It was ten years ago.
Hyun-Jae was small back then, barely tall enough to see over the table where dice scattered across worn maps and scribbled notes. He didn't really understand the rules, didn't know what half the numbers meant—but that never mattered.
What mattered was his uncle.
"Okay, okay so the dragon definitely notices you," Chul said dramatically, eyes wide as he leaned forward. "And it's very unhappy."
Young Hyun-Jae laughed, clutching his character sheet even though he had no idea what it said. He liked the way his uncle's voice changed, the way he acted out every scene like it was real. Chul always got too into it, standing up, gesturing wildly, arguing with himself when he played different characters.
It was fun.
That day had been special.
A new dungeons and dragons game had just dropped, one Chul had been talking about nonstop for weeks. Dice, books, miniatures… Hyun-Jae didn't understand why it mattered so much, but he liked seeing his uncle excited.
"Come on," Chul said, ruffling his hair as they stepped outside. "We're getting it today. No excuses."
It was a normal day.
The sky was clear. The streets were busy. People laughed, complained, walked past each other without a care in the world. Nothing felt wrong. Nothing was wrong.
Until the light came.
A blinding beam tore through the sky without warning, brilliant, silent, absolute. It struck the city with impossible precision, carving through buildings like paper. Concrete exploded outward. Glass rained from the heavens. The ground shook violently beneath their feet.
Screams followed.
More beams descended, one after another, striking across Incheon.
And not just Incheon.
Later, the news would show the same thing happening everywhere. Seoul. Tokyo. New York. London. Cities across the world, all hit at once, as if something had mapped humanity down to the last detail.
Chul reacted instantly.
"Hyun-Jae!" He grabbed the boy's hand, pulling him close. "Don't let go."
They ran.
Sirens wailed. People flooded the streets in panic, colliding, falling, crying out names that were swallowed by chaos. Another beam struck nearby, the shockwave knocking them both off their feet.
Chul shielded Hyun-Jae with his body.
"Stay close," he said, voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. "I've got you."
He dragged Hyun-Jae into a nearby building, an office complex already half-damaged, forcing open a door and pushing them inside just as another explosion rocked the street outside.
They hid there.
Hours passed.
They crouched behind overturned desks and fallen walls while the world outside burned. The building trembled repeatedly as distant impacts shook the city. Somewhere far above, aircraft roared. Gunfire echoed. The militaries of the world had mobilized, throwing everything they had at an enemy they didn't understand.
It didn't help.
Through cracked windows and broken walls, Hyun-Jae saw them for the first time, two figures standing calmly amid the destruction, untouched by fire or force.
When they finally spoke, their voices carried across every screen, every frequency, every language at once.
They called themselves the Celestials.
And that was the day Hyun-Jae's world began to end.
The building shuddered violently.
Dust rained from the ceiling as a deep, metallic groan echoed through the structure, long, strained, and unmistakable.
Chul's expression changed instantly.
"…We're leaving," he said.
He grabbed Hyun-Jae's hand and pulled him up just as another shockwave ripped through the lower floors. Concrete cracked. A support beam snapped with a deafening bang. They didn't look back.
They ran.
Out into the street, into fire and smoke and screaming metal. The air was thick with ash, every breath burning his lungs. Just ahead, their car. Miraculously intact. The driver's side door was still closed. For a brief, fragile moment, hope flickered.
They were going to make it.
Chul shoved Hyun-Jae toward the passenger side. "Get in, now!"
Hyun-Jae reached for the door,
A beam of light cut through the air.
It wasn't meant for them. It tore past, aimed at a distant military vehicle roaring down the street. The impact was instantaneous.
And Chul was in the way.
The beam passed through him cleanly.
There was no explosion. No sound.
Just a hole, perfect, empty, through the center of his body.
Chul staggered once.
"Uncle-?"
Hyun-Jae caught him as he fell, hands slipping against fabric already going cold. His uncle's eyes widened briefly, then softened. Somehow, impossibly, he smiled.
"Hyun-Jae," Chul said quietly.
Blood never came. There was nothing to stop. Nothing to fix.
"…Run," Chul whispered. "I'll be… okay."
They both knew it was a lie.
Hyun-Jae shook his head violently. "N-No- don't-"
Chul's hand slipped from his shoulder.
And he was gone.
Something inside Hyun-Jae broke.
Slowly, trembling, he turned his head toward the source of the beam.
It stood across the street.
The Celestial.
