There was nothing. Only darkness.
Jacob couldn't feel his body—only a drifting awareness suspended in emptiness. He tried to scream, but no voice came. He tried to move, but there were no limbs to move.
Then—light exploded in front of him.
Winds howled around him like a vortex, dragging him downward with brutal force. Flashes of images sped by—battles, unfamiliar faces, places he'd never seen. He screamed, but no one heard.
Then—
Boom!
His body slammed onto cold stone. Pain surged through him.
He opened his eyes slowly, gasping for air. He was lying inside an ancient temple, its walls carved with mysterious writings. Faint blue lights glowed from the engravings, casting an eerie shimmer around him.
"Where... am I?" he whispered, struggling to his feet.
The floor beneath his boots felt unnaturally cold, as if untouched by warmth for centuries. The air was thick—not with dust, but with a presence, humming like a silent whisper.
---
Before he could gather his thoughts, footsteps echoed from the shadows.
Jacob turned, hand on his weapon—but he didn't draw it.
A man in a black cloak emerged from behind the stone columns, moving with calm certainty.
"You've finally awakened."
His voice was soft, but carried a dangerous confidence. As he stepped closer, Jacob could see his face—sharp features, and eyes like cold steel, piercing and unreadable.
"Who are you?" Jacob asked, cautiously.
"I am Basim," the man replied.
"And where are we?"
Basim didn't answer immediately. He gazed at the glowing glyphs on the wall, as if recalling a memory long buried. Then he said:
"We are somewhere outside of time."
He paused, then added:
"You are not the only one here, Jacob. There are others... and soon, you will meet them."
A cold chill ran down Jacob's spine. Others? What did he mean?
Before he could ask, another sound broke the silence—heavy footsteps, thudding through the ancient temple.
Jacob turned swiftly toward the sound.
From the darkness emerged a towering figure—broad-shouldered, armored in leather and iron, a giant beast tattooed across his back. He gripped a massive axe, eyes gleaming with menace.
"Finally! I've found one of you!"
He spoke as if he knew Jacob. But Jacob had no idea who—or what—this man was.
"Who is that?" Jacob whispered.
"A Viking warrior," Basim answered. "One of many brought here."
"Is he an enemy?"
Basim didn't respond. Instead, he stepped back—as if leaving Jacob to face the truth himself.
The Viking charged. His axe split the air with deadly force. Jacob barely dodged, the blade shattering the stone where he had just stood.
"Damn it!"
Jacob drew his sword and braced for the fight. This was no sparring session. This was survival.
The Viking attacked again—but Jacob was ready. He dodged the first blow, then lunged forward, aiming a quick strike at his foe's side.
But the seasoned warrior wasn't so easily caught. He spun with terrifying speed, his axe sweeping with brutal momentum. Jacob raised his sword just in time—the impact knocked him back, nearly toppling him.
"You're weak!" the Viking roared with a mocking laugh.
But Jacob wasn't done. He steadied his breath, focused his senses.
This time, he danced around the Viking's onslaught, dodging each savage swing. The more strikes missed, the more reckless his opponent became.
Finally—an opening.
When the Viking launched a downward strike, Jacob slipped aside and drove his blade into the warrior's thigh.
The Viking howled in pain—but he didn't fall. He grabbed Jacob with one hand and hurled him across the room.
Jacob hit the wall hard, crumpling to his knees, gasping.
He couldn't last much longer.
"That's enough."
The voice came from Basim.
Both combatants turned to him—his hand raised, a strange energy swirling around him.
In an instant, the Viking froze—paralyzed by unseen forces.
Jacob's eyes widened.
What the hell was that?
Basim gave a faint smile.
"As I told you... this is not a normal world."
"Here, battle is not about survival. It's a test... of your existence."