NOVEL WEB Chapter 5: Ruins of Nyuga
The gateway opened with a sound like tearing cloth and breaking bone.
Matt stepped through, violet Voidlight bleeding from his boots and blade. Behind him, the tomb collapsed—devoured by the Rift's hunger. Ahead, an ancient corridor stretched into infinity: woven light, obsidian stone. A path not built, but conjured. Older than language. Older than death.
He didn't hesitate.
The moment his foot crossed the threshold—reality bent.
Light vanished.
And in its place: desolation.
Matt now stood atop fractured obsidian earth. Above, a sky of ash churned with aurora flame. Torn banners fluttered in scorched wind—ghosts of war long ended. Statues of winged Nitine warriors rose from ruin, faces cracked, halos shattered.
This was Nyuga.
His birthplace.
Or what was left of it.
Behind him, the Realm Gate flickered—then sealed.
No way back.
Only forward.
The air stank—molten metal, dried blood, and something older than grief. Memory trapped in bone.
The Shadowsidian Blade pulsed.
> "You feel it," the Void whispered. "This is where you were forged."
Broken spires loomed in the distance. Lava trenches split the land like scars. Giant bones—some godlike, others monstrous—jutted from ash and rock.
Every step Matt took stirred ghosts.
Visions bled into him—
> His father, wreathed in silver flame, shielding an infant from raining fire.
His mother, voice shaking, chanting sigils as she sealed him beneath the earth.
Then fire.
Then silence.
He reached a ravine.
At its center stood a sunken structure—half-vault, half-temple—shaped like a cracked lotus blooming from ash. Etched across its petals, glowing sigils burned faintly.
Above the gate: House of the Flame-Born.
He descended.
The glyphs on his sword lit up—answering a call buried in blood.
He touched the door.
It opened.
Inside: silence.
Ancient Nitine statues lined the corridor—each armed with relics of war: flame-glaives, thunder chakrams, voidforged pistols. Their gemstone eyes lit red as he passed.
Then one statue moved.
Its mouth cracked open.
> "Identify yourself."
Matt didn't hesitate. "Matt Salurga."
> "Lineage?"
"…Nitine."
A shrill tone echoed.
The floor lit blue.
Walls ignited.
Doors slammed shut.
> "Lineage unverified. Void detected. Trial initiated."
Stone groaned. Gears clanked. Light exploded.
From the chamber's heart rose a colossal automaton—twenty feet tall, forged from obsidian veined with gold. Wings ablaze. A core marked with the sigil of Pailance, Goddess of Balance.
> RELIC GUARDIAN: PARAGON OF FLAME
It roared.
Then charged.
Matt blinked aside. The staff slammed down—shattering stone. Dust erupted. He rolled, ribs aching, blade ready.
> "Use me," the Void hissed. "Tear it down."
He gritted his teeth. "Not yet."
The Paragon surged forward. Flame howled from its limbs. Matt reappeared behind it mid-dash.
> Void Technique: Blink Slash
Twin arcs of shadow carved across its back—deep, but shallow in effect.
The Paragon turned. Its chest flared.
A Flame Wave exploded outward—catching him clean.
His coat caught fire.
He hit the ground hard, smoke choking him.
He needed more.
Then—he saw it.
An altar. Far wall. A crimson crystal pulsing like war's heartbeat.
> Blood Sigil of Resistance
The Paragon roared.
Matt ran.
Fire chased him as the floor cracked. He dove, rolled, seized the Sigil—
—and screamed.
Pain tore through him.
But it didn't burn.
It baptized.
Wounds closed. Glyphs erupted across his back—alive with fury and flame.
> Skill Unlocked: Ashdrinker Vein
He rose.
The Shadowsidian Blade ignited—now laced with fire.
The Paragon struck.
Matt met it.
Steel against staff. Flame against Void.
He ducked low, slid under its guard, then drove the blade straight into the core.
> VOID-FIRE SURGE: EXECUTE
Black and gold light exploded.
The Paragon screamed—a sound like a dying star.
Then shattered.
Molten gears rained around him.
Silence followed.
Matt stood—chest heaving, blade humming.
> "Lineage confirmed," the vault whispered.
"Welcome home, Matt of the Flame-Born."
The rear wall groaned.
Collapsed.
A hidden corridor revealed itself—lined in flickering blue flame.
A mural stretched across the walls:
> Three Nayron Kings… kneeling before a cloaked figure of flame and Void.
The figure's face was shadowed.
But Matt knew.
It was him.
Or… who he used to be.
At the mural's base, etched in divine script:
> "He who balances wrath and will shall awaken the Exile Crown."
Matt touched the wall.
"I'm not a savior," he whispered.
The mural didn't answer.
It simply waited.