Chapter 1: The Hollow King and the Saintess of Sunlight

The finality of death, Kazuki Tanaka discovered, was not a bang, but a whisper. A whisper of a shallow breath that couldn’t find purchase, a whisper of cold tiles against his cheek, a whisper of a distant, indifferent television from another room. The pain—the constant, familiar ache of bruises, of hunger, of worthlessness—finally began to recede, not with a fight, but with a profound, weary sigh of surrender.

Then came the ping.

It was a clean, digital sound, utterly alien in the organic mess of his ending. A notification from the universe itself.

<< System Notification: Soul Integrity Compromised. Biological Functions Terminated. >>
<< Initiating Post-Cessation Assessment... >>

Darkness dissolved into a light that didn’t hurt. Kazuki floated, unfeeling, in a sea of radiant white. Before him, a figure coalesced from the glow, holding a shimmering tablet that flickered with star-charts and flowcharts.

“Alright, let’s see… Kazuki Tanaka. Eighteen years. Chronic emotional and physical neglect, systemic abandonment, culminating in a self-termination event. File code: G-77, ‘Wasted Potential, Societal Debris Subcategory.’ Harsh, but accurate.” The being’s voice was cheerful, efficient, like a customer service representative for the cosmos.

Kazuki tried to feel something—anger, fear, wonder. There was only the hollow echo of the void he’d carried inside for so long. “Are you… God?”

“Assistant Manager of Transdimensional Soul Relocation and Qualitative Experience Rebalancing! But ‘God’ fits on the forms, so roll with it.” God tapped the tablet. “Look, your original world’s metrics are down. The angst levels are through the roof, the hero-to-villain ratio is skewed, and frankly, the narrative is getting stale. We’re offering select souls a compensation package: a full recall, memories intact, into a high-fantasy construct. Magic, monsters, stats, skills—the whole isekai shebang.”

“I don’t want it,” Kazuki said, the words automatic. Wanting anything had only ever led to pain.

“Desire is not a prerequisite! It’s a reassignment. And because your previous experience was so… sub-optimal, we’re authorizing a significant starter bonus. Think of it as hazard pay for a toxic soul-environment.”

A massive, glowing screen seared itself into Kazuki’s perception:

<< SOUL TRANSFERRED: KAZUKI TANAKA >>
<< DESIGNATION: [RECLAIMER] >>
<< WORLD: ELDRIA (TIER-9 FANTASY PARADIGM) >>
<< RACE: HUMAN (ADAPTIVE/COSMIC) >>
<< CORE STATS UNLOCKED >>
• STR: ∞ (Error: Value Exceeds Conceptual Limit)
• AGI: ∞ (Motion Unbound by Physical Law)
• MAG: ∞ (Wellspring of Primordial Arcana)
• END: ∞ (Indestructible Vessel Designation)
• LUK: ∞ (Causality Favors User)
<< DIVINE GIFTS GRANTED >>
• [Absolute Domination] (Aura-Class, Tier EX)
• [Omni-Magic Affinity & Nullification]
• [Life-Force Harvest]
• [Inventory: Infinite Void Pocket]
• [Comprehension of All Tongues]
• [Mortal Form (Toggle)]
<< PARADIGM DIRECTIVE: NONE. CONDUCT UNRESTRICTED. >>

“Unlimited power,” God said, spreading hands of light. “No quests, no chosen-one nonsense. You are the variable. The unscripted element. Go be a hero, build a harem, conquer a continent, or just nap for a century. Consider it… therapeutic sandbox mode. Just try not to shatter the planet’s core. The dimensional insurance premiums are astronomical.”

Before Kazuki could formulate a question—why him, why this, what was the point—the light inverted. He was falling, not through air, but through layers of reality, a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds. He felt his new power, a tsunami of impossible energy, crash into the hollow vessel of his being. It didn’t fill the void. It just gave the void unimaginable strength.

Thud.

He lay on his back, staring up at a sky of violet and indigo, where two moons—one silver, one pale blue—hung like watching eyes. The air was thick, sweet with the scent of alien pollen and potent magic. He could feel every whisper of mana, every root stretching in the soil, every heartbeat of a creature a mile away. He was omnipotent. And he felt exactly as empty as he had on that bathroom floor.

