CALAMITY : Legends Of The Chosen

Zixy Miya — The Chosen Who Shouldn't Have Looked

She was death incarnate long before she became a Chosen.

An assassin born in the alleyways of broken empires, Zixy Miya never held a sword. She didn't need to. She killed with needles and curses, weaving voodoo into hexes that turned bodies into puppets, souls into fireworks. Her hands, stained in ash and blood, guided silent funerals across rooftops and kingdoms.

When the First Crack appeared, Zixy was mid-contract.

A demon surge — ten strong — surged through the rift. She smiled.

Ten hexes. Ten corpses.

But the eleventh? A berserker made of smoke and flame — it cleaved her in two.

That should've been her end.

The Offer of Moara — Primordial of Hex & Misfortune

Her soul drifted into the Cradle Between Nightmares. That's where Moara found her — the Primordial of Curses, of Misfortune, of forbidden paths.

"You are not meant for Heaven… and Hell won't take you either."

He marked her. Branded her with the seal of the Tenth Chosen — not by fate, but by flaw. And before sending her back to Earth, Moara gave her only one warning:

"Avoid the Maze. It was ARAE's playground. Even death isn't sacred within."

But Zixy had never followed rules.

She was reborn at the edge of a sunken canyon — the entrance yawning like a grave with no bottom. The others weren't there. No voices. No Primordials. No Yggdrasil. Just the Maze — humming like it wanted her.

Curiosity didn't just kill the cat. It tortured it.

The Chamber of Endless Bleeding

Zixy didn't walk into the Maze. She fell.

Down. Down. Into a chamber where spikes rose like a forest of bone. One pierced her side. Another through her thigh. One carved open her back.

And still, she didn't die.

ARAE's Maze didn't want her soul — it wanted her blood.

Her veins were cursed. Moara's hex flowed through her like ink, and so her blood became the catalyst. Every statue in the maze — every killer stone angel — fed off of her agony.

And so they chained her.

To the wall.

To the floor.

To silence.

To death — over 50 times.

Each death was a whisper in her ear.

Each rebirth — a new scream to fuel the statues' hunt.

Zixy Miya was forgotten.

But the Maze remembered her.

And now… Karl remembers her too.

But she?

She barely remembers who she is.

ZIXY MIYA — The Fall and the First Torture

She didn't trip.

She walked in.

They told her not to. Moara's warning had been clear:

"The Maze does not obey creation. It is a thing ARAE made before reason itself. You step in, you never walk out the same."

Zixy didn't care.

She'd hexed demons, survived exorcists, and killed men with a curse written in the blood of their own shadows.

So when the ground gave way beneath her and she plummeted into darkness, she didn't scream.

Not even when she landed.

The Chamber

The floor looked like obsidian glass, cracked in spiderweb patterns. Zixy groaned, pushing herself to her feet — and that's when the floor shifted.

A spike shot through her back, then another rammed into her shoulder, skewering her like a pinned butterfly.

She gasped, blood pouring from her mouth.

"Tch… fuck…"

She tried to summon her hex magic — even a curse would do — but her hands were nailed to the floor with thin needles of bone. She couldn't even twitch her fingers.

Her eyes fluttered.

Around her, the black walls breathed.

Then they opened.

Not doors.

Not gates.

Eyes.

Stone figures emerged. Tall. Eyeless. Angelic in shape — but with too many fingers. Too many smiles. All carved, all watching.

"...Heh… So this is it?"

"Killed by statues. How poetic."

She spat blood.

A statue stepped forward. It pressed one stone hand against her stomach where the spike held her in place.

It didn't pull.

It twisted.

"GaaAAH—!"

Her scream echoed across the maze.

The walls didn't echo it — they absorbed it.

Fed on it.

The statue leaned in, pressing its cracked forehead to hers.

It didn't speak.

It just listened.

"Go on then…" Zixy muttered through her teeth. "I won't beg. I won't cry."

The statue pulled its hand back. Then, without warning, it shoved its fingers into her mouth, wrenching her jaw open until something cracked.

Zixy gagged, body twitching.

Another hand slammed down on her ribs — one by one, it popped them. She screamed again.

The statue smiled.

And then they all moved at once.

The Ritual

They didn't kill her.

They bled her.

They sigil-marked her flesh.

Then lifted her broken body and pinned her to the wall, impaling her with cold spikes.

Her blood flowed into grooves carved into the floor — winding like a web through the entire maze.

Fuel.

"...You're using me… to power them," she hissed, barely conscious. "You bastards…"

She died.

Then woke up.

Still bleeding.

Still chained.

Still fueling the monsters she couldn't curse.

"I'm going to kill you all," she whispered to herself in the dark.

"One day. Even if I come back as a goddamn ghost."

And that was her first death.

Out of fifty.