Chapter 1:

  "I am Empty"

  Arc 1: Chapter 1

  POV: "???"

  He kept walking.

  In the Infernal Zone, there was no day or night. Only that eternal gray—heavy, unchanging. Darkness was something else: the absence of everything that had once made life possible. The space between the things that mattered.

  Through the dead lands. Through the abandoned places.

  His steps echoed in the silence—metallic, steady, hypnotic. Each footstep raised a small cloud of gray dust that soon dissipated. Nothing there lasted.

  Every step outside his house, there they were.

  The cursed beings.

  Monsters with defective appearances—bodies that had once been human, now distorted into forms nature never intended. Arms growing from the wrong places. Faces without features. Eyes that gleamed with ancient pain.

  And the being called Empty, who carried the same defects, was the one who killed them.

  Empty walked among them like a shadow among shadows. He knew no fear. He knew no anger. He only felt that pressure in his chest, which he never understood by himself.

  With each sword movement.

  With each curse head severed.

  The handling was clean.

  Precise.

  The black blade traced perfect arcs in the air—the same movement hundreds, thousands of times repeated. He had learned from the book. From practice. From repetition. From necessity.

  Some curses were stronger than others.

  Some fought harder. Some fled. Some, in their final moments, were almost... grateful.

  But Empty always won.

  He never hesitated.

  Never dropped his sword.

  His gauntleted fingers gripped the hilt with the same pressure since the first time he forged it. The weapon was an extension of his body—perhaps the only extension he understood.

  He never failed to eliminate a curse in his path.

  It didn't matter if he was in a hurry. Didn't matter if there were others ahead. If one crossed his path, the sword answered.

  And when he defeated them, he saw.

  People.

  With each severed head. With each defeated curse.

  Figures emerged—first mist, smoke, then more solid, more real. Men. Women. Sometimes children. All with that expression he knew from the books—the smiles.

  They smiled at him.

  And disappeared.

  And their stories.

  Fragments—images that came without warning, filling his mind with things he had never lived. An old man, regretful, dying without letting go of his addiction. A sad woman who only dreamed of the independence she never had.

  The story of each one.

  Each defeated curse was a lesson.

  Empty absorbed those stories—receiving, storing, accumulating fragments of lives that weren't his.

  But the answer never came.

  Still, the question was there.

  Somewhere.

  Inside that chest that should have held nothing.

  A curse defeated. The memory of a regretful old man, dead without letting go of his addiction.

  Empty stood still for a long time after that one.

  A curse defeated. The memory of a sad woman, who never lived the independence she wanted.

  Empty saw her face. Young. Beautiful. But her eyes had given up before her body.

  Each of those moments.

  Empty always stayed.

  Until the end. Until he saw every fragment, every image, every face. Until he saw the final smiles—those smiles that, for an instant, were for him.

  He did this for years.

  Alone.

  With no one real.

  He couldn't touch them.

  He couldn't speak with them.

  He couldn't be seen.

  In all the memories, in all the smiles, Empty could never touch those figures.

  They passed through him—as if he were made of the same mist as they were.

  He only watched.

  At least, that was what the world wanted.

  Until that moment...

  The silence that followed the battle in the shed was the sound of the world giving up on itself—the slow breath of a corpse that didn't yet know it was dead.

  Empty crossed through the twisted portals like a man stepping through the jaws of a slain beast. The wind slammed against his armor with fists of gray dust that rose in spirals, danced over the rubble, and dissolved into the thick air.

  He walked without haste.

  Then, the silence was shattered.

  Not with a roar. Not with the sound of beasts or the crack of collapsing structures. It came with something worse: a human voice. Shredded by fear.

  "No!" the boy shouted.

  Empty stopped.

  The sound was sharp, real, coming from two figures emerging from the mist of dust like castaways emerging from a sea of concrete. A young man—thin as a candle about to gutter out—ran with his sister in his arms. She was pale, unconscious, her head lolling back like a rag doll someone had forgotten in a corner.

  The boy ran and saw Empty in his direction.

