Crimson…
The sound of a viscous liquid was dripping next to Charles. The sound filled his world, leaving him confused in the surrounding darkness.
Drip
Drip
Drip
What felt like an eternity later, another sound emerged beside him: the soft, steady beeping. His mind, slowed to a crawl, struggled to discern if this was some sort of strange, primitive music—both sounds in an elusive rhythm he couldn't quite place. He swore he'd heard the beep before, in some distant memory.
Then, a slight twitch rippled through his body—an involuntary movement that opened the floodgates of clarity.
He was in a car accident—a truck colliding with the side of his car, where his wife's body had been flung, contorting in inhuman ways, splashing warm red liquid over his face. They had been arguing about something trivial, something now inconsequential. The crunch of metal, the twist of steel, the echoes of her screams reverberated in his mind.
Jealousy had fueled him. He had witnessed the way she laughed at his brother's jokes, the smile she reserved for him—a smile devoid of any romantic intent. His brother, happily married, shared a bond with her, but Charles couldn't shake the irrational, foolish jealousy.
Beep.
That damn sound, there it was again, another twitch.
He wanted to say sorry, to tell his wife that she was the most important thing to him, to tell her that he was an idiot, that he was wrong for making that argument. The urgent thing right now was to open his eyes, which right now seemed to be the hardest thing he had ever done in his life, both eyelids feeling like a thousand pounds.
Beep. Drip. Twitch.
This sound, he remembers where he heard it before, it was on those TV shows that his wife liked so much with that rude doctor with the cane. He never knew why she liked watching that guy, it reminded him of his father, the smug rudeness that told him he should have become…
'Focus Charles.' He thought to himself, trying to concentrate, focus on what was at hand and not drift off again into tangents which was much harder than usual.
He calmed his mind like he was taught back in those meditation classes his wife dragged him to every saturday to lower his blood pressure.
"Rooted in the Earth, I am anchored and balanced. Energy flows freely through me, grounding me in the present moment." He repeated the mantra a few times inside of his head before relaxing his mind finally able to take in the limited stimulus he could hear.
Other than the beeping and dripping there was the sound of gnashing, it was light but it was there, teeth grinding against something chewy. 'Oh god, I've seen this TV show. I'm in a zombie apocalypse. I'm going to have an idiot son…'
He ran through his zombie plans that he had made when he was a teenager, as the thoughts swarmed him urging him to open his eyes. Slowly a blinding strip of light entered his vision with an explosion blinding him for several moments.
A voice spoke to him from the side, sounding heavily laden in guilt, "You weren't eating it, so…"
The haze of unconsciousness lifted, revealing fragmented shapes and hues. Amidst the emerging clarity, a young boy materialized beside him, clutching a bowl of soup and a half-eaten piece of blackened bread. His age seemed uncertain, somewhere between ten and fifteen, yet his emaciated frame hinted at a life marked by malnutrition. Beneath a tangle of unkempt black hair, his eyes appear sunken, surrounded by the remnants of a boyhood lost too soon. Angry red scars marred his hands, souvenirs of a distant burn, while his smile, tinged with a hint of resignation, exposed rows of yellowed teeth. He averted his gaze guiltily with a self deprecating chuckle.
With a few blinks, Charles sat up holding his head before muttering to the child sitting next to him, "Listen just get me some water."
The boy sighing in relief that the person that just woke up wasn't angry at him sat down the bowl of soup on the bedside table with a look of reluctance. Charles noticed that the kid did pocket the black bread but didn't say anything as he scurried away. There was too much to take in, his situation and how he got here.
His stomach emitted a plaintive growl, drawing his attention to the bowl of soup. Uncertain of its contents, he grasped the wooden bowl with trembling fingers and emptied its contents into his eager stomach, hoping to appease its voracious demands. The concoction tasted predominantly of potatoes, accented by subtle hints of herbs, yet its lack of substance left him feeling as though it were merely a temporary remedy for his plight.
Alone now, he surveyed his surroundings with a keen eye. The space resembled a studio apartment, compact and efficiently designed, with wooden fixtures embodying a minimalist aesthetic. A bed occupied one corner, its simplicity mirrored by the wooden shutters that allowed small amounts of light and a breeze to filter through. In the center stood a solitary table, accompanied by a lone chair. Upon the table rested a book, its pristine condition contrasting sharply with the pervasive dust that coated much of the room, protected by a cheap cloth to preserve its cleanliness.
Glancing toward the wash bin and the scattered items strewn across the floor, he mustered the strength to hoist himself up to the head of the bed. It was then that he realized something was terribly wrong with his body. Gazing down at his hands, he observed a stark contrast — they were smaller, softer, and more weathered than his own, adorned with calluses indicative of strenuous manual labor.
His fingertips danced over his features, tracing the familiar contours now rendered alien by their newfound smoothness. Shock coursed through him like a sudden jolt of electricity, his mind struggling to reconcile the absence of time's etchings upon his face. A fleeting sense of euphoria gave way to a mounting dread as he grappled with the inexplicable transformation. Was this a dream, or was he in the afterlife? The air around him seemed to thicken with uncertainty, each breath laden with the weight of unanswered questions.
With a bite to his lip and feeling the soft sting of pain he ruled out sleeping, or an afterlife he was obviously still alive.
This made his mind calm down. He wasn't in the worst case scenario at the moment, this wasn't hell or heaven. He needed to calm himself, distract himself from things out of his control and figure out what he could do with the situation at hand.
He decided to take his time and slowly go through the things around him not expecting the kid to come back as quickly as he left the room. There was only one real clue that he had, the book sitting on the table which he went over to skimming through the contents from the very beginning.
'The Refinement Guild'
The first chapter laid out several rules for the refinement guild that he was in, including but not limited to anyone caught with this book that wasn't authorized to have it was to be severely punished getting their hands put into coal for several seconds. He thought back to the kid, only to shake his head, the child had his own problems that didn't relate to him.
Charles looked through several pages getting the gist of the situation he was in which fascinated him. This world was like that out of novels but he couldn't find a common source in his mind having been a big reader when he was growing up, till he had his first child. This world touched onto magic that he had dreamed about, but also touched into a weird concept that he hadn't called cultivation.
The beginning step for both was the same in the refinement guild, fist one had to make their body a container for the energy in the world that they called essence, which radiated out from everything in this world.
The wooden house around him would be flooding the area with small amounts of wood essence that one could absorb into their body if they wanted to be a container for wood type essence for example. They would be able to heal their wounds from injuries faster, and have a more robust physique that would naturally be taller, focusing on durability of the organs. The most unique thing about them was that they naturally needed more sunlight and their food consumption would almost cease at some point. This was naturally the cultivation method of many poor people that lacked necessities like food, that would be outside all day.
This was why cultivation had to start at a young age while the child was still growing, once their body was fully grown the beginning process would greatly slow down since their body wasn't changing as much. Judging from his height he would say that he was around six or seven, but considering his living conditions if this was his home he could be malnourished.
Looking through all of the elemental bodies that he could create he tapped on one that seemed to have the most benefits to his current situation and would make it easier for him to improve his lifestyle.
Two really important questions came to his mind though.
How does he know the language that he was just speaking and reading was the first thing?
Also how was he going to get his hands on what he needed for the body that fit his vision for what the world needed, it seemed like there were treasures and such that people would use to create that body but he didn't seem to have anything.
The lightning body, quick, durable, could live off of the energy of the world. It seemed superior to the wood body in