Blackridge was bleeding.
The fires had quieted, but smoke still curled into the night sky like a prayer that went unanswered. Entire blocks were reduced to rubble. Drones buzzed weakly overhead, scanning for survivors, but most of the city's defense systems were down—hacked, corrupted, or simply obliterated in the chaos.
Crispin stood at the edge of what used to be District Twelve, his boots scraping along shattered pavement. His Echoes loomed silently behind him, flickering in and out of phase, even they not fully recovered after what happened.
Yara sat on a chunk of broken wall, wrapping her wounded arm with scraps of cloth, teeth gritted but silent. Revenna crouched beside her, blade never sheathed, eyes sharp and watchful.
The Veil had gone quiet—for now. That silence was louder than bombs.
Crispin stared at the skyline where the Gate had collapsed. His Crown hummed low, like a heartbeat syncing with the city's pulse.
"You okay?" Revenna asked.
He shook his head. "I'm tired of asking that question. It never changes anything."
Yara looked up, her voice dry. "Then maybe stop talking and start planning."
Crispin gave a faint smile. "Already on it."
The Crown flared softly, and he reached into the system—not to summon, not to kill. But to see. He needed answers.
What he saw nearly knocked him back.
The Veil had nested across the continent. They weren't just Hunters gone rogue—they were cities deep, buried beneath politics, fake guilds, broken systems. They were everywhere.
And worse—so was something else.
Something deeper.
Ancient.
Waiting.
He stumbled back, eyes wide.
"What is it?" Revenna said, already drawing her blade.
Crispin didn't answer right away.
Because what he'd seen?
Was himself.
In a different place. A different time.
But him.
And he was the villain.
Crispin didn't speak for nearly a full minute.
The weight of what he'd seen wasn't just heavy—it was paralyzing.
His own face. Same eyes. Same burn in his chest. But the version of himself that flashed through the system's broken memory wasn't fighting for the living. He wasn't protecting Blackridge.
He was ending it.
"Crispin?" Yara's voice pulled him out.
He looked at her—eyes haunted. "I saw something. No—someone. A version of me. I don't know when. I don't know how. But he wasn't like me."
Revenna's brow furrowed. "A doppelganger? A clone?"
"No. Me. But wrong." He clenched his fists. "He wasn't wearing the Crown. He was the system."
Yara stood. "Maybe it's a trick. A planted vision. The Veil—"
"No," Crispin cut in. "It wasn't fake. It felt... personal."
A soft chime rang out from Revenna's comm scroll. A secure message.
She tapped it open. "Encrypted code… from the Vaults. Old Hunter records."
Crispin took it, eyes scanning.
The message read:
> The Crown was never meant to be worn.
Only borrowed.
Its last true bearer destroyed a continent.
He looked just like you.
Silence.
Revenna's expression shifted to alarm. "They've been hiding this."
Yara whispered, "Is it possible that's your Echo? A remnant of who you were meant to be?"
Crispin shook his head slowly. "No. I think it's worse."
His voice dropped. "I think I already was him. In another loop. Another world. Maybe this... is my second chance."
Revenna stepped close, eyes hard. "Then we make damn sure you don't become him again."
Crispin looked up at the blackened sky. "Agreed."
And right then, a voice sliced through the comms. Cold, clipped.
> "Crispin David. You are hereby marked by the Central Council of Hunters as a potential world-class threat. Stand down and submit for isolation."
Yara's jaw dropped. "They're hunting you?"
"No," Crispin muttered, a bitter smirk tugging at his lips. "They're late."
Because at that moment, his own Echoes began turning on him—not in rebellion, but in fear.
The Crown pulsed.
Something inside it was awakening.
And it wasn't entirely him anymore.
Crispin staggered back as his Echoes began to shift. Not physically—but something deep in their core, in the code that held them bound. Their forms flickered, hesitated, eyes twitching toward him like prey watches a predator they no longer recognize.
Revenna's sword was already drawn. "They're glitching."
"No," Crispin whispered. "They're scared."
One of the Echoes, a former high-level knight Crispin had claimed from the ruins of a Gate in Halmsdeep, took a step toward him, sword half-raised. Not to strike—but like it was deciding.
Yara reached for her staff, panicked. "What the hell is happening to them?"
Crispin's voice dropped. "The Crown... It's evolving. Or maybe it's remembering something. I'm remembering something."
And suddenly, he saw it.
The ruins of a city not yet destroyed.
A tower of black stone rising above oceans of ash.
Himself atop that tower, crowned not in gold—but in flame.
