"The System was our gift."
The lead Archangel spoke to the man facing them head on, with a voice that seemed to vibrate to the very bone of the man.
"We gave you the tool to survive, to adapt, and to cull the weak. To prepare the world for our arrival. For our harvest."
"You were a good dog, Syros Arlington. But even the best hounds must be put down when they grow too many teeth."
Syros, the only and remaining man facing the Archangels without fear and with determination. His breathing was a wet, ragged rattle.
He looked around to his surroundings only to meet the bodies of people he once knew laying motionless.
Syros looked at his back left only to find Kyle Ryans, wearing his shattered white armor, his body lay on the ground, his light extinguished.
He again looked around and saw the world, once lively and full of noise now lifeless. The only thing he could hear was the sound of The System.
Ding!
Syros looked at the blue-and-white screen flickering in his peripheral vision. The System. The ally he had trusted for thirty-four years. The very thing that guided the world and humanity, the thing that guided him how to fight and how to survive. Now, it has shown its true purpose and nature. It was red-coded and now hostile. It has been an invisible leash all along.
"A gift?" Syros spat, blood staining his teeth.
"You built a cage and called it a sanctuary."
The Angels didn't say a word and just looked at Syros, a look of disdain, as if they were looking at something they could just throw or kill anytime they wanted, as if they were looking at a bug. A disposable bug.
With a strong determination, Syros lifts up his sword and charges it with his fire. A blinding white fire, pointing it to the Angels.
"You say that I am your dog? But you still don't realize just how stubborn I am."
"No matter what, I will destroy all of you!"
And with that he summoned the last of his remaining strength charge forward, screaming to his lungs. His fire erupted—not the basic red and orange color of his flame, but the blinding, terrifying White Fire of his peak. It was a heat that didn't just burn; it erased.
Syros marched forward with his head held high, his heart full of courage and his eyes burning with anger. But before he could strike the Archangels roared in unison.
"FALL!"
A pillar of celestial light, with the weight of a collapsing star, slammed into Syros. He fought back with all his got with his White Fire, screaming against the divine weight, but he was one man against the architecture of the universe. In the end his body collapsed from the unshakable force of the divine.
As his bones turned to ash, and his cells disintegrated. He thought.
'Is this it? Is this how the world ends? Is this how I die?'
As his vision went black, the last thing he saw was the System notification:
[User Vitality: 0%.
Status: Deceased.
Reclaiming…]
Syros drifted in a place where time and space didn't exist. He was just a flicker of consciousness in the sea of nothingness.
He expected the end, but not like this.
Syros wandered where he will go now, where his soul or his consciousness wanders. For Heaven was not his place. It was the home of his enemies, surely his soul won't go there. And surely not in Hell, because he and his other companions, with the help of the Angels, defeated all of the remaining Demons. Even their ruler Lucifer was killed. So no way he will go to Hell.
'No one is even in Hell right now, no one is managing it. I think.' Syros thought.
But then, deep within his soul—lower than the System had ever reached—a spark ignited. It wasn't like the white spark that he had. It was something else, something different.
It wasn't the System's power . Syros was sure of that. It was dense and ancient.
A new screen appeared. A new System. It wasn't the clean, sterile blue interface of the previous system that the Angels made. This one was etched in ancient, shifting symbols that were hurt to look at.
[Notice: A Being with No Name has observed your struggle.]
[The Nameless One grants a Revision.]
[The False System is being overwritten... Manual Override initiated.]
[Notice: Overwrite Complete.]
[Time Regression: 34 Years and 3 Months.]
Suddenly a clock emerges in the mind of Syros. The time goes back quickly as the hand of the clock continues to rotate at an incredible speed.
"Go," a voice whispered—a voice that sounded like the grinding of tectonic plates and the birth of stars. "Rewrite the fate of your world."
Syros bolted upright, a strangled scream dying in his throat came out.
He looked at his surroundings. His eyes open winded and his jaw wide open. He wasn't sure what just happened.
He wasn't on the battlefield anymore. Syros was inside a small apartment, his old apartment. Although it was a long time ago since he had been here, he still remembers each of the four corners of this room.
As Syros scrambles his mind to find a reasonable explanation on what is actually going on. He was hit with the smell of cheap ramen and laundry detergent, not ozone and death. He looked at his hands. They were calloused but whole. No scars. No burns.
His appearance and his body was exactly as he remembered it 34 years ago. Frail and weak.
He then took his phone and checked the date. June 12th.
"Three months."
"Three months before the first Gate opens in New York. Three months before the appearance of the System." Syros whispered, with his voice trembling.
He closed his eyes and felt inward. The familiar "System" wasn't there yet. The Angels hadn't deployed the interface to Earth yet. But something else was.
He opened his palm and looked at it in focus. A small flame flickered to life.
Syros shows a short smile on his face.
But his smile was short, because the flame in his palm wasn't the red-orange flame he had started with in his previous life. It was something else, something new – a color of fire he'd never wielded in his past life, a deep, swirling brown, heavy and hot, followed by a flicker of red jade.
Suddenly a long grin appeared on his face, and he laughed. It sounded of pure, jagged determination. In his last life, he had been unknowingly a puppet of the Archangels, following their predetermined path, with their so-called "gift". But this time, he will change his path, he will change the outcome, and he will see the end of his enemies.
He looked for a pen and paper to write down his plan and the important things that are going to happen in the future, before he forgot it all.
He wrote the preparation; He had exactly ninety days to train his body and his power without the System's help.
He wrote down names of people he had to find, people who had power that Syros will be needed for what's coming.
And lastly, he needed to find out more about the Nameless One. He could feel its power humming in his blood, he can use its power for the better. But he was not sure if it could be trusted.
Syros stood up and walked to the window, he looked out at the peaceful city. People were walking dogs, drinking coffee, completely unaware that the countdown had started.
"Enjoy it while you can,"
Syros said, his eyes glowing with a faint, metallic Black Gold spark.
He then grabbed his jacket and headed towards the door. He had a lot of work to do, and the world wasn't going to save itself.