The darkness swallowed everything. Silent. Still. No sound. No light. Just… nothing.
Then—BANG!—
Suddenly, the world exploded into blinding white light. Not a single shadow in sight.
He stood there, in a place with no dirt, no walls, no ceiling—just stark, endless white. The floor was smooth beneath his feet, a vast emptiness stretching in every direction.
A table sat in front of him. Two chairs, opposite each other, waiting like silent sentinels.
It was all so strange. So foreign. He had never been anywhere this plain, this pure. The light wasn't harsh—it felt soft, gentle almost, though no source shone anywhere.
And somehow, in that sterile void, his heart finally found peace. The gnawing weight in his brain faded. His troubles, the chaos, all just… vanished.
"I guess that's my seat," he muttered.
He moved toward the table, pulled out the chair, and sat down. The moment his butt hit the seat, the air shifted—a soft, warm breeze swept over him, whispering through his very soul.
"What the fu-"
His eyes darted around as the empty room blossomed into life.
The grass beneath the table was greener than anything he'd ever seen. Flowers bloomed in pristine colors, clean and vibrant, swaying gently.
He inhaled deeply, appreciating the beauty.
Then, his eyes lifted—and froze.
Across from him sat a figure.
His heart lurched, "Oh fuck—"
The figure had no face. No features. Just a glowing gold light, shimmering like sunlight on water. Its shape was masculine, but the glow felt soft, nurturing.
The figure's voice rippled through the air, loud yet gentle, like a song carried on the wind.
"I was expecting someone else."
Avin opened his mouth to reply—but no words came out.
The figure continued, calm and steady:
"I was expecting Avin... not you, Clive."
Clive. The name hit him like a thunderclap—the name he'd been born with, the one given to him by his mother—His actual mother--, the only name he knew before this strange world pulled him in. The name being used by someone else at this moment
"H-how do you—?"
The figure cut him off.
"It seems 'He' has started acting..."
"'He'?" Avin blinked, confused. "You mean the one who brought me here? Who is He?"
"Not something for you to worry about. Yet."
"Yet?"
The figure's glow pulsed gently.
"I know why you're here... but you should understand why you are here... why I let you in."
Avin's brow furrowed. "What?"
With a subtle motion, the entire scene shifted.
They stood on the edge of a cliff. Below, the abyss stretched out—an endless, blood-soaked field crawling with beasts of every size and shape.
Growls, screeches, and snarls echoed from the depths.
Avin's face twisted in disgust and sorrow. Among those creatures, he recognized some as once-human—lost souls trapped in the abyss.
The figure's voice trembled with ancient grief.
"My children betrayed me."
The world shifted again—now, they hovered in the air, standing on nothing.
The figure's glow flared brighter. Wings—many, shimmering, powerful—sprouted from its back. Spheres of light floated serenely around it.
The mood was almost joyful, as if this was a memory of happier times.
But then the light dimmed.
The green fields blackened. Trees withered. The figure fell to the ground, the spheres growing larger but fading in shine as they drifted away—following a shadow.
No, not just a shadow. A void.
The abyss swallowed everything once more.
The figure's voice was heavy with pain:
"They went against me... tried to make this world their own. Neglected the others. For this? All because of 'Him.'"
Though it had no face, sorrow dripped from every glowing inch.
Avin stared. "So... you are the Primordial One?"
The figure chuckled—a sound like distant thunder and soft rain—then stepped back.
Suddenly, they were back at the table.
Avin jumped, startled, but held his composure.
The figure's glow softened as they spoke:
"That's what this world calls me... Primordial. I like it. Has a nice ring, don't you think?"
"Anyway, you can't stay here too long... you might…"
The voice faltered, then steadied.
"Let me tell you why I let you in. I need your help restoring peace to this world. My children—your gods—they are fragments of me. Their leaving weakened me. I cannot descend to the abyss. If I do, this world will be destroyed. So I need you."
