They was no sound. no time. no direction.
Only a fracture.in the silence between collapsing sound, something stirred am energy that should not exist.It was not forged by gods written into destiny It was raw, undefined lawlessness, a pulse that slipped through the cracks of reality.
The fracture widened. Universes shuddered. Realities flickered like dying lamps.and from that wound it was born nameless. formless purpose without shape a storm of concept drifting through the void, searching for an anchor. Planets withered as it brushed them, suns extinguished like candles.minds tore apart when they felt its whisper. Nothing could contain it. Nothing could give it shape.
Until—
A spark. A mortal.
A fragile existence, sitting alone on a small blue world, drowning in thought. He was nothing to the cosmos. Yet when the anomaly's presence touched him… it recoiled.
Because he was not empty.
His mind was a labyrinth without end, a core so heaven-defying that the anomaly itself bent. He did not dissolve beneath it. He did not shatter like the others.
He forced it into structure.
The anomaly—limitless, incomprehensible—compressed into the simplest cage a mortal understanding could wield: a System. A framework of quests, skills, and rewards. A language of power he could comprehend, while still carrying the vastness of what it truly was.
And so, it descended.
Not as prophecy. Not as divine blessing.
But as an accident the universe would regret.
And in his mind, the first message appeared:
[System Initialization Complete.].
Fuck me sideways A boy with dark hair and darker eyes sat on a wooden chair, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Would anyone call him handsome? Maybe. But what did it matter? Handsome didn't put food on the table. He slurped at his noodles, staring at the cracked wall in silence. Another normal day. No friends. No talent. No girlfriend. (Not that he wanted one anyway — it's not like anyone could solve his problems for him.)
The only reason he even had a roof over his head was thanks to a charity program. He'd been lucky — or unlucky — enough to have his name drawn. Otherwise, he would've been on the street. His job? A shift at one of the poorest restaurants in the district, owned by a struggling woman who couldn't afford even the cheapest magical appliance. That was the only reason he'd been hired. He shuddered to think where he'd be if her situation had been any better.
His wages barely covered two meals a day, sometimes three if fortune smiled on him. His home was nearly empty: a single chair, a few sets of clothes, and nothing else. A bathroom and toilet were his only luxuries — a leftover benefit from the charity. Every time he applied for any kind of aid, relic, or magical tool, he was rejected. A guy like him? Pathetic.
But he wasn't ready to die like this. Not yet. Not never.
Zayriel wanted to fight his way to the top of power — even if he didn't know where the top was, or if an absolute even existed. It didn't matter. He refused to rot away in obscurity.
So he made a decision. One that most people would call suicide.
He would apply for Oblivion Crucible Academy.
There wasn't much information about the academy online — at least, not on the parts of the net he could access. But one thing was clear: its reputation for ruthlessness and lack of compassion was unmatched. Why hadn't the authorities shut it down? He didn't know. The place was so infamous that even powerful families refused to send their prodigies there.
Then why go?
Because it was the only academy that didn't charge an entrance fee. All the others demanded sums of money Zayriel couldn't even imagine earning in a lifetime.
And there was another truth whispered about Oblivion Crucible Academy:
Those who survived it came out as monsters.
Most disappeared.
A few became legends.
This was his only chance.
He would go.
No matter what the rumors said.
Zayriel pushed himself to his feet, his pulse hammering in his ears. He muttered under his breath, "F*ck… there's no way to survive there. I'm going to die there."
Then he smirked faintly.
"Well… it is what it is."as he was about to move DING.
"Well… it is what it is," Zayriel muttered, pushing himself off the chair.
DING.
[SYSTEM ASSIMILATION: ANALYSING…]
[ASSIMILATING: 10%]
Zayriel froze. What the hell is happening—
Before he could finish, a pain unlike anything tore through him. It wasn't flesh or bone being hurt—it was his soul, his essence, his very existence being pulled apart and remade. He screamed, "AHHHHH!"
[ASSIMILATING: 20%]
Time shattered. Moments stretched like eternity. His vision fragmented, bleeding colors that shouldn't exist. Every thought, every memory, every feeling twisted and screamed inside him. He collapsed, trembling violently on the floor.
[ASSIMILATING: 50%]
His body split. The shell of his old form — dark hair, mortal frame — peeled away like discarded clothes, leaving behind something new. Something alien. Something beyond human comprehension.
The old shell dissolved into nothing. His second body lay motionless, unconscious, yet radiating potential that could warp worlds.
[ASSIMILATION COMPLETE.]
Silence. The air itself seemed to hold its breath. Then…
[WELCOME TO THE OMNISENTIENCE SYSTEM.]
The voice was everywhere and nowhere, cold, omnipotent, omniscient, reaching into the corners of his mind, threading through his thoughts like liquid fire.
Zayriel's eyes snapped open. Reality felt thinner. The universe no longer seemed infinite; it felt manageable, malleable, like clay in his hands. The system pulsed inside him, alive, waiting, watching…
He realized, in a single horrifying, exhilarating moment:
There was no turning back.He felt powerful He saw a glimpse of what was possible.
If it was real, if he could master it,
the Omniverse itself would have no choice but to bow.