《The Chosen of the Forgotten God》


 Prologue: The Forgotten Whisper

    The year was 2025. On the surface, everything seemed normal. The streets bustled with life¡ªpeople walking hurriedly to work, others lost in their phones, and some merely watching the world go by. But beneath this veneer of normalcy lurked something vile, a corruption ingrained in the very fabric of humanity. The wealthy, draped in their superficial charm, wielded their power to mask their sins. Even among the ordinary, cruelty thrived in the shadows.


    In a world consumed by corruption and despair, some stories go unnoticed. In a broken world, their story is but a fleeting example of countless tragedies¡ªa mother and her son, swept away by the indifference of fate.


    She walked along the crowded footpath, just another face in the sea of strangers. Her son toddled happily ahead of her, his tiny hands clutching a battered toy car, oblivious to the harshness of the world around him. The corners of her lips curved into a rare smile as she watched him, her heart swelling with a bittersweet mixture of love and determination.


    It wasn¡¯t easy¡ªraising him alone after her husband¡¯s passing. Every day was a struggle, every decision a burden. Yet, when she saw his bright, innocent grin and the way his eyes lit up over the smallest joys, she knew it was all worth it. For him, she would endure anything.


    She adjusted the fraying strap of her worn-out bag, her mind briefly drifting to thoughts of what she could afford for dinner tonight. "Maybe his favorite," she murmured to herself, a hint of hope in her voice. The thought warmed her heart as she stepped forward, closing the small gap between them.


    But then came the shadows. A rough hand yanked her into the alley, cutting through the noise and light of the bustling street like a knife. Her son¡¯s startled cry pierced the air as she was pulled into the darkness. A woman¡¯s anguished cries tore through the suffocating silence, though the towering walls of the city muffled her pleas. She clutched her child tightly, his small, battered body limp in her arms. Blood stained his clothes, trickling down his fragile frame as his breaths grew ragged.


    ¡°Please! Don¡¯t hurt him,¡± she begged, her voice trembling with desperation. ¡°I¡¯ll do anything. Just let him go¡­ He¡¯s all I have left! Please, please, have mercy!¡± Her words came out broken, choking on her own sobs, as though each plea was ripping apart her soul.


    The group of men stepped closer, their eyes glinting with malice. One smirked, his voice a venomous hiss. ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll do more than beg,¡± he sneered. Another man grabbed her child, tearing him from her arms. ¡°Let¡¯s see how much you¡¯ll beg for him now,¡± he spat.


    ¡°No! Don¡¯t!¡± she screamed, her hands clawing at the air as they threw the boy against the cold, hard wall. A sickening crack echoed through the alley as his tiny body hit the ground. He whimpered weakly, his chest heaving once, twice¡ªand then went still.


    ¡°No¡­ No, no, no!¡± Her voice shattered into raw screams, tears blurring her vision as she crawled toward him. But they blocked her path, towering over her like shadows of death.


    ¡°Shut her up,¡± one of them barked. A blade glinted in the dim light, and in a swift, cruel motion, it carved jagged lines across the corners of her mouth. Blood spilled, her screams turning into garbled cries of agony.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    She fell to the ground, pinned by their weight. Their laughter echoed in the suffocating darkness, a symphony of cruelty that drowned her broken sobs. Yet her gaze, unwavering, clung to her son¡¯s lifeless body. Despair suffused every corner of her being as the last fragile thread of hope snapped. In her shattered heart, she didn¡¯t plead for mercy or salvation.


    She begged for the end of everything with her final, broken breath as life slipped away.


    And the world listened.


    Above, the sky convulsed. The air grew heavy with a suffocating dread as a jagged black void ripped through the heavens. The crack spread slowly at first, its edges glowing with an ominous light. The energy that poured from it was suffused with rage and despair, as though the universe itself grieved.


    Time seemed to stop. Then came the sound¡ªnot a scream, but a thunderous, soundless wail that vibrated through the air, the earth, and the bones of every living thing. The woman¡¯s broken body lay still, her lifeless eyes reflecting the rift above.


    The alley, once filled with her cries, fell silent.


    "The Cosmic Balance Has Been Broken."


    "The World Will Soon Face Doom."


    Governments scrambled to respond. Armies mobilized and the city was evacuated. As the rift loomed overhead, fear gripped the world.


    An enormous creature emerged, its form monstrous and alien, cloaked in an aura of dread. The military opened fire. Explosions lit up the night, but their weapons barely scratched its hide. The battle raged on, and though the monster was eventually brought down, it came at a devastating cost. Seventy percent of the deployed forces lay in ruins.


    The soldiers dared to hope. Perhaps the threat had been contained. Perhaps this nightmare had ended.


