BLADE OF THE FALLEN

Rain didn’t fall that nightn  it poured like the sky itself was trying to drown the city, Miguel didn’t notice.

He stood on the edge of the crosswalk, clutching the sodden paper in his hands, his termination letter, folded so many times the creases had split. His reflection wavered in the black water pooling in the gutter, fractured by ripples every time a car splashed by.

Mom’s gone. She’s really gone, The words had been echoing in his head for hours, louder than the honking traffic, louder than the storm. The phone call came that morning, a sudden heart attack, no warning, no last words. He hadn’t even been there to hold her hand.

And as if the universe had scheduled cruelty with surgical precision, an hour later he’d walked in on his girlfriend with another man. Not just any man, his own coworker, smiling over her shoulder like Miguel was an inconvenience they’d both been waiting to be rid of.

Now the job he’d given seven years to was gone too. “Budget cuts,” they’d said, though Miguel knew better. That smirking coworker had been promoted.

He stared across the street at the flickering neon of the all-night diner. He’d been heading there, thinking maybe a bitter cup of coffee and a chance to sit in a booth would give him the strength to face… whatever tomorrow was supposed to be. But tomorrow never came.

The headlights were the last thing he saw, blinding, too close, far too fast. The scream caught in his throat never made it past his lips before the impact shattered the world, Miguel woke to silence.

Not the silence of a hospital room, or a grave, or anything he could name, this was thicker, heavier, like a blanket pressed over the ears of the universe.

He lay on something cold and metallic, but it wasn’t a floor. It pulsed faintly beneath him, like it had a heartbeat. When he tried to sit up, pain exploded through his skull, and a voice, rich, mocking, and unmistakably female, whispered into his ear.

“Well… aren’t you a pathetic little thing.”

Miguel froze. The darkness around him shifted, shapes swirling like smoke. “Who’s there?” His voice came out hoarse, smaller than he intended.

A low chuckle, soft as silk and just as dangerous. “Your summoner. Though that word feels… inadequate, doesn’t it? I didn’t bring you here to be my servant, boy. I brought you here to be my hands.”

Light bloomed suddenly. not from above, but from beneath him, He looked down, He wasn’t lying on a table. He was lying on a blade, A massive sword, pitch-black metal etched with glowing crimson runes, humming with a power that made his teeth ache.

“You died,” the voice purred. “Pathetic, meaningless… a toy broken by its owners. But I… I can give you purpose again. All you have to do is wield me.”

Miguel stumbled backward, but the darkness seemed to coil around his ankles, pulling him closer to the sword’s hilt. “This is insane,” he whispered. “I’m dead. I’m dreaming”

“No,” she said sharply, the silk in her tone replaced by steel. “You’ve been chosen. You’re in my world now, a world that fears me, hunts me, hates me. And if you don’t take my hand… you won’t survive the hour.”

Her words sent a shiver through him. Not just because of the threat, but because something about her voice,  beneath the venom, carried a strange, desperate edge. “Who… what are you?”

The runes along the blade flared brighter, bathing the void in crimson.

“I am the end of empires, the shadow in the hero’s heart, the nightmare whispered to children. I am a goddess, boy, and I have been sealed in this prison for centuries.”

Miguel swallowed hard. “Why me?”

That laugh again, sharp this time, almost bitter. “Because in all the worlds, I could find no one more perfectly broken.”

Something moved in the dark, not smoke this time, but shapes. Tall, armored figures, their visors glowing with pale blue light, stepping closer in a half-circle. Swords drawn.

Miguel’s instincts screamed that these were no rescue party, The goddess’s voice slipped back into his ear, low and urgent now. “Choose, Axel.”

He blinked. “Axel?”

“Your name here. Miguel is dead. Wield me, and we may live. Refuse… and you’ll find death is much colder the second time.”

One of the armored figures raised his blade, the glow catching the edge, The choice hung in the air like the pause before a guillotine dropped, The armored figure’s blade came down.

Migue l- Axel- didn’t think. Instinct had him dive forward, hands closing around the hilt of the black sword. The moment his skin touched it, heat surged up his arms like molten metal, and the void around them shattered.

The world slammed into focus, stone walls, torches guttering in sconces, a high vaulted ceiling. They were in some kind of underground chamber, the air thick with the smell of damp and dust. The armored figures, there were five now, fanned out in a semi-circle, their visors glowing like cold moons.