The darkness was all-consuming, a suffocating presence that pressed in from all sides. The kind of darkness made one question their sanity as iftowards itfabric oitslity was unravelling before their eyes. And yet, amidst the void, there was a light. It flickered in the distance, a beacon of hope amid an endless abyss. Its radiance was like a single ray of sunshine on a cloudy day, slicing through the thick, oppressive air and guiding the way forward. But even as the light shone on, it seemed to do so in vain. No matter how close one got, the darkness never lessened, never receded. The light was trapped in a never-ending cycle, a futile struggle against forces far beyond its power. The power of the light never got dimmer, never let the darkness consume it, as if it was fighting back, as if it had a conscience to protect, a soul. The tug of war continued like this for what seemed to be an eternity, what is, until something protruded the darkness, like a blade, it sliced like a knife through fabric, tearing the darkness and revealing a blinding light from the cut. It continued, slashing and tearing at the gluttonous dark entity, never resting, never dulling. At some point in time, a cracking noise started getting noticed, it got louder, and with it, cracks began to appear on the surface of the fabric of darkness. Crack! It was the final cut, thundering in the void as the dark began to fall like shards of glass. The beacon got engulfed in the rays of light and flooded as it got engulfed in the light. The last thing it saw was its savior, the silver sword ornated with blue jewelry and a brown handle, pointing at the beacon and moving fast towardsing before their eyes. And yet, amidst the void, there was a light. It flickered in the distance, a beacon of hope amid an endless abyss. Its radiance was like a single ray of sunshine on a cloudy day, slicing through the thick, oppressive air and guiding the way forward. But even as the light shone on, it seemed to do so in vain. No matter how close one got, the darkness never lessened, never receded. The light was trapped in a never-ending cycle, a futile struggle against forces far beyond its power. The power of the light never got dimmer, never let the darkness consume it, as if it was fighting back, as if it had a conscience to protect, a soul. The tug of war continued like this for what seemed to be an eternity, what is, until something protruded the darkness, like a blade, it sliced like a knife through fabric, tearing the darkness and revealing a blinding light from the cut. It continued, slashing and tearing at the gluttonous dark entity, never resting, never dulling. At some point in time, a cracking noise started getting noticed, it got louder, and with it, cracks began to appear on the surface of the fabric of darkness. Crack! It was the final cut, thundering in the void as the dark began to fall like shards of glass. The beacon got engulfed in the rays of light and flooded as it got engulfed in the light. The last thing it saw was its savior, the silver sword ornated with blue jewelry and a brown handle, pointing at the beacon and moving fast toward it. As the sword protruded into the sentient light, its conscience faded, leaving it to wonder what happened next.
***
It felt surreal. A feeling of lightness and nausea mixed as the middle-aged man regained his composure. Upon lifting his now-heavy eyelids he was met with a dimmly light room. It was out of stone, with portions of it corroded by the running water traversing it, cold to touch, and dirty floor, just like a prison cell. On the ceiling, a suspended oil lamp was emitting a warm ray of light, flooding the room with its only bright flame. The man, who was standing collapsed face-front on the floor, finally managed to coordinate his movements and stand up. His vision was blurry, so he could now maintain his balance. Slowly, while leaning on the cold wall, he managed to move towards what he thought was a door. His brain was bulging, giving him pangs of pain that hindered this advance, as if he had been stuck with a baseball bat in the head. Finally arriving at the door, he realized it was a dirty window. After he cleaned a corner of the glass with his sleeve, he peeked outside only to find out he was the lighthouse where he worked 4 years ago.
"It can't be?! said the man with a trembling voice
Horrified, the man instinctively rushed to the other part of the room, where the real door was. A putrid wooden door with a rounded handle was smashed into pieces by the rushing man, crumbling into chunks of wood. The man rushed through a narrow stone hallway, eventually arriving at a mirror. Upon gazing into it, the man's worst nightmare became real as the figure of a young man was staring at him from the other side, wearing a uniform with a name carved on the right breast spelling: *Azrael Topper*
"So it seems I was brought back to the beginning before the Great Revelation, huh? he said in a mockery tone.Â
Just when he was preparing to move, his vision was blocked by a green translucent window. For a second he was bamboozled by the strange glowing glass when text started to appear on it:
[ Target has been successfully incorporated into the system!]
[Beginning stage I of the Archsind conversion!]
"Huh? What is this deam thing? Hey, turn it off! Do you hear m- "
A sudden pain emerged from the man's body, intense as if a thousand swords were piercing him. Startled, Azrazel tried to gasp for air, but a second wave of pain burst out of his body, making him scream and roll on the floor. Slowly, his conscience began to fade, his vision became blurry and the world before him turned black. Just before blacked out, a ping was heard, followed by a robotic voice:
[Stage I of Archsing has been completed successfully! Target will now go through the metamorphosis!]
