"How many boxes do I have left to deliver…" Allen wondered, lowering his eyes to the stacks of packages on the backroom floor. He counted them slowly, pointing at each one with his finger as if to avoid any mistake.
"I think there are seventeen left," he finally concluded after a long moment of thought. His brow furrowed slightly, as if he still doubted the result. He even began silently recounting them again, out of habit.
He had never been very good at math, and it had often made him laugh nervously when he was younger at school. Some classmates openly mocked him, while others rolled their eyes at his hesitation. But those memories no longer hurt him today. Numbers simply weren't his domain. He accepted it with an almost tranquil simplicity.
But there was one thing he knew he could do better than anyone around him: never give up. No matter the difficulties, no matter the ridicule or condescending glances. Allen always kept moving forward, even when everything seemed against him. This quiet determination had become his true strength. It was what allowed him to keep going every day.
He then bent down toward the boxes and carefully grabbed four of them. The packages were heavy and slightly damp at the edges from the heat. He methodically stacked them on the rack of his delivery motorcycle. The suspension creaked slightly under the weight. Allen adjusted the stack to prevent it from tipping during the ride.
He then put on his worn helmet and mounted the motorcycle with a familiar motion. The engine was not new, but he knew every vibration of that machine.
"Mrs. Sumi, I'm heading out!" he shouted, turning toward the shop.
A woman immediately stepped out from the store across from him. She wiped her hands on her apron before looking up at him.
"All right, my boy… be careful on the road," she said in a protective tone.
An old man passing by the shop called out jokingly:
"With that bike, he can't go very fast anyway!"
Mrs. Sumi shot him a stern look. Allen smiled briefly at the remark but said nothing.
In this world where the chosen now dominated society, many people had changed. Smiling faces often hid hypocritical intentions, and kind words could be poisoned. Trust had become fragile. Sincere people were rare.
Finding someone who truly cared about you had become almost exceptional. Allen looked at Mrs. Sumi for a moment with gratitude.
"All right… take care of yourself too," he replied calmly. The old woman nodded with a slight smile. Behind her, a customer murmured:
"This boy is always polite… that's becoming rare nowadays," she said with a small smile.
Allen sped off into the street, leaving the small shop and the passersby's gazes behind him. Traffic grew heavier as he moved away from the commercial district.
He reached a large avenue where almost exclusively luxury cars were passing. The shiny bodies reflected the sunlight. Tinted windows hid the faces of the wealthy passengers inside. Amid this mechanical opulence, Allen's old motorcycle looked almost ridiculous.
As Allen stopped near a luxury car at a red light, an elegant man at the wheel spoke with a look of disgust:
"Look at this… they're still letting these heaps of junk drive around here," he murmured to the woman sitting next to him.
She responded distractedly:
"They're probably delivery drivers… they have to work hard too."
Allen simply continued on his way.
As he rode through the city, something strange suddenly happened ahead of him. The air seemed to twist above the road like a rippling water surface. A black fissure appeared in the space itself. Within seconds, it widened into a full-dimensional rift.
However, this rift was strange, almost abnormal. Usually, rifts appeared when the energy from an unbalanced dimension overflowed.
A rift was a dimensional distortion, a fracture between two realities. When it appeared, energy from another world spilled into Earth. This energy was extremely dangerous for ordinary humans. It acted like a poison that slowly destroyed the body and mind.
But this rift behaved in a completely different way. Instead of releasing corrupted energy into the city, it sucked everything around it in. Air, dust, papers lying on the street, everything was drawn toward the black hole. The phenomenon resembled a massive whirlpool.
It opened abruptly right in front of Allen. He braked immediately, tires screeching against the asphalt. His motorcycle slid slightly before stopping a few meters from the phenomenon.
Around him, cars began losing control. Some were already being pulled toward the rift.
Passersby screamed as they ran in all directions.
"What is that?!" shouted a woman, clutching her child.
A car lifted off the ground as if it weighed nothing.
"Where are the chosen?! Call the chosen!" panicked voices shouted.
The cries of fear multiplied around the rift.
"The chosen must come!" someone else yelled, looking at the sky.
Many hoped to see these divine-powered protectors appear. But for now, no one came. The rift continued to engulf everything around it.
Allen suddenly felt a force pulling his body forward. The violent wind sucked everything around him. His motorcycle slid on the ground and was immediately pulled into the black void.
"Shit… what is this…" he murmured, clutching a metal pole desperately.
His arms trembled under the tension as he held on with all his strength. The air pressure made it nearly impossible to stay stable. His feet slipped on the ground. Cold sweat ran down his face.
"Help me!" a voice cried from behind. Allen briefly turned his head and saw a man clinging to the hood of an overturned car, but it was suddenly sucked into the rift, disappearing into darkness with a muffled scream.
Allen's arms grew heavier. The sucking force intensified. His fingers began sliding along the metal. His legs could no longer hold properly on the ground.
In a last desperate effort, he tried to tighten his grip. But fatigue had already seized his muscles. His fingers finally slipped from the pole.
In a fraction of a second, his body was violently pulled toward the rift.
