"Fuck! Why is my life so boring?"
A frail young man sat at the front of a store, so slight he seemed as though the wind itself might carry him away. His hands covered his eyes, and beside him crouched a black cat, gnawing at the food he had given it, a cheap cup of noodles, the kind found everywhere in the city. Disgusting in taste though it was, no one could deny it remained the most popular brand around.
Over eighty-four percent of people leaving the store carried the same thing, often four or five at once, for hardly anyone could earn a decent living any longer. Most professions had been deemed unworthy, their wages pitiful. Even a film industry celebrity could be glimpsed beneath cap and mask, darting inside to snatch up the same fare.
...Like the one who had just dashed past. Dolion's eyes followed the celebrity for a moment before he dismissed the sight and sank back into his own miseries. Truth be told, he was at the lowest point of his life.
Everything had surged in price, and so too had the difficulty of his existence. He bitterly regretted leaving the hostel, recalling the time he had even beaten his friends in a fit of rage when they mocked him for failing to pay his electricity bill, calling him Budget Batman.
Oh, that reminded him. He still had to compensate them, since they had all been left in critical condition; about four were particularly badly hurt.
Dolion gave the cat a light pat on the head before rising. He felt a pull towards death, and besides, there would be numerous opportunities later.
"I will be back, Stray."
Today the news reported over 9,000 people dying and ascending to the White Garden. About a century earlier, four pillars had appeared at the world's compass points: North, West, South and East. With them came countless monsters that threatened to overturn civilisation; indeed, they succeeded.
Those who escaped that death often perished again and returned transformed, resembling demigods. They drove back the monsters, known as Ravages, and those defenders of the world came to be called Gardeners.
Of course, they explained the current state of the world, giving humanity hope for a new strength with which to reclaim it, and so the Gardeners became the new celebrities. Yet, true to their nature, humans began to crave that power, forgetting that it was only granted to the chosen. For a time, the first thing that spiked was the suicide rate, as countless believed death would turn them into Gardeners.
But most did not return as saviours. Instead, they came back as Ravages. The theory placed was that every soul was forced through two Trials over a fixed span of time. Success meant rebirth as a Gardener. Failure meant a twisted return as a monster.
When people realised this, the suicide rate plummeted. The world began to rebuild, the monsters were pushed back and purged, and yet the death toll surged for a different reason. More and more were summoned to the White Garden, fuelling the belief that the gods had chosen to play games with human souls, and that Death itself had become the Fisher of players.
Powerful households soon rose, offering wealth and protection to any Gardener who pledged allegiance. By then, nearly everyone had abandoned faith in ordinary professions, as the riches promised were life-changing. For example, the most dominant household in the world stood in Europe: the House of Bethnal, boasting over eighteen hundred Gardeners, and serving as home to two of the ten nationally ranked Gardeners across the globe.
However, the catch was brutal. Out of every million souls that ascended into the Garden each day across the globe, only about twenty percent returned as Gardeners, while the rest came back as monsters.
More recently, however, reports began to surface of something far stranger: Anomalies. These were not souls, but living humans who somehow entered the White Garden in their flesh. Such cases were quickly seized, studied, and feared, for many suspected they might herald disaster rather than salvation.
And on this particular day, it seemed it was not one specific person's lucky turn...
***
Dolion was at the front of a hospital with his eyes lifted towards the bright sky, illuminated by the morning sun. In his hands was a medical report, which declared he suffered from post-traumatic disorder, rendering him delusional with unsettling dreams and restless nights.
He scowled.
"Honestly, I cannot seem to catch a reprieve."
All of a sudden, screams reverberated from the street and crowds of people scattered in different directions. At the centre of the commotion stood a Ravage. It resembled an overgrown tiger clad in thick black scales, nine tendrils unfurling from its back, and its visage studded with multiple crimson eyes.
This was identified as a Cinder-class Ravage, a Madorana. This was, ostensibly, the weakest class against a Gardener.
No.
Fifty-five percent of foolish Gardeners who confronted it invariably ended up drowning in their own blood, not to mention his fate as a mere human.
'You have got to be jesting!'
His eyes widened in fear as he stumbled several steps back. Even if his daily wish was for his life to be taken, it was never in this manner that he had imagined it. Cancer would have been preferable.
And as ill fortune would have it, before he could even attempt to flee, the monster's eyes fixed upon him.
With a single bound, it was towering above him.
