It began on a night where the wind carried no sound. The cemetery, a place forgotten by time, stretched endlessly beneath a sky absent of stars. Not a single soul had walked its grounds for years—except for one man. Sappalur. The Gravekeeper of the Nameless Dead. A man who had spent his years in silence, tending to those who had long been abandoned. He was not a priest, nor a servant of any god. He had no shrine, no name etched into history. Only the graves, the whisper of rustling leaves, and the weight of the unseen pressing against his back.

  On that night, something changed. He felt it before he saw it—a shift in the air, an unnatural stillness. The kind that came not from peace, but from something waiting to be born. Then—a hand rose from the earth. A frail, pale hand, wrinkled like that of an old man, yet untouched by decay. Something crawled out from the unmarked grave. Not a corpse. Not a ghost. A man. Or something that looked like one.

  Sappalur did not move. He had seen many things in his lifetime—bodies returning to the earth, bones breaking free from their prison of time. But this? This was different.

  The figure dragged itself out of the dirt, trembling, gasping—like a man taking his first breath. The moonlight washed over his bald head, his skin clinging too tightly over sharp, gaunt features. He was old, ancient even—yet his limbs did not belong to the fragile. His fingers curled experimentally, as if testing the concept of movement itself. And then, slowly, he opened his mouth. Not to breathe. Not to scream. To laugh. A hoarse, dry chuckle—one that cracked through the silence like a blade splitting flesh.

  Sappalur’s grip tightened on the lantern in his hand. He had no weapons, but he did not flinch. He simply watched. Observed. The figure in front of him did not stop laughing. Not at first. Then—his head tilted, as if realizing, for the first time, that he was being watched. A pair of dark, sunken eyes locked onto the gravekeeper. And, for the first time, the thing that had been born from the earth spoke.

  “…Where am I?”

  His voice was not hollow like a ghost’s, nor strained like a man struggling to live. It was smooth, deliberate, playful.

  Sappalur did not answer immediately. Instead, he took a slow step forward, lifting the lantern slightly, casting flickering shadows over the graves. The light caught on the loose, tattered white cloth hanging over the man’s shoulders—a burial shroud, yet untouched by rot. A body should not emerge from a grave in such pristine condition. A man should not emerge at all.

  “…Who are you?” Sappalur finally asked, his voice low.

  The figure’s lips curled. “That,” he mused, his fingers brushing across his own chest, his own throat, as if discovering himself in real time, “is a very good question.” He looked down at his hands. Turned them. Flexed his fingers. Then—he snapped them. And the wind, which had been still, moved.

  Sappalur felt it—a ripple in the air, like the world itself had blinked. For a single moment, the lantern’s flame wavered—not because of the wind, but because of something far deeper. Something had shifted. The man in white grinned wider, his voice carrying something close to delight. “…Interesting.”

  Sappalur did not speak immediately. The man—the thing—before him was unnatural. Not undead, but unalive. Something that had never crawled, wept, or screamed in its infancy. A thing that did not grow but simply… was. The wind had begun to move again, but it was wrong. Not a natural gust, nor the gentle breath of night air. It was shifting. Bending. Twisting in a way that no wind should. Sappalur’s fingers curled tighter around the lantern’s handle. He had lived long enough to see the workings of nature, to feel the weight of time settle over the dead. But this? This was something outside of time. The man—no, the imposter in white—was still looking at his hands. Flexing. Testing. Not in confusion, but in amusement, like a child discovering a new toy.

  Then—he flicked his fingers again. This time, the flame in Sappalur’s lantern died. No wind had touched it. No breath had snuffed it out. It had simply… ceased to burn. The gravekeeper’s jaw tightened. His body did not react outwardly, but his mind sharpened. This was no wandering ghost. No restless spirit. This was something else entirely.

  The man in white laughed again, softer this time. His voice was not hollow, nor filled with rage or hunger. It was… pleased. “Fascinating,” he murmured. “That should have been harder. And yet, it just…” He rolled his wrist, letting the motion trail into nothing. “It just happened.” Then, finally, he looked at Sappalur again. “You’re quiet.”

