Max's voice crackled through the device. "Yo, did you finish your mission?"
"I'm done. What about you? Don't tell me you're slower than me," Aren replied, a smirk evident in his tone.
In a dark, blood-soaked room, the stench of death hung heavy. Mutilated corpses littered the floor, forming a grotesque mountain. At its peak sat a man, relaxed yet exuding an aura of dominance. His fingertips held fine purple threads, one of which coiled tightly around the trembling throat of a bald man kneeling before him. Blood dripped from the thread's bite, staining the already soaked ground.
"Bold of you to assume that," Max said, his voice lazy yet playful. "I finished loooong before you. Now, I'm just playing with the last one."
"Playing?" Aren's voice carried a hint of doubt.
"Yep. Plaaayinngggg." Max's eyes flicked toward the quivering man before him. His voice turned deep, commanding. "Hey, why are you silent? I told you to sing what I taught you just now."
The captive gulped, his voice breaking as he stammered out a trembling tune. "T-tutududu M-Max Versteppen..."
Max grinned. "Good boy. Now, die."
A subtle twitch of his fingers was all it took. The fine thread tightened, slicing through flesh like a blade. A dull thud echoed as the man's head hit the floor, his body crumpling soon after.
Aren sighed through the device. "Seriously, Max?"
"What? Is it a crime to have a little entertainment while working?" Max chuckled, standing from his throne of corpses, stretching as if he had merely finished a workout.
"One of these days, that attitude is going to bite you in the ass," Aren muttered, shaking his head.
This is Max. My best friend since childhood. A week ago, we died and woke up in a world far different from our own. An old man greeted us upon arrival, his words long and convoluted, but the message was clear:
Two hundred Weavers had perished in a single battle. Their collective will and final prayers had reached a deity, warning of an existence too great a threat to ignore. The deity responded, using the life threads of the fallen to forge two divine bodies, capable of summoning souls with the potential to save this world. That's how Max and I ended up here, inhabiting these 'Divine Weaver' bodies, each granted unique abilities.
I wield the Threads of Creation and Destruction, allowing me to forge weapons and imbue them with an annihilative force capable of piercing through anything. Max, on the other hand, possesses Shadow and Poison Threads, making him a master of disguise, a silent killer lacing his attacks with deadly toxins, and a manipulator of darkness itself. His ability to weave shadows makes him practically untouchable in dimly lit areas, while his poison threads can paralyze or kill his victims in mere seconds.
If I had to simplify it, our status would look something like this:
Name: Aren Athernis
Job: Weaver of Eternum
Job Skill: Threads of Eternum
Thread Type: Creation, Destruction
Thread Level: Iron
Affiliation: Divine Weavers
Name: Max Vermillion
Job: Weaver of Eternum
Job Skill: Threads of Eternum
Thread Type: Shadow, Poison
Thread Level: Iron
Affiliation: Divine Weavers
The Threads of Eternum are a power few are born with—innate, hereditary, and impossible to learn through normal means. They follow a strict ranking system: Wool, Aluminum, Iron, Silver, Gold, Mithril, Orichalcum, Draganite, and finally, Illusory. Each rank signifies a substantial increase in power, from the brittle wool threads to the near-mythical capabilities of Illusory threads, which are said to transcend reality itself.
However, this world has other power systems as well. Mages rely on a Circle System, where their abilities are limited to elemental magic. Only the most advanced wielders stand a chance of grasping space magic. Meanwhile, non-mages strengthen themselves through Cores, their power levels dictated by their core's color—ranging from Black (weakest) to Purple (strongest). Most warriors in this world strive to reach the white or purple core, as those who attain it are said to rival natural disasters in power.
Aside from this, the Divine Weavers operate under a strict hierarchy, answering only to the elders who safeguard the secrets of the threads. As newcomers, Max and I are at the bottom of the food chain, but that won't last forever.
We arrived in a world already at war, bound by fate to be its saviors. But that doesn't mean we'll play the role of heroes. We have our own goals, our own ambitions, and nothing will stop us from reaching them.
Aren smirked as he looked at the aftermath of his mission. "Let's regroup. The real game starts now."