SSS Unknown: Dark Knight's Legacy

"Tsk, you've exposed your weakness again."

"Luckily, they didn't check if you were actually dead."

"How does it feel? The sensation of betrayal?"

It was unbearable. These fools—these traitors—had betrayed Unknown, stabbing him in the back when he least expected it. But deep down, he had known it would come to this. 

He could feel the shift in the air, the subtle tightening of their grip on his life, the coldness of their intentions.

Anger, hatred—these were the emotions that surged through his veins. But none of it mattered. They had tried to steal his right to live, to steal his freedom. No noble cause, no false justification could change the fact that they had crossed a line.

From that moment on, they were his enemies. And in the eyes of someone as selfish, as twisted as him, enemies were not meant to be reasoned with. Enemies were meant to be destroyed.

[Madness Mutation]

System awakening.

Madness Mutation awakened, as long as the user still has the will to press on, they would never die.

Skill point spent: 30.

Restarted heart.

His silver eyes, once cold and lifeless, flared to life, burning with the fires of vengeance. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps as the full weight of his rage settled into his body. The pain from the wound was nothing—his survival instincts had long since overridden everything else.

With a growl, Unknown gripped the spear embedded in his back, his fingers trembling slightly from the pain, but his resolve was ironclad. He wrenched it free, his teeth clenched in fury, and with a primal roar, he hurled it toward the traitors.

They had made a grave mistake.

"Steel, careful!!"

The cry came too late. The old lizardman barely had time to register the danger before the spear of pure hatred tore through his skull, ending his life in an instant. His body slumped, lifeless, even as the others scrambled to react.

But they were too slow.

Unknown's instincts were honed, sharp like a predator on the hunt. He snatched up nearby rocks, his fingers feeling the jagged edges as he hurled them with deadly accuracy. The two Orges barely had time to lift their hands to shield themselves, their faces contorted in agony as the stones slammed into their skulls.

But he wasn't done with them yet.

Not yet.

[Quick Slash]

With a sneer, Unknown dropped low, his body moving like a blur of shadow and fury. The moment he was close enough, his hand gripped the crystal spear with a deadly focus. His eyes narrowed, and without a single hesitation, he slashed—clean and swift.

Boar's head fell clean off, blood spraying in a wide arc. The remaining Orge, witnessing the sheer brutality of the attack, froze in terror. But it was too late.

"…Please… forgive me… I really opposed it. I didn't want to kill you..."

Meat's voice cracked, and his body trembled violently as he collapsed to his knees. The fear was palpable, his eyes wide with terror, desperately pleading for mercy.

He looked utterly broken, begging as if his life depended on it—and in that moment, it did.

"Please, please! Spare me!"

"I'll do anything!"

His cries were filled with desperation, with the raw panic of a man who knew he had crossed a line from which there was no return. His fear, his pitifulness—it was everything Unknown hated in his enemies.

But at the same time, it was that very desperation, that raw vulnerability, that caused the flames of hatred within him to flicker, just for a moment.

"Tell me, has the assault team you mentioned arrived?"

"Huh?"

Unknown's voice was cold, sharp, like an icy blade. He already knew the answer. 

The assault team, the ones who had orchestrated his near demise, had likely been waiting for him to falter. He could feel it—the ripples of a time-space rift that had pulled in an army while he was gone. An army was ordered to kill him on sight.

And these traitors were merely the pawns in that grand design.

The young Orge looked at Unknown. His body was riddled with wounds, the man struggling to hold onto consciousness. But despite that, he radiated a murderous aura, intense enough to choke the life out of anyone nearby.

"...Yes..." Crushed by that, Meat confessed with fear.

"…"

"...Go."

Meat's mind whirled, unable to process what was happening. He still knelt there, wide-eyed, as if waiting for the inevitable blow to come. He couldn't believe Unknown would actually spare him. He should have known better. But the longer he stayed in this position, the more dangerous it became.

"I SAID GET OUT!"

The roar of Unknown's command tore through the air, and with a sudden, vicious kick, he sent Meat sprawling across the ground. The impact of the blow was enough to send him flying a great distance. 

For a brief moment, Unknown's eyes seemed to soften—perhaps there was still a tiny shred of mercy buried deep within him.

Even though he knew the moment Meat escaped, the kingdom's full force would soon follow. He had no strength left to fight, no will to stand. 

His body, drenched in blood and exhaustion, sagged to the ground. He collapsed among the mountain of corpses, pain wracked his body.

'I'm so tired…'

'Why did everything have to end up like this? Why?'

In the cold silence that followed, a single thought consumed him. The endless violence, the unrelenting bloodshed—had it all been worth it? Was there ever a way out of this cycle of betrayal and destruction?

***

"…From the very beginning, they never intended to negotiate."

"I was truly naive."

Several days had passed since the events that led to this point, and Unknown had been bedridden for most of that time. The side effects of overusing his powers had taken a severe toll on him, leaving him weak and disoriented. His body ached, and his mind raced, haunted by what he had done.

"…I've killed people…"

The words left his lips in a bitter whisper, as though confessing to himself, as if acknowledging the gravity of the actions that had unfolded. His hands shook slightly as he gripped the black cloak, clinging to them for stability. He could still hear their screams in his mind. It had been in self-defense, yes, but the bloodshed weighed on his conscience regardless.

"It was self-defense, but I've still killed them."

His voice cracked slightly, the truth of it all sinking in. The thought gnawed at him—he had crossed a line, a line that couldn't be uncrossed.

"And soon, I'll have to kill even more."

The weight of that realization was crushing. The cycle seemed inescapable. He felt trapped in a spiraling nightmare, unsure of how to stop it. 

A peaceful life, true freedom... Was it really that difficult to attain? Was he forever destined to live a life of violence? A life of shadow?