He stood. He was in a meadow of bioluminescent grass. His clothes were simple, coarse trousers and a tunic. He looked at his hand, flexing fingers that could, he knew, crush diamond to dust.

A roar shattered the twilight. From the tree line emerged a beast—a six-legged wolf with obsidian fur and fangs that dripped corrosive saliva. It was a [Shadowfang], a Level 40 threat, a nightmare for average adventurers. It sniffed the air, sensing a seemingly vulnerable human.

Kazuki felt a flicker. Not fear, but a faint echo of a memory: his father’s shouting, the need to make himself small, to disappear. The beast lunged, a blur of darkness.

He didn’t dodge. He raised a single hand.

[Absolute Domination].

The [Shadowfang] froze in mid-air, a puppet with its strings cut. A wave of pure, psychic authority pressed down on it. Kazuki could feel its animal mind, a simple coil of hunger and aggression, now unraveling into pure, primal terror. He could command it to tear itself apart. He could make it his pet.

He did neither.

[Life-Force Harvest].

A invisible siphon connected them. The beast’s vitality, its vibrant, bestial life energy, streamed into Kazuki. It wasn’t a violent pull; it was a serene, complete transfer. The [Shadowfang] didn’t even have time to whimper. Its form desiccated, fur turning to ash, bones to powder, before dissolving into motes of black light that were absorbed into Kazuki’s palm.

A warmth, minuscule and insignificant against the ocean of his own power, spread briefly in his chest. Then it was gone. The notification flashed in his mind:

<< [Life-Force Harvest] Successful. +40 Essence. Target Eliminated. >>

He felt nothing. No triumph, no guilt. It was an action, like breathing, but with less purpose. The hollow ache within him yawned wider. So this is power, he thought. It changes nothing.

He began to walk.

The town of Oakhaven was a quaint, palisaded settlement known for its lumber and peaceful river trade. Kazuki entered at noon, his empty eyes scanning the bustling market. The people were vibrant, loud, full of a life he couldn’t comprehend. Their laughter felt like needles.

A burly man, smelling of ale, bumped into him hard. “Watch where you’re going, rat!” the man snarled, shoving Kazuki for good measure.

It was a nothing gesture. A pinprick. But in the void of Kazuki’s soul, it was the only sensation he could register. A slight. An intrusion.

He looked at the man.
“Apologize,” Kazuki said, his voice flat.

The man laughed, drawing the attention of his friends. “Or what, you little—“

[Absolute Domination].

The man’s laughter died. His eyes bulged. Every muscle in his body locked. Kazuki walked closer, the crowd unconsciously parting.

“You exist because I allow it,” Kazuki whispered, the words not entirely his own; they were the logic of his power given voice. “Now, you do not.”

He didn’t use a flashy spell. He simply [Harvested] the man’s life force while he was still standing. One second a red-faced brute, the next a gray statue of ash that crumbled in the breeze, his clothes collapsing emptily.

Silence. Then, screams.

Guards rushed forward, spears leveled. “Monster! Demon!”

Kazuki sighed, a sound of profound boredom. He flicked his wrist. A wall of invisible force, [Omni-Magic: Kinetic Pulse], erupted from him. It didn’t cut or burn. It unmade at a molecular level. The guards, their spears, the section of the palisade behind them, simply ceased to be, erased in a cone of silent annihilation.

Panic became pandemonium. Kazuki walked through the town, a passive reaper. A merchant who threw a knife at him was turned to glass, then shattered. A mother who screamed curses had her voice permanently silenced, her vocal cords gently extracted by telekinesis and left floating in the air before dissolving. He wasn’t angry. He was… tidying up. Removing irritants.

He left Oakhaven not as a burning ruin, but as a ghastly gallery of surreal horrors, a town frozen in a silent scream. The “Hollow Demon” had been born, and his legend began to spread on wings of terror.

Weeks blurred. Kazuki moved like a wandering plague. A bandit kingdom that tried to recruit him was converted into a beautiful, silent garden of crystalline statues—their last moments of avarice frozen forever. A proud dragon that challenged him from the skies found its mighty breath weapon harmless against Kazuki, who then [Harvested] its millennia of life, growing a single, immortal lily from the spot where it fell.