  Another curse, he thought. Damn.

  This was the end. Two curses on the same path.

  Empty drew his sword.

  The black metal reflected the gray light, and for an instant, something passed through his mind—not a thought, not a decision, just the ancient echo of all the other times. Curse ahead. Sword rises. Head rolls.

  The boy ran to the other side, dodging Empty.

  Empty is prepared to strike. To eliminate another one.

  But then, behind the boy, something changed.

  Empty felt it.

  His hand tightened on the sword. His body, which never tensed, tensed.

  The elite curse emerged from the dust like a nightmare taking form.

  A soldier's uniform faded with time. A lead mask covering the entire face, smooth and merciless. And at its side, a massive wolf—not an ordinary wolf, but a creature made of the same substance as darkness, eyes gleaming with the ancient hunger of things that once were and are no more.

  Something in Empty's chest stirred.

  It wasn't fear—he didn't know fear. It was that same impulse as always: the hand gripping the sword, the body leaning into the fight. The only language he knew.

  He leaped.

  The leap was long, precise, aimed not at the boy, but at the threat behind him. The black blade cut through the air, pointed at the elite curse's heart.

  Raphadun's eyes followed the movement. Fast. Almost instant.

  The curse ahead of him—the one he feared—hadn't come for him. It had leaped to kill another curse.

  There was no time for questions. There was only the instinct to survive. With the girl on his shoulders, with all the strength left in his exhausted body, Raphadun shouted:

  "TELEPORT!"

  The world twisted like cloth being wrung out.

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  The air thickened, colors desaturated, and Empty felt himself pulled—not by his own will, but by the current of magic, dragged like a twig in the current of an invisible river.

  When reality settled again, the scene was different.

  The shed was behind them. Now they were in a clearing surrounded by ruins, the ground covered in debris no one would ever collect.

  "Shit!" the boy gasped.

  His eyes widened as he noticed the intruder. He stumbled back, shielding his unconscious sister with his own body. His face was a map of desperation—deep circles under his eyes, cracked lips, a fresh wound on his forehead still seeping thin blood.

  "You... a curse! Don't come near!"

  Empty watched.

  His eyes swept the surroundings. Searching. He turned his head. Looked in several directions. Nothing. Only ruins. Only silence. Only the two humans.

  His grip on the sword tightened.

  There was something in their fear he recognized. Not the feeling—he didn't know fear. But the shape. The tremor. The instinctive retreat.

  He had seen it before. In the books. In the illustrations.

  The humans in the books trembled too. Before the prince saved them.

  And then they smiled.

  Empty wanted the smiles.

  Empty moved toward the boy.

  The sword was still in his hand. Steps slow, deliberate. The boy tried to stand. Failed. Fell to his knees, still holding his sister.

  Empty stopped before him.

  The sword rose.

  Raphadun closed his eyes.

  And then...

  A blast of light.

  Different from any light Empty had seen. Alive. Furious.

  Luna was standing.

  Her hand glowed—radiant yellow, more golden than anything. Her green eyes were open, and in them burned a flame.

  The blast hit Empty square in the chest.

  He was thrown backward like a dry leaf. His body flew, spun in the air, and collided with a pile of rubble that collapsed over him with a crash.

  "Luna! You're awake!" The boy's cry was joy and relief.

  "Raphadun..." Her voice came out weak. "What happened? Did we escape? I thought it would be our end."

  "Yes... But at least you disintegrated the curse that..."

  He didn't finish.

  Because, from the rubble ahead, something moved.

  Empty rose.

  Luna stared. Her body trembled, the last vestiges of power still flickering in her hands. She tried to stay standing, but her legs threatened to give out.

  "He... Got up..." Raphadun murmured.

  "That's... Impossible..." Luna's voice was a thread. "Any curse is eliminated by... my light power..."

  Her strength gave out. She fell.

  Raphadun caught her before she hit the ground.

  "Luna..."

  This was the end. The creature had risen without effort, without a scratch, without any sign that her attack had made any difference.

