The Last Zekaron: Reborn for Absolute Revenge

C2

Air tore into Lucas’s lungs like jagged ice.

He bolted upright, his chest heaving, fingers clawing wildly at frayed cotton sheets. Sweat drenched his throat and collarbone. The memory of the cold blade plunging between his ribs was still so fresh, so violently real, that he slammed a trembling hand against his chest to stop the bleeding.

There was no blood.

No crimson pooling on polished marble. No cold concrete floor of a rain-slicked alleyway. No fading echo of mockery cutting through the dark.

Lucas stared at his hands. They were smooth. The jagged scar across his right palm—the one he had earned two years ago during the docks ambush—was gone. His breathing rattled in the quiet room as his gaze swept across the cramped space.

Low, water-stained ceilings. A single rusted iron radiator clanking in the corner. Stacks of cheap textbooks piled on a warped wooden desk next to a cracked desk lamp. A tiny, single-room apartment that smelled faintly of damp concrete and old coffee.

This was his old place. The cheap rental near the edge of the lower district. The apartment he had abandoned three years ago when he thought his life was finally changing for the better.

"How?" Lucas whispered, his voice dry and scratchy.

He scrambled off the narrow bed, his bare feet hitting the icy linoleum floor. He rushed toward the small vanity mirror hanging beside the door.

The face staring back at him was young. Pale. Lacking the hollowed-out cheekbones and exhaustion lines that had carved into his skin during his final days. The date on his phone screen, resting on the nightstand, blinked back at him in sharp digital numbers.

June 14th. Three years earlier.

The exact day everything had begun to spin out of control. The day before the disastrous engagement party that had bound him to a fate of quiet, calculated destruction.

Before his mind could fully grasp the terrifying reality of his situation, the air in front of his eyes rippled like disturbed water.

A sharp, hum sounded directly inside his skull. Cold light bled into the dark air of the bedroom, expanding into a sleek, glowing panel of icy blue glass.

[SYSTEM INITIALIZATION COMPLETE]

[USER IDENTIFIED: LUCAS VANE]

[TIMELINE RESTORATION: SUCCESSFUL]

Lucas took a sharp step back, his spine slamming against the edge of the wooden desk. He swung a hand through the air, but his fingers passed straight through the light. The glass-like screen hummed softly, completely unbothered by his motion.

"What is this?" he demanded, his voice tight.

The floating panel flickered, shifting text rapidly until a single set of bold, glowing crimson glyphs stabilized in the center of the blue glass.

[FIRST MANDATORY QUEST GENERATED]

[QUEST TARGET: DAMON VANCE]

[OBJECTIVE: Publicly humiliate Damon within 24 hours.]

[REWARD: Enhanced Physical Strength (Tier 1).]

[COST/PENALTY: You will permanently lose the ability to trust this person again.]

Lucas stared at the words, his heartbeat hammering against his ribs.

Damon. His closest friend. The man he had considered a brother since their academy days. The same man who, in the timeline he had just died in, had smiled in his face while orchestrating his absolute ruin from behind the scenes.

The System glass pulse-flashed twice, casting a cold indigo glow over Lucas’s pale face.

[ACCEPT QUEST?]

[YES / NO]

"Publicly humiliate him," Lucas murmured, the words heavy on his tongue.

He didn't hit a button. He simply willed the answer forward, and the system immediately acknowledged his selection with a sharp chime.

[QUEST ACCEPTED]

[TEMPORARY TASTER BUFF GRANTED: TIER 1 STRENGTH PREVIEW (5 MINUTES)]

A sudden, surging heat rushed from the core of Lucas’s chest directly down his spine. It hit his limbs like a lightning strike, burning away the lingering lethargy of sleep. His veins throbbed beneath his skin with an alien, unnatural pressure. It wasn't just energy—it was absolute, overwhelming physical power density compressed into his muscles.

Lucas gasped, gripping the edge of the heavy iron bedframe to steady himself.

CRUNCH.

The thick solid iron pipe forming the headboard collapsed under his bare fingers like warm wax. He blinked down in utter disbelief. His fingers had dug straight into the solid metal, crushing the hollow tube into a flattened, twisted mess without exerting even a fraction of his effort.

There was no pain in his knuckles. No resistance from the iron. Just a terrifying, intoxicating surge of absolute force that made him feel as though he could tear through a concrete wall with his bare hands.

He drew his hand back, watching the crushed metal slowly settle. The sheer potency of the power made his breath catch in his throat. It felt incredible. It felt like the answer to every helpless, pathetic moment he had endured before his death.

