The night is heavy with storm clouds above Sterling, the city lights flickering faintly in the distance below. At the peak of a jagged mountain, Marcus Vale stands alone, his tailored suit torn and dirt-streaked, hair windswept. The moonlight carves shadows across his face, and in his trembling hand, he clutches a small dagger etched with strange markings—the tool for his forbidden spell. His eyes burn with anger and sorrow as he whispers about being an orphan, about the cruel fate that left him unwanted, mocked, and cornered.
He spreads his arms as if to embrace the wind, muttering the words of his self-made chaos incantation. The air ripples unnaturally, but instead of glowing with power, the spell feels… wrong, incomplete. Still, Marcus steps closer to the edge, determined to hurl himself into what he believes will be a new life.
Marcus takes one last glance at the world below—the glittering city of Sterling, the place where he wore masks by day and carried shadows by night. A bitter smile crosses his face.
"Maybe next time," he mutters under his breath, "I won't be born cursed."
With that, he steps forward and plunges into the abyss. The wind roars in his ears, tearing at his clothes as the ground races upward. The chaos spell he cast moments before begins to stir faintly around his body, a fragile, broken net of energy. His soul quivers—on the verge of being torn free. But before the spell can complete its work, the sky itself splits open.
The asteroid rips through the heavens like a furious star, its descent painting the sky in streaks of fire. For a fleeting second, the night turns brighter than day, casting Sterling in a ghostly glow far below. People in the city scream, point, and scatter as the burning light grows larger. To them, it's the end of the world.
To Marcus, it is a silent answer.
His eyes widen as the incandescent rock barrels straight toward him. There's no time to move, no chance to escape. He feels the broken spell still clinging to his body, a thin veil between soul and flesh, pulling him apart just enough. And then—impact.
The asteroid smashes into the cliff with deafening force. The mountain shudders, a violent eruption tearing stone apart. Fire and dust explode outward, swallowing the world in chaos. From the outside, it looks like annihilation—no trace of Marcus could possibly survive.
But inside the eruption… something different happens.
Marcus does not die. Suspended in the heart of the cataclysm, his body crumbles—bones shattering, skin searing, every fiber of him destroyed. Yet, instead of vanishing, the broken threads of his existence are caught by a power far older, far deeper.
The asteroid is no ordinary rock. Its core shimmers with crystalline veins, pulsating with an otherworldly radiance—the Starnaric Crystal. Its energy floods through Marcus, burning away the old flesh and rebuilding him piece by piece. His veins ignite with light, his shattered bones reform stronger, his skin knit back together as though sculpted anew. He is not just healed—he is reborn.
And then… he hears it.
A voice. Vast, infinite, undeniable. Not a sound, but truth spoken into the marrow of his being:
"Marcus Vale… you are no longer the boy who trembles in shadows. You are a Pioneer, a Vitalian of the rarest kind. Your soul carries the ability known as Chaos Enchantment—the power to bend reality itself through objects marked with your essence. You are the first, the creator, the master of this path. Use it wisely… or let it consume you."
The words reverberate inside him, heavy with power, clarity, and destiny. For the first time in his life, Marcus feels his insignificance fade—replaced by potential unlike any other. And yet, a whisper of fear coils in his chest: even with this power, he is bound to its cost.
Darkness swallows his consciousness before he can react, leaving him suspended between death and rebirth.
Seven days. Seven endless, suffocating days suspended between life and death. Outside, Sterling has whispered rumors about the "miracle survivor" of the mountain eruption. Inside, Marcus floats in a haze of sterile white, monitors beeping, nurses shuffling, and the smell of antiseptic heavy in the air. His body feels… alien. Not broken anymore, not weak, not human in the way it was before.
When his eyes finally flutter open, the world is a blur of shapes and muted colors. The ceiling above is too white, too clean. Machines beep rhythmically, each sound reverberating through his bones, reminding him that somehow, impossibly, he survived. His heart races—not from fear, but from a strange, intoxicating pulse he can feel crawling through his veins. The Starnaric Crystal's energy hums in every fiber of his being.
Instinctively, Marcus sits up. Pain lances through his body—memories of bones being shattered and remade—but the agony is muted, softened by something… new. He touches his chest and feels warmth, energy coursing just under his skin. It is alive.
A nurse gasps from the doorway. "Mr. Vale! Please—don't move! You've been in a coma"
Marcus doesn't hear her. He doesn't see her. His mind is spinning with flashes of fire, crystal, and the World Voice. The words repeat like a chant:
"You are a Pioneer… Chaos Enchantment… use it wisely."
It hits him like a shockwave. He remembers everything—the mountain, the jump, the broken spell, the asteroid, the crystal. His past attempts, his pain, his desire to escape being an orphan… all converge into one blazing clarity.
Without hesitation, Marcus swings his legs over the side of the hospital bed. Alarms start to blare. Nurses scream. But he doesn't hesitate. His instincts, sharpened by the chaotic energy coursing in him, demand one thing: freedom.