  But Empty didn't move.

  He stood still, looking down.

  Something was different. The light... didn't hurt. Not like the wind on his skin. Not like the battles.

  The light shone, just like any curse in its illusions.

  But the difference wasn't just the way the light appeared.

  It was being felt the way it was felt.

  It was seeing part of his armor damaged on his chest.

  Something a curse could never do.

  And most impressively: a human who existed only in memories and drawings in books was standing before him.

  Even in that dark and frightening world.

  There could be something amazing: light.

  Something he had never seen before in that place.

  Empty blinked—a rare movement, almost forgotten.

  His eyes found the two fallen humans. The boy hugged his sister, eyes closed, waiting for the end. The girl was pale, unconscious, her face turned to the side.

  He began to approach.

  Raphadun felt the steps. Pressed his sister against his chest. Curled over her.

  Empty stopped before them.

  The gauntleted hand rose.

  Raphadun squeezed his eyes shut.

  Then, a touch.

  Cold. Metal. Resting on his face.

  Staying there.

  Raphadun opened his eyes.

  Empty was kneeling before him. Head tilted. Eyes fixed on his face.

  To Raphadun, the hand was cold.

  To Empty, it was strange, impossible.

  The boy's skin was soft. Alive. The heart beneath his hand raced—erratic, fast.

  Alive.

  Empty watched. The boy's wide eyes. The girl's slow breathing.

  Alive. Both alive.

  "What are you..." the boy's voice was now a thread, a breath escaping through trembling lips.

  Empty didn't answer. Didn't know how. Didn't know what he was. Didn't know what anything was, except that new sensation: the warmth of human skin under his hand.

  The girl stirred.

  Awake. Sudden. Violent. Her eyes found the scene—the curse's hand on her brother's face.

  "Get... away from my brother..."

  Her hand rose. Light bloomed from her palm. Golden. Warm.

  Empty's eyes fixed on it.

  He didn't move. Didn't look away.

  The light hurt. But he couldn't stop watching.

  What is this?

  The glow faltered. Her hand trembled. Her eyes rolled back—she pitched forward.

  Empty caught her.

  Delicate. Almost careful. His arms—the same arms that severed curse heads—cradled her unconscious body.

  Warm. She's warm too.

  Both warm. Both alive. Both breathing.

  "What... is this guy..."

  His eyes met Empty's. Brief. Confused.

  Then they rolled back.

  He collapsed.

  Empty remained motionless.

  A statue amidst the ruins, holding the unconscious girl, watching the fallen boy at his feet.

  The wind blew. The dust danced.

  He didn't move.

  Only watched.

  The boy's chest is rising and falling. The girls are too. Two rhythms. Two hearts. Two lives.

  Alive.

  Something in his gaze changed.

  Empty knelt slowly.

  He placed the girl beside her brother. Adjusted her head on a piece of fabric. Stroked her hair—a touch so light it barely made contact.

  Then he sat on the dusty ground, a few meters away.

  And waited.

  His eyes didn't close.

  He only watched.

  The rhythm of their breathing. The small movements during sleep. The way the boy, even unconscious, reached toward his sister.

  Hours passed.

  The light changed. The wind changed. The dust danced.

  Empty didn't move.

  He only watched.

  And waited.

  After a few hours, Raphadun opened his eyes slowly.

  Unfamiliar ceiling—rotting wooden beams, cobwebs in the corners, cracks where gray light seeped through.

  Then the shelves.

  Dozens of them. Lined against the walls. Overflowing with objects: books with faded covers, rusted utensils, broken toys, torn clothes.

  Luna was beside him, still unconscious, her breathing slow but steady. They were both on the floor—not on cold concrete, but on a pile of old rags. Dirty, yes. But strangely comfortable.

  Raphadun didn't understand. Where were they?

  Then he saw Empty.

  On the other side of the room. Pacing. Slow steps. Deliberate. His black armor reflected the dim light—shadows dancing on the walls.

  Raphadun's heart raced.

  He brought us here.