He was exploring the logic of his own emptiness. If life had no value, then taking it had no weight. If connection was pain, then absolute isolation was peace. His power was the perfect expression of his soul: vast, impenetrable, and devoid of light.

Rumains evolved: The Walking End. The God Who Got Bored. The Apathy That Devours.

He found himself drawn to places that mirrored his interior. The Gloomwater Swamps, where hope sank and drowned. The Ashen Plains, where nothing grew. And finally, the Blackwood Forest—a place where mana itself was twisted and corrupt, a forest that fed on despair. Here, the shadows felt like home.

He was standing in a clearing, watching a particularly fascinating corruption—a tree that wept acid and whispered maddening thoughts—when he first heard the singing.

It was a melody so pure it seemed to physically push back the gloom. Simple, wordless, and brimming with a warmth that felt alien to him. His infinite senses pinpointed the source: deeper in the forest, in a direction the corrupt mana actively tried to dissuade travel towards.

Intrigued, not by hope, but by the sheer anomaly of it, he moved. The corrupted flora and fauna shrank from him, not out of fear of his power, but out of a deeper recognition—a kindred void. He was the greater darkness.

He arrived at a sight that made his flawless logic stutter.

A small cottage, built not of wood, but of living, healthy trees woven together, stood in a perfect circle of sunlight. Flowers bloomed in riotous color. The air was clean. In the center, a girl with hair like spun moonlight was kneeling beside a [Plague Imp], a creature of pus and venom. Its touch could wither an oak.

And she was healing it.

Her hands glowed with a soft, green-gold light. [Saintess Magic: Purification]. The imp’s boils receded, its snarls softening to confused chirps. She hummed her tune, completely focused.

<< ANALYSIS: TARGET: ELARA. RACE: HUMAN (AASPECTED). CLASS: [SAINTESS]. LEVEL: 62. UNIQUE SKILL: [HEART’S TRUTH SIGHT]. THREAT ASSESSMENT: CATASTROPHICALLY NEGLIGIBLE. >>

Kazuki watched, his [Absolute Domination] held at the ready, yet unactivated. This was a paradox. A law of nature being broken. In his world, the strong preyed on the weak. The weak suffered. That was all.

The imp, now healed, nuzzled her hand and scampered off. Elara stood, brushed dirt from her simple white and green robes, and turned. Her eyes, the color of spring leaves, met his.

There was no fear. No revulsion at the aura of death that clung to him. No awe at the unfathomable power he radiated. She tilted her head, a small frown on her lips.

“Oh my,” she said. “You’re… incredibly noisy.”

Kazuki blinked. “My footsteps were silent.”

“Not your footsteps.” She took a step closer, peering at him as if he were a complex but interesting text. “Your soul. It’s screaming. It’s so loud it’s drowning out the forest’s song. How can you hear yourself think?”

He raised a hand. Black and crimson energy, capable of unraveling a mountain, crackled around his fingers. “I could unmake this forest and you in the same thought.”

She nodded, utterly serious. “I believe you. The weight around you is… astronomical. But if you do that,” she gestured to the flowers, the cottage, “you’ll never know if my mushroom stew is as bland as everyone says it is.”

The non-sequitur hit him like a physical blow. Stew? He was offering cosmic annihilation, and she was talking about stew?

His attack dissipated, not out of mercy, but out of sheer, world-shattering confusion.

Elara smiled, as if he’d passed a test. “I’m Elara. This is my home. I fix things that are broken.” Her gaze pierced through him. “Even things that break other things.”

She walked to the edge of her glade, plucked some resilient blue Starlight Bell flowers, and began weaving them together with practiced ease. Kazuki stood, a statue of bewildered power, as she walked back and, standing on her toes, placed the completed flower crown on his head.

It was the most absurd, most vulnerable, most terrifying thing that had ever happened to him. The delicate petals rested against his hair, a stark contrast to the abyss in his eyes.

“There,” she said, her smile softening. “Now you’re not just a scream. You have a bit of the sky with you.”