    Then the crack expanded, shattering the fragile illusion of victory. It spread across the sky like a cancer, and from its depths poured a flood of horrors. Tens of thousands of demons emerged, their forms grotesque and twisted, each one a living nightmare. The city¡¯s defenders stood frozen in terror as hope turned to despair. Some whispered prayers. Others laughed maniacally, their minds breaking under the weight of the impossible.


    A demon larger than the rest emerged from the rift, its presence suffocating. Its eyes burned with malevolence as it surveyed the carnage. This was no ordinary creature; its authority was absolute, its power devastating. It raised a clawed hand and unleashed a single, devastating attack. The city disappeared in a flash of light and destruction.


    The world watched in horror as the broadcast went dark. Entire nations trembled, their leaders paralyzed by the speed of the devastation. Within minutes, half a country had fallen.


    Humanity¡¯s fragile hope crumbled. They had no weapons to face such an onslaught, no means to resist the tide of demons that spilled forth from the rift. For a brief, harrowing moment, it seemed the world would be lost.


    Then, as despair threatened to consume the survivors, the Status Window reappeared.


    "You have been given a second chance."


    "You have been chosen to restore the world''s balance."


    Millions of humans felt the shift, their bodies tingling with newfound power. Across the globe, individuals were selected by beings thought to be long-forgotten myths. Gods from every corner of humanity¡¯s history¡ªonce dismissed as legends¡ªreturned to grant their chosen warriors the strength to fight back. These warriors, bonded to their divine patrons, became humanity¡¯s last hope.


    They were called the Incarnates¡ªhumans imbued with divine power, their abilities tied to their personalities and convictions. Even with their newfound strength, it took everything to push the demonic tide back. Half of the world was lost, but the remaining half endured.


    Three hundred years have passed since that day. The crack in the sky remains, a grim reminder of the fragile balance. Humanity survives, but the war is far from over. The Incarnates fight on, their powers the only barrier between survival and annihilation.


    And deep within the rift, in the heart of darkness, something stirs. A whisper echoes through the void, its voice ancient and relentless:


    "The balance begins to shift."

 Chapter-1

    Three centuries ago, the heavens tore apart with a sound like the wailing of gods, a deafening roar that shook the earth and made mountains tremble. The sky cracked open like a wound that refused to heal, bleeding despair into the hearts of all who gazed upon it. From that fissure came the unending tide of demons, blackening the lands and drowning nations. The crack in the sky was no mere scar; it was a wound that bled despair into the world. The Incarnates, the ones chosen by gods, are humanity¡¯s way of resisting the demons¡¯ takeover. These Incarnates possess superhuman powers that defy common sense. Most are good, reflecting the nature of their divine patrons. But not always.


    Through relentless strength and unimaginable sacrifice, humanity clung to survival, their hope flickering like a fragile candle against an encroaching storm. In that time, the world has changed. Cities once known have been reshaped, combining medieval simplicity in food and clothing with advanced technology¡ªmost of it dedicated to the war. Nations have fallen; everything has been rebuilt.


    Our story begins in Lorthal, a remote village far from the tensions of the front lines. This is the tale of Kael, a young man who has just reached the age of fifteen. Kael dreamed of becoming a great Incarnate, one who would make his family proud and carve a name for himself in history.


    Kael¡¯s family lived on the edges of survival, their poverty etched into the sagging beams of their home and the frayed edges of their lives. Despite his circumstances, he trained day and night with his sword, determined to improve. Today, however, his training was driven by a different reason: his coming-of-age ceremony. The annual event saw every fifteen-year-old tested by the village priest. With the help of a divine stone¡ªa relic infused with ancient machinery¡ªthe priest would measure the probability of being chosen by a god. It was only a probability, but for many, it was a glimpse of hope.


    Kael¡¯s wooden sword cut through the heavy air, his strikes unsteady but determined. With each swing, he clung to the thought of the coming ceremony. "I have to show a good percentage," he told himself, each word driving him forward. His hands ached, his arms felt leaden, but he kept moving, chasing the faint hope that this day would be different.


    Nearby, a group of his peers passed by, their laughter cutting through the air.


    ¡°Look at him,¡± one boy jeered, his voice loud enough to carry but soft enough to sting, his lips curling into a sneer as he nudged his companion with an elbow. ¡°All that swinging, like he thinks he¡¯s an Incarnate already. He hasn¡¯t even won once.¡±


    ¡°No surprise,¡± another added with a sneer. ¡°He¡¯s from the lowest class. How could someone like him have talent for the sword?¡±


    They laughed and walked away, leaving Kael clutching the hilt of his wooden sword, his anger bubbling like molten iron beneath his skin. His grip tightened as their voices faded, but the word they left behind lingered: ¡°Weak.¡± Their voices echoed in his mind, sharp and cutting: ¡°Weak.¡± The word hung there, relentless, feeding the fire in his chest. He tightened his grip on the sword and swung harder, as though each strike might silence the jeers, the laughter, and the weight of his insignificance.