  Luna was still sleeping. He couldn't wake her. Couldn't make noise.

  He pretended to sleep.

  Eyes closed. But lids cracked—just enough to see through his lashes.

  Empty paced. Stopped before objects. Looked at each one.

  Then, something strange.

  Empty picked an object from the shelf—a dented pot, no handle—and threw it on the floor. The metal echoed. Hollow. He watched the pot for a moment. Picked another—a worn shoe—threw it too. Then a cup. Then a piece of cloth.

  What is he doing?

  Empty picked things up. Examined them. Threw them. Picked others.

  Strange.

  Hours passed. Or seemed to.

  Muscles aching. Mouth dry. Hunger gnawing.

  I need to eat. Need to wake Luna. Need to get out.

  But he couldn't. Not while that thing was there.

  Empty stopped before a shelf.

  His fingers ran along book spines. Stopped at one. Pulled it out—carefully. Differently. Reverently.

  He opened it.

  Raphadun recognized the illustrations from afar. A children's book. The Tale of the Princes.

  Empty began to imitate the figures.

  Raised his arms like a man in a book. Tilted his head like the prince. Lifted one leg—lost balance—tried again. Clumsy. Mechanical.

  Is he... learning?

  Empty turned more pages. Reached the prince—young, noble, crowned. Stared at the figure.

  Then turned to the mirror on the shelf.

  Looked at himself.

  Raphadun saw the reflection—black armor, helmet covering his face, rigid posture. Empty looked at the book. Looked at the mirror. Tilted his head one way. Then the other.

  Then, in the mirror's reflection, Empty's eyes met Raphadun's open eyes.

  Raphadun froze.

  He closed his eyes quickly—but too late. Felt Empty turn. Felt steps approaching. Felt the presence stop before him.

  Heart pounding. I can't even stand up. If he attacks...

  Empty sat down.

  The ground gave slightly under his weight. Inches from Raphadun's face.

  Then nothing. Only the presence. Only waiting.

  Minutes. Hours. Eyes shut tight. Breathing controlled. Trying not to tremble.

  But Empty was there. Watching.

  What does he want?

  Then, something on his face.

  Empty's hands. Cold. Metal. But strangely delicate. Fingers traced his forehead. Down the bridge of his nose. Touched his cheeks.

  Exploring. Without haste. Without aggression. Just curiosity.

  Fingers found his mouth. Touched his lips. Parted them slightly. Brushed against his teeth.

  Raphadun wanted to scream. Wanted to pull away. Wanted to disappear.

  But he couldn't move. Fear paralyzed him.

  Empty continued. The chin. The ears. The hair.

  He's studying me. Like I'm one of his objects.

  Finally, Empty stopped.

  Raphadun felt the presence move away. Opened his eyes—just a crack.

  Empty was looking to the side. At Luna.

  No.

  Empty stood. Walked to the girl. Knelt beside her. His hands rose toward her face.

  "NO!"

  Empty's sword left its sheath—so fast Raphadun didn't see it. Only felt the air move. Then cold metal pressed against his throat.

  He froze.

  His eyes met the empty eyes of the helmet. Nothing there. No emotion. No threat. No promise. Only void.

  A long moment. The sword returned to its sheath.

  Empty turned to Luna again. Hands rose.

  "NO!"

  Empty stopped. Looked at him. At Luna. At him again.

  His hands went to Raphadun's mouth.

  Covered it.

  Raphadun tried to scream—muffled sounds. Useless grunts.

  Then Luna stirred.

  "What..." Eyes still closed.

  She blinked. Vision blurry. Saw the scene: Empty, covering Raphadun's mouth. Both are looking at her.

  The scream wasn't loud—she didn't have the strength. But it was there. Pure.

  She tried to move away. Pushed the ground with weak hands. Tried to stand. Legs wouldn't obey. She fell.

  "W-where are we?"

  Empty took his hand from Raphadun's mouth. Moved back slightly. Kept watching.

  "Sister!" Raphadun breathed. "Are you okay?"