A feeling, violent and sharp, lanced through the void in his chest. It wasn’t rage. It was something worse, something forgotten. It was embarrassment. And under that, a pang of something so deep and old it had no name. He tore the crown off, crushing it in his fist.

“Stop this,” he demanded, but his voice lacked its usual finality.

“I can’t,” Elara said simply. “It’s my nature. Just as it’s your nature to destroy. But nature can change. A river can be diverted. A seed can grow in stone.” She turned and walked towards her cottage. “The stew really is terrible. But it’s hot. And you look like you haven’t had anything hot in a very, very long time.”

She disappeared inside, leaving the door open.

Kazuki stood in the sunlight, the crushed flowers in his hand. The scent clung to his fingers. For the first time since his rebirth, his infinite power had no answer. No skill covered this. No stat could quantify this interaction.

The Hollow Demon, the Unmaking God, the Apathy Incarnate… looked at the open door, then at the dark, comfortable corruption of the forest behind him.

With a sound that was almost a growl of frustration, he took a single, hesitant step forward. Then another. Crossing the threshold from the corrupt Blackwood into the sun-drenched glade felt more monumental than shattering a mountain.

He ducked his head and entered the cottage.

The inside was cozy, filled with dried herbs, books, and the faint, earthy smell of the promised stew. Elara ladled a portion into a wooden bowl and placed it before him at a small table. She sat opposite, watching him not with wariness, but with open curiosity.

“You’re not from this world,” she stated, sipping her own stew.

“How?”
“The scream has echoes of a different… tune. A harsher one. And your power doesn’t belong to Eldria. It’s layered on top of it, like a painting over an old mural.”

Kazuki ate a spoonful. It was, as advertised, spectacularly bland. Yet the warmth of it in his stomach was a novel sensation. A physical comfort he had no data for.

“Why aren’t you afraid?” he asked.
“Because your scream isn’t one of malice. It’s one of hurt. A deep, old hurt that’s been left to fester. I’m not afraid of wounds. I’m saddened by them.”

“I’ve destroyed towns. I’ve killed hundreds.”
“I know. The blood clings to your soul’s song. It’s a discordant note.” She put her spoon down. “Tell me about the first one.”

He stared at her. “The first what?”
“The first person who made you feel like your only answer was to become a scream.”

The question was so direct, so unflinching, it bypassed all his defenses. A memory, long buried under layers of numbness, surged up. Not of his final act, but of an earlier one. He was seven. He’d drawn a picture—a wobbly sun, a stick-figure family. He’d presented it to his mother, a silent offering for a shred of warmth. She’d glanced at it, her eyes empty, and said, “Don’t waste paper,” before turning back to the wall she always stared at.

The memory was a pebble. But dropped into the void of his being, its echoes were seismic. He didn’t speak. He just sat there, the spoon trembling faintly in his hand—a physiological response his god-like body shouldn’t be capable of.

Elara’s eyes softened. “I see.” She didn’t press. She simply said, “The stew gets colder if you don’t eat it.”

They sat in silence. For Kazuki, it wasn’t the empty silence of the void, or the heavy silence of dread. It was… a shared silence. A new category. It was unbearable.

“What do you want from me?” he finally gritted out.

“Nothing.”
“Liar. Everyone wants something.”
“Then I want the screaming to stop. Not by silencing you, but by healing what’s wounded.” She stood. “You can stay. The cottage has a spare room. Or you can leave. But if you stay, you don’t use your power to harm anything in this glade. That’s the rule.”

“Or what? You’ll stop me?” A flicker of the old, cold logic returned.
“No,” she said, her green eyes holding his. “I’ll be disappointed. And you’ll have to live with knowing you broke the one place that offered you stew without asking for anything in return.”

She left to tend her garden.

Kazuki sat for an hour, staring at the wall. The [Saintess] had weaponized kindness, and he had no defense against it. Leaving was the logical choice. Yet, the thought of returning to the numb, destructive wandering felt… tiresome. For the first time, an action felt more exhausting than inaction.

He found the small, empty room. It had a bed of moss and a window looking out at the glowing flowers. He lay down, the flower crown’s scent still on his fingers. The scream in his soul, for the first time, seemed to have found a listener. And in that listening, it had grown quieter, just by a decibel.

