Daion tumbled through the sky, flailing helplessly as the relentless wind tossed him in every direction. Fear made him scream by instinct, though his voice was swallowed by the rushing air. The ground raced toward him at a terrifying speed. Judging by the distance, he estimated he was about three kilometers above the surface.
His eyes scanned the landscape: in the distance, the ruins of cities lay in smoldering despair, their remains obscured by columns of smoke rising into the sky. On one side, jagged, dark mountains loomed over a wasteland stained in crimson hues; on the other, green fields and majestic peaks painted a completely different horizon. Floating ominously above it all, a mound of earth hovered in midair—like one of the god's flying islands.
Directly below him, a small meadow appeared like an oasis amid a dense and gloomy forest. The location seemed almost deliberate. That idiot god probably planned exactly where I'd land, Daion thought, cursing him and trying to figure out how not to die.
He tried to stabilize his fall, but the wind refused to cooperate. Resigned, he shut his eyes and began counting the seconds until impact. But just before he hit the ground, his fall halted abruptly, leaving him suspended about five meters above the ground. He hovered for a brief moment, then was unceremoniously dropped onto his back. The impact left a dull ache throughout his body.
"Did you really think I'd let you off that easy?" A mocking voice echoed in his mind. Then, silence. Only the gentle rustle of leaves and the murmur of water filled the stillness that followed.
"Go to hell," Daion muttered, grimacing as he sat up.
His surroundings looked straight out of a fairy tale: vibrant green grass, colorful flowers, and towering trees formed a natural wall around the clearing. Nearby, a crystal-clear lake shimmered under the sunlight, with a massive statue standing proudly at its center.
Just a few meters away, the sword the god had given him landed with a dull thud. Daion approached it, but hesitated before picking it up. Instead, his gaze settled on his right hand—still wrapped in the strange glove he couldn't understand. The blue gem embedded in the palm glowed faintly under the sunlight.
Not really my style of jewelry, he thought, letting curiosity win over caution as he tried to remove the glove. But it wouldn't budge. No matter how much strength he used, the material felt fused to his skin—like it had become part of him. Even trying to rip it off caused pain. Frustrated, he grabbed a stick and tried to pry it loose, without success. Finally, he sighed and gave up. Great. I look like a king with terrible fashion sense.
A crunch behind him snapped him out of his thoughts. He grabbed the sword instinctively, turned, and pointed it at the source of the noise. His breath was ragged, body tense, ready for whatever might emerge from the forest.
From the tall grass emerged a strange creature: a rabbit with round ears like a mouse and sharp, gleaming fangs. It glanced at him briefly, then hopped away and vanished into the trees. Confused, Daion lowered the sword and sighed.
Thirst gnawed at him, so he approached the lake. The water was unbelievably pure, reflecting the greenish sky above. As he drank, his eyes landed on the statue at the lake's center: a woman with dove-like wings, her solemn figure holding a sword pointing downward. Beneath her, an inscription carved into the stone caught his attention:
"Lake of the Summoned."
He figured this must be the place where the gods' chosen ones arrived. Yet something about the area felt disturbingly empty—like no living creature dared come near. The silence was almost unnatural.
He took another sip and noticed his reflection in the water. His short brown hair annoyed him—too military, as if he had been forced to keep it that way, though he couldn't recall why. A scar ran across his eyebrow, giving his disheveled face a rough edge. But what unsettled him the most were his eyes: they glowed with an intense, almost unnatural blue, like two small flames.
"Still…" he muttered with a wry smile, "not bad-looking, huh?"
He chuckled, but the sound quickly faded as he looked up at the sky. Then he noticed something even stranger: the green clouds above twisted into a perpetual vortex, its center marking the exact spot he had fallen from. Beyond that, two radiant orbs gleamed in the sky. Stars. Memories from his past life struck him.
A binary star system. If I remember right, most systems are like this… though I always wondered if life could really exist in them.
He stayed there for a moment, lost in thought. The lack of memories didn't exactly distress him—in fact, it brought a strange contradiction. There was no one to miss, no home to yearn for… but also no reason to live, no one who might care if he died. Even so, the alien beauty of this world unsettled him, as if it had been designed to disorient and confuse.
