System Rebirth: Return of the Forgotten

The darkness was suffocating, a deep, almost tangible force pressing down on Evan's chest. It felt like an endless void—a relentless, oppressive force. His mind fought against the blackness, straining to hold onto something, anything that could pull him back from the abyss. Faint groans echoed around him, distorted and distant, as though coming from the very walls themselves.

The sound of his own breath, shallow and weak, seemed louder than anything else. His limbs were stiff, unresponsive, as if his entire body had been immobilized by the weight of the air.

His eyes fluttered, struggling to open. The world around him was blurred, an indistinct haze of shadow and faint light. But as his consciousness slowly returned, so did the awareness of his pain—sharp, pulsing, relentless. Every inch of his body felt like it had been stretched beyond its limits. He was raw.

He was broken. His mind screamed for clarity, but all it could grasp was the sensation of the cold, dry ground beneath him. Scorched. The faintest flickers of red stained the floor, marking the blood that had spilled before him.

His eyes snapped open fully, heart hammering in his chest. He tried to move, but the world around him felt too foreign. His hands—his wrists—were bound, shackled to the cold, unforgiving pillars on either side of him.

He was stretched out, a T-shape, immobile. His body ached with an unbearable tightness, the chains biting into his skin. Every pull, every tug against them, sent searing pain up his arms, making him wince.

'Where am I? What happened? Why can't I remember how I got here?'

His mind flitted back, grasping for answers, but there was nothing—nothing beyond the sensation of taking out the trash at Nebula, the memory that felt so distant, so unattainable. It was as though someone had ripped away everything else, leaving nothing but a hollow, aching emptiness.

His breathing came faster now, his chest tightening with panic. His clothes—what was left of them—were little more than ragged scraps of fabric tied together by desperation. His shoes? Gone. Everything was gone. He could feel the weight of the terror pressing against his chest as his heart quickened. He strained against the chains, desperate to escape, but they held him fast. His hands were raw from trying to pull himself free, but the shackles didn't budge.

He forced himself to focus on his surroundings. The room was small—too small for comfort, suffocatingly close. The walls, ancient stone, were rough and weathered, as if the very structure of the place had been built with a deliberate cruelty. The air was thick with the smell of iron and decay, a scent that made him gag. His eyes drifted upward, searching for any sign of hope, but all he found was the wooden door in front of him. It was his only hope, or so he thought. But that hope was shattered when he heard the unmistakable sound of the key turning in the lock.

His body tensed in an instant. A part of him—the part that still clung to the hope of survival—wanted to shrink away, to retreat into the shadows, but there was nowhere to hide. The door creaked open, and through the narrow opening, a figure emerged.

A man.

His first impression was of strength—raw, undeniable strength. The man's armor gleamed with the dull sheen of polished silver, intricate patterns etched into its surface.

A two-headed lion was emblazoned across his chest, a symbol of power and authority, and though the armor looked light enough to move with speed, it was clear that it was meant to be imposing, to show dominance. But it was not the armor that caught Evan's attention. It was the man himself.

His physique was built like a statue—tall, broad, powerful. His shoulders were thick, muscles rippling with every movement. His face, sharp and chiseled, held an expression of detached focus, as though he were savoring a moment of quiet before a storm. His hair was cut low, almost military, and his beard, neatly trimmed, added to the sharpness of his features. His eyes? Dark, cold—eyes that seemed to pierce right through Evan, as though studying him, evaluating him, as though he were little more than a thing to be consumed.

But what made Evan's stomach twist in knots was not just the man's appearance—it was the way the man's eyes lingered on him, scanning him from head to toe, slowly, deliberately. Evan's heart raced, and despite the terror creeping up on him, a part of him wanted to crawl into the deepest, darkest corner and never face this man again.

The man said nothing at first. His gaze was cold, impersonal, like a predator evaluating its prey. Evan's voice cracked as he struggled to speak, his throat tight, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear.

"Who are you?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "What do you want?"

The man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took a deep, almost reverent breath, savoring the moment. He approached slowly, his boots tapping softly against the stone floor, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet room.

Evan's breath caught in his throat, his body instinctively recoiling. Every inch of him screamed to run, to fight, but the chains held him in place. He was helpless.

The man stopped in front of him, close enough for Evan to feel the heat radiating off his body.

"Shh.... don't panic. Just savor the moment. " the man muttered, his voice low and rasping.

"We're only gonna be able to do this once..." He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against Evan's exposed skin, sending a jolt of fear through him.

'Savor the moment? What's he talking about?' Evan thought inwardly.

"Please." Evan begged, his voice breaking.

"I don't have money. I can't give you anything, but please... please don't kill me." His words were desperate, more desperate than he'd ever felt.

The man paused, studying Evan's face with the same detached curiosity, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in Evan's obvious terror. He tilted his head slightly, as though contemplating the situation, then he gave a slight nod, as though coming to a decision.

"I already have everything I want right here," he said, his voice soft, almost teasing, as his fingers slowly slid down Evan's back, tracing the line of his spine.

Evan's body shuddered beneath the touch, and he jerked away, his muscles straining against the chains.

"You're not going anywhere," the man added with a cruel smirk.

"Please," Evan gasped, his breath ragged.

"Please, don't do this. I have a sister—she's waiting for me. I can't die. Not like this."

The man didn't respond. Instead,And then the whip lashed out.

The room was filled with the crack of leather against skin, the sound deafening, the pain excruciating. Evan's scream echoed off the walls, a raw, guttural cry that shattered the silence. The man's eyes glinted with something dark and twisted as he continued, the whip striking again and again, each blow a fresh wave of agony.

This was the beginning of the end, or atleast, his reality.

And at that moment, the golden glow of the system appeared afront of him as the familiar chyme sounded in the air.

[System Notification]

Congratulations, Player. You have been chosen for the Ascension Hero Game.

Your first trial will soon commence. Be ready.

The system's notification left him confused once more as he gazed the slightly familiar message. However, what was even more puzzling was the fact that the man who stood behind him continued his scrounging, irrespective of the floating notification which shined in the room.

'Could it be, that he couldn't see it?'

But his thoughts couldn't hang steady in his head as the slashes from the whip continued, leaving heavy dents on his back.