The inside was cozy, filled with dried herbs, books, and the faint, earthy smell of the promised stew. Elara ladled a portion into a wooden bowl and placed it before him at a small table. She sat opposite, watching him not with wariness, but with open curiosity.

“You’re not from this world,” she stated, sipping her own stew.

“How?”
“The scream has echoes of a different… tune. A harsher one. And your power doesn’t belong to Eldria. It’s layered on top of it, like a painting over an old mural.”

Kazuki ate a spoonful. It was, as advertised, spectacularly bland. Yet the warmth of it in his stomach was a novel sensation. A physical comfort he had no data for.

“Why aren’t you afraid?” he asked.
“Because your scream isn’t one of malice. It’s one of hurt. A deep, old hurt that’s been left to fester. I’m not afraid of wounds. I’m saddened by them.”

“I’ve destroyed towns. I’ve killed hundreds.”
“I know. The blood clings to your soul’s song. It’s a discordant note.” She put her spoon down. “Tell me about the first one.”

He stared at her. “The first what?”
“The first person who made you feel like your only answer was to become a scream.”

The question was so direct, so unflinching, it bypassed all his defenses. A memory, long buried under layers of numbness, surged up. Not of his final act, but of an earlier one. He was seven. He’d drawn a picture—a wobbly sun, a stick-figure family. He’d presented it to his mother, a silent offering for a shred of warmth. She’d glanced at it, her eyes empty, and said, “Don’t waste paper,” before turning back to the wall she always stared at.

The memory was a pebble. But dropped into the void of his being, its echoes were seismic. He didn’t speak. He just sat there, the spoon trembling faintly in his hand—a physiological response his god-like body shouldn’t be capable of.

Elara’s eyes softened. “I see.” She didn’t press. She simply said, “The stew gets colder if you don’t eat it.”

They sat in silence. For Kazuki, it wasn’t the empty silence of the void, or the heavy silence of dread. It was… a shared silence. A new category. It was unbearable.

“What do you want from me?” he finally gritted out.

“Nothing.”
“Liar. Everyone wants something.”
“Then I want the screaming to stop. Not by silencing you, but by healing what’s wounded.” She stood. “You can stay. The cottage has a spare room. Or you can leave. But if you stay, you don’t use your power to harm anything in this glade. That’s the rule.”

“Or what? You’ll stop me?” A flicker of the old, cold logic returned.
“No,” she said, her green eyes holding his. “I’ll be disappointed. And you’ll have to live with knowing you broke the one place that offered you stew without asking for anything in return.”

She left to tend her garden.

Kazuki sat for an hour, staring at the wall. The [Saintess] had weaponized kindness, and he had no defense against it. Leaving was the logical choice. Yet, the thought of returning to the numb, destructive wandering felt… tiresome. For the first time, an action felt more exhausting than inaction.

He found the small, empty room. It had a bed of moss and a window looking out at the glowing flowers. He lay down, the flower crown’s scent still on his fingers. The scream in his soul, for the first time, seemed to have found a listener. And in that listening, it had grown quieter, just by a decibel.

The world outside the glade did not forget the Hollow Demon. His legend was a living thing, stalking the edges of their sanctuary.

One evening, as Elara taught him the names of the flowers (he remembered them all instantly, his mind a perfect archive), a group arrived at the glade’s edge. Not monsters, but people. Soldiers in polished silver armor, bearing the crest of the Holy Kingdom of Luminas. At their head was a paladin, his face stern, his aura one of rigid, righteous power.

“Saintess Elara!” the paladin called, his voice booming. “By the authority of the Order of Purification, we have come to escort you to the capital. Your safety can no longer be guaranteed in this blighted forest.”

Elara walked to the boundary of her sunlight. “I am safe here, Captain Valen. My work is here.”

“Your work is wherever the Light wills it!” the Captain insisted, his eyes then locking onto Kazuki, who stood silently in the shadows of the cottage doorway. “And we have intelligence that a being of catastrophic evil, a so-called ‘Hollow Demon,’ has been sighted in this region. It is not safe. We must leave immediately.”

His hand went to his sword. His men fanned out. Kazuki’s systems flared.

