[HERO ASSOCIATION HQ, CAPITAL]
A cavernous hall, dimly lit by violet mana lanterns, sat silent in its icy tension. At the center, an obsidian table bore witness to an unholy assembly: the Forsaken—cloaked in black robes and silver masks—sat in cold deliberation. Facing them were the scrubbed faces of Hero Association Heads and Executives, bristling with false confidence.
But dominating the room at the head... was Nemesis—barefoot, silent, her eyes like empty chasms.
By her side stood five Forsaken Council members.
At her feet lay four broken heroes—bound, gagged, and stripped. Not just of gear… but of spirit.
Nemesis said nothing. She didn't need to.
Her presence alone devoured hope.
Council members spoke in hushed tones—discussions of contracts, promises of cooperation, the exchange of "assets."
Allies in appearance. Enemies at heart.
Yet here they met like diplomats at a blood-stained table.
Because the shift in power... had changed.
→ [FLASHBACK: ONE WEEK AGO]
Forsaken Organisation – After the Raid
Dragging sounds echoed through stone hallways.
Hero Teams Alpha and Beta stumbled into a windowless chamber.
The air was thick with violet smoke… and a fear that tasted like iron.
They awoke on cold floors, arms bound in enchanted chains that pulsed aggressively when they tried to call mana.
Their eyes, wild with confusion, reflected masked figures encircling them.
One stepped forward—a tall figure in a silver mask:
"Took you long enough. Sleeping well, dear heroes?"
Silence.
Victor thundered:
"Release us! You'll—You'll regret this! The Hero Association—!"
A soft, malicious laugh cut him off.
"Let them come," the figure taunted. "They will soon receive the same fate… in the future, that is."
The heroes sputtered. Some struggled.
Mana fizzled uselessly in their veins.
They looked like corpses wrapped in chains.
"Did you feel it?" the masked one sneered.
"That's fear. Helplessness. Desperation.
This… is the inside of a civilian's heart."
He grinned.
"That's your lesson. Engrave it deep into your soul."
"Now—useful information. Hero Association, roles, protocols, strength—spill everything you know!"
Silence.
"No one will say a word, even if you kill—" Victor tried to retort, but before he could finish—
A dark arc of pure energy sliced across Victor's arm.
Blood erupted in slow motion.
Victor screamed—agonized, guttural, lost.
"AAARRGH—My hand—AAUGH!"
He clutched at the entrails of pain, the room leeching hope.
Then—healed instantly. No warning.
"Last warning. I can kill you until you no longer know life from death."
The sudden absence of pain returned with cold finality.
"Now—who speaks?"
The heroes trembled.
Yuri, Riken, Karn, Juno, Lior—rookies who knew little—raised their hands with shuddering arms.
Fear naked. Choices raw.
They were sent away for interrogation.
The six remaining heroes were marched into a sealed room.
Runic glyphs on the floor—etched in time magic—arrested time itself.
Once they stepped in, the door slammed shut.
There would be no escape.
Then it began.
A hammer crashed inside their skulls—but the sound never ended.
It circled them. Their screams were swallowed and replayed.
Again. And again.
Fingers slid under nails.
Sheets of skin peeled like paper from flesh.
The smell—raw meat and vinegar.
They screamed.
One woman clawed at her chains until blood soaked the ropes through the gag.
Each gasp became her torture.
Victor's arm twisted backward. A wet crack.
He passed out.
Rematerialized. Broken. Then healed. Again.
Scalding mana seared into their eyes.
Blink—gone. Vision melted.
Black stars danced in darkness.
Hands crushed. Knees snapped—bones grinding like sand in water.
A titan's gauntlet gripped their throats, squeezing until they coughed blood and organs.
Fractured molars shattered.
Bone shards sliced their cheeks.
They gagged on their own tongues.
This brutal cycle looped.
Seconds became hours.
Minutes became eternities.
No mercy.
No reprieve.
They screamed. Pleaded.
Then… stopped.
Their voices hollow.
When their minds flickered awake again, still in the same room, their bodies were healed.
Repaired enough to obey.
A masked man's voice slithered like poison.
"That was reality. Pain. No death. But still…
Nothing like oblivion."
"Now… you serve."
They were led out. Heads down.
Silent. Hollow.
"Tsk. Why act tough when you're gonna break in the end?"
"Wasted so much of our time."
"Well… we've gotten the useful information.
Now it's time to present you before the Queen."
[OBSIDIAN CHAMBER – FORSAKEN STRONGHOLD]
A colossal chamber, carved in obsidian and lit by violet fire.
The air was cold—not from temperature, but presence.
A silence so deep it pressed against the soul.
The stone beneath their knees felt like ice, even as violet flames flickered all around.
The room was massive. Ancient.
Its ceiling stretched high above, broken in places.
Vines of darkness crawled across it like the veins of a dead god.
Pillars coiled like thorns toward the sky, carved with thousands of names:
The abandoned orphans.
The forgotten families.
The betrayed and broken.
In the center:
Eleven figures stood quietly.
Once proud.
Now... broken.
Their eyes were blank. Their postures slumped.
