The first sign was the wine.
General Kaelen, a man whose instincts had been forged in the crucible of a hundred border wars, let his glass slip. The fine crystal shattered against the oak floor, splashing crimson liquid across the rug like a premonition of the slaughter to come. He tried to stand, his massive frame swaying, his face turning a sickly, ashen grey.
"Elara… the air… it's heavy," he wheezed. His hand, which could once crush a dragon's scales, clawed at his own throat as he collapsed back into his chair.
Cian was out of his seat in a heartbeat. His surgeon's mind diagnosed the room in seconds: God's Breath. The mana-inhibitor was flooding the vents, turning the General's S-rank mana veins into brittle, stagnant canals. To anyone else, it was a death sentence. To Cian, it should have been a minor obstacle.
Phase. Now! Cian commanded, reaching for the power buried within his soul. He didn't want to fight; he wanted to pull his parents through the floor, into the earth, into the safety of the deep dark.
But the power—the sentient abyss that had lived in the corner of his mind for ten years—remained motionless. It sat like a bored primordial god on a throne of stars, looking at Cian's soul with cold, indifferent eyes. It wasn't afraid of the poison; it simply didn't care for the boy who held it.
[...You... are... too... full... Master...] the Void whispered, its voice a low, vibrating hum of static. [...Your... heart... is... cluttered... with... love... There... is... no... room... for... me...]
"Please!" Cian screamed internally, his hands trembling as he gripped his mother's arm. "I'll give you anything! Just save them!"
The Void remained silent, an unreachable, dormant titan. Cian was the son of a General, a boy with the memories of a man, and yet he was currently nothing more than a child with a leaden body, shouting into an empty sky.
Then, the manor's front doors disintegrated into splinters and blinding light.
The Breach
Inquisitors flooded the hall, their white and gold armor gleaming like bone under the red flares they tossed into the room. Behind them walked Commander Vane, his face twisted into a grin of pure, ecstatic malice.
"General Kaelen," Vane drawled, stepping over the shattered wine. "Your 'Demonic Heart' has been found in the cellar. The Emperor thanks you for your service. Now, he asks for your head."
"Lies!" Elara shrieked. She tried to manifest a barrier, but she was breathing the same air. The inhibitor struck her harder. She collapsed to her knees, coughing up a spray of blood.
"Mom!" Cian rushed to her, his heart hammering against his ribs. This was the woman who had doted on him, who had given the orphan from Earth a reason to believe in family again.
"Look at me, boy," a scarred Inquisitor said, stepping forward. He reached out and grabbed Elara by her copper hair, yanking her head back with a sickening crack.
"No!" Kaelen roared, a primal, guttural sound. He tried to lunge, but four Inquisitors slammed their shields into him, pinning the weakened lion to the floor. They began to drive mana-suppression spikes—cold, black iron—directly into his shoulders. The sound of metal grinding against the General's bone echoed in the silent room.
Cian tried to move, but the scarred Inquisitor's A-rank aura pinned him like an insect to a board. He watched, helpless, as the dagger was brought to his mother's throat.
"Cian... run..." Elara gasped, her eyes locked on his. Even now, she wasn't thinking of her life. She was thinking of her son.
"I'm sorry," Cian sobbed, his hands clutching the air, reaching for a power that refused to acknowledge him because his soul was still too human, too bright. "I'm so sorry."
The Inquisitor grinned, leaned in, and whispered to Elara, "Thanks for entertainment."
Then, he sliced.
Cian watched as the life he had cherished for ten years sprayed across the white tablecloth. He watched his mother's eyes go dim. Vane himself stepped forward and, with a casual flick of his wrist, drove a broadsword through General Kaelen's heart.
The Void Fills the Heart
In that moment, the "Cian" that had existed—the boy who wanted to be a doctor, the boy who loved the warmth of a hearth—was extinguished.
The grief was so absolute that it burned away every lingering attachment to the world. His heart didn't just break; it emptied. The love, the hope, and the light were vacuumed out, replaced by a hollow, silent cavern of infinite depth.
The Void within his soul felt the vacancy. Finally, there was room.
[...Finally...] the ability roared, no longer a scratch in his mind but a cataclysmic resonance. [...The... Master... is... empty... The... Master... is... Mine...]
The Ex-Rank energy didn't just activate; it claimed him. The "C-rank" limiter the world had perceived was not just broken; it was erased from existence.
A pillar of absolute blackness erupted from Cian's body. The air in the room froze. The red flares turned grey, their light swallowed by a thirst that couldn't be quenched.
Cian tried to scream, but as the Ex-rank power fully merged with his physical form, it demanded a physical sacrifice. The sheer, primordial pressure of the Void energy tore through his throat, shredding his vocal cords and cauterizing the tissue with the cold fire of the abyss.
His voice died in a wet, rasping gargle of blood and shadow, but his intent was louder than any shout.
[ALL OF YOU. I WILL REMEMBER ALL OF YOU.]
The mental shockwave hit the S-rank individuals like a physical blow. Even Vane staggered back, his sword trembling. The leaders watching from the void felt a freezing sensation, as if an ancient, cosmic predator had just locked its eyes on them.
Cian's eyes turned into two starless pits, glowing with a faint, ghostly white outline.
The scarred Inquisitor lunged at him, but Cian didn't dodge. He didn't have to. He was no longer a resident of this dimension. The knife passed through his chest as if he were a hologram made of starlight.
With a silent, rhythmic grace, the General's son raised his hands. The air fractured. Two Ex-Rank abilities manifested in their true, terrifying glory.
[The Mourning Grave]—the pocket dimension—opened like a hungry mouth behind him, a world of silent stasis waiting for its first inhabitants.
With a strength that defied his small stature, Cian reached out. He didn't touch the Inquisitors; he touched the space they occupied. He pulled the bodies of his mother and father toward him, their remains phasing into the darkness of the rift with a gentle, haunting reverence.
Vane and his men tried to move, but they were trapped in a localized distortion of time and space, their bodies heavy as lead. They could only watch as the silent, bleeding boy glared at them.
Cian's mouth opened to scream one last time, but only a silent, bloody mist escaped his ruined throat.
I will dismantle you, his eyes promised.
He stepped backward. The rift swallowed him whole, snapping shut with a sound like a closing tomb.
The manor was empty. The General was gone. The son was gone.
In the wake of the massacre, only the silent, terrifying echo of a ghost remained. Cian Kaelen was no longer a human trying to survive; he was a silent god of vengeance, and he had just begun his walk through the dark.