He snapped out of it with a sharp inhale.
"They're not afraid of me." He looked up at Revenna. "They're afraid of who I used to be."
Revenna didn't flinch. "Then prove you're not that guy."
A pulse tore through the air. The Crown blazed, and a voice echoed in the back of Crispin's mind—not his own, but familiar.
> "All power has a memory. And yours remembers conquest."
That was when the first Echo attacked.
It wasn't rage.
It was instinct.
It lunged, blade aiming for Crispin's throat—not to kill, but to reclaim the power it once served under the old him.
Crispin's blade flashed.
Steel met steel, and the Echo shattered into smoke.
Silence.
Crispin stood trembling, sword still raised. "They don't serve me anymore. Not unless I remind them who I am now."
He turned to the rest, voice like a growl. "I don't kneel to the System. I burn it."
The remaining Echoes held still… then slowly dropped to one knee.
Yara let out a breath. Revenna's grip eased.
But then the comm crackled again.
"This is Commander Strath. Crown-bearer Crispin David is officially marked an Unchained Class Hazard. Code Black. If you see him—terminate on sight."
Crispin's hands curled into fists.
"They want to erase me… like I'm a weapon they lost control of."
Revenna's eyes burned. "Then we stop running. We take the war to them."
The oath was made in silence.
In blood.
And fire.
Crispin didn't flinch.
The words terminate on sight still echoed in his ears, but he looked up at the broken skyline like it was challenging him. The smoke hadn't even cleared from the Gate's collapse, and now the entire Hunter system was turning on him.
Revenna stood beside him, blade steady. "If they think we're backing down, they've forgotten who we are."
Yara wiped the blood off her cheek, face pale but fierce. "They trained you, then betrayed you. That means they're scared. That means they know you can win."
Crispin looked at them both. "Then let's give them a reason to panic."
He reached out with the Crown—not to summon, not to destroy, but to search.
To hunt.
A ripple burst through the city, invisible to the naked eye, but every active Gate, every bound Echo, every corrupted node felt it.
"Ping just lit up across five zones," Revenna said, checking her cracked interface. "System's freaking out."
"Good," Crispin muttered. "They're listening now."
The Crown gave him access to something even Arlen didn't seem to know—an old map, hidden beneath layers of forgotten protocol. Not just city layouts. Not just war routes.
But where the Council themselves were hiding.
"Yara," Crispin said, eyes focused. "You said they buried the truth in Vaults, right?"
"Yeah?"
"We dig them up."
Revenna smirked. "You're thinking sabotage?"
"No," Crispin replied. "I'm thinking exposure. We show the world what the Council's really protecting. What they've done to the Gates. To us."
Just then, the ground quaked again.
But this wasn't from the system.
This was real.
Explosions bloomed in the distance—targeted strikes. Council-funded drones lighting up the very districts that had just survived the Gate collapse.
Yara's eyes widened. "They're wiping data. Destroying everything."
Revenna growled. "So no one finds the truth."
Crispin's jaw tightened. "Then we hit them faster than they can hide."
The three of them moved.
The Crown flickered with a strange new energy—not just power, but awareness. It was learning. Reacting. Becoming more than a tool.
And deep within its memory, something whispered.
"If you rise too far, they'll break the sky to stop you."
Crispin smiled darkly. "Let them try."
The rebellion didn't begin with armies.
It began with names.
Crispin, Revenna, and Yara moved like ghosts through the broken underbelly of Blackridge—through sewers, silent tunnels, forgotten labs. Places the Council thought no one would remember.
But the Crown remembered everything.
Encrypted locations. Failed experiments. Abandoned projects where Hunters were turned into weapons, and Echoes were pulled from still-living corpses.
Crispin stood in one of those forgotten chambers now, torchlight flickering against the walls, revealing surgical tables still stained with dried blood. Old Hunter insignias lay buried under dust and guilt.
Yara exhaled shakily. "This is where they made the first forced Echo-bindings. Children. Prisoners. People who never came back from the Gates."
Revenna turned away, her voice cold. "This is the Council's legacy."
Crispin said nothing.
Instead, he pointed the Crown at the room and let it speak. The ancient system hummed to life, creating a glowing projection—a memory archive.
Footage crackled to life. Screams. Data logs. A name repeated over and over.
> Subject Zero: Crispin David
Yara's mouth fell open. "They started with you?"
Crispin's face was blank. But inside, he felt it—the twist, the break in time.
He hadn't just survived the first Gate.
He'd been part of the original experiment to create one.