Lying alone in the dark cave, the cold stone beneath him was an indifferent companion. He clutched his sword, the cool hilt familiar in his grip, but it offered little comfort. It was just an object now, a reminder of everything that had gone wrong.

"Face them."

The words echoed in his mind, words he had told himself. He knew that the confrontation was inevitable. He couldn't run forever. But in the face of everything that had happened, his resolve was beginning to waver.

"I know, it's my fault."

He admitted it to himself, though it offered little solace. He had failed to gain their trust. He had pushed them away, thinking that his solitude would protect them from the darkness within him. But now, as he lay here, he knew the truth—there was no easy way out.

"But… was there really another way from the beginning?"

He wasn't sure. Perhaps, he thought, fate had already laid out the path before him. He had made his choices, and now he had to deal with the consequences. Every action seemed to spiral out of control, every step leading him further down a dark and uncertain road.

"When I couldn't even trust them?"

Trust. The word felt like a foreign concept now. He couldn't even trust himself, let alone anyone else. He had tried to forge connections, tried to fight for something, but it all felt so distant now.

He didn't know if there had been another way. Perhaps he would never know. The mistakes he had made were too ingrained, too deep. His future felt like an irreversible descent.

He gripped the key in his hand, staring at its intricate design. It was shaped like a golden sun with a black hole at the center, an object that radiated both hope and despair. 

He had carried it with him for so long, not fully understanding its purpose, but now it seemed to pulse with an energy that was both inviting and foreboding.

With every step, the key grew warmer, its glow intensifying. It felt like the light was reaching into his soul, trying to soothe the burden that weighed heavily on him. 

But as he moved closer to the source, something began to shift. The warmth slowly began to fade, replaced by an overwhelming darkness.

"This is it."

The light disappeared, swallowed by an oppressive darkness that surged forward to envelop him. It twisted, it churned, a manifestation of everything he had tried to escape—the hatred, the anger, the despair. 

It all rushed in at once, drowning him in a suffocating wave.

The key in his hand had morphed, its surface no longer glowing with warmth. Instead, it had become a void, an emptiness that mirrored the depths of his own heart. The suffering of the entire place pressed against him, an unbearable weight.

The ground beneath his feet crumbled, and he fell, swallowed by the abyss. In the dark, he saw it.

An ancient skeleton, its bones encased in blackened armor, sat upon a throne constructed from the fallen—those who had given their lives in pursuit of the ideals that had led them to this end. Their bodies, twisted and broken, piled high around the throne, creating a grotesque monument to the merciless pursuit of power. The skeletal figure loomed above them all, its bony fingers curled tightly around a sword. The blade gleamed with an eerie red light, pulsing with an ominous, otherworldly glow that seemed to stir the very air around it. The sword radiated an aura of death and power, its presence a constant reminder of the darkness that held dominion here.

"I want it."

The words spilled from Unknown's lips, hoarse and trembling with an aching hunger. His voice shook with the desperate need to possess the weapon, to claim its power for himself. Every fiber of his being cried out to reach out and take it, to feel its weight in his hand, to wield the power that the sword promised. It was as if the sword itself was calling to him, beckoning him, tempting him with its forbidden allure.

"No, I need it."

Desperation surged through him now. The reality of his situation was clear—everything he had done, all the sacrifices, all the pain he had endured and caused, it had to have meaning. This sword, this weapon of unimaginable power, it could be the key to his redemption or his destruction. He could feel it deep within, like an unquenchable fire burning through his chest. The sword was the answer. It had to be.

"That's right, it belongs to me."

He pushed forward with renewed resolve, his heart pounding in his chest. He stepped over the corpses that littered the ground like broken puppets, each body a silent witness to the cost of the ideals that had brought them here. The weight of the fallen underfoot grew heavier with every step, their souls pressing down on him as though urging him to turn back. But his desire was greater than the burden of the bodies beneath him. Each step felt like it took him closer to something that could change his fate—closer to the sword that promised power, freedom, and perhaps a way to end the cycle of violence that had become his life.

Finally, he reached the throne. His hand, trembling with need, extended toward the hilt of the sword. His fingers brushed against it, the cool surface of the blade sending a thrill through him. He tightened his grip, but the sword did not yield. The skeleton's bony fingers clenched tighter, its grasp immovable, as if the sword was a part of its very soul.

"Get away!" Unknown's voice was raw with frustration, the words tearing through the silence of the cavern. His anger flared, and with all his might, he kicked the skeleton aside. The figure crumbled like dry dust, scattering in the air. Yet, despite his efforts, the sword did not move. It remained anchored in the mountain of corpses, its red glow unwavering, as if mocking his struggle.

"Master?"

Then, a soft, unsettling movement from the sword caught his attention. A single eye—glowing an eerie ruby-red—opened on the hilt. The eye seemed to gaze at him with a knowing, almost predatory look, as though it had always been aware of his presence, always waiting for him to come. The eye was that of a woman, its vibrant hue filled with an intensity that was both captivating and unnerving. It shimmered with life, yet there was an unmistakable sorrow in its gaze, as if it had witnessed countless tragedies, each one leaving a mark on its soul.

For a fleeting moment, Unknown felt something stir deep within him. The gaze was warm, familiar, and strangely comforting. It was as if the eye was reaching into his very being, offering him a fleeting sense of peace amidst the chaos of his existence. The sensation was foreign, a stark contrast to the cold, desolate path he had walked for so long.

"Eclipse, I have come."

The words came unbidden, slipping from his lips as if he had known them all along. His voice was softer now, filled with something that resembled reverence. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Unknown felt the faintest flicker of hope, a possibility that maybe, just maybe, there was a way out of the darkness he had created.

A way to undo the damage. 

A path forward.

"Your master is back."