The storm had arrived with no warning. The clouds above bled across the sky like bruises, thunder echoing like judgment passed down by forgotten gods. Lightning danced across the horizon, tearing the heavens open in violent pulses as if the world itself recoiled from what was about to happen.
The graveyard stretched in silent agony beneath that shattered sky, drenched in rain and cold mist. Each stone marker shivered under the pressure of the winds, and the scent of old magic mixed with the stench of wet earth. Shadows stretched unnaturally long, like the souls beneath had risen to watch.
Dark stood silent, motionless, at the edge of a freshly carved grave.
The stone read one word.
GILMUAR.
Tier and Leona flanked his sides. Cron stood opposite them, gripping Leona's bo-staff with both hands, his knuckles bloodless and pale. His eyes—narrowed and dim with exhaustion—never left the soil beneath their feet.
Cron: (quietly) Dark... we have to believe this will work. It's the only shot we have left.
Dark didn't answer.
He slowly shrugged off his feathered cloak, letting it drop to the ground like a fallen wing. The black feathers scattered in the wind, disappearing into the fog like mourning spirits.
Cron's thoughts thundered louder than the sky above.
Cron: (thinking) We barely survived the last battle... and now we're trying to raise the dead? What the hell are we doing...
He reached out. A hand on Dark's shoulder.
Cron: I need to ask you something.
Dark didn't look at him. His voice came low. Detached. Cold.
Dark: Move your hand.
The tension snapped like a taut wire. Cron recoiled instinctively.
Cron: What happened that night? When we lost him?
Dark finally looked at him. His face was cracked open by something too old to be called pain.
Dark: I failed. I wasn't fast enough. Nekros... he was stronger than I thought. I cut my own leg off to try and save Gilmuar. But even that... wasn't enough.
Dark: He died in my arms. And that guilt hasn't left me for a second.
He turned slightly. Not to face them. Just to breathe.
Dark: I've fought alongside Sukojo, Nature, Sojo, Yenshin, Zyke, One, Ningin, and you... but none of them filled that hole. None of them were Gilmuar.
The silence thickened.
Cron slowly lowered the bo-staff and raised his right hand. His right eye—different, inhuman—gleamed as he spoke.
Cron: It wasn't me who faced Sukojo that day. It was a clone. He killed it instantly. The feedback almost killed me.
Cron: If I went up against him for real... I wouldn't even leave a body behind.
Dark: Then how the hell are we supposed to win?
Cron: We don't. Not with brute force.
Cron stepped closer, his voice dropping to something ancient.
Cron: Ten thousand years ago... Sukojo destroyed over ninety percent of all existence. Cosmic was the only one who stopped him. Sealed his soul in another dimension and scattered the body.
Cron: Before he left, Cosmic gave us a prophecy. "In ten thousand years, a Shadow User with no parents, bearing eight source powers, will rise. Help him. Unlock him. He will be the one."
Dark: That prophecy...
Cron: It's about you.
Dark stood silent.
Dark: Then tell me how to unlock what I am.
Cron: Create a world inside your mind. A new world. One without limits. Push past yourself. That's the only way.
Dark's eyes slowly returned to Gilmuar's grave.
Dark: Then let's do it.
He looked to the others. One by one, they nodded.
Their voices rose in sync. A ritual chant long buried by time. The words didn't translate—they reverberated. A song sung in soul rather than sound.
The storm stopped.
The earth screamed.
Lightning froze mid-flash.
The grave cracked. The soil burst open.
And then—bones.
A skeletal hand erupted from the ground, trembling, twitching. Then an arm. Then a full torso, drenched in dirt and rot, rising like death given form. The figure that stood wore only shredded white pants. His frame—thin, emaciated, terrifying.
His eyes were hollow.
Dark took a step forward. His voice cracked.
Dark: G-Gilmuar?...
Gilmuar didn't answer.
He attacked.
With a snap of motion, he thrust his arm forward. Dark was launched back instantly—body skipping across stone like a thrown doll. The earth cracked beneath the force.