But, at that very moment, a Gardener materialised without warning, severed its head in one swift stroke, then seized the carcass by one of its tendrils and hurled it against the wall of a building opposite the hospital.
The ashen blood that sprayed from its head stained Dolion's frame. Instead of gratitude burning within his eyes, a painful fire, laced with anger, seared through him.
The Gardener offered him a genial smile.
"Are you all right, sir?"
'Uh? I am sorry, perhaps I am blind, but do I look all right to you!??'
His gaze locked with that of the Gardener, and upon recognising the face, his own expression deepened into a scowl. It was the famed G2 Gardener, Michael, who had risen to prominence as one of the first teenage Gardeners in the world. He had swiftly advanced from rank G1 to G2 within only a few years and hailed from the House of Yonders, the foremost household in the United States.
Just beholding his face was enough to make him — or perhaps it ought to have been the other way round, for Michael appeared far more handsome than he did, with his rather generic and average looks. Of course, being a Gardener, Michael bore divinely refined skin, features of almost godlike symmetry, and a physique that endowed him with all the agility and strength he required.
For instance, look at how effortlessly he cut down a Ravage. On one hand, Dolion was grateful to have been saved, but on the other, he could not help lamenting for his clothes. He had only just bought them, and they had been excruciatingly expensive.
Before he could muster a counterfeit word of appreciation towards the celebrity, who clearly seemed expectant of that familiar refrain, "Thank you for saving my worthless life", which both his female and male admirers so readily proclaimed, Michael was instantly engulfed by a throng of voluptuous women pressing themselves against him, forcing Dolion to be shoved aside.
"Ladies, please, calm down. You will all get a signature on your… wait, what? You want it on your breasts, no sorry, I mean chest!?" Michael exclaimed in visible alarm as the crowd of women clamoured for his attention, shrieking and demanding that he scrawl his name across their bosoms.
In haste, he fled to escape them, while the women gave chase like mindless creatures.
"Tsk. Why do I detest that man so much?" Dolion muttered as he retrieved his medical report from the ground and began making his way home.
At the very least, he was not entirely destitute, having withdrawn the remainder of his savings to purchase a fresh set of clothes and rent a room.
He could only afford this month's rent, meaning eviction from his new dwelling was already looming.
Upon arriving, he stripped off the bloodstained garments, took a shower with a grimace fixed upon his face the entire time, and finally collapsed naked upon his bed.
After a long day spent chasing part-time work, ending with a hospital visit and nearly being devoured by a Ravage, Dolion scarcely managed a sigh before sleep claimed him.
The mattress gave way in an instant, and he plunged straight through it. He struck solid ground and opened his eyes with a grimace to find himself in a valley carpeted with white lilies, the flowers stretching endlessly in every direction.
Dolion groaned and sat upright, rubbing his elbow.
"Ow… brilliant. First I nearly end up as Ravage food, and now I am in, what, some flowery postcard?" His voice cracked slightly, caught somewhere between nerves and irritation.
He plucked a petal from his chest, blinking at it in disbelief.
He rose unsteadily, turning in a slow circle, only to look down and realise he was completely naked.
Dolion slapped himself at once, thinking it had to be a dream. This was the precise description of the White Garden, the same place every soul was said to arrive in after death. But he was not dead. Or had he left the gas on? No, he had not even paid the gas bill because he was not using it.
Why had he arrived here naked?
...And why was he not waking up if it truly was a dream?
"Okay, Dolion. Talk to yourself. This is not strange at all. It seems…"
The lilies swayed without wind, which only heightened his unease, though he attempted a nervous laugh.
"Heh… this place is… pleasant."
His words fell flat against the oppressive silence.
Then the colour drained from the valley.
In a single blink, the light vanished, leaving everything cloaked in a heavy shadow. Shapes bled into the darkness, twisting into dozens of figures. Their outlines were rough, smoke-like. At the forefront of the mass stood one figure, bearing his own face and grinning with a manic intensity.
He recoiled, gasping.
Dolion's throat constricted.
"What on earth…? That is… me?" His voice faltered, rising in panic.
The creatures broke into a sprint, the silent rush of shadows bearing down on him. His stomach dropped as the truth struck him with sudden, sharp clarity.
"This is the White Garden… I am in the White Garden? On my First Trial? How is this possible?"
At that instant, a white screen appeared before him.
[You have been accepted into the White Garden as an anomaly]
[First Trial Has Commenced]
[Defeat your reflection, racing against time]
[You have a maximum of three months to complete your trial]
"Fuck me sideways!"