The Chaos Imperium: The Eternal Empire

Raizen Valefor stood at the cave's mouth, his hand clenched around the silver necklace engraved with "Valefor," his breath ragged in the biting chill of Noctavaria Abyss. The scraping sound from the dead forest moments ago—like claws raking stone—still echoed in his mind, raising the hairs on his neck. His gaze swept the scene: skeletal trees stretched upward like brittle bones, the ground blanketed in ash and dust, and in the distance, a pitch-black tempest churned, lightning clawing across a leaden sky. No streetlights, no engines—just crude wooden scraps and stone axes strewn about, relics of a backward world, as if trapped in a feudal age decades removed from World War I.

"This is where I must survive," he whispered, his eyes cold as steel. Memories of Saigon 2050—the Thiên Long Tower, Kael Iscariot's betrayal, and the prophecy from Vesper Atrius's supercomputer—burned fiercely in his mind. "You are the spark of destruction, Raizen Valefor, and its end." He gripped the necklace tighter, teeth grinding. "If this is your chessboard, Atrius, I'll smash it to pieces."

The scraping sounded again, closer now, yanking him from his thoughts. Raizen spun, weaponless, his eyes scanning the forest. A shadowy blur flitted between the barren trees—swift, silent, like a predator on the hunt. He stepped back, heart pounding. "Damn it," he muttered, realizing he had nothing but his bare hands and knowledge from a distant world.

He edged cautiously from the cave, bare feet meeting frigid soil. The wind howled past, carrying the scent of ash and something fouler—dried blood. He snatched up a nearby stone axe, its chipped blade lashed to a rough wooden handle. "A Stone Age toy," he smirked dryly, but in this moment, it was all he had.

Raizen advanced toward the forest, each step measured. He needed to understand this place—Noctavaria Abyss, an alien land cut off from the mighty empires he'd yet to encounter: the Vesperia Syndicate with its global trade, the Drakos Imperium with its World War I-era militarism, or the Solvaria Dominion with its divine sorcery. If this was a forgotten corner of Asvaria, his strategic, economic, and technological expertise from Saigon 2050 could forge it into a new empire. But first, he had to make it through the day.

Then he saw it—a derelict camp nestled behind the skeletal trees. Tattered hides flapped limply in the wind, propped on rotting wooden poles. He approached, eyes darting over scattered remnants: a child's crude leather shoes caked in ash, a broken wooden bowl, and a scorched hide etched with a crude drawing—a father wielding a spear, a mother cradling her child. Nearby, a rusted armor fragment lay abandoned, its faded surface bearing a sun-shaped emblem and ancient script: "Solvaria Dominion – Those who betray shall be cursed forever."

Raizen lifted the shard, fingers tracing the weathered carving. "Solvaria Dominion?" he murmured. "A fallen empire? Or just the ruins of some forsaken colony?" He scanned the surroundings, a weight settling in his chest. "They lived here once. What wiped them out?"

A gust of cold wind surged, tugging an old journal to his feet. He bent to retrieve it, flipping it open with trembling fingers. Scrawled lines emerged in an ancient tongue, the ink faded: "They came from Noctavaria Abyss… the storm isn't our only foe…" He glanced up, eyeing the nearing tempest, a chill snaking down his spine. "Who wrote this? And what are 'they'?"

He pressed deeper into the camp, guided by instinct to a weathered stone slab standing amid the wreckage, a silent tombstone. Green moss clung to its surface, but lightning revealed a deep-carved inscription: "The survivor shall determine Asvaria's fate." Raizen staggered back, breath quickening. "Asvaria," he whispered, hand brushing the words, the stone's roughness a grim warning. "The survivor… is that me?"

Atrius's prophecy resounded in his skull: "The weakest will shatter fate's wheel…" He stared at the slab, eyes widening. At its base, a small symbol was etched—a crimson spiral, like blood coiled into a circle. He froze. That image—he'd seen it on the Asvaria machine's screen back in Saigon. "He knew," he muttered, voice quavering. "Vesper Atrius planned this?"

A sharp rasp sliced through his thoughts, so close he felt hot breath on his neck. Raizen whirled, clutching the axe, locking eyes with a figure emerging from the gloom. Lightning flashed, illuminating it: a gaunt, towering creature, its ashen skin taut over sinew, its red eyes blazing like embers. Jagged teeth jutted from its maw, and on its forehead—the same spiral, identical to the stone, to his memory.

"You…" he rasped, voice faltering. The beast cocked its head, then unleashed a piercing roar that reverberated through the forest. Raizen retreated, tightening his grip on the axe, mind racing. He scanned the camp: a teetering wooden pole to his left, a deep ash pit behind the slab—the terrain was his only edge.

The creature lunged, claws slashing like scythes. Raizen dodged, but a talon grazed his arm, leaving a shallow, bleeding gash. Gritting his teeth, he swung the axe, striking its leg. The stone blade shattered, scoring only a scratch, but he seized the moment to fall back toward the pit. The beast snarled, charging, its claws raking the slab and scattering debris.

Raizen lured it to the pit's edge, then leapt aside. The creature stumbled, plunging into the hole with a furious bellow, its claws thrashing uselessly at the dirt. He gasped for air, clutching his wound. Blood dripped to the ground, and he gaped as the ash sucked it up instantly, leaving a strange, spreading red stain. "This soil… something's wrong," he muttered, eyes fixed on the pit where the beast still writhed.

But before he could gather himself, another sound rang out—metal striking stone, sharp and deliberate. Raizen turned, and from the shadows behind the slab, a figure stepped forth. A woman, her snow-white hair stark against the dark, her mismatched eyes—blue on the left, blazing red on the right—glinting in the lightning's flare. A thin scar traced her throat, a near-fatal blade's legacy. Her leather armor, scratched and worn, bore a small swallow emblem on her left shoulder, and the steel sword in her hand gleamed—a rare glint of metal in this primitive wasteland.

She fixed him with a stare, her voice low and cutting: "Who are you? And why are the beasts of Noctavaria Abyss hunting you?"

Raizen stiffened, hand pressed to his bleeding arm, unsure how to respond. He studied her, then glanced at the creature in the pit. Atrius's words echoed: "You are the spark of destruction…" A backward realm, an unseen foe, and a stranger with a blade—all enigmas.

But before he could speak, a chorus of roars erupted from the forest—not one, but dozens blending into a cacophony, as if a pack of beasts closed in. The woman's brow furrowed, her grip tightening on her sword as she snapped toward him. "If you don't want to die like those fools, run—now!" Her tone was razor-sharp, her red eye scanning the rising darkness.

Raizen hesitated, torn between her and the forest's swelling growls. A strange land within Asvaria, a fresh peril—and perhaps, the first ally in the journey ahead.