Eryndor stood frozen, his newly formed body trembling as he gazed up at the towering angel. She was seven feet tall, radiating an aura of authority that pressed down on him like an invisible weight. Her piercing green eyes bore into him with an intensity that made it clear she held absolute control.
“Why should I obey you?” Eryndor demanded, his voice defiant despite the fear crawling under his skin.
The angel said nothing at first. Her expression remained cold, detached. With a simple snap of her fingers, the flesh of Eryndor’s freshly formed body began to peel away. His skin turned gray and cracked like dry earth before melting into a grotesque puddle on the floor. He collapsed, writhing as his body degenerated, leaving only his head and a faintly glowing soul essence encased within his crumbling form.
Eryndor screamed in agony, his voice echoing in the empty void.
The angel raised her hand, and the horrifying process halted just before his consciousness could slip away. She lowered her gaze, her tone sharp and unforgiving.
“Because of this.”
A radiant, pure white orb appeared in front of him, floating gently in the air. The glow was soothing yet painfully familiar. Eryndor’s breath hitched as recognition struck him like a bolt of lightning.
“Stephanie…” he whispered, his voice trembling.
The angel snapped her fingers again. The white orb began to shimmer, stretching and reshaping until it formed a humanoid figure. Stephanie’s form appeared, delicate and lifelike, but eerily still. Unlike Eryndor, she remained motionless, her eyes closed as if in eternal sleep.
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“Stephy!” Eryndor cried out, tears streaming down his face. His voice cracked with desperation. “Wake up! Please!”
But she didn’t move.
The angel’s voice cut through his grief, cold and precise. “If you do as we order, you’ll be rewarded. And she… she’s merely a bonus for you.”
Eryndor’s teeth clenched. He glared up at her, fury and anguish swirling in his eyes. “What do you want from me?”
The angel turned, her golden hair flowing like molten light as she strode to a newly formed throne of gleaming silver. Sitting with a noble demeanor, her spear rested across her lap, its sharp edges glowing faintly. She resembled a battle goddess, exuding both beauty and danger.
“Simple,” she replied, her voice calm yet commanding. “Save your dying world.”
Eryndor’s breath hitched. The weight of her words pressed into him like a boulder. “Save my world? It’s already gone.”
The angel’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “We have our ways.”
Raising her hand, she conjured a swirling orb of light. Within it, images of Earth 15 years before the apocalypse unfolded—a time when the world still thrived, untouched by the horrors that would one day destroy it.
“We will send you back,” she continued, “to 15 years before the end. You will have 30 years to protect your world and prevent its destruction.”
Eryndor stared at the vision, his heart pounding. It was a chance he never thought possible.
“But that’s not all,” the angel added, her tone turning stern. “You will train others. Warriors, Hunters, survivors—it matters not what you call them. You will prepare them to defend your world after your time is up.”
Eryndor frowned. “And what happens when I die?”
The angel’s voice softened, but only slightly. “If you succeed, your soul will be transferred to an alternate world. One without Hunters, without apocalypse… and she will go with you.”
Her gaze shifted briefly to Stephanie’s lifeless form. “A quiet life. A second chance. Is this enough to satisfy you?”
Eryndor’s eyes locked onto Stephanie. Her face, peaceful yet distant, broke him all over again. He swallowed hard, his emotions a storm inside him.
“Yes,” he finally whispered, his voice firm. “I’ll do it.”
The angel inclined her head slightly, as though acknowledging his resolve. “Very well.”
---
Eryndor’s body began to reform, this time stronger and more stable. The angel’s power coursed through him, his senses sharpening as a faint glow surrounded his body. The void around them began to shift, stars and light swirling as the celestial mechanisms of time and space realigned.
“Your journey will begin soon,” the angel said, her voice carrying an edge of finality. “But remember this, Eryndor Valcis: failure is not an option. The god who sits upon the Throne of Skulls does not tolerate disobedience.”
Eryndor knelt, his head bowed. But his eyes never left Stephanie, who remained motionless like a doll resting on the floor.
“I’ll do it,” he said again, his voice stronger this time. “For her. For my world.”
The angel nodded. “Then rise, Apostle of the Last Hope. Your task begins now.”
To Be Continued…