Up close, it looked human enough to fool the eye, tall, slender, dressed in form-fitting armor that reflected the burning city like polished glass. Its face was symmetrical, almost beautiful. But its skin was too smooth. Too perfect.
And its eyes,
They glittered.
Not with anger. Not with hatred.
With amusement.
It noticed Hyun-Jae looking at it and tilted its head slightly, lips curving upward as if it had just witnessed something entertaining.
Hyun-Jae's fingers closed around a rock at his feet.
Sharp. Heavy enough.
He screamed.
The sound tore itself from his throat as he ran, tears streaming down his face, every emotion colliding, rage, fear, grief, denial. He raised the rock with everything he had and hurled himself forward.
The Celestial sighed.
It stepped forward once and caught Hyun-Jae by the neck.
The force lifted him off the ground effortlessly. The rock slipped from his fingers and shattered against the pavement below.
Hyun-Jae clawed at its hand, gasping, choking, his feet kicking uselessly in the air.
The Celestial leaned closer, yawning, yawning, as if bored.
Its grip tightened just enough to hurt.
Just enough to savor it.
Its eyes searched Hyun-Jae's face, drinking in every flicker of emotion, terror, hatred, despair, its smile widening faintly as if pleased by the mixture.
So many feelings in such a small human.
Hyun-Jae's vision blurred. The world dimmed at the edges.
And the Celestial watched him fade,
Amused.
The grip vanished.
Hyun-Jae collapsed onto the pavement, coughing violently as air tore back into his lungs. His throat burned, every breath sharp and painful. He rolled onto his side, retching, hands clutching at the ground as his vision swam.
Above him, the Celestial laughed.
It was loud this time, open, delighted. As if what had just happened were a joke it couldn't keep to itself.
"Not yet," it said casually, its voice smooth and echoing, layered in a way that didn't sound entirely human. "You're not worth killing."
Hyun-Jae looked up, eyes wide and unfocused.
The Celestial tilted its head, eyes glinting. "Time will take care of that for me."
It turned away, already bored.
"Enough," another voice said.
The second Celestial stepped forward.
Where the first radiated cruel amusement, this one felt different, its posture straight, its presence heavy and oppressive. Its armor was more ornate, etched with faint, shifting patterns that hurt to look at for too long. Its expression was calm, dignified, almost solemn.
"Come," it said to the other. "It's time."
The first Celestial smirked once more, glancing back at Hyun-Jae as if committing his face to memory, then walked away.
Hyun-Jae could only watch.
They rose into the air effortlessly, light bending around them as the chaos of the city seemed to quiet, not because the destruction had stopped, but because something greater was about to speak.
Every screen flickered to life.
Phones. Billboards. Emergency broadcasts. Even broken displays sparked weakly back on.
The serious Celestial faced the sky.
"People of Earth," it said.
Its voice carried everywhere, across languages, borders, continents. No translation was needed. Every human understood.
"There exist fourteen realms."
Images appeared in the air behind it, vast, layered worlds overlapping one another, each impossibly large.
"Each realm contains multiple universes," it continued. "Your world, Earth, resides within the Seventh Realm."
Hyun-Jae's breath caught.
"The fourteen realms are overseen by fourteen Celestials," the being said calmly. "Including us."
The other Celestial stood beside it now, hands clasped behind its back, expression relaxed, almost pleased.
"At present," the speaker went on, "the balance of life across the realms has become unstable."
It paused.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
"To preserve existence itself…""…we must reset the system."
Hyun-Jae felt cold.
"We will eliminate the realms."
Screams erupted around the world, though none reached the Celestials.
"All life within them will perish," the dignified Celestial said, voice unwavering. "If this is not done, total collapse will occur, across all realms."
Beside it, the other Celestial smiled faintly to itself.
As if it knew something no one else did.
"However," the speaker continued, "one realm may remain."
The images shifted. The fourteen realms flickered, then one burned brighter than the rest.
"The strongest."
"The others," the Celestial concluded, "will be destroyed."
Hyun-Jae stared at the figures in the sky, his uncle's lifeless body cooling somewhere behind him, his hands shaking as the weight of those words crushed down on him.
That day, the world learned the truth.
And Hyun-Jae learned what it meant to be powerless.
The dignified Celestial raised a single hand.
The burning images behind it shifted once more, collapsing into a single symbol, complex, vast, and utterly alien.
"To determine which realm survives," it said, "a tournament will be held."
The word echoed across the world.
"A series of trials," the Celestial continued calmly. "Their nature will not be disclosed. Survival, adaptation, and strength will decide the victor."
Murmurs erupted everywhere.