  The gravekeeper’s voice was calm. “I do not speak to the dead.”

  The man tilted his head. Then—he grinned. “Oh? But I’m not dead.” He spread his arms, letting the loose white cloth shift with the movement. “I crawled out of a grave, yes. But I am not dead.” He took a step forward. The dirt did not shift beneath him. His presence did not settle into the world like a living thing should.

  Sappalur did not retreat. “You are not alive, either.”

  The man laughed. A genuine, full-bodied sound, one that echoed where it should not. “Oh, you’re fun,” he chuckled. “I can see why they left you here, old man.” His head tilted, his dark shades catching what little moonlight remained. “How long have you been here, hmm? Years? Decades? Do you even remember?”

  Sappalur remained silent.

  The man smirked. “I’ll take that as a ‘too long.’” Then, with another flick of his wrist—the ground trembled. Not a quake. Not a rumble. It was as if the very concept of solid earth had momentarily forgotten itself. The graves, once silent and still, sank. Not deep. Not violently. But they shifted, as though gravity had been told to loosen its grip.

  The gravekeeper’s breath was steady, but his body felt the weight of something wrong.

  The man in white watched the effect with genuine delight. “Ohhh,” he mused, “that’s interesting. That should not have happened.” He turned his gaze back to Sappalur, grinning. “But it did.”

  Sappalur knew what was coming before it happened. The weight of the unseen. The moment before a predator strikes. The inevitability of something ending. Yornyang—though he had yet to claim that name—was not a beast. He was not a man. He was an idea made flesh. And ideas were more dangerous than weapons. Sappalur had lived through war. Had buried bodies whose names had been swallowed by time. Had watched men turn into killers and killers turn into dust. But he had never seen something like this. Something that should not be. And something that did not care. The gravekeeper’s mind moved as quickly as his body would allow. He was no warrior. No swordsman, no fighter. But he knew how to read the land, how to see a death before it arrived. And death was standing right in front of him. Yet Sappalur did not run.

  “Do you know your name?” he asked, voice steady.

  The man in white blinked. Then—he smiled. “Do I need one?”

  Sappalur’s brow furrowed.

  The man in white chuckled, rolling his shoulders. “Names are for things that belong to something, don’t you think?” He spread his arms. “I don’t belong to anything.” He took another step forward.

  Sappalur let out a slow breath. His hand did not tremble. His voice did not waver. But he understood. There was no stopping this. Not with words. Not with reason. The thing before him was not a man. It was an event. And it was about to happen.

  The man in white smiled wider, tilting his head. “You know,” he mused, “I think I’d like to see how it feels.”

  Sappalur did not ask what. Because the answer was obvious. A final flick of the wrist. The wind stopped. Not the breeze. Not the air. The concept of movement itself ceased. Sappalur’s body did not move. Not because he refused to—but because he could not. For the first time, in all his years, the gravekeeper felt it. Not death. Something worse. The absolute absence of choice.

  The man in white took his final step forward, reaching out. A gentle touch. Fingertips pressing lightly to Sappalur’s chest. A smile. And then— Invert. The weight of existence flipped. The very principle of being turned inside out. Sappalur did not feel pain. Because his body did not have time to register it. His presence, his being, unmade itself. No body fell to the ground. No corpse remained. There was simply—nothing. And yet— The graves around him trembled. Not from sorrow. Not from anger. But from witnessing. Something that should not be had just happened. And the world had no choice but to accept it.

  The man in white exhaled slowly, pulling his hand back, flexing his fingers once more. Then—he smiled. “…Huh.” He turned, looking at the now empty space where a man had stood. Then, to the cemetery around him. Then, to the world itself. A quiet chuckle. Then—a loud, sharp laugh. Because for the first time in existence, something made sense. He was not born to live. He was not born to die. He was born to undo. The laughter faded into the cold night air. And the legend of Yornyang —the man who laughs at reality—had begun.

  The SOF officers stood frozen in place, weapons still raised, staring at the empty space where Yornyang had been. The last echo of his voice lingered in the cold night air. Brave exhaled slowly, his mind racing. Something was wrong. This wasn’t just an escape—it was a statement. Then— The first anomaly hit.

