The air in the Grand Awakening Hall of the Celestial Capital was thick with an electric hum of anticipation, a nervous energy that pulsed through the thousand souls gathered within its majestic walls. Sunlight, filtered through the high arched windows, streamed down in long, golden shafts, illuminating countless banners representing the six major continents and the ancient, powerful clans that ruled them.
It was a place where futures were forged and destinies were set in stone. For centuries, this ritual had defined the lives of every creature in the known world. At the age of seventeen, they would step onto the podium, their inner potential unlocked in a flash of light.
Their future would be set in stone by the Existence Ability they were granted. A being's power was displayed on a personalized { Status Screen} , a floating, crystalline display visible only to its user and those they chose to show.
Marcus, a young man with a determined glint in his eye, stood among his peers. His race, Human, was a common one, but his background was anything but distinguished. He was from a small, forgettable city on the eastern seaboard, and his dreams were simple, born from years of humble living.
He wasn't a prodigy, just a quiet, stubborn kid who had trained diligently under his father's pragmatic guidance. His childhood was a testament to hard work and simplicity. He learned to swing a training sword until his arms ached, not for glory, but for the satisfaction of mastering a new technique.
He spent countless hours mending fishing nets with his mother, the simple rhythm of the work a meditative balm to his soul. Their small life was defined by the unwavering presence of family, a quiet pride in their meager accomplishments, and an unspoken desire for nothing more than peace.
Today, however, was different. It was the day the world would decide his path. He'd watched dozens of awakenings already, each one a flash of light and a simple, predictable outcome. A girl from the Fire Clan received a respectable, mid-tier Pyromancy ability, her body shimmering with a gentle heat. A boy from a merchant family received a common but useful Body Fortification, his skin gaining a faint metallic sheen.
The city's powerful families, seated in the high balconies above, paid little attention to the majority, their aristocratic expressions betraying a deep-seated boredom. They were waiting for the rare, high-tier abilities, the kind that would be groomed for power and prestige, the kind that would strengthen their dynasties.
"Marcus," a soft voice whispered from the crowd, cutting through the rising murmur. His mother, an empathetic woman with kind eyes, gave him a small, reassuring smile. "It will be alright. Whatever ability you receive, it is yours. Be proud." Her words were a familiar and comforting anchor.
His father, a stern but loving man who had taught him to rely on his own two feet, gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Be quick-witted, son. Don't let the spectacle distract you."
Marcus nodded back, a small sense of pride welling up in his chest. His parents, with their minor combat and healing abilities, were the anchor of his small world. All he wanted was a respectable ability that would allow him to protect them.
Finally, his name was called. The hall fell silent. He walked onto the podium, his heart pounding a steady rhythm against his ribs. He closed his eyes, centering himself, and braced for the familiar, gentle warmth of a normal awakening.
Instead, a different sensation consumed him. It wasn't warmth; it was a violent, chaotic eruption of energy that tore at his very essence. It was as if two opposing forces had suddenly ignited within his soul, pulling him apart and compressing him at the same time. The air around him crackled with a terrifying, unknown energy.
The sacred floor beneath his feet groaned and cracked, a spiderweb of fissures racing out from beneath his boots. A black, swirling void began to form at his feet, consuming the ornate marble and sending a wave of panicked whispers through the hall.
He opened his eyes, trying to comprehend the agony, and saw his { Status Screen }. But it wasn't a clean, organized display. It was a chaotic, glitching mess of incomprehensible data. Two lines of text, however, burned with a terrifying, absolute clarity. The sheer force of the knowledge overwhelmed his mind, and his vision swam. He was on the verge of collapsing, his body and mind screaming under the immense, conflicting pressures of his nascent abilities.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
{ SYSTEM }
• Name: Marcus Axiom
• Race: Human
• Age: 17
• Level: 1
• Progress: 0%
Attributes:
Strength: 12
Agility: 15
Defense: 10
Speed: 14
Perception: 18
Existence Abilities:
• Singularity (Passive):
Description: "The essence of ultimate growth. Every day, your overall base attributes increase by 10%."
• Infinite Compression (Active):
Description: "The essence of void. You can compress any energy, matter, or concept into a point of nothingness. The power is limitless."
{ SYSTEM }
-------------------------------------------------------------------
As he stared at the screen, a small, black ripple of pure nothingness emanated from his body, causing a section of the grand podium to simply cease to exist. His muscles began to swell and harden, but the simultaneous processes of infinite expansion and compression were too much for his young body. A blinding white pain shot through his skull. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the cracking podium, his body giving out under the immense strain.
The whispers in the balconies turned into shouts of alarm. The proud clan leaders, moments ago a picture of boredom, now sat bolt upright, their expressions a mix of primal fear and insatiable greed. To them, he wasn't a person. He was a weapon, an anomaly that threatened the very fabric of their power.
"He's a threat! Contain him!" a voice roared from a high balcony.
"Study him! Capture him!" another shouted.
His mother, her face pale with terror, pushed through the panicked crowd. His father, his face hard with resolve, unsheathed a short-sword, a simple weapon he hadn't used in decades.
"Now, Elara!" he commanded, using the chaos as a cover. His mother, a minor healing ability user, quickly wrapped her arms around Marcus. With a burst of her own energy, she pushed a minor healing aura into him, an act of desperate love that barely stabilized his consciousness.
"He's burning up!" she cried.
His father shoved his way to the podium. With a combined effort, they managed to pull his limp body off the stage, his father covering their retreat with a fierce glare at anyone who dared approach. The crowd was a storm of fear and greed, but their fear of the unknown anomaly on the podium gave them just enough time to slip away unnoticed.
They ran through the maze of hallways, his parents carrying their unconscious son. They didn't stop until they were back at their small, humble home, the air of danger still heavy on their heels. His father bolted the door, his hand still on the hilt of his sword. His mother laid Marcus on his bed, tears streaming down her face as she continued to apply her healing aura.
Outside, the silence was more terrifying than the noise. The city's powerful families, the ones who had ruled for generations, now knew his name. And they would not rest until they had him.