Gilmuar stumbled forward like a newborn revenant. Eyes wide, dead, wild. His voice scratched out like gravel scraping glass.
Gilmuar: Tch...
Dark stood slowly, blood in his mouth.
Dark: (thinking) What... the hell? Why is he attacking?
Gilmuar vanished.
Then reappeared next to Dark—and shattered his leg with a kick that sounded like a cinderblock snapping.
Dark screamed.
Cron, Leona, and Tier surged forward—but Gilmuar exploded with dark energy, sending them flying. His aura was unstable. Animalistic. Raw.
Gilmuar grabbed Dark by the collar, lifting him like a rag.
Gilmuar: Why are you crying?
Dark's voice trembled through the pain.
Dark: Because I lost you... Nekros killed you... and I couldn't stop it...
Gilmuar twitched. His fingers spasmed. Something behind his eyes flickered.
Then—
Gilmuar: I... remember now.
He dropped Dark.
Clutched his own head.
Then turned.
His gaze found the others.
Gilmuar: Thank you... all of you...
Dark pulled himself up, one leg barely holding. He stumbled forward—then collapsed into Gilmuar's arms.
Dark: G-Gilmuar... I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry.
Gilmuar: You did what you could. If I hadn't intervened, you'd be the one buried.
Dark: IT SHOULD'VE BEEN ME!
Gilmuar's voice sharpened.
Gilmuar: Stop. Enough guilt. We move forward now.
Dark: We need to train. My next goal... is to destroy an entire mountain with ease.
Gilmuar: Heh... going big now, huh?
Dark: It's nothing. Not compared to Sukojo.
Gilmuar's face darkened.
Gilmuar: Then take me to him. I'll talk to him.
Dark: NO! I JUST GOT YOU BACK, DAMMIT!
Gilmuar: Then tell me... is he really that strong?
Cron: Strong enough to end everything.
Tier: I saw him destroy a dark matter field with a flick.
Leona: He almost made me kill Tier...
Gilmuar: You're serious?
Leona: Dead serious.
Then—laughter.
Not human.
Not right.
An abandoned building detonated behind them. The explosion shook the land.
From the smoke—he walked.
Sukojo.
Dark: It's him.
Cron: He found us.
Sukojo stepped forward, red eyes gleaming like twin cuts in reality.
Sukojo: Why hide? I can feel his pressure. He could cover the planet with it.
Gilmuar stepped forward.
The air went heavy.
The ground quaked. Even Sukojo's expression tightened slightly. Gilmuar's aura flooded outward, shaking reality itself.
Gilmuar: So... you're Sukojo?
Sukojo: That I am.
Gilmuar: Then die.
He launched a front kick—Sukojo barely budged. His smile didn't fade.
Sukojo: Stop.
Gilmuar: NEVER!
He punched. Sukojo grabbed him, slammed him into the dirt. The ground exploded.
Sukojo: I don't want to hurt you.
Gilmuar: Then why torment Dark!?
Sukojo: ...I don't know.
Gilmuar: My name is Gilmuar. Last child of Sojo. Time Guardian.
Dark: (shocked) What...?
Sukojo: Sojo. That bastard who never aged.
He punched Gilmuar again. Hard.
Sukojo: You think you're heroes? You're nothing. I once showed mercy. That was my mistake.
He raised his arms.
Sukojo: Let there be... CARNAGE.
The land went white. A detonation beyond nuclear. Time froze.
Then—
Fists.
Blood.
Sukojo slammed Gilmuar again and again. Dark lunged—was thrown. Cron tried to intervene—was slammed aside.
Sukojo: Saving a few lives doesn't make you a hero. I tried kindness once. Never again.
He tossed Gilmuar's broken body toward the others.
Sukojo: This... is mercy.
He raised a finger.
Sukojo: Next time... none.
And then—he vanished.
Leaving behind only the sound of rain.
And the silence of the broken.
End of Chapter 13.