The Superior Rebirth: A Hero's Awakening

Chains of the Protagonist

It was an abyss. Nothing. No horizon, no ground, no sky—just absence. And yet, within that nothing, years of trauma cycled endlessly, looping again and again, as though centuries crawled by at a turtle's pace.

Xavier was trapped inside it.

These dreams were different from before. More ruthless. More maniacal. More cruel—and everlasting. They stretched far longer than his thoughts could endure, longer than his mind was meant to comprehend.

His father's death came first.

Jonathan.

It replayed again and again, the moment refusing to fade, accompanied by that familiar, maniacal laughter—cruel, distorted—echoing through the hollow corridors of his mind. Then the scenes shifted, dragging time with them, each transition birthing a new torment.

Then came his parents.

Every possible way they could have died unfolded before him. Each variation more grotesque than the last. His nightmare forced him to witness every outcome, every method, every cruelty—each one traced back to the same source.

Percival.

The devil himself.

Images followed. Faces he loved. Faces he needed.

They all died.

His birth parents. His adoptive father, Jonathan. Anastasia. And even Alcmena—his guardian, his anchor, the one person he believed would never fall.

All of them lay lifeless before him.

In his hands.

Blood flooded the ground beneath his feet like a crimson sea, soaking into his clothes, clinging to his skin. It coated his hands. Splattered across half his face. Their blood marked him, branded him.

Why?

The thought echoed weakly in his mind.

Why was this happening again? Why did the torment never end?

He held a body in his arms.

Violet.

His sister.

Her vessel was cold. Forsaken. The moment he realized it, a searing pain tore through his soul—raw, unbearable. Rage followed close behind, boiling violently, like the sun's own volcanoes erupting within his chest.

"Come now, Xavier," a taunting voice laughed, circling him, watching him suffer like a spectacle. "Why do you look so down?"

The laughter deepened.

"Can't you save them? Aren't you supposed to be a hero? The leading star of hope?"

Xavier's hands trembled violently, his power reacting to the storm of emotions surging through him. Fear and fury clashed within his body, making him quake.

Then he felt it.

A presence.

Behind him.

A figure leaned close, close enough that he could feel its breath brush against his ear.

"Stchh." A click of the tongue. Mocking. Disappointed. "You can't even protect those around you," the voice whispered. "Nor can you ever hope to."

A pause.

"What a pathetic disgrace of a protagonist you are."

Xavier spun around instantly, launching himself forward without hesitation.

Percival.

Chains erupted from the void, snapping into existence in an instant. They struck him mid-motion, coiling around his limbs, his torso—slamming him down like a feral animal. The bindings dug deep, not just into flesh, but into his very soul.