Bound by mana-sapping chains, they could neither move nor speak.
Only tremble.
Scarred wrists. Bruised faces. Hollow eyes.
The once-bright flame of heroism in their hearts had long since gone cold.
They were not warriors anymore.
They were survivors.
Survivors of something no one would believe.
Around them stood the Council—the robed elites of the Forsaken.
Each held a staff, a blade, or a scripture soaked in ancient power.
None spoke.
None mocked.
They had done their part.
And then—
Tas…
Tas… tas…
Footsteps.
Slow
Soft
Deliberate.
Yet they echoed across the stone like divine judgment.
The Forsaken parted.
And through them… she arrived.
A barefoot woman, cloaked in midnight black.
Her body moved without sound.
Her hair—ink and shadow—flowed without wind.
Even the flames flickered as if bowing to her.
Nemesis.
The Queen of the Forsaken.
The beginning of vengeance.
The end of lies.
She walked past the heroes without a glance.
As if they weren't worth her time.
Yet her aura alone made them shudder.
She reached the throne—
A towering obsidian seat shaped like a blooming violet flower.
It was not elegant.
It was not beautiful.
It was command incarnate.
She sat.
And the chamber exhaled.
Everyone present there knelt.
Even the Council.
Even the torturers.
Even the shadows.
Only the eleven heroes remained standing—but not by choice.
Chains held them there.
Not just physical.
Mental.
Spiritual.
Elemental.
They were not human anymore.
Nemesis opened her eyes.
Black as the void.
And for a moment, the world stopped.
Then—she spoke.
"Welcome… heroes."
Soft.
Cruel.
Final.
"We… are the Forsakens."
The violet flames around the chamber rose higher—
Licking the names of the dead,
As if honoring them.
Or summoning them.
"You look surprised.
As if this ending wasn't your own creation."
Her voice was a whisper, yet each syllable slammed like thunder.
"You wore titles you did not earn.
Swore oaths you did not honor.
Held power you did not deserve."
Her gaze drifted across them.
Victor. Yuri. Karn. Lior. Juno.
And the others—whose names no longer mattered.
"When innocents screamed… you covered your ears.
When blood spilled… you signed reports.
And when we called for help—you sent apologies.
Or silence."
She stood.
Raised her hand.
A flick of her finger—
Fwwwoooom.
The stone floor beneath the heroes erupted in crimson-black light.
A magic circle—massive and ancient—rotated slowly.
Etched with forbidden runes, woven with fire sigils.
The flames bent toward it.
And in the center—
A pillar of dark flame rose.
It wasn't heat that scorched—
It was ownership.
The moment it touched their skin, the heroes screamed.
Screamed like wounded animals.
The flame crawled into their bodies.
Into their souls.
Burning. Claiming. Marking.
One by one, they collapsed. Twitching.
Nemesis spoke—not loud, but absolute:
"This is the Flame of Oaths. A living will of mine.
As long as I draw breath… you belong to me.
Disobey… and your soul will burn from the inside out."
One hero tried to resist.
He bit his tongue.
Convulsed violently—
Violet fire seared through his veins.
He collapsed, silent.
Smoke rose from his mouth.
Nemesis looked… unimpressed.
"I don't need loyalty. I require obedience."
She stepped down from the throne.
Each step—an echo of doom.
"You will return to your beloved Hero Association.
You will report as instructed.
You will speak no word of us.
And you… will bind the rest to me."
Her tone turned sharp.
"Start from the weakest.
Imprint the flame upon the low-rankers.
Spread. Infect. Obey.
Leave the top five—those with real power—to me.
They will kneel… in time."
Then she turned away.
"And when I speak again—
You will not hesitate.
Or you will perish."
She paused.
A single word.
"Dismiss."
She vanished.
No flare. No sound.
Just… gone.
Ash lingered.
Silence returned.
The Council nodded.
With a gesture, the eleven broken heroes were teleported away.
[NEXT DAY – HERO ASSOCIATION HQ]
It was almost comical.
The return of the missing team was met with cheers.
Confused stares. Laughter.
"Where the hell have you guys been?"
"Celebrating," Victor said with a faint, lifeless smile.
"We partied a little too hard. Rookie bonding, you know?"
The others echoed the same line.
No one noticed the flicker of violet deep in their eyes.
No one questioned the precision in their movements.
Or the faint aura that trailed behind them.
Or how the temperature dipped slightly when they passed.
That night… it began.
The Flame.
One by one, the low-rankers were touched and converted.
During training.
Missions.
Conversations.
Handshakes.
A whispered word.
A casual pat.
A burst of dark mana, invisible to the untrained.
One by one , day by day this conversion continued.
And by the seventh day…
The entire Association—save for Heads and Executives—was no longer theirs.
It belongs to the Forsakens.
It belongs to Nemesis.
[Present Time– HERO ASSOCIATION HQ]
Now seated at the head of the table within the Hero Association...
Nemesis looked at the remaining heroes—those yet untouched by her flame.
Then she turned to her Council.
They nodded.
In a calm, deadly voice, she ordered:
"It's been while,"
"Do you remember me?"
[TO BE CONTINUED…]