—soul.
The Phantom Knight convulsed. Cracks spread across its body like fractures in glass.
Then—implosion.
A Void pulse detonated. The air collapsed. The floor caved in. Stone, ash, and ghostlight vanished into a vortex, pulled into nothing.
And in the crater left behind—
Matt knelt.
Burned. Bleeding.
Alive.
His hands pressed against the stone. It glowed beneath his palms—glyphs carved before memory began. Nitine script. Words of exile. Words of power. They formed a map, not just to Nyuga—but to every sealed truth the gods had tried to erase.
Memory Fragment Unlocked: Realm Gate – Nyuga Ruins
The Knight's ashes stirred. A funnel of black wind rose, carrying a final whisper:
"The Nayron Kings... awaken..."
Matt stood.
Heart pounding.
The Shadowsidian Blade hummed.
He turned to the altar—fractured and ancient. Behind it, the rear wall crumbled, revealing a hidden gateway.
A portal. Obsidian and crystal. Runes swirling like water on fire. The air pulsed—not just with magic, but destiny.
The walls around the chamber echoed with whispers—not from the Void, not from the gods, but from the very stone that had buried his past.
This wasn't just a door to a new place.
It was a door back to who he was.
"Nyuga," he whispered. "My birthplace. The one place the gods wanted to erase."
He stepped toward it. The runes flared.
The glyphs answered.
The portal opened—
And beyond it: flame-colored skies, shattered towers, and truth.
Not redemption.
But reclamation.
"No more running. No more forgetting."
Matt stepped through.
Behind him, silence.
Ahead, war.
He didn't carry fear.
He carried memory.
He carried vengeance.
He carried a blade once buried.
And now drawn.