Revenna whispered, "You're not the mistake they couldn't fix... you're the origin they couldn't control."
Before the weight of that truth could fully settle, the walls shook.
The ceiling cracked.
And soldiers flooded in.
Not Hunters.
Council Enforcement.
White-clad, fully armored, with rifles pointed straight at them.
A booming voice called out from above. "Crispin David. You are charged with breach of containment, treason against the System, and possession of a forbidden artifact. Surrender now, and we may spare your companions."
Crispin's voice was low. Calm. Furious.
"No."
The Crown blazed.
His Echoes exploded from the shadows, tearing into the soldiers like a tidal wave of darkness and light.
Revenna moved like lightning. Yara conjured shields and waves of piercing energy.
Crispin launched forward, every step laced with power not meant for mortals. His blade cut through steel, through code, through lies.
The room was chaos—but this time, controlled chaos.
His chaos.
And above the noise, he heard another voice—one not from this place, not from this time.
> "The world ended once. You were its end... and its beginning."
The battle raged on, but Crispin didn't feel alone anymore.
He felt like he was becoming.
The lab was in ruins.
Bodies lay scattered—white-armored enforcers torn down by Echoes, their rifles broken, their commands silenced. Sparks sizzled from broken drones above, flickering in their final moments.
Crispin stood at the center of it all, chest heaving, the Crown on his head glowing like a cursed sun. His sword dripped with black and gold essence—part blood, part code. His eyes… they weren't just his anymore. Not fully.
Revenna limped over, wiping blood from her mouth. "That wasn't a skirmish. That was a kill order."
"They're trying to erase me," Crispin said flatly, "because I'm proof the System's not in control."
Yara hovered near one of the terminals, her fingers flying across keys. "I cracked part of the vault log. You're not just Subject Zero... there were others."
Crispin moved beside her, staring at the screen.
Subject One: Cein Delar
Status: Unknown. Last seen near the Origin Gate.
Designation: Echo-Sovereign.
Revenna stepped back. "Cein Delar? I've heard that name. A myth. The first Hunter to ever conquer a Gate alone... and disappear inside it."
Crispin's heart pounded.
It wasn't just him.
He wasn't the only one who had risen like this. The System had tried this before.
And failed. Or… lied.
Yara turned, eyes wide. "If he's alive, if he's somewhere near the Origin Gate… that means the first Gate never actually closed."
Revenna's voice sharpened. "And it means your Crown wasn't the first one made."
The implications hit like a falling skyscraper.
This wasn't just a war between Hunters and shadows anymore.
It was a war between the versions of power that survived—and the ones buried deep, waiting to return.
Suddenly, the terminal sparked and died. Power cut. Data wiped.
Crispin turned, instincts flaring.
A voice echoed through the broken halls.
Slow. Mocking. Familiar.
"Still digging through graves, Crown-Bearer?"
A figure emerged from the hallway—dripping in Veil regalia, tall, and cloaked in blood-red armor.
Commander Strath.
The one who ordered Crispin's death.
"I told them you'd be too dangerous to keep alive," Strath said, drawing a sword as black as obsidian. "But they still hoped you'd kneel."
Revenna stepped forward. "Not today."
Strath smirked. "Then bleed."
And the hall exploded into battle.
Crispin's Echoes surged.
Blades clashed like thunder.
And through the chaos, Crispin heard that ancient whisper again:
"One bearer to destroy the world. One to save it. One to choose."
And he realized—he wasn't just a weapon or a rebel.
He was a fulcrum.
The world would tilt based on what he chose to become.
The underground corridor was bathed in red warning lights, sirens blaring weakly through the smoke. Commander Strath stood at the far end, black blade in hand, flanked by elite Veil enforcers. His armor pulsed with stolen system energy — raw, unstable, ugly with power not earned but taken.
Crispin stepped forward, his Echoes flanking him like wolves ready to tear apart a tyrant. The Crown shimmered with flickers of ancient gold, its weight heavier now — not just with power, but with purpose.
Strath raised his sword. You should've stayed buried like the rest of your kind.
Crispin's voice was steady, eyes burning. Maybe I was meant to rise from the grave. Maybe I'm the punishment for everything you bastards built.
Strath smiled like a man who had seen the end and liked it. All this time, you thought you were special. A mistake given power. But you were chosen, Crispin. Not to save. Not to lead. Just to burn it all down. That's what you were made for.
Yara hissed behind Crispin, Shut your mouth.
Strath ignored her. They tried to erase you because they knew. You are the answer to the oldest question the System ever asked. How does the world end?