[Target has managed to covert without complications! Special rewards will be given.]
it. As it. As the sword protruded into the sentient light, its conscience faded, leaving it to wonder what happened next.
***
It felt surreal. A feeling of lightness and nausea mixed as the middle-aged man regained his composure. Upon lifting his now-heavy eyelids he was met with a dimmly light room. It was out of stone, with portions of it corroded by the running water traversing it, cold to touch, and dirty floor, just like a prison cell. On the ceiling, a suspended oil lamp was emitting a warm ray of light, flooding the room with its only bright flame. The man, who was standing collapsed face-front on the floor, finally managed to coordinate his movements and stand up. His vision was blurry, so he could now maintain his balance. Slowly, while leaning on the cold wall, he managed to move towards what he thought was a door. His brain was bulging, giving him pangs of pain that hindered this advance, as if he had been stuck with a baseball bat in the head. Finally arriving at the door, he realized it was a dirty window. After he cleaned a corner of the glass with his sleeve, he peeked outside only to find out he was the lighthouse where he worked 4 years ago.
"It can't be?! said the man with a trembling voice
Horrified, the man instinctively rushed to the other part of the room, where the real door was. A putrid wooden door with a rounded handle was smashed into pieces by the rushing man, crumbling into chunks of wood. The man rushed through a narrow stone hallway, eventually arriving at a mirror. Upon gazing into it, the man's worst nightmare became real as the figure of a young man was staring at him from the other side, wearing a uniform with a name carved on the right breast spelling: *Azrael Topper*
"So it seems I was brought back to the beginning before the Great Revelation, huh? he said in a mockery tone.Â
Just when he was preparing to move, his vision was blocked by a green translucent window. For a second he was bamboozled by the strange glowing glass when text started to appear on it:
[ Target has been successfully incorporated into the system!]
[Beginning stage I of the Archsind conversion!]
"Huh? What is this deam thing? Hey, turn it off! Do you hear m- "
A sudden pain emerged from the man's body, intense as if a thousand swords were piercing him. Startled, Azrazel tried to gasp for air, but a second wave of pain burst out of his body, making him scream and roll on the floor. Slowly, his conscience began to fade, his vision became blurry and the world before him turned black. Just before blacked out, a ping was heard, followed by a robotic voice:
[Stage I of Archsing has been completed successfully! Target will now go through the metamorphosis!]
[Target has managed to covert without complications! Special rewards will be given.]
the sword protruded into the sentient light, its conscience faded, leaving it to wonder what happened next.
***
It felt surreal. A feeling of lightness and nausea mixed as the middle-aged man regained his composure. Upon lifting his now-heavy eyelids he was met with a dimmly light room. It was out of stone, with portions of it corroded by the running water traversing it, cold to touch, and dirty floor, just like a prison cell. On the ceiling, a suspended oil lamp was emitting a warm ray of light, flooding the room with its only bright flame. The man, who was standing collapsed face-front on the floor, finally managed to coordinate his movements and stand up. His vision was blurry, so he could now maintain his balance. Slowly, while leaning on the cold wall, he managed to move towards what he thought was a door. His brain was bulging, giving him pangs of pain that hindered this advance, as if he had been stuck with a baseball bat in the head. Finally arriving at the door, he realized it was a dirty window. After he cleaned a corner of the glass with his sleeve, he peeked outside only to find out he was the lighthouse where he worked 4 years ago.
"It can't be?! said the man with a trembling voice
Horrified, the man instinctively rushed to the other part of the room, where the real door was. A putrid wooden door with a rounded handle was smashed into pieces by the rushing man, crumbling into chunks of wood. The man rushed through a narrow stone hallway, eventually arriving at a mirror. Upon gazing into it, the man's worst nightmare became real as the figure of a young man was staring at him from the other side, wearing a uniform with a name carved on the right breast spelling: *Azrael Topper*
"So it seems I was brought back to the beginning before the Great Revelation, huh? he said in a mockery tone.Â
Just when he was preparing to move, his vision was blocked by a green translucent window. For a second he was bamboozled by the strange glowing glass when text started to appear on it:
[ Target has been successfully incorporated into the system!]
[Beginning stage I of the Archsind conversion!]
"Huh? What is this deam thing? Hey, turn it off! Do you hear m- "
A sudden pain emerged from the man's body, intense as if a thousand swords were piercing him. Startled, Azrazel tried to gasp for air, but a second wave of pain burst out of his body, making him scream and roll on the floor. Slowly, his conscience began to fade, his vision became blurry and the world before him turned black. Just before blacked out, a ping was heard, followed by a robotic voice:
[Stage I of Archsing has been completed successfully! Target will now go through the metamorphosis!]
[Target has managed to covert without complications! Special rewards will be given.]