Kayakz huddled under a pile of old blankets, trying to stay dry as wind swept the edges. Hunger twisted in his stomach, but it had long become a companion, not an enemy. Outside, the city glowed with life—cars passed, people laughed, neon lights blinked promises of things Kayaks would never have.
Eighteen years old, nameless, penniless, alone.
But not ordinary.
Something strange had followed him for weeks now—dreams of glass towers floating in black skies, of chessboards with living pieces, and voices whispering from reflections. Sometimes he'd look in puddles and see someone else staring back. Not quite him. Taller. Brighter. With eyes like galaxies.
He didn't tell anyone. No one would care.
That night, the dream returned—more vivid than ever. He stood in the middle of a vast circular chamber made of obsidian and gold. A hundred doors lined the walls. One by one, they opened, and figures stepped in—teenagers, young adults, maybe some just older than him. Each looked confused, frightened, alert. Like him.
Then came the voice. It rumbled not through air, but through the bones.
> "You have been chosen."
Kayaks tried to speak, but no sound came.
> "A hundred souls. One crown. Become the next god, or be forgotten."
And just like that, the dream ended.
Except he didn't wake up on the cold floor of the station. He didn't wake up at all.
---
He opened his eyes to a ceiling that stretched beyond sight, shifting with stars and fractals. The floor beneath him felt like polished stone, but glowed softly with swirling runes.
He was still wearing his ragged hoodie and mismatched shoes. Still dirty. Still cold.
Around him, others stirred. A hundred kids, maybe more. Boys and girls from all walks of life—rich kids with designer jackets, punks with dyed hair, a girl in school uniform, a boy with a prosthetic arm, a kid holding a cane.
They looked just as confused as he was.
Then the figure appeared.
It wasn't a god. It wasn't even human.
A doll. A giant porcelain doll, ten feet tall, with painted cheeks and glowing eyes, descended from the ceiling like it was suspended on invisible strings. Its voice was childlike, high and hollow.
> "Welcome to the **God's Playhouse**."
The walls shifted. The space grew. The floor beneath them rippled like water, reshaping into a circular arena.
> "You are the chosen. Each of you carries something special. A spark. A potential."
> "You will compete in games. Trials. Tests of mind, heart, and power."
> "Win, and ascend. Lose, and fade."
A silence settled. Some kids shouted in panic. Others backed away. A boy with glasses raised a hand, trembling.
"Is this a joke?"
The doll's head tilted. Then it giggled. The sound echoed in a way that made everyone flinch.
> "No jokes. Only truth."
Kayaks didn't speak. He felt it. The truth in the doll's voice. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't a hallucination. This was real.
The doll raised one hand. A swirling screen appeared in mid-air.
> **Contestant 099: Kayaks.**
>
> * Status: Active
> * Origin: Earth-1 (Urban Drift)
> * Alignment: Unknown
> * Initial Rank: 99
Ninety-nine out of a hundred.
Figures.
Kayaks looked around. Others were reading their own stats on floating screens. Some smiled. Some didn't like what they saw.
> "Let the First Game begin."
---
The world bent.
The air screamed.
And they fell.
---
When Kayaks opened his eyes again, he was standing in the middle of a field made of checkered tiles. The sky was purple. Floating clocks ticked in reverse. A sun and moon chased each other like tag across the heavens.
> "Game One: The Mirror Maze."
The voice echoed from nowhere.
> "Goal: Reach the center. Touch the flame. Time limit: Fifteen minutes."
> "Twist: Your fears walk with you."
Kayaks blinked. The field before them began to shift—walls rising, mirrors multiplying. A labyrinth of reflections.
He took a step forward—and from the mirror ahead, a version of him stepped out.
But twisted.
Its eyes were hollow. Its skin cracked like porcelain. It wore the same hoodie, but it was soaked in something dark and wet.
"Coward," it whispered.
Kayaks backed away, but the creature didn't attack. Just watched.
He clenched his fists. "You're not real."
But fear made it real. He knew that instinctively.
Other contestants had scattered, yelling, crying, running through different paths. A few fought their reflections. Some didn't make it far.
Kayaks chose silence. He ran.
---
The maze was alive. It twisted as he moved, trying to trap him in loops. Reflections whispered doubts in his ears. The mirrors showed not only his fears, but memories—his first night homeless, the time he was beaten for stealing bread, the woman who gave him her last sandwich, the boy who mocked his smell.
Each time, he shook them off.
> "Your fears walk with you."
Then let them.
He wouldn't outrun them. But maybe he could walk with them.
He slowed his pace. Took deep breaths. And kept moving forward.
At the center of the maze stood a tall spire of white flame. One by one, contestants emerged—less than thirty had made it.
He saw the girl with the school uniform collapse in exhaustion. The prosthetic-armed boy limped in, covered in cuts. Kayaks reached the flame just as the countdown hit zero.
> "Game One complete."
The flame exploded in light.
---
Back in the arena, the doll reappeared.
> "Seventy-two eliminated."
Shocked silence.
> "You remain. You are the survivors. You are the sparks."
New stats appeared.
> **Contestant 099: Kayaks.**
>
> * Rank: 21
> * Title Earned: Fear-Walker
> * Trait Unlocked: "Still Heart" – Immune to fear illusions.
Whispers broke out. Some were impressed. Some stared at him with new eyes.
Kayaks didn't care. He sat down, exhausted, and tried not to throw up.
---
Later, when the lights dimmed and the arena shifted into rest mode, a voice spoke next to him.
"Not bad for a rank ninety-nine."
He turned. A boy with short black hair and wire-rim glasses held out a hand.
"Name's Eli. Rank thirty-five. You?"
"Kayaks," he said, taking the hand.
"What kind of name is that?"
He shrugged. "The only one I've got."
Eli sat next to him, unwrapping a strange cube that turned into food.
"So. We're in a cosmic competition to become a god," Eli said casually, like he was talking about a math test.
"Yeah."
"You think they're serious?"
Kayaks looked around. At the survivors. At the flame. At the sky that had no stars until someone earned them.
"They're serious."
Eli nodded. "Then I guess we better not die."
---
That night, the playhouse simulated sleep chambers. Some kids cried quietly. Some stared blankly at the ceiling. A few talked about home.
Kayaks didn't speak. Didn't cry. He sat on the edge of his glowing bed and stared at his reflection in the curved glass.
For once, it didn't whisper back.
He didn't know why he was chosen.
But something inside him stirred.
Not anger. Not fear.
Hope.
He had nothing. No name. No home. No legacy.
But maybe, just maybe, he had a chance.
To matter.
To rise.
To become something more.
---
**End of Chapter 1**