The sensation that followed was indescribable. It was like traveling through an infinite tunnel filled with foreign energy. The space around him seemed to bend and warp endlessly. Flashes of dark energy streaked through the void. Allen lost consciousness on this passage into the unknown.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a vast dark cave. The damp stone reflected a faint reddish light from torches mounted on the walls. Around him stood several people, motionless. All wore red and black robes.
Their faces were hidden behind strange masks. The masks looked like the void itself. Even the outline of their heads seemed to dissolve into shadow. It was impossible to distinguish their features or their gaze.
"What am I doing here…" Allen murmured, looking around. He tried to move his arms to get up, at first believing his body was just numb.
But his wrists were chained to heavy iron links firmly fixed to the ground. The cold metal pressed against his skin with relentless hardness. When he tugged slightly, a sharp scrape of iron against stone echoed throughout the cave. The sound slowly faded into silence. Allen felt a wave of worry rise in his chest.
He suddenly fully realized the situation.
"What do you want to do to me?!" he shouted, struggling more violently. The chains clinked under his sudden movements. His voice trembled despite himself, betraying the fear settling in him.
"Let me go!" he added, gritting his teeth, hoping at least to provoke a reaction.
But the men around him didn't react. No movement, no words. They remained standing, motionless, like statues arranged around him. Their silence made the atmosphere even more oppressive.
None of them looked directly at Allen, but all seemed fully aware of his presence.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed from a dark passage on the side of the cave. The motionless figures did not move, but an almost palpable tension filled the air.
A man then slowly entered the torchlight. Unlike the others, his face was visible.
He also wore a ceremonial robe, but different from the rest. The fabric was thicker, heavier, and decorated with intricate black symbols. The patterns formed crosses and other mysterious signs etched into the cloth itself. His presence commanded natural respect.
His wrinkled skin revealed his advanced age. The years had carved deep lines into his face. Gray hair fell onto his shoulders in fine, slightly disheveled strands. His eyes, however, shone with a sharp and calculating light.
Upon his entrance, all present bowed deeply without a word of command. The movement was perfectly synchronized, like a ritual repeated many times. Silence remained total.
One of the men stepped forward. He held a wooden box in his hands. He walked slowly to the old man and knelt before him. Then he carefully opened the box. Inside lay a dagger.
The blade was covered in runes. The engraved symbols pulsed faintly, as if energy flowed within them. Allen watched the scene with growing fear.
"What kind of madness is this…" he whispered quietly to himself. None of the masked men reacted. The old man stared at the dagger for a moment as if admiring a sacred artifact.
Then he spoke in a deep, slow voice. Each word seemed weighed with care.
"We have wasted enough time… his natural awakening was too slow. Let us proceed."
All the others responded immediately in a unified voice.
"May glory be with you."
Their combined voices formed a deep, almost supernatural murmur. The sound seemed to vibrate in the air like a dark prayer.
Allen lay on the cold ground, unable to look away. The scene before him gave a profoundly sickening feeling. His heart pounded violently against his chest. He sensed something irreversible was about to happen.
"What are you trying to do to me?! Untie me!" he shouted again, pulling at his chains. The metal bit into his skin under the force of his movements. His voice cracked under fear.
But his words seemed to vanish into the void. No eyes turned toward him. The masked men continued to observe the scene in silence, as if he no longer belonged to the living.
The old man slowly approached him. He stopped directly in front of Allen. He leaned slightly to study his face. His expression remained calm, almost curious. In his hand, the dagger reflected the trembling torchlight.
Then he began to recite incomprehensible words. His voice grew deeper, almost chant-like. The words seemed to vibrate in the air. The runes engraved on the blade began to glow more intensely.
A black energy tinged with red formed around the weapon. It swirled slowly around the dagger like living smoke. The air temperature seemed to drop sharply.
The old man raised the knife above his head, ready to strike. Allen felt pure panic engulf his entire body.
"Wait… at least tell me what I've done, please!" he cried, his voice broken. Tears now streamed down his face uncontrollably. His breathing grew irregular. His eyes desperately searched for a sign of humanity in those around him.
The man who had ignored him completely until now finally turned his eyes toward him. His gaze was cold and strangely satisfied. He studied Allen for a few seconds as one examines an object before speaking.
"You haven't done anything, my boy… but know that your sacrifice will serve the greater cause," he said with a slight smile. His lips barely curved, but the smile carried something deeply unsettling.
"Wh…" Allen didn't even have time to finish his sentence.
The blade plunged violently into his chest, leaving no trace of blood.
A dark energy immediately shot from the dagger and entered his body. It was not a simple physical pain. It was as if a living force had entered his veins.
The energy spread rapidly through his body like black fire burning from within. Allen felt his organs contract under this unknown power. His muscles stiffened violently.
The dark force continued to propagate slowly into every part of his body. His nerves felt torn apart by the energy. His vision blurred, tinted red and black.
He tried to breathe, but the air felt too heavy to fill his lungs. His heartbeat became irregular. Each second felt like an eternity of suffering.
As the pain tore through his mind, memories began surfacing in his head. Confused images, but deeply rooted within him.
He saw his father's gaze. A stern look, yet filled with hope.
Then those of his brothers, his friends. All had been present at the ceremony to become a chosen.
But he had received no invitation from any god.
Perhaps his talent had been deemed too weak, or perhaps he was simply unlucky…
As these thoughts flooded his mind, Allen died.