  A security officer near the containment unit staggered backward, eyes wide. “C-Commander… something’s wrong with the prisoners.”

  Brave turned. “Explain.”

  The officer gulped, tapping rapidly on his comm unit. “Some of them… aren’t in their cells anymore.”

  “What?” Samui’s voice was sharp, disbelieving. “We just ran a lockdown protocol. The Fortress is sealed.”

  “I know. But they’re just… gone.” The security feed flickered onto the monitors, displaying live footage from the high-security blocks. At first glance, nothing seemed out of place. Then— Cells were empty. No forced doors. No alarms. No security failures. Just rows of untouched cells with no prisoners inside. “We—” The officer’s voice choked in his throat. “We don’t know how they escaped.”

  Brave clenched his jaw. “Check every cell. Confirm who’s missing.”

  “Sir—” The officer hesitated. Then, with shaking hands, he pulled up the logs. A team of SOF officers moved swiftly through the dimly lit corridors, checking each reinforced cell. Prisoners who should have been locked down stared back at them—some frozen in confusion, others smirking like they already knew. But the anomalies only got worse.

  At Cell 7-21, an officer stopped abruptly, breath catching in his throat. “No… No way.”

  Samui’s voice came through the comms. “Report.”

  “It’s—he’s still here,” the officer stammered.

  Samui frowned. “Then what’s the problem?”

  The officer swallowed hard. “Sir… he’s in his cell, but he’s not in his cell.”

  The SOF squad looked inside. The prisoner—a high-level telekinetic—sat cross-legged on the cot, staring straight at them. His face was pale, drenched in sweat. His eyes were wide, filled with something rare for someone of his reputation. Genuine terror. “Do you see it?” His voice was hoarse, shaking. The lead officer narrowed his eyes. “See what?” The prisoner pointed to the floor beneath him. Slowly, one of the SOF officers knelt, flashlight scanning the cell. At first, nothing seemed out of place. Then—the light hit his shadow. And the officers realized why he was scared. The shadow wasn’t his. It was watching them. It shifted. Moved. Changed shapes. One moment, it was his own outline. The next—it was taller. Too thin. Stretching unnaturally. The head tilted. And then—it grinned. The prisoner screamed. An officer flinched, raising his rifle, but another grabbed his arm. “Wait—” Then—the shadow stepped out of the cot. The prisoner was gone. Nothing remained. Not his body. Not his breathing. Only the grin—still stretching across the shadow’s faceless form. The officers fired. The bullets hit nothing. Because the prisoner never existed in the first place. The cot was empty. The cell was empty. And yet—the shadow remained.

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  Senshi and Weird rushed through the upper levels, moving toward the power core. “The hell is going on?” Weird muttered. “We caught the guy, we trapped the guy, and now what? He’s ghosting the entire damn Fortress?” “He left something behind,” Senshi growled.

  Weird glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

  Senshi’s grip on his weapon tightened. “His power didn’t leave with him.”

  Weird frowned. “That makes zero sense—”

  Then—the world flickered. The hallway ahead of them twisted. The smooth, reinforced steel warped like liquid. The walls stretched, doors shifted out of place. The lighting dimmed, casting shadows that flickered unnaturally. The entire Fortress was rejecting its own structure. And then—time rewound. They weren’t running forward anymore. They were back where they started. At the entrance to the hallway. As if they had never moved at all.

  Weird’s expression darkened. “…Nope. Nope. We’re not doing this.”

  Senshi’s eyes narrowed, staring at the impossible distortion of space. “This isn’t teleportation,” he muttered. “It’s… a loop.”

  Weird exhaled sharply, raising his hands. “Great. Love that. And let me guess—this is the part where we die?”

  Before Senshi could answer— A voice whispered from nowhere.

  "Why would I let you die, Weird?" The blood drained from Weird’s face. That voice— Yornyang.

  Back at the SOF main control room, Brave, Khem, and Samui watched Blackout Fortress falling apart in real time.

  “We’re losing control,” an officer reported. “Sir—the prisoners aren’t escaping. They’re just… disappearing.”