And yet, deep in the pit of his stomach, a cold thread of unease coiled tight.

This strength wasn't natural. It felt sharp, aggressive, and slightly wrong, like a weapon forged from pure malice that demanded something heavy in exchange for its service.

The blue interface panel shifted again, hovering silently beside the bed as Lucas lowered himself back down onto the mattress.

His eyes fell to the nightstand. Beside the cheap digital clock lay a small, tarnished silver picture frame.

Lucas reached out, his fingers brushing the dusty glass before lifting it into the light.

In the photograph, three people stood side-by-side under the bright sunlight of the central square. Lucas was in the middle, wearing a wide, genuine smile that looked entirely foreign to him now. On his left stood Jessica, her hand tucked comfortably into his arm. On his right stood Damon, a heavy arm slung casually over Lucas’s shoulders, laughing at something off-camera.

They looked so close. So undeniably real.

Back then, Lucas would have thrown himself in front of a blade for Damon. He would have given up everything to protect the bond they shared. He had trusted that smile without a single shadow of doubt.

As he stared at Damon’s laughing face in the photo, a soft chime chimed inside his mind once more.

The cold blue glass floating in the air pulsed softly, dropping a line of stark text directly across the image of his past.

[WARNING: Emotional attachments will slow progression.]

[WEAKNESS DETECTED IN USER’S MENTAL CORE.]

[RECURRING SENTIMENT WILL RESULT IN SYSTEM SANCTIONS.]

Lucas’s jaw clenched tightly. The text hung over the photograph, systematically stripping away the warmth of the memory until only the cold reality remained.

"Emotional attachments," Lucas said quietly, his voice hollow. "You call it a weakness."

The system didn't answer with words. It simply brightened, the blue light reflecting off the glass of the photo frame, obscuring the faces of the people he used to trust until they were nothing more than white silhouettes.

He remembered the feeling of cold tile under his cheek. He remembered the quiet, cruel laughter echoing above him as his life drained away. He remembered who had been standing at the top of the stairs, watching him bleed without dropping a single tear.

Damon had been there. Jessica had been there.

They had taken his life, his standing, and his dignity, piece by piece, while pretending to lift him up.

Lucas slowly set the picture frame face down on the table. The wood scraped quietly against the surface.

"I don't need sentiment," Lucas whispered to the empty room. "I need survival."

Suddenly, the silence of the tiny apartment was shattered by a harsh, buzzing vibration.

His phone rattled violently against the nightstand, sliding a few inches across the dusty wood. The screen lit up in bright white, displaying a high-resolution contact picture and a name that made Lucas’s blood run cold.

DAMON VANCE

Lucas stared at the screen as it vibrated, the buzz echoing off the bare walls of the small room.

1 second.

2 seconds.

3 seconds.

His hand moved automatically, picking up the device. His thumb hovered over the green icon for a brief moment before swiping across the glass. He pressed the phone to his ear, keeping his breathing entirely controlled, his face blank.

"Lucas! Hey, man, are you awake yet?"

Damon’s voice exploded through the speaker, full of easy warmth, bright energy, and familiar charm. It was the exact tone he had used for years—the tone of a loyal best friend who only ever wanted the best for him.

"I'm awake," Lucas said flatly, his voice carrying no heat, no warmth, no emotion at all.

"Good! Listen to me, bro," Damon chuckled, the sound rich and completely relaxed over the receiver. "Tomorrow night is the engagement party. Don’t be late. I spent the whole morning talking to Jessica’s family, smoothing things over for you. They’re finally accepting you, man. Everything is locked in."

Lucas listened in total silence, his eyes fixed on the floating blue system quest that still burned brightly in front of his eyes.

Publicly humiliate Damon within 24 hours.

"Did you hear me, Lucas?" Damon asked, his tone teasing but firm. "You owe me big time for this one. Just wear that nice jacket I bought you, show up on time, and let me handle the rest. I've got your back. Always have."

The cold blue interface flickered in the dark room, its crimson quest markers glowing like a bloodstain across the air.

"Yeah," Lucas said softly, his fingers tightening around the plastic body of the phone until the casing creaked under his grip. "I'll be there."

"That's what I like to hear! See you tomorrow, bro. It's going to be an unforgettable night."

The line went dead with a sharp click.

Lucas slowly lowered the phone from his ear. The dark screen reflected his face, but more importantly, it reflected the icy blue glass floating right beside him.

The clock on the wall ticked forward.

Twenty-four hours had just begun.