5th Dimension
Dimensional Prison
Josh Aratat sat cross-legged, unmoving, in what looked like serene meditation. But within him, there was a war raging—a tempest no eye could see. His face bore the tranquility of a monk, yet inside his mindscape, he was hanging by threads of pain and willpower, clawing his way through the unrelenting torment of the 'I AM KING Protocol'.
He was submerged in the harshest of mental and spiritual trials, orchestrated within the mysterious depths of the kingly system. His soul, a barely holding vessel, was tattered—thin cracks oozed with silvery fluid that pulsed like bleeding arteries.
Standing before him in this surreal training ground was the interphase avatar of the Kingly System—David Stormborn, a stoic and manly looking kingly system interphase avatar with glinting battle armor and eyes like molten steel. His presence alone radiated authority, but there was a trace of concern in his voice as he spoke.
"No one, in recorded history, known or hidden, of all those who has ever inherited the kingly system has ever dared to achieve an advancement to initiate the second level of the 'I AM KING Protocol', let alone contemplate breaking into the third," Stormborn said, arms crossed. "And yet here you are—against the odds—not just surviving, but excelling. Josh, this is unprecedented."
"Still… look at yourself." He gestured toward Josh's soul form, a battered reflection of his once-vigorous essence. "You're leaking life force. Your soul is crumbling under the pressure. This… might kill you. Would you like to pause and recover?"
Josh Aratat was on one knee, trembling, his breath ragged and hoarse. For a moment, silence fell in the ethereal space as Stormborn's words echoed. But then…
"No," Josh growled, rising slowly like a titan refusing defeat. "Lola needs me. Conrad needs me. Amia needs me. My generals… my soldiers… they're waiting. The empire is burning. I don't have the luxury of rest."
His voice was strained, but behind it was steel.
"I must return."
There was something haunting in his defiance—a man willing to break himself to become whole.
Stormborn watched in silence, then nodded with respect. "Very well. Proceed, King of Emperors."
Josh's eyes closed again, and a fresh cycle began. Reality twisted. His mind was thrown into another barrage of grueling simulations—worlds crumbling, battles fought in voids of agony, moral choices designed to crack his very essence. He was thrown into flame, into sorrow, into endless death… and yet, he rose each time, screaming silently in rebellion against fate.
And in a moment of respite—just for a blink—he saw her.
Lola.
Smiling. Her eyes alight with hope. Her laughter ringing like bells through his storm-wracked soul.
The image struck him like lightning, and he roared—louder than thunder in his soul realm—as new strength surged through him.
Pain was now fuel. Agony was his sword.
Josh Aratat would rise.
Even if he had to burn every rule of reality to ash.
He would break through.
He would return.
He was King.
And nothing would stop his ascension.
After completing a particularly brutal round of training, Josh Aratat's soul avatar staggered forward, barely able to stand. The spectral version of himself was drenched in a fluid that mimicked blood — the symbolic leakage of essence, a clear sign that the toll on his soul had become near-fatal. The terrain around him was warped, filled with fragmented illusions of battles won and lost, of thrones built and shattered. He stood on the edge of a precipice, and before him floated a swirling, crackling mass of light and energy — a world portal.
He was panting heavily. Every breath felt like swallowing glass.
David Stormborn stood beside him, his form composed and stoic, though concern was evident in his sharp gaze. His arms folded behind his back, he regarded Josh silently before asking, "Are you ready?"
Josh didn't respond immediately. He blinked slowly, and pain — raw, searing pain — ricocheted through his essence, echoing from soul to body. Somewhere, in the external plane, Josh's meditating body flinched. The wind around him had picked up, and his clenched fists trembled faintly.
Avalon, the serpent goddess, stood within the confines of her cell, some distance away in the physical realm, her gaze fixed on him. Her ancient eyes narrowed as she observed the fluctuations in his aura — the growing instability, the signs of collapse. She was a prisoner too, bound to the same accursed dimensional prison, but unlike Josh, she had no key, no hope, no plan. He was her last gamble, the only one mad enough to attempt the impossible.
She stepped closer, her tail slithering softly across the polished stone floor, her voice low and uncertain. "He's dying in there… That damned training is eating him alive." Her claws curled into fists. "If he dies, we both rot here forever."
But what she didn't know — what Josh had never once intended to reveal — was that she had never truly been a part of the plan.
To Josh, she was a dangerous entity. Fatal to the survival of the planet and one that should never be allowed to roam freely on the planet. He had no intention of sharing freedom with her. She was power… but she was also risk. Risk he couldn't afford. Once the fifth dimension was broken, his first priority wasn't freedom for all — it was vengeance. It was reclaiming what was his. And most importantly, it was dragging the Trickster God back to the abyss he had crawled from, shackled in the very cell Josh now meditated in.
Avalon tilted her head, watching Josh's trembling body. Her expression twisted into something oddly tender, conflicted. "Come back to me…" she whispered. "Survive this, Josh Aratat. You have to."
But the moment of sentiment was wasted. She didn't know her feelings were being manipulated, her faith taken advantage of. And if she had known… perhaps her rage would've torn the stars themselves.
Back in the mindscape, Josh straightened despite the agony tearing through his soul. His knees trembled, his hands bled ethereal ichor, and yet his eyes burned brighter than before. Defiance radiated from him like a solar flare.
He wiped his mouth and muttered, "Open the gate."
David Stormborn gave a faint, proud nod. "Very well. But know this: what lies beyond is not just mere trial — your very survival might be at stake."
Josh's reply was a whisper, but it echoed like thunder:
"Then I stake it all on this trial."