<< ANALYSIS: 12 TARGETS. PALADIN (LEVEL 78). HOLY KNIGHTS (LEVEL 45-60). THREAT ASSESSMENT: LOW. COUNTERMEASURES: 1,427 OPTIMIZED. >>

The old, cold logic surged forward. Intruders. Threat to the sanctuary’s peace. Eliminate. Efficient. Clean. Power thrummed in his veins, eager to be unleashed.

“Captain Valen,” Elara said, her voice firm, cutting through the tension. “This is my guest, Kazuki. He is under my protection and the protection of this glade.”

The Paladin’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Saintess! Can you not sense it? The miasma of death around him? The blood on his soul? He is the Demon!”

“He is a wounded person,” Elara said, without hesitation. “And he is breaking no laws of this glade. You will lower your weapon and leave in peace.”

A standoff. Kazuki calculated the angles. He could disintegrate them all before their swords cleared their scabbards. But Elara stood between them, a living barrier of stubborn compassion.

The Captain’s face warred between duty and reverence for the Saintess. Finally, with a furious grimace, he sheathed his sword. “This is a grave mistake, Saintess. The Order will hear of this. That… thing is a calamity. When it turns on you—and it will—do not say we did not warn you.”

With a last, hate-filled glance at Kazuki, he turned and led his men back into the dark woods.

Silence returned, heavier now. Elara let out a slow breath, her shoulders slumping slightly.

“They’re not wrong, you know,” Kazuki said from the doorway, his voice flat. “I am a calamity. I will bring destruction here. It is what I do.”

Elara turned to him. The setting sun painted her in gold and fire. “You have been a calamity. You have brought destruction. But ‘is’ and ‘has been’ are not the same thing. You shared your strength to save a boy. You’ve kept my rule for three weeks. You are learning the names of flowers.” She took a step toward him. “The man who killed those people is in you. But he is not all of you. I can see the other part. The part that’s listening.”

Kazuki had no reply. Her words were like a foreign language, but one he was starting to recognize the sounds of.

That night, the screams in his dreams were not just of his past, but of the people of Oakhaven, of the bandits, of the dragon. They had faces now. And for the first time, he did not watch their dissolution with apathy. He felt the faintest, most distant echo of a new sensation—a cold, heavy weight in the pit of his stomach.

It felt suspiciously like the beginnings of remorse.

A few days later, Kazuki found himself in the garden, not watching, but weeding. It was a mindless, physical task Elara had suggested. “The Earthroot is choking the Sunblooms. They need space to breathe.”

He pulled the tough, invasive roots, his infinite strength making the task trivial. As he worked, his fingers in the dirt, something happened. A small, bright-green ladybug landed on the back of his hand. It was fragile, insignificant. A breath could kill it.

The old logic presented an option: Observe. Then remove.

But he didn’t. He watched it navigate the landscape of his knuckles, its tiny legs tickling. He watched until it flew away.

Elara, who had been watching from the window, smiled. It was a small smile, but it reached her eyes.

Later, as they ate (the stew was slightly better; she was experimenting with herbs), Elara spoke softly. “The Holy Kingdom will be back. With more than just paladins. And there are others… the Crimson Maw mercenary band hunts legendary beasts for trophies. Your legend is the ultimate prize. The world will not let a power like yours simply exist in peace.”

Kazuki understood. The glade was not a permanent solution. It was a respite. The storm of his existence would inevitably draw in other storms.

“What will you do when they come?” he asked.
“I will protect my home. I will heal the wounded. And I will try to reason with the angry.” She looked at him. “What will you do, Kazuki?”

He looked down at his hands—the hands of a destroyer, now stained with garden soil. The void inside was still there, vast and cold. But now, within it, there were new things. The memory of a flower crown. The warmth of shared stew. The weight of a saved life. The tickle of a ladybug. The sound of a song that pushed back the gloom.

They were glimmers, faint and fragile, but they were there. And they did not belong to the void.

“I don’t know,” he answered, and it was the most honest thing he’d said since his rebirth.

The scream was still there. But now, there was a listener. And in the space between the scream and the listening, something new, terrifying, and utterly fragile was trying to take root.