In back alleys, hidden caves, and abandoned churches, gatherings took place. They chanted Ren's name, praised his wrath, glorified his vengeance.
One such cult gathered in a decrepit home deep in the slums. Candlelight flickered as a self-proclaimed priest stood before the crowd.
"He has returned! The Hero will cleanse this rotting world! The corrupt shall fall by his hand!"
The crowd erupted in chants and cheers.
Then silence.
A sword came flying through an open window—impaling the priest through the mouth, pinning him to the wall.
Gasps turned to screams.
The door creaked open. Ren stepped inside.
His eyes scanned the room, cold and furious.
"I didn't ask for worshippers," he said, voice low, sharp as steel. "I didn't ask for chants. Or shrines. Or praise."
One man fell to his knees. "O-Oh Great Hero… please cleanse us—"
Ren's expression twisted into one of utter disgust.
"You people are filth."
He yanked his sword from the priest's face with a sickening squelch.
Screams filled the house.
The night air carried their cries—begging, shrieking, dying.
---
By morning, a crowd had gathered around the now-silent building.
Blood seeped from under the door.
The Vice Commander of the capital guard arrived, her face grim. She pushed through the crowd and entered the house.
The stench hit her instantly.
Inside were bodies—torn, mutilated, decapitated. Blood stained every inch of the walls. Some corpses were hung up like decorations. Eyes wide. Mouths agape.
She covered her mouth, gagging.
"Clear the area," she barked at the guards. "No civilians. Not even clergy."
As she stepped deeper into the carnage, she stared at the horror.
"This wasn't rage…" she murmured. "This was rejection."
She clenched her fists.
"Just how deep does this Hero's grudge go… against the world that betrayed him?"
Across the world
In the kingdom of Eldareth, a paranoid king burned books that even mentioned the Hero's name. A priest was executed for calling Ren a martyr. Citizens were dragged from their homes at the slightest rumor.
In a village to the east, peasants built a shrine of stone and ash. They prayed to Ren, not as a god, but as vengeance incarnate. A mother carved her dead son's name into a rock and placed it at the altar.
In a fortress across the sea, a radical bishop began writing a new scripture.
"The Second Light: The Hero's Vow."
Some worshipped. Others hid. All trembled.
---
High above, on a jagged cliff overlooking a ruined battlefield, Ren sat alone.
His cloak fluttered in the wind. In his hand was a broken pendant — old, worn, smeared with ash. One of the twin sisters used to wear it. He didn't remember which one anymore.
He rolled it between his fingers.
"They're all watching now," he murmured. "Good."
The wind whispered through the trees like voices long dead.
"They still think I'm human."
His smile returned — not cruel, but empty.
"I wonder how long that will last."
He stood, shadows stretching behind him.
"This is only the beginning."