PALE
[ SYSTEM // PROTOCOL: INITIATE UNIVERSE ONE ]
A low vibration rushed through the floor of the building. Posters on the wall wrinkled into themselves, its ink bleeding off the page as if running from it. The stone walls of the gym twisted and stretched like wet clay molding into a sky of darkness.
Pale glanced at his hands. The tape he had just wrapped was gone, even his knuckles were clean. The split on his knuckle that was bruised and out of place this morning was gone. Before he had anytime to process it. Something invaded his mind; it wasn't from himself but something else completely. It was a consciousness of unimaginable scale, a voice that was both ancient and newborn.
[ PROVING GROUNDS ]
Looking up, Socks had seemed to vanish, everything that he called home had been stolen.
He clamped his hands over his ears to block the voice or sound, whatever you could even call it. It wasn't even a thought. He didn't even dare to breathe, but it was meaningless; this thing was absolute.
[ ONE THOUSAND PARTICIPANTS ]
Pale staggered, the words shook his whole body to the very core; it felt like language. But something about it felt incomplete. Ogham, he would've called it if he'd paid attention to the old notched writing on stones along the road out of town. He looked for anything to anchor him but the gym he was in had been reclaimed to the atom.
There was a beat of silence in the chaos before another thought pounded.
[ SURVIVAL IS YOUR ONLY OBJECTIVE ]
Pale lay flat on a sea of sand; the air reeked of ash, and surrounding him were glistening marble walls, stretching to the horizon. Above, it was the void. It looked like a coliseum; the thing had penned them in like animals. There were only small rock spurs and pillars in the coliseum. With a quick glance, there were people, hundreds of them. Some were only kids, some in the rugged clothes of the slums like himself. The System spared nobody.
Terror slowly crept up Pale's face as reality engulfed him. He tried to form a word, any word, even a sound, to express himself in the moment as-
[ ROUND ONE // BEGIN ]
A man who looked like a royal backed away with his palms up, whispering, "No." The marble under him pulsed, and grey climbed his ankles like frost. Pale felt a sick twist in his gut like a tearing cramp. The way old men in Carrick Cahir joked about Macha's curse, a pain no man should bear. The royal man didn't move in time and crumbled to ash.
[ PASSIVITY PENALTY // ELIMINATION ]
Suddenly, a collection of weapons were scattered on the ground: knives, sharp shards of stone, even bows and arrows.
[ NOTICE // ESSENCE AWARDED FOR ELIMINATIONS ]
There was a count of ten that held the crowd, everybody waiting for someone else to make the first move.
In the distance, an ear-piercing plea grabbed Pale's attention as he looked over to see another participant stab a young girl with a spear. A collective gasp resonated through the crowd as the girl twitched, her fragile frame turning to light and streaming into the man. In that instant, Pale felt a sickening jolt within him. This was more than survival; it was a betrayal of what it meant to be human.
It was as if humanity crumbled in that one moment as hell erupted.
[ NINE-HUNDRED AND NINTY-NINE ]
Pale's body was running on primal instincts. He saw a young boy frozen with fear by himself. He gritted his teeth and ran to the boy, hoping to shield him from the chaos. He didn't know why he went to protect the boy; he was a selfish person, but he knew it was what Socks would have done.
He felt the sand under his feet as he tried to run quickly enough, but the boy was frozen in place. Shock had taken over his body, and he was a sitting target. Just before he made it to the boy, an arrow pierced his neck, dropping him onto the ground like a sandbag. Anger flared as he was looking for the culprit. Just who would murder an innocent boy without a second's thought? He didn't know if the anger came from not being fast enough or from the fact that people were so willing to murder. He was just a boy.
He locked eyes with a middle-aged man who had just gripped a jagged rock from the ground. A moment passed... then two. The man sprinted at him, flailing the rock with all the grace of an elephant.
"Wait!" Pale shouted to the crazed man, but there was no response from him.
Before the man was on Pale, his body acted on its own, muscle memory from years in the ring. He closed the distance with a few swift steps and pivoted his lead leg, putting every ounce of muscle fiber into one precise, brutal overhand. In that split second, a flicker of memory lit up his thoughts; it was a match from years ago when his brashness had saved him. His instinct chose offense over retreating, a choice that had always given him an edge. His fist connected with the temple.
The man's eyes instantly lost their gleam. It was silent. He slumped back, crashing down on a rock with the back of his head. There wasn't any round two. He was gone.
Everything seemed to freeze; the smell of blood crept through his nose and soaked the air. The System is confirming it.
[ ELIMINATION CONFIRMED ]
[ ABSORBING ESSENCE ]
Pale lurked over the body as his chest rapidly moved up and down; his whole body flowed with a new, alien power. It felt as though he could feel his blood rushing through his veins, a sensation much more refined and quicker than before. The heartbeat in his ears was a relentless drum, each pulse a surge that mirrored the earlier hum, marking the transformation within him.
The lifeless corpse that stared right through him began to glow; it dissolved into atoms like the gym he had initially been in, returning to the void or that thing.
Pale swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat clung on.
Did this thing just reward murder? he thought to himself.
A tapestry of lights weaved together forming a screen of sorts in front of him, floating just inches from his eyes, he stumbled backwards at the sight, but it just followed him.
[ Scanning ]CLASS AWARDED → FIGHTER COMMON
F-GRADE HUMAN CONFIRMED
UPGRADED → SANGUINE PUGILIST RARE
[ VISION... GRANTED ]
Suddenly, his mind was being tampered with as a vivid vision unraveled before him.
He was back in the ring, his body bruised and battered. He took a jab that nearly knocked him out for good. But then, his body moved of its own accord. Pain flared through his veins, burning like fire. He wanted to scream, but had no voice. A squelch. His blood gathered in his fist and exploded when it landed on his opponent's face. And he felt it, the raw source guiding his blood to his hand, flowing in his body.
The last thing he heard was Socks' voice.
"PALE! DON'T FIGHT THE PAIN. I SAID DON'T FIGHT IT, PALE!"
The vision shattered.
Pale was back in his body, shakily standing on cold sand. His chest burned. Socks' voice rang in his skull, louder than the crowd, louder than the System.
He clenched his jaws. He knew that if he stopped here, all of Socks' past sacrifices would be for nothing. Socks had always dreamed of seeing Mouse grow up safely, perhaps even being there to celebrate his thirteenth birthday. This became a concrete goal for Pale: to get back home in time for that day. It fueled him with a new sense of urgency.
He just had to hope that Mouse and the others were safe and doing well. He knew Socks could handle himself; he always has. But those kids...
In those brief seconds, the low vibration returned, echoing through his bones; it was a whisper of the primordial hum that had begun all of this. Darkness stretched around him, a reminder of the beginning, as if the universe itself waited for him to survive, to endure. .