Ash still clung to the wind when Nihil vanished into the ruins.
Behind him, the Market burned. Its bones collapsing. Its gold melting. The air reeked of scorched perfume, silk, and secrets no longer safe.
He didn't look back.
Not because he was above it,
But because vengeance was never meant to be admired.
It was meant to be feared.
By morning, the story had spread.
Like a plague.
"A boy clothed in silence."
"A ghost from the Chains."
"A slave who killed nobles and walked away laughing."
They gave him names: Ash-Eater, Ghost-Crowned, The Hollow Flame.
But one stuck above all.
Mock God.
The Warden heard it first over breakfast.
He sat in a golden hall, sipping from a wine glass made of mortal bone, when a trembling steward delivered the report.
Burnt noble house.
Slaughtered guards.
Freed slaves.
And worst of all, a survivor.
A noble girl, half-mad, who described a boy with no face, a voice like rust, and power that silenced the world itself.
The Warden smiled.
And then he crushed the wine glass in his hand.
Two hours later, his seal was burned into the noticeboards of every surviving sector:
HUNTER'S DECREE: LEVEL BLACK
NAME: UNREGISTERED. Alias: Mock God.
CRIME: Treason. Blasphemy. Incitement of slave rebellion.
BOUNTY: 500 white crowns. Alive preferred. Dead accepted.
SIGN: THE SIGIL OF MOCKERY
Below it, an image etched in red
A hollow circle. Empty in the center.
The sign of Nothingness.
Nihil saw it three days later.
He stood in the shade of a shattered chapel, cloak pulled low, watching a group of bounty hunters nail the notice to a wall.
He didn't blink.
Didn't flinch.
But when they left, he stepped forward and stared at the mark they'd made.
His new symbol.
A circle with nothing inside.
A mockery.
A warning.
A crown.
He pressed his fingers to it.
Smiled faintly.
"Good," he whispered. "They're watching now."
He didn't mind being mocked.
Because mockery meant fear hidden behind laughter.
And fear… meant respect was coming.
That night, they came for him.
Six bounty hunters. Trained. Armed. Faces masked in silver. Mercenaries from the upper circles. Not just swords-for-hire, Slayer Class.
They found him outside a broken observatory on the city's edge.
They thought it would be easy.
It wasn't.
He let them see him.
Let them circle.
Then used his Echo.
Whisper of Ash.
Silence.
Three seconds.
Enough for him to vanish.
Enough for them to panic.
Enough to kill.
When the silence faded, four were already dead. The fifth bled out on his knees.
The sixth begged.
"What are you?" the last one cried. "What do you want?!"
Nihil stepped from the shadow.
Eyes cold.
Blade red.
Voice calm.
"I want the world to know…"
"You created me."
Then he drove the blade home.
He burned their bodies.
And with their blood, he marked the wall with his sigil.
Not just a circle anymore.
A crown made of flame surrounding the hollow center.
The symbol of rising.
Of something born from nothing.
That was the night his myth began.
Not just in whispers.
Not just in fear.
But in faith.
Among slaves.
Among orphans.
Among those who had nothing left but hate.
The Hollow Beggar had become more than a name.
He had become an idea.