He moves like a shadow, faster than thought. The window is his exit; he doesn't even glance back. The glass shatters as he leaps into the night, landing with unnatural precision. The city is quiet below him, oblivious to the miracle that just escaped their watchful eyes.
For the first time, Marcus is alone—not as a survivor of tragedy, but as someone reborn. And yet, he feels the pull in his soul: the energy waiting to be shaped, tested, mastered.
His hands tingle, a faint heat crawling over his skin. He wonders if his spell—the one meant to project his soul—has any effect now. The broken remnants of it cling like whispers. But then he remembers: he doesn't need the old spell. The crystal is part of him now. The energy hums. The power is his.
He walks through the shadows of the city, unnoticed, unseen, knowing that tonight marks the beginning—not the end—of Marcus Vale.
The streets of Sterling are quiet beneath the moonlight. Shadows stretch long across empty alleys, and the city feels asleep, unaware of the rebirth that just walked through its veins. Marcus moves silently, his newly rebuilt body carrying him with unnatural grace, each step precise, controlled—his reflexes sharper than any human should possess.
He reaches his apartment, the place he had once called home yet never truly belonged to. The door opens easily; no one is there to greet him. Everything feels the same, but somehow… different. He can sense it—every object, every corner, every shadow seems to hum faintly in recognition. The Starnaric Crystal's energy within him is alive, resonating with the world in a way he can feel through his very bones.
Marcus slumps into his favorite chair, head in his hands. For a long moment, he simply breathes, letting the residual energy flow, feeling the pulse of his new existence. He remembers the World Voice, the words it spoke with godlike authority:
"You are a Pioneer… Chaos Enchantment… use it wisely."
A shiver runs down his spine. Chaos Enchantment. The ability feels unfamiliar, like a tool he's never held yet has always existed in his blood. He wonders what it truly means, how far it stretches, and whether he can even control it.
Instinctively, he reaches for the one thing that has always symbolized his past plans: the notion of conjuring. His Soul Tattoo, hidden deep in his essence, flares faintly at the thought. He closes his eyes and concentrates, remembering the chain he had envisioned before—the chain he had imagined draped around his neck during that final jump.
A spark ignites. The air shivers. From nothing, a thin, metallic thread of energy begins to coil, spinning in front of him. It grows, twisting into a familiar shape—a chain. Each link glows faintly, a ghostly shimmer coursing across its surface. Then, Marcus feels it: the soul signature embedding itself into the chain. The tattoo within him marks it as his own.
The moment it's complete, the shadows around him flare. Dark, flame-like wisps lick the walls, curling upward like living smoke. The energy surges through the chain, through him, connecting his soul, the object, and the raw chaos magic he now possesses. It's overwhelming, yet intoxicating.
Marcus exhales sharply, gripping the chain around his neck. For the first time, he feels the weight and potential of his Chaos Enchantment. He knows instinctively: this is only the beginning.
And as the flames of shadows swirl around him, licking the corners of the room and dancing with his newfound energy, Marcus Vale allows a small, cold smile to form on his lips. He is no longer just a survivor. He is reborn. He is a Pioneer.
The flames of shadows curl and writhe around Marcus, licking at the walls, the ceiling, the edges of his consciousness. He grips the chain around his neck, feeling the hum of energy that pulses with his own heartbeat. The sensations are overwhelming—thrilling, frightening, intoxicating.
Marcus exhales, steadying himself. "Let's see what you can do," he mutters under his breath. His fingers twitch, and the chain responds, swinging lightly as if alive. He focuses, willing the shadows to obey him.
They coil around the room, stretching and bending to his intent. He watches as they twist into jagged forms, sharp as knives, then recoil at his mental command. It is chaotic, but it listens. His Soul Tattoo flares with every motion, etching its mark deeper into the chain, binding his essence to the object permanently.
Curiosity overtakes caution. Marcus raises a shadowy appendage into a chair and wills it to pierce the wood. The shadow forms a blade, slicing cleanly through the chair's leg. The satisfying snap echoes through the apartment. He experiments further, forming tendrils, shaping shapes that should not exist, pushing the limits.
Then, without warning, a pulse of pain shoots through his chest. The shadows writhe violently, resisting, almost biting back. His eyes widen—Chaos Magic is alive, yes, but it is hungry. Every movement, every creation, drains more than energy; it gnaws at the edges of his very soul.
Marcus staggers back, taking a moment to steady himself. He exhales, the shadows calming but still flickering, restless. A grin spreads across his face—fear and exhilaration coiling together. This is power. Raw, dangerous, unrestrained. And it is his.
He tightens his grip on the chain. "Perfect," he mutters, a cold smile curling his lips. "This… this is just the beginning."
The shadows around him flicker and pulse, almost as if in response to his declaration. The apartment feels alive, humming with energy that was never there before. Marcus Vale, reborn from catastrophe, has claimed his first taste of Chaos Magic—and it tastes like dominance.