  "Weak..." Luna tried again. Failed. "I'm weak... I can't..."

  "Yes..." Raphadun's voice is heavy. "Me too... When I teleported us... I teleported this..."

  He looked at Empty.

  "This curse!" Luna's eyes were fixed on the dark figure.

  Empty watched.

  Empty heard them speak, the words were like grunts, never understood.

  He opened his mouth. Forced air through his throat.

  Nothing. Just a weak, useless breath.

  He stood and walked to one of the shelves. His eyes ran over the objects.

  "When we recover, we'll flee," Luna said, her voice firm despite her weakness. "And if this curse tries to stop us, we fight!"

  "Right," Raphadun replied, but his gaze still followed Empty.

  The creature gathered several objects in his hands. A cup. A spoon. A piece of cloth. A doll with no eyes. A book. He piled everything clumsily, arms full, the book balanced on top of the pile.

  "What is he... Doing?" Luna asked.

  "I don't know..."

  Empty walked back to them.

  And, before their astonished eyes, threw all the objects on the floor.

  The cup rolled. The spoon clinked. The doll fell face-down.

  Empty knelt, picked up the cup—old, cracked, handleless—and held it up. He brought it inches from Luna's face. Then brought it close to Raphadun. Then looked back at her.

  "What..." Luna began, but didn't know how to finish.

  Empty dropped the cup. Picked up the book.

  Opened to the first page. Showed it to them.

  Flipped through slowly. Page by page. The prince saves people. The prince and princess. The villain was defeated. The people are smiling.

  Raphadun looked at Luna. In the images. At Empty.

  "He must think that's us," he pointed to the prince and princess.

  Luna didn't respond. Just stared at Empty.

  Empty continued. Turned more pages. Stopped.

  An illustration: a lonely character, apart from the others, without expression. Below, a word: Empty.

  Empty left the book open on that page. His finger touched the figure. Then pointed to himself.

  "Empty..." Raphadun murmured.

  "Rapha! Stop it!"

  "I'm just... curious," said Raphadun.

  Luna rolled her eyes and huffed.

  Empty closed the book. Picked up other objects. Showed them one by one. A stone. A dried flower. A piece of shiny metal.

  Then he stopped.

  Sat there, before them, watching.

  After a while, hunger.

  Luna's hands rose. Light bloomed from her palms—weak, wavering, but present. Two small golden spheres formed in the air.

  "Luna..."

  "I have to! If not, we'll starve!" Raphadun said.

  "I know... Me too."

  She handed one to Raphadun.

  They brought the spheres to their mouths. The light dissolved on their tongues. Spread through their bodies.

  Empty watched. His eyes were fixed on Luna's hands. On the light. On the spheres.

  He approached.

  "GET AWAY! DON'T TOUCH THAT!"

  Empty's hand reached toward the sphere.

  "Do it so he'll stop, LUNA!"

  "Damn it!"

  Luna concentrated. Hands trembled. A new sphere formed—smaller, weaker, almost dissolving. She handed it to Empty.

  He took it. Held it before his eyes. Studied its light. Its warmth. Its form.

  Then he stood. Walked to a shelf. Placed the sphere on it. Carefully.

  Returned to his corner. Sat. Watched.

  "I hate him..." Luna murmured.

  "We won't be able to sleep with that thing staring at us."

  "You're right. It's scary."

  Empty sat in his corner. Watching. Then, slowly, his eyes closed.

  "One more thing... Now we've discovered that curses sleep."

  "Try to sleep, Luna. I'll keep watch."

  "No. I passed out for hours. Your turn."

  "Luna..."

  "Let me handle the beast." She smiled. It didn't fool him.

  Raphadun wanted to argue. Exhaustion won. His eyes closed.

  Silence.

  Luna stayed there, sitting, watching the motionless figure in the corner. The creature that slept. That collected objects. That wanted her light.

  What are you? What do you want?

  Empty didn't answer. He slept.

  Or perhaps only pretended.

  Outside, the night advanced.