At last, he stood up, shaking the water off his hands. His immediate goal was clear: find another human—or at least something intelligent. He needed answers.
He turned toward the forest and saw a thin column of smoke rising in the distance. It was his only lead.
Well… could be worse, I guess.
Without hesitation, he headed that way, carefully stepping into the dense woods.
The moment he left the meadow, the air grew heavy—almost suffocating. For a terrifying second, Daion felt his lungs closing, as if he couldn't breathe. He clutched his throat, panicking. But then, the gem on the glove lit up brightly, and his airways opened, allowing him to breathe normally again.
"So that's what it's for," he muttered, annoyed, as air returned to his lungs. He stared at the glove with renewed interest. Somehow, it seemed to be adapting his body to the environment of this world.
The forest was vast, its trees so tall their canopies vanished into the green-tinted sky. Massive roots jutted out of the ground, turning the terrain into a natural obstacle course. Still, Daion pressed forward, keeping his eyes on the distant smoke.
The forest teemed with life—some familiar, some utterly alien. He spotted six-legged elk with shimmering coats, foxes the size of bears with glowing blue horns, and heard a haunting symphony of birdsong echoing from the unseen canopy.
He tripped on a root and fell face-first, barely managing to catch himself with his arms inches from the ground.
Damn it… What the hell am I supposed to do? he thought as he stood back up, cursing the god under his breath, still stunned and unnerved by the local wildlife. A note would've been enough. Or a hologram with a mission. God, my ass…
Just then, a large butterfly landed on his shoulder. Its metallic wings shimmered with an ethereal blue glow, their razor-sharp edges giving it a deadly elegance. Daion flinched and brushed it away, uneasy.
The further he walked, the stronger the feeling of being watched became. But he had no choice—he had to keep going.
Eventually, he reached the source of the smoke… and froze.
Before him lay a village, reduced to smoldering rubble. Blood stained the ground, glistening atop the ash. What had once been a church now stood as a skeletal husk, its holiness defiled by fire.
But there were no bodies. Despite the overwhelming, cloying stench of death, there were no corpses. And that, more than anything, sent a chill down his spine.
He looked around, confused. His eyes shook, and cold sweat slid down his back.
Cautiously, Daion stepped through the ruins, his sword drawn and ready. Among the rubble, he found shattered armor, broken spears, and splintered shields. Whatever had attacked this place had crushed any chance of resistance. Standing in the heart of the devastation, he clenched his fists, his expression hardening with resolve.
"What you'd call monsters and demons…" He recalled the god's words.
"What kind of demons does he expect me to fight?" he murmured.
At the far end of the ruined street, he saw what looked like the town hall. The building had been crudely fortified, likely in a desperate attempt to hold out. But even that hadn't been enough.
Daion entered carefully. The interior was no less horrifying. The floor was littered with broken weapons, pools of blood, and unidentifiable remains. Viscera clung to the walls like grotesque decorations.
He moved deeper, arriving at what must have been the final line of defense. Unlike the rest of the town, here there were bodies—men in makeshift armor sprawled across the ground, their faces frozen in agony and terror.
"All dead…" Daion whispered to himself.
A weak groan broke the silence.
"The… the horde…"
He spun and pointed his sword at the sound, heart pounding. A man lay on the floor, barely clinging to life. A jagged piece of metal jutted from his abdomen, blood spilling in a slow, steady stream. Daion dropped to his knees beside him.
"What do you mean? What happened here?" he asked, voice trembling.
The man stared at him, dazed. His face twisted in pain with each breath.
"Isn't it obvious…?" His gaze shifted to the glove on Daion's hand, eyes narrowing with disbelief and bitterness. "Another summoned one? Seriously? Do the gods really think sending more kids will fix this mess…?"
He coughed violently. Blood stained his lips.
"Damn the gods…"
With those final words, his eyes went blank, and his head slumped to the side. He was dead.
"Damn it!" Daion shouted, his voice echoing through the empty ruins. Gritting his teeth, he gently closed the man's eyes and stood. His fists trembled with frustration.