"In return, I will grant you the power of all the gods—their full might. For you, Clive. All you must do is collect essence from each of their incarnates. The power you gain will be yours. You can change your status... and I can regain my children."
Avin—Clive—felt a rush of excitement bubble up inside him. This was it. The big break. The cosmic "get out of jail free" card.
He swallowed hard and blurted, "How do I go back—?"
The figure cut him off, voice suddenly sharp and firm:
"To claim the power of anyone you face, you must complete their conditions. Each is different. Each is harder than the last, depending on the strength of your opponent."
A warning softened the edge:
"But beware of greed. Focus on steady growth. #^@&#^@%…"
The words muffled, breaking off into a strange static hum—like a radio losing signal.
Then darkness swept over everything again, swallowing the scene whole.
When he finally blinked open his eyes, he was back in the room—his room.
Candle wax was smeared across the floor like the aftermath of some chaotic ritual. The faint, lingering scent of melted wax and burnt herbs hung heavy in the air. Red paint streaks, smeared unevenly, stained the ground, while the ritual tattoos that had covered his skin were completely gone, leaving only bare flesh.
He lay still for a moment, taking it all in, his breath shallow and uneven.
"The Primordial…" he whispered, voice hoarse, like he was tasting the word for the first time. "I saw the Primordial…"
But then the dull ache in his skull exploded into a sharp, stabbing pain—like tiny needles digging behind his eyes. He clutched his head tightly, groaning softly.
"Why can't I remember everything?"
His fingers trembled as he pressed them harder against his temples, willing the vision to come back, to fill in the missing pieces. But it was like trying to catch smoke with bare hands—slippery and fleeting.
Finally, he slumped down onto the edge of the bed, exhausted and frustrated. His heart pounded loud enough that he was sure anyone nearby could hear it.
"The Primordial… something about the gods…" He tried to piece the fragments together, voice barely above a breath. "…and... and…"
Suddenly, a spark of hope shot through the fog of confusion. His eyes snapped open wider, and he sat straighter, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Wait…"
His mind raced. "They gave me a power-up…"
A thrill of possibility bubbled up, flooding his veins with adrenaline.
He leapt up from the bed, feet slapping loudly against the wooden floor—THUD! THUD!—and planted himself firmly.
"Maybe I can… like…"
He threw his arms out wide, fingers splayed, mimicking a dramatic energy blast.
"KAMEHAME—!"
Nothing.
Silence.
His arms dropped with a defeated thump.
A deep growl erupted from his stomach—GRRRR-UMB!—breaking the moment like a rude alarm.
He rubbed his belly with a rueful grimace. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Food first."
But hunger wasn't the only distraction. His mind was spinning.
"Maybe if I had, like, a wand or something…" He waved his hands around again, more cautiously this time, like a nervous conductor trying to summon a ghost.
Still, nothing happened.
He sighed, the sound long and tired, and started pacing the small room—tap-tap-tap—his bare feet dragging softly against the floor.
"Okay, Clive. Calm down. Power-ups don't come easy. Maybe I need to learn the rules first."
Just then, a sharp KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK rattled at the door.
"Dinner at the dining hall!" a maid's voice called out crisply.
He froze mid-step, heart suddenly racing
"Dinner?" he repeated quietly, eyes darting toward the door.
That meant meeting the rest of the Chronos family.
The weight of the moment crushed down on him like a mountain. How the hell was he supposed to act like Avin? What if he slipped up? Got found out?
Panic nudged at the edges of his mind.
And on top of it all… who was going to clean his messy room?
He swallowed, then called out, voice cracking slightly, "Umm… can I get someone to come… clean up the place?"
Silence.
"Hello?"
Still nothing.
He sighed, frustration threading through his tone.
"Okay…"
His gaze drifted to the disarray around him—the wax drips, the red stains, the empty spaces where the ritual markings had been—and a small pang of helplessness hit him.
Maybe this was just the beginning.
To be continued…