Far away, deep in a forest where no birds flew and no paths led, the two full moons hung high and cold in the night sky, their pale light shining over the tall twisted trees that surrounded the open ground.
In the center of that clearing, the ritual circle glowed brighter than ever before—lines of ancient symbols burning red and gold on the dirt, as if something was waking from deep below the earth.
The wind had started to blow harder, swirling around the twelve cloaked figures who stood in a perfect circle, their black robes whipping in the wind, their arms raised high as they chanted in voices that no longer sounded human.
"Zar'kai elun toram… ven tal'kerai nosh... sel'nor... a'krenai!"
"Vel'rakas tenai… dar'lu zorkan ven..."
Their chants grew louder, rising with the wind, echoing into the night like a storm of forgotten power.
Then— BOOM!
A huge blast of light exploded from the center of the circle, and the cloaked figures stepped back as dust and energy swirled outward, kicking up dirt and leaves, shaking the trees like a wave of force had just slammed into the world.
As the dust cleared, they stared. There—in the middle of the circle—lay a man, collapsed on the ground. His entire body was covered in blood, but his skin showed no open wounds, It was Clint.
They gasped in awe.
"It worked. We actually summoned another one"
"We must move fast! If the Duke's knight find us, it's over!"
One of them stepped forward quickly, reaching out to touch the motionless figure. But just as the hand was about to touch him— Clint's chest rose.
His fingers twitched. He took a deep, shaky breath, like a drowning man returning to the surface. His body jerked slightly as his eyes fluttered open, blurry and confused, the cold air rushing into his lungs as his brain struggled to make sense of anything.
"Wh… what…?" Clint muttered, blinking at the swirling shapes above him. His vision cleared little by little.
He blinked up at a sky he didn't recognize—two moons hung above, pale and watchful. 'I was shot… I felt it. I should be dead.'
He sat up quickly, eyes scanning the strange symbols burning in the dirt, the hooded figures staring at him like he wasn't real.
Blood still stained his clothes, but there were no wounds.
'This isn't right Didn't I… die?' the thought echoed through his mind. He remembered the warehouse. T
he betrayal. The gunfire.
"This is impossible!" one of the cloaked men shouted.
"He shouldn't be awake yet!"
"Who the hell are you people?!" Clint snapped, his eyes darting from one figure to the next.
The leader stepped forward slowly, lowering his hood to reveal silver hair and tired, sunken eyes. "You are not mistaken... You did die."
Clint's eyes narrowed. "We summoned you. From your world. From death. You are our chosen one."
Cold wind still swirling around the ritual circle, and before Clint could fully understand what was happening, two of the cloaked figures reached out with their hands, trying to grab his arms like they wanted to keep him still or control him somehow.
His body moved on instinct. With a sharp twist of his waist and a sudden shift of his legs, he grabbed the first man's arm and threw him over his shoulder, using the exact same move he had practiced for years in underground fights and street defense—his favorite technique.
The man flew through the air and crashed into another behind him. "Wha—?!" one of them gasped, shocked.
Another one stepped back, watching Clint's movements, his eyes wide under the hood. "Strange move… That control… He's really the one."
"Now the Duke is doomed."
Clint frowned and thought 'Who's doomed?! Damn it, I don't know what this is, but I need to go back—and make those traitors pay!'
He turned and ran, pushing through the trees at full speed, his legs moving fast as branches whipped past his arms and the cold wind bit at his face. He didn't know where he was, what world this even was, but one thing was clear—he had to get away from them.
Behind him, the robed figures shouted. "He's running! Stop him!"
One of them pulled a long wooden stick from under his robe and slammed it into the dirt with a glowing symbol, and suddenly— Clint's legs were grabbed by something.
He fell face-first, hard, into the forest floor with a loud smack. "Ouch!" He looked down—and saw thick green vines wrapping around his ankles, moving like snakes, pulling at him.
"What in the—?!" Clint shouted, eyes wide. Without thinking, he reached into his boot, pulled out a hidden knife strapped to his ankle, and slashed at the vines, cutting through them quickly.
As soon as he was free, he jumped back to his feet and kept running, faster than before, his breath sharp, his heart pounding. "No! Don't use too much mana! They'll detect us!" someone yelled behind him.
"Hurry! Catch him before he escapes the forest!" Another voice screamed in panic.
"Why is it not taking effect yet?! Why can he still run?!" Clint kept running, He didn't know how far he had gone, or if the cloaked people were still chasing him, but finally, he saw a thick patch of trees ahead.
He quickly ducked under a fallen trunk, pushed through low branches, and hid behind a moss-covered boulder.
He waited. Seconds passed. No footsteps. No voices. He had escaped.
Clint fell back, his body pressing against the rock as he let out a long, tired breath. Sweat dripped down his face, mixing with the dried blood on his skin, and his fingers trembled from both exhaustion and shock.
His legs felt cold, His arms were weak And then, his head started to ache—slow at first, then sharper, like a knife pressing inside his skull. "What's… going on?" he whispered to himself, closing his eyes tightly, trying to focus through the pain.
"Is it… because I lost too much blood?" He gritted his teeth and stood up slowly, one hand reaching out to grab a nearby tree for support. Every breath hurt a little more now, and his vision blurred again.
He forced himself to move forward, dragging his feet through the uneven forest floor, one step at a time. Then the ground suddenly gave out under him. He didn't see the slope ahead.
"Wha—?!" His body slipped, and he rolled down the hill, crashing through bushes, hitting rocks, and His head slammed against something hard.
Everything turned black.