A young man with fair skin sat on the bare ground, resting his back against a light pole. Across from him was the barrack, which had cavalrymen mounted on horses and on guard. In his hands were a single cigarette and a small bottle of real alcohol. This wasn't the kind that was made with drugs but real alcohol enjoyed by upper-class citizens. The bottle and the cigar cost a small fortune to him, but Harley didn't mind; money would have no use after this day, because he'd be dead.
Popping the bottle open, the smell immediately made Harley pull his head back, revealing his full face.
He had a bruised forehead and a cut on his cheek. But that wasn't the most striking feature on him; his eyes were purple, which was weird for an unawakened. His face had faded makeup and a black painted smile that was almost gone.
"100 silver coins can't go to waste." He shook his head, taking a huge chug out of the bottle.
He immediately regretted his actions as he spat the whole thing out next to him.
'People enjoy this?' He dropped the bottle gently on the ground, standing up.
He placed a cigarette in his mouth and lit it before walking towards the cavalrymen standing at the post. Ahead of them was a large, five-metre-tall gate that he had never seen open in person.
Approaching the officers stationed on guard, they both pointed their rifles at him, making him raise his hands.
"State your business," one of them demanded, making Harley puff out smoke from the side of his mouth.
He smirked, showing them the back of his right palm. Immediately the officers' expressions fell into one of terror.
They immediately got down from their horses, and one of them approached Harley slowly.
"How long have you had the mark?" one of them asked.
Harley spat out the cigarette, answering with a shrug.
"About six days, I think."
Hearing his response, one of the officers got close to him, swinging the rifle at his face.
Shocked, Harley barely managed to get out of the way, but then he felt a sharp pain behind his head and the world spun before going dark.
…
Two hundred years ago when the Harvest began in this world. Without warning, doors appeared in the world. They pulled people through and slammed shut, leaving no trace or warning apart from their arrival. For decades the world lived in terror of not knowing what they were dealing with. Then the doors started opening again, spitting people back out. Not the same people—awakened. Humans carrying powers tied to what people could call myth. But the doors didn't only release humans; most didn't. Instead, they released corrupted and horrible creatures into the world. And only the awakened stood as the line of defence.
No one knows why the doors choose who they choose, or why they still appear even now. The Harvest has never stopped.
Harley opened his eyes to see himself in a large, empty hall. He stood up, looking around to see many doors everywhere. There were small-looking doors that were half his height, and there were doors that looked like something straight out of his imagination.
In the middle of the hall, there was an extremely large door that was even taller than the gate of the barrack where the cavalrymen were stationed.
This one was reddish in colour, and there were equally large chains wrapping around the door. In fact, the majority of the doors here were chained.
'Now I'm wondering how I went from juggling balls to being involved with magic.' He shook his head.
"Don't stare at it too much."
"What the—!"
Harley fell on his butt when he heard a voice beside him. He looked up to see a tall, slender woman facing him.
A hood covered her head and she wore a mask, concealing her facial features entirely. Her mask was stark—featureless black with one rough horizontal slash across it, like a single brutal cut for eyes.
Beneath the parted cape, her tight black combat uniform clung to every curve: full chest that heaved up and down ever so slowly, narrow waist, rounded hips and long legs outlined perfectly. The fit was… distracting.
"My eyes are up here." The woman spoke again, making Harley snap out of his daze and get up.
The woman was just a little bit shorter than Harley, standing at 6 foot. She turned and looked at the large door, and then her voice came from the mask again.
"The challengers who stay within their trials more than a week have their doors chained in case they fail the trial and cause a door break." She spoke, walking towards an empty area.
Doors were unique to each awakened; each one came in different shapes and forms, and now Harley could see them for himself.
"How long have you had the mark?"
Harley blinked, looking behind his right palm to see a straight slit that was creeping up his arm like a long tattoo.
"Six days," he replied, making the lady stop and then turn to him slowly.
"How much do you know about the trials within the doors?" she asked, waving her hand in the air.
"Um, a person enters and comes out with powers after killing something." He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the lady's chest.
"You are not scared," the lady said, tilting her head.
Harley shook his head, looking at the doors around.
"I might die," he simply said, not even a hint of fear in his tone.
'I have already experienced reincarnation. What more can shock me?' He sighed.
"Do you have family?" Her voice came to his ears again.
"No, I don't." His tone had a hint of sadness in it. Only a hint.
"Good luck on your trial. It's time."
"Eh?" Harley looked at the woman beside him that was miraculously already five metres away from him.
"What do you mean it's time?"
*BAM!*
A door suddenly manifested beside him in a white flash, surprising him.
The door was over two meters tall, stark white. There was a single design on it: a black horizontal arc that looked like a wide smile.
Slowly the door opened to reveal a dark space within.
Harley looked back at the woman one more time, and then he sighed. His entire body was being pulled into the door by an invisible force and he let it take him.
*Bang!*
It closed shut.
And just then, a voice reached his ears.
{Welcome to your first trial, challenger}