  Brave’s teeth clenched.

  “Not disappearing,” Samui corrected grimly. “They’re being rewritten.”

  Khem exhaled sharply. “Yornyang didn’t just leave. He left a wound.”

  Brave’s fingers curled into fists. This wasn’t just an escape. It was a contagion. Reality was breaking. Yornyang’s influence had infected the entire Fortress. And it was only getting worse. The command center shook as the Fortress continued to unravel. Walls twisted, shadows flickered, prisoners vanished into thin air. Yornyang’s presence wasn’t just gone. It was everywhere. Brave gritted his teeth. His fingers hovered over the control panel of the Fortress-wide announcement system. His voice had failed to stop Yornyang before. But that didn’t mean he was out of moves.

  Samui glanced at him. “Brave?”

  Brave’s hands tightened into fists. “He’s playing with us. Leaving echoes, spreading his power like a disease. He wants us to panic.”

  Khem’s expression was dark. “Then what do we do?”

  Brave’s jaw clenched. Then—he made a decision. "We force him to hear us. And we force him to react." He reached out and slammed the announcement button. A sharp, piercing beep rang through every hallway, every containment cell, every single space in Blackout Fortress. Then, Brave’s voice came through the entire facility. " Yornyang." The fortress stilled. The shadows wavered. The distortions flickered—just for a second. Somewhere, hidden within the chaos, Yornyang was listening. Brave’s voice didn’t waver. He spoke with absolute authority. "You are not untouchable." The moment the words hit the air— Yornyang’s presence faltered. A pause. A hesitation. It was small. A fraction of a second. But Brave saw it. He felt it. And that meant— Yornyang felt it too. Somewhere in the Fortress, Yornyang stuttered. For the first time. Brave continued, voice steady. Relentless. "You’re not beyond us." "You can be outmaneuvered." "You can be forced to react." The weight of his command rippled outward, pressing into reality itself. The flickering distortions twisted. The broken hallways warped. The shifting shadows shuddered. Then—they cracked. Yornyang’s control over Blackout Fortress wavered. For one. Single. Second. And that was all Brave needed.

  Samui’s eyes widened. “It worked.”

  Khem wasted no time. He moved. "Brave, whatever you just did—do it again."

  Brave pressed the announcement button once more. "You will hear me."

  Reality buckled. The entire Fortress tilted. And then— Yornyang reappeared. Not willingly. Not with a smirk. But yanked back into existence. Like he had no choice but to be there. And for the first time—his grin faltered. The instant Yornyang’s presence was yanked back into existence, the SOF moved. The distortion in the Fortress wavered like a mirage. The rippling warps in reality shuddered—Yornyang’s control wasn’t absolute anymore. And SOF wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. Shining Reacts First Shining’s hands flared, unleashing a blinding wave of light. No more shadows. No more illusions. No more tricks. The entire battlefield turned into a searing, white void. There was nowhere to hide.

  Yornyang winced. For the first time. Not smiled. Not laughed. Winced.

  Brave saw it. And so did everyone else. He felt that. He’s not invincible. He still reacts to the world around him.

  Senshi was already on the move. The Unstoppable Strike Senshi knew now—he didn’t need to overpower Yornyang. He just needed to force him to react. And that meant—no hesitation. No holding back. Senshi threw himself forward, his entire body coiling with sheer, explosive force. His punch wasn’t just an attack—it was an unstoppable event.

  Yornyang’s eyes narrowed. He knew it too. His fingers twitched. Invert. But it wasn’t fast enough.

  Senshi’s fist connected—and this time, it didn’t reverse. This time—it landed. CRACK.

  Yornyang staggered. His shades fractured, a jagged line slicing across the glass. His body lurched backward, a ripple of instability shaking through him. His presence—it wavered again. Like his entire existence was thinning. For the first time—Yornyang’s voice didn’t come with laughter. Instead— He hissed. A sharp, clipped sound. A genuine reaction.

  Brave didn’t even blink. “Again.”