"We will return in ten years," it said, voice absolute. "By your planet's measure of time. At that moment, participants will be collected."
Hyun-Jae's fists clenched.
"This is not a request," the Celestial added. "It is an order."
The weight of those words settled heavily over the ruined city.
Then the other Celestial stepped forward.
The one with the smile.
"Well then," it said lightly, stretching as if bored. "I suppose now would be the time for questions."
Its eyes gleamed with anticipation.
Almost instantly, people began moving toward them.
Civilians stumbled out from hiding, desperation written across their faces. Soldiers advanced cautiously, weapons raised but trembling. Government officials were rushed forward, shouting into radios, trying to regain control of a world already slipping through their fingers.
"What do you mean by trials?!"
"How many people will you take?!"
"Can we refuse?!"
"Why us?!"
The questions came all at once—shouted, screamed, begged. The air filled with overlapping voices, panic spiraling out of control.
The dignified Celestial's expression hardened.
The temperature dropped.
An invisible pressure slammed down.
People froze mid-sentence.
Then they began to choke.
Men and women collapsed to their knees, clutching their throats as if unseen hands were squeezing the life from them. Soldiers dropped their weapons. Officials gasped helplessly, eyes wide with terror. Even the boldest voices were silenced, replaced by the sound of bodies hitting the ground.
Hyun-Jae watched in horror as people around him fell, unable to breathe.
The Celestial looked down at them coldly.
"One at a time," it said.
The pressure lifted just enough for gasping breaths to return.
Silence followed, absolute, terrified silence.
The sly Celestial chuckled softly beside it, clearly entertained.
Hyun-Jae stood frozen in the ruins of his city, his uncle dead behind him, his future stolen in front of his eyes.
For a moment, no one dared to speak.
Then a voice, shaking, but resolute, rose from the crowd.
"Will… will the competitors be as strong as you?"
The question hung in the air like a final gamble.
The sly Celestial laughed softly, amused that someone would even ask. The dignified one answered instead, its gaze steady.
"That depends," it said. "This form you see before you is merely an imitation."
A ripple of unease spread through the people gathered there.
"A construct," the Celestial continued. "A clone designed to carry out announcements and oversee preliminary matters across the realms. Nothing more."
Hyun-Jae's stomach sank.
"There will be opponents in the tournament capable of matching this body," it went on. "Perhaps exceeding it."
The sly Celestial's smile widened.
"But," the dignified one added calmly, "you need not concern yourselves with facing a true Celestial."
It paused, as if choosing its words carefully.
"To do so would mean your end is already decided."
The meaning landed heavily.
Even these copies, these imitations, had shattered cities, ignored weapons, crushed entire militaries without effort. If this was not their true strength, then the gap between humanity and what lay ahead was beyond comprehension.
The mood soured instantly.
Fear turned heavier, thicker.
Another voice cried out, edged with desperation. "Then how are we supposed to survive?! How can anyone compete against that?!"
The dignified Celestial looked down at the speaker.
"When the time comes," it said, "necessary boosts will be provided to all competitors."
Images flickered briefly, symbols of energy, bodies reforged, power flowing where none had existed before.
"We will even the playing field as much as possible," it continued. "Survival is a requirement. Absolute imbalance would serve no purpose."
A murmur ran through the crowd.
"You are also not alone," the Celestial added. "Earth is not the only world within the Seventh Realm."
Hyun-Jae's eyes widened slightly.
"You will have allies," it said. "Many of them stronger than your kind. Species born into harsher worlds. Civilizations forged through constant conflict."
The sly Celestial glanced toward the humans, eyes glittering."So do try not to embarrass yourselves."
The dignified one ignored the comment.
"Train," it said simply. "Push yourselves to the limits of your current capabilities. That is all you can do for now."
Another question came quickly, fear barely held back by urgency.
"How many people are allowed to participate?"
The two Celestials exchanged a brief glance.
They considered.
"For most species," the dignified one said, "there is a limit based on population, maturity, and innate capability."
Its gaze returned to the humans.
"Your species," it said, "has no such restriction."
The words sent a chill through the crowd.
"However," it added, "given your current capabilities, I would not recommend sending your entire population."
The implication was clear.
They could all be thrown into the trials.
But doing so would likely be nothing more than a mass execution.
Hyun-Jae stood silently among the ruins, the weight of the future pressing down on him from every direction.
A tournament for the fate of existence.Ten years to prepare.Enemies beyond imagination.
And somewhere deep within him, beneath the grief and helplessness,
A quiet, burning resolve began to take shape.