The words twisted in Crispin's chest. For a moment, he felt the memory again — the first Gate, the light swallowing him, the moment time bent around his body and something older reached into his soul. Not a god. Not a monster. Just a question that never stopped echoing.
Do you want to survive? Or do you want to be remembered?
The Crown pulsed hard, and his Echoes shimmered with tension.
Crispin whispered, Let's find out what I was made for.
And the battle began.
Strath moved with surgical rage, his blade crashing into Crispin's with a shockwave that cracked the ceiling. Echoes surged forward, clashing with Veil enforcers in the narrow corridor, sparks and blood flying in all directions.
Yara cast a blinding arc of light, knocking back two attackers, her other hand clutching a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding. Revenna's swordwork was fluid and precise — she moved like a viper, all death and discipline.
But Strath wasn't just a soldier. He was something worse — a believer. A man who thought killing Crispin was destiny.
You think you've escaped fate, Strath spat, blades locking with Crispin's. But you're not fighting against the system. You are the system. The virus it couldn't purge.
Crispin's eyes flashed. Then maybe it's time the virus rewrote everything.
He spun, dropping low and slashing through Strath's side. The commander stumbled, blood hitting the wall.
And still, he laughed.
You kill me, they'll just send another. You are not the first. You won't be the last.
Crispin's blade hovered at his throat.
I'm not trying to end the cycle anymore, he said quietly. I'm going to break it.
Then do it, Strath hissed.
The blade sank in.
Strath crumpled, his body fading into static as whatever tech fueled him failed.
The silence after was deeper than death. Even the Crown went quiet.
Revenna leaned against the wall, chest heaving. That was one of their top dogs. They'll come for us now, hard.
Yara sat on the floor, exhausted. So what's the next move?
Crispin didn't answer immediately.
He looked at the blood on his sword, the darkness in the hall, the quiet hum of the Crown.
And he remembered the voice he'd heard — not in prophecy, not in visions. But inside himself. A part of him carved out by fate and buried in fire.
The world doesn't want a savior. It wants a scapegoat. A monster it can point to and say, that's why we burn.
He stared into the distance, eyes hollow and burning.
Then I'll be both.
They left the ruins behind like ghosts escaping their own past.
The corridors gave way to broken tunnels and half-collapsed transport lines. Every step forward felt heavier, like the air itself resisted their movement. The world wasn't just crumbling beneath them—it was watching. Waiting. Judging.
Revenna walked ahead, sword on her back, her silence sharper than any weapon. Yara limped beside Crispin, fingers wrapped in bandages, her power low but her will stubborn. And Crispin… he said nothing. Not since Strath's body turned to code and blood.
He wasn't mourning. He wasn't even angry.
He was just thinking.
The system tried to bury him under titles. Monster. Threat. Hazard. But in killing Strath, he'd done more than eliminate a high-ranking enemy.
He'd sent a message to the old gods of this broken order.
The monster walks freely now.
As they reached the exit shaft, a soft blue light pulsed ahead. Revenna held up a hand to halt them. Drones.
Three of them. Slim, metallic, high-grade surveillance. Their lenses rotated, scanning for facial matches.
One chirped. Target acquired.
Crispin didn't move.
The drone's voice crackled to life.
Crispin David. You have been recognized as a Class-Z anomaly. Submission will result in painless termination. Resistance will void all post-mortem appeals.
He raised his hand.
The drones exploded before they could fire.
Revenna stared at the smoke. That... wasn't an Echo.
Crispin's eyes glowed faintly. The Crown had stopped being just a relic. It was becoming something else. Something closer to him.
Yara sat on a crate, drained. So we're enemies of the world now. What's the plan?
The silence stretched.
Then Crispin said, cold and calm—We find the Origin Gate. We find Cein Delar. And we end the lie.
Revenna turned slowly. You want to find the first Gate? That thing's older than the entire Hunter registry. Buried. Sealed. Protected by every fail-safe ever built.
Crispin looked at her, not blinking. Then we dig. We break. We bleed. We burn whatever we have to. Because I'm done surviving.
He stepped forward, the tunnel lights flickering as he passed. The Crown pulsed once—and this time, the world felt it.
Not just in Blackridge.
But in the Cities Above.
In the Council Spires.
In the fractured hearts of people still trapped under Veil lies and System commands.
A whisper began to spread across the network.
He's still alive.
He killed Strath.
He's coming.
And somewhere far, far away—deep within a forgotten ruin surrounded by ash and fog—Cein Delar opened his eyes.
And smiled.