  Senshi moved to follow up— But Yornyang wasn’t about to let them press the advantage. For the first time, his smirk cracked. But only for a moment. Then—his expression shifted. Something sharp flickered in his eyes. Not panic. Not rage. Understanding. Ah. There it is. That moment when someone actually gets close. And then— He grinned again.

  Senshi was already mid-motion for a follow-up strike—but Yornyang twisted his entire weight at the last possible second.

  Invert.

  Senshi’s momentum—betrayed him. He didn’t stop. He didn’t freeze. He was thrown. His own force flung him backward like a human cannonball. His body twisted, slammed into the courtyard, rolling violently across the ground.

  Yornyang wasn’t done yet.

  Samui had already repositioned—her fingers flying over her control panel. She wasn’t just locking down exits anymore. She was actively rewriting the battlefield. But— Yornyang saw it. And this time—he was faster.

  Invert.

  The data on Samui’s screen didn’t disappear. It scrambled. The controls flipped. Instead of activating the lockdown—the barriers disengaged. The entire Fortress reacted to Yornyang instead.

  Brave’s eyes narrowed. “Samui!”

  She gritted her teeth. “He’s overriding me—!”

  Yornyang exhaled slowly. Then—he spoke. "Ahhh, you guys actually got close. That was fun." He cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the lingering effects of their attack. "But you see—" His body flickered. The Fortress tilted. And then—it all collapsed. The Fortress shook. Not an explosion. Not an attack. Something deeper. The structure itself resisted reality. Yornyang exhaled—and the world inverted. "I don’t break out of prisons." "I make them let me go." His grin stretched wide. The ground cracked—not from force, but from contradiction. The walls weren’t collapsing. They were retreating. Like the Fortress itself was being rewritten against its own existence.

  Brave was already moving. “Stop him!”

  Shining pushed his power to its limit—pure, searing light devouring every space, making sure there were no shadows, no blind spots, no way for Yornyang to twist reality unnoticed.

  But Yornyang wasn’t hiding. He was rewriting. Invert. Shining’s light—didn’t go out. Instead—it bent backward. Back at them.

  The entire battlefield flared white-hot, blinding SOF instead of their target. "Damn it—!" Shining staggered, his own radiance working against him.

  Senshi charged in blind. Didn’t matter if he could see. Didn’t matter if it was a trap. He was going to hit Yornyang. He swung— And his own fist stopped. Mid-air. Like reality itself had denied his motion. Yornyang snapped his fingers.

  Invert.

  Senshi’s punch—reversed. His own force threw him backward again, sending him crashing through a nearby barricade.

  One by one, SOF’s own strengths were turning against them. Samui’s controls—still scrambled.

  Weird reached out, trying to Reflect Yornyang’s inversion. Send it back. "Come on, come on—!"

  But Yornyang’s power wasn’t a single force. It wasn’t one thing. It was all things flipped at once. And Weird could only Reflect what he understood. "Shit—"

  Yornyang clapped his hands together. The air trembled. The Fortress collapsed—without falling. He didn’t break out. He didn’t run. He made the Fortress let him go. The entire structure inverted. Walls meant to keep him inside now blocked SOF instead. Barricades designed to stop intruders opened to release him. The security system erased his presence entirely, as if he had never been there at all. And just like that—he was gone.

  Brave stood still. His fists clenched.

  Shining wiped blood from his mouth. Senshi pulled himself out of the wreckage. Samui furiously tried to override the controls. No use. Yornyang was free. And they had been inside their own trap the whole time.

  He won. Again.

  The security screens flickered. Every holo-display, every feed, every comms line—one voice played over them all. Yornyang’s. "A good try, SOF. Really." "But I told you." "I will be free."

  "And next time?" The voice laughed. "Try harder."

  Brave knows he can’t stop Yornyang outright. Not yet. But he doesn’t need to stop him. He just needs to interrupt him long enough for SOF to act. As Yornyang steps into the void of his own escape, As the Fortress bends to his will, As reality starts letting him go— Brave hits the emergency announcement system.

  "Yornyang. Stop and listen." Not a command. A statement.

  Yornyang—pauses. Because to flip reality, he first has to acknowledge it.