    ¡°One day,¡± he muttered to himself, his voice low but fierce. ¡°One day I¡¯ll surpass all of you.¡± The blade shuddered with each strike, as though it, too, was tired of being wielded by unskilled hands. His muscles screamed, but he didn¡¯t stop. He couldn¡¯t stop. Sweat dripped down his face, stinging his eyes, as the ground beneath him turned dark with effort. He practiced as if striking down his failures, one swing at a time.Stolen story; please report.


    As he practiced, a young woman approached him, her presence breaking his focus. She had blonde hair, slightly messy, and wore a tattered dress that did little to diminish her natural beauty. Her smile was radiant, enough to lift anyone¡¯s spirits. She bent down, grabbed Kael¡¯s discarded shirt, and tossed it at him.


    ¡°Kael! The priest has arrived. The ceremony is about to start. Go quickly!¡± she said.


    Kael caught the shirt mid-air, his chest rising and falling with effort. ¡°It¡¯s time?¡± he asked, his voice caught between a breathless hope and lingering dread. His sister¡¯s gentle smile softened the edges of his nerves.


    ¡°Really,¡± she replied with a laugh. ¡°Now hurry up!¡±


    Kael¡¯s face brightened, a rare flicker of light in the shadowed corners of his life. He yanked his shirt on, his feet carrying him toward the square as if drawn by the threads of destiny itself. His mind raced with thoughts of the ceremony. ¡°This is it,¡± he thought. ¡°If I¡¯m chosen, I can make my family proud. I can make a name for myself.¡± The excitement built with each step. ¡°Who cares if I¡¯m bad with swords? If I get chosen by a god who uses magic or a different weapon, I¡¯ll find my strength.¡±


    In the square, five others stood waiting. The priest, an elderly man in faded robes, placed the divine stone on a wooden table. One by one, the youths stepped forward, placing their hands on the stone. The priest announced their probabilities: 15%, 12%, 6%, 22%. Each result drew murmurs from the crowd. Even a 30% probability was considered extraordinary in Lorthal.


    Finally, it was Kael¡¯s turn. His heart pounded as he stepped forward. He placed his hand on the stone, its cold surface sending a shiver through him. The machine hummed, and light began to build. For a brief moment, it grew brighter than anyone had ever seen. Gasps rippled through the crowd.


    ¡°This is it,¡± Kael thought, his heart racing. Hope surged in his chest, overwhelming his doubt. ¡°Could it be? Am I special after all?¡±


    The light flared brilliantly, seeming to rewrite his fate¡ªonly to gutter out, leaving behind a void that mirrored the pit forming in Kael¡¯s stomach. A single number burned into the air above the stone: 0%.


    Silence fell over the square. The priest¡¯s face was a mix of confusion and unease. The crowd erupted into murmurs.


    ¡°Zero?¡± someone whispered, their voice trembling with disbelief. ¡°That¡¯s impossible. It¡¯s never happened before.¡±


    ¡°What does it mean?¡± another asked.


    Kael¡¯s gaze locked on the number¡ª0%¡ªas if seeing it made it real. His pulse roared in his ears, a sickening drumbeat of disbelief. The priest¡¯s voice cracked, softer than a whisper yet echoing louder than the world around him. ¡°Kael Eryndor... zero percent.¡±


    Laughter broke the tension. ¡°Even the gods don¡¯t want him!¡± Daren¡¯s voice rang out, sharp and mocking.


    Kael staggered, his vision swimming. Faces dissolved into smears, the ground tilting beneath him. His breath hitched, the air refusing to fill his lungs. Sweat trickled down his back as his hands began to tremble.


    ¡°No,¡± he thought, his voice an echo in his spinning mind. ¡°This is a dream¡­ just a dream.¡± The world tilted, the murmurs of the crowd warping into a distant hum, meaningless and unreal. He tried to focus, but the number¡ª0%¡ªseared into his mind, unrelenting, as though mocking his very existence.


    For a fleeting moment, Kael thought he might wake up. He wanted to wake up. But the cold stone beneath his hand grounded him in the truth¡ªan unforgiving, unchangeable truth.


    The crowd¡¯s noise faded further, swallowed by the roar of his own pulse. His legs buckled slightly, and for a second, he thought he might collapse. Then, like a lifeline, he felt Elara¡¯s hand on his shoulder, steadying him.


    ¡°Kael,¡± she said softly, her voice barely piercing the haze around him. Her presence was warm, but it couldn¡¯t stop the tidal wave of despair washing over him. Every dream he had, every hope, shattered in that moment, scattering like ash in the wind.


    Kael¡¯s gaze dropped to the stone as his fingers slid away. ¡°What now?¡± he whispered, his words lost in the cacophony of his spiraling thoughts.