A sudden sound broke the stillness. Faint but intentional. It came from above.
Daion looked up just in time to see a winged figure descending at high speed. In an instant, it crashed to the ground in front of him with a thunderous impact.
The creature was unlike anything he had ever seen—a monstrous, vampiric bat, grotesquely oversized and deformed. Its bloated body throbbed with unnatural energy, and its blood-red eyes burned with rabid hunger.
Driven by instinct, Daion raised his sword and pointed it at the beast. It began to move slowly at first, using its leathery wings as front limbs, each step tearing the ground with blade-like claws.
"What a horrible thing…" Daion muttered, his voice choked with fear. His entire body trembled, and the sword in his hands grew heavier with every passing second. He backed away, his mind desperately scrambling for a plan.
The creature watched him intently, circling to the side with calculated steps. Daion kept his sword pointed at it, trying to intimidate the beast. The monster let out strange, gurgling sounds as its throat twisted unnaturally.
Then, it froze. The moment seemed to suspend in time. A single strand of saliva dripped from its mouth just as Daion took an awkward step back—betraying his fear.
The bat lunged at him.
Daion swung his sword clumsily, barely managing to slash the creature's thick hide. It dodged to the side, throwing him off, then countered with brutal speed—knocking him to the ground. A searing pain tore through him as fangs sank into his left arm, ripping out a scream of agony. His sword slipped from his hand and clattered across the floor.
Tears welled in his eyes as he stretched his arm toward the fallen weapon, his fingertips just brushing the hilt. Despair welled up inside him—until the gem on the glove flickered faintly.
The sword leapt into his hand, as if answering his will.
Without thinking, Daion drove the blade into the beast's side. It shrieked with such a high-pitched cry that it rattled his bones, then released its grip. Seizing the moment, he kicked it in the abdomen, sending it rolling back. Before it could rise, he scrambled to his feet and stabbed again—and again—and again.
The creature's screams faded… until finally, it lay still. Dead.
Daion collapsed, gasping for air. His left arm throbbed, blood pulsing from the deep wounds. He looked at the monster's corpse, a nauseating mix of relief and disgust swirling in his stomach.
"Damn place…" he muttered, clutching his injured arm. "What the hell is this thing?"
Before he could process anything else, a sound froze him in place. He turned—and there it was. Another one.
A creature just like the first, its glowing red eyes locked onto him. Hunger radiated from it like heat.
Daion tightened his grip on the sword, though his strength was fading fast. He braced himself for the inevitable, knowing his chances were slim.
"Shit! Am I really going to die just after arriving!?"
Then, a deafening blast tore through the air. The creature's head exploded in a spray of blood, its body dropping limp to the ground. The metallic echo of a bullet striking the wooden floor rang through the ruins.
Daion turned toward the source, eyes wide with disbelief. From the shadows emerged a figure—shorter than him, but with a dangerous presence that instantly set his nerves on edge. The stranger's face was hidden behind a dark scarf, only his sharp, piercing eyes visible.
"Not bad," the man said, his voice muffled but dripping with sarcasm. "Most people die like idiots against their first monster. Were you part of a military force or something?" he added, his mocking tone only deepening Daion's discomfort.
He glanced at Daion's bleeding arm.
"Ah, wait," he said casually, like it was routine. With a smooth motion, he pulled a small white orb from his pouch and tossed it over.
Daion caught it on instinct, sword still raised.
"It's medicine," the stranger said with a shrug. "Tastes like crap."
Still wary, Daion kept his weapon up.
What do I do? If he's hostile, I won't stand a chance against a damn rifle. He swallowed hard, tightening his grip. Even so, I'm not letting him catch me off guard.
The man, completely unfazed, lowered his weapon with casual indifference—taking Daion by surprise.
"Who… or what are you?" Daion demanded, his voice trembling despite his attempt to sound firm.
"Isn't it obvious?" the man replied with mild disbelief.
Slowly, he rolled up the sleeve of his jacket, revealing a metallic gauntlet—almost like a piece of armor. At its center, a green gem shimmered faintly.
"I'm another summoned one."
End of Chapter 2.