  That’s the smallest window Brave needs. A fraction of a second. Brave’s voice cuts through the speakers, absolute. "You will hesitate."

  For the first time, Yornyang’s smirk flickered. A second passed—just a second. But Brave saw it. Hesitation. Not much. Not enough to break him. But enough to slow him. Enough to prove that even Yornyang’s reality had rules.

  Brave didn't waste time. He pressed forward. "You will struggle."

  Another beat of silence. Yornyang’s fingers twitched—his eyes gleamed with amusement, but there was something deeper beneath it now. Recognition.

  Then—Brave delivered the final strike.

  "You will doubt."

  Yornyang laughed, but this time, it wasn’t immediate. For the first time, he had to process what was happening. For the first time, he was reacting—not controlling. The second Yornyang stuttered, the battlefield changed.

  Samui’s fingers raced across the control panel. Lockdown parameters shifted, security systems reconfigured. This wasn’t about trapping Yornyang anymore. This was about forcing him to make a mistake.

  Shining spread his light again—but this time, it wasn’t just to counter the void. It was everywhere. Reflecting, refracting, bouncing off metal surfaces, turning the entire courtyard into a kaleidoscope of brightness. There were no clear directions. No sense of depth.

  If Yornyang tried to reverse light again, he wouldn’t just create darkness—he’d blind himself.

  Senshi shifted his stance, breathing deep. No more direct attacks. This time, he’d let Yornyang make the first move—and counter the counter.

  Weird was already watching closely. Because the moment Yornyang flipped anything again—Weird would reflect it right back.

  For a long moment, Yornyang didn’t move. His grin was still there. His posture still loose. But something had changed. His power was his entire identity. And now—Brave had just shown that even his power had weaknesses. That meant Yornyang wasn’t just playing with them anymore. He was thinking. His head tilted slightly, like he was running through the new equation. He could still flip cause and effect. He could still bend reality itself. But for the first time, the SOF had made him consider his next move. Yornyang’s grin stretched wider, though it was harder to tell if it was amusement or irritation. "That’s cute," he muttered. "But you’re forgetting something, Commander."

  Brave said nothing. He just watched.

  Yornyang took a slow step forward. "I don’t like reality." And then—he disappeared. The security barriers slammed shut. But Yornyang was gone. No sign of distortion. No flicker of inversion. No twisting of reality. One moment he was there. The next—he wasn’t.

  Samui’s hands flew across the console. "No breaches detected. No warping. No teleportation signatures. He—he just—"

  "Vanished." Brave finished.

  Khem was already moving, scanning for any traces. Senshi turned sharply, searching for a presence, an aura, anything.

  Shining clicked his tongue. "Come on. No way he just flipped out of existence."

  Weird’s voice was calm, but sharp. "Maybe he didn’t."

  Brave’s eyes narrowed. "Explain."

  Weird exhaled. "We already know he doesn’t just reverse things. He chooses what to reverse. But what if he just… stopped being perceived?"

  A heavy silence followed. Perception. Yornyang hadn’t warped space. He hadn’t moved. He had flipped the concept of being noticed. He was still here. They just couldn’t register it.

  Samui’s voice was tight. "That means he’s still in the courtyard."

  Khem’s fingers clenched. "So where is he?"

  And then— The alarms blared. Every system screamed breach. Every sensor blinked red.

  Yornyang was gone. And this time—it wasn’t just perception. He had truly escaped.

  Brave’s jaw clenched. "Damn it."

  Shining exhaled. "So we lost him."

  Weird let out a slow whistle. "For now."

  The courtyard settled into silence. The battlefield had been chaotic, a warzone of shifting rules. But now? Now, it just felt empty.

  Brave wasn’t looking at the spot where Yornyang had stood. He was looking at his team.

  And he saw it. They weren’t just frustrated. They were thinking. Analyzing.

  For the first time—SOF wasn’t chasing Yornyang’s reality. They were starting to control it. Brave exhaled. Then, he spoke. "We lost today."

  Silence.

  Then—his voice hardened. "We won’t lose again."

  The next time Yornyang laughed—SOF would be the ones smiling.