Thank you for reading this novel ><.
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There is a sound that doesn't echo.
It crawls under the skin, fangs first, and waits—not to be heard, but to be remembered.
Kael heard that sound the moment the wound in the sky closed.
It wasn't thunder. It wasn't wind. It was something missing. Like the silence left behind after a scream so loud it tore a hole in God.
He stood beneath the bleeding monument, spine-wrapped grimoire humming above it, eyes void of color. The forest had quieted—too quiet. Even the warped, mana-twisted birds had stopped screeching. The Grand Magic Zone held its breath.
Something was watching.
Something old.
He turned slowly. Not in fear—there was no fear left in him—but with the stillness of prey that knows it's already dead.
And then the forest split.
Not trees breaking.
Reality.
It peeled like old skin, curling back to reveal a plain of black salt, stretching forever. No sky. No horizon. Just a grinding sound, like bone dragged across bone.
And then it stepped out.
A Judge of Chains.
Not a beast. Not a mage. Not a devil.
A concept given mass.
Its body was carved from manacles, its face a smooth slab of mirror-glass reflecting Kael's worst failures. No eyes. No mouth. Just the image of him—begging in the Witch's Forest, weeping at age six, broken and shivering in the rain.
It carried no weapon.
It was the weapon.
The world itself had summoned it.
To fix its mistake.
"You are not allowed," it spoke—not aloud, but in law. Every syllable slammed into Kael's bones like hammers. "You were not chosen. You do not belong. You have no right."
Kael's grimoire pulsed.
Blank. Hungry.
The ground under his feet twisted. Chains burst from the dirt, wrapped in runes that hissed when touched by his aura. The forest behind him withered.
He smiled.
"Then make me belong."
The Judge moved.
So fast the world blurred. Kael didn't block. Didn't dodge.
He couldn't.
The first blow shattered his spine.
The sound was wet. His body bent backward like a snapped branch. Blood sprayed from his mouth. His shadow tried to rise, to defend him—but the moment it moved, the Judge stepped on it, freezing it in place.
Kael gasped.
Not from pain.
From realization.
This wasn't a fight.
It was a correction.
He was the infection. The virus. The mistake in the script.
And the world wanted to rewrite him.
The Judge grabbed him by the throat. Its fingers weren't fingers—just rings of law, each inscribed with truths that could not be denied:
"Magic belongs to the chosen."
"Power must be earned through lineage."
"Freedom is a myth."
"You are nothing."
Each ring tightened. Kael's neck split. Blood gushed. The rune in his chest flickered—fought—but it was like a candle in a hurricane.
Still, he reached for the grimoire.
His fingers broke. One by one.
The Judge hurled him into the air—so high he saw the edge of the zone. For a moment, he wasn't a monster. Wasn't a paradox.
He was just a boy again.
Alone.
Falling.
When he hit the ground, it didn't crack.
He did.
Bones split. Organs burst. His body twitched like a puppet cut from its strings.
But he didn't die.
He couldn't.
Not because of fate.
Because the magic inside him—Freedom and Control—refused to release him.
Even in agony, even in failure, it screamed:
"GET UP."
Kael coughed blood. His vision swam. The Judge walked toward him, each step erasing color from the world. Grass turned gray. Trees became ash.
It reached down.
And Kael bit it.
Not out of strategy.
Out of rage.
His teeth cracked on metal. His jaw dislocated. But the taste—cold, mechanical, flavorless—was everything he needed to know.
This thing had no soul.
It was order. Blind and pure.
He spat blood in its reflection.
"Then I'll burn your order."
The grimoire opened.
One page.
No ink.
But a word formed.
Not written.
Etched in screams.
"Unbind."
The spell didn't launch.
It happened.
Chains around Kael melted. The Judge staggered back, its form flickering. For the first time, it showed something like confusion.
Then the forest screamed.
Mana surged. Every tree warped. Every animal died. Flowers bloomed into mouths and sang in reverse. A pulse radiated outward—a heartbeat of rejection.
Kael stood.
Skin peeled. Spine visible. One arm torn off. Eyes burning with silver fire.
But standing.
Because he refused not to.
"Your law is a joke," he whispered, voice raw. "Your balance is a prison."
And then he cast again.
Not a spell.
A declaration.
"I am the Unwritten."
The grimoire flipped madly.
The Judge lunged.
Kael raised his only hand.
And the sky opened.
Not like before. Not a wound.
A birth canal.
Through it came chains made of light—but not divine. Sickly. Glowing with purpose. They didn't bind Kael.
They pierced him.
His body arched, shrieking. Flesh boiled. The grimoire burned. But he smiled through it all.
Because he understood.
The world didn't hate him.
It feared him.
He wasn't the error.
He was the new rule.
The chains spread out from his flesh—and bound the Judge.
Not physically.
Existentially.
It froze. Glitched. Mirror-face cracked.
And Kael walked forward.
Dripping. Limping. Dying.
But alive.
"You don't get to decide what I am."
He pressed his hand to the Judge's chest.
The rune in his palm flared.
And the Judge shattered.
Not like glass.
Like law rewritten.
---
Kael collapsed.
He didn't rise for a full day.
Birds circled. The sun refused to shine near him. The Grand Magic Zone wept.
When he awoke, he didn't smile.
He screamed.
Not in pain.
In truth.
Because now he knew:
He could die.
He wasn't immortal. He wasn't untouchable.
He was still flesh.
But he would not go quietly.
---
Later that night, Kael found a still pond.
Looked into it.
And saw nothing.
Not a reflection.
Not a monster.
Not a man.
Just the absence of belonging.
He spoke to it.
"I was discarded."
"I was unwanted."
"I am unloved."
"And yet I remain."
Not a promise.
Not a vow.
Just a fact.
He stood.
And kept walking.
No direction. No goal.
Only movement.
Because stillness was what they wanted.
And Kael was done being still.
---
Far away, in the Captain's quarters of the Black Bulls,
Yami Sukehiro opened his eyes.
The cigarette burned backwards.
The ash whispered a name he hadn't heard in years.
Kael.
Yami exhaled.
His hand reached for the sword that never left his side.
"Looks like hell finally coughed something up."
He smiled.
Then cracked his knuckles.
"Let's see if the bastard can bleed twice."
---
1120 words ain't that bad ig.
Thank you for reading the chapter, any thoughts on this, please free to comment...find any plot holes please mention, since it is the start, there won't be any ig...and again, yami is different than the og, so wear on seatbelts and pour power stones, to enjoy the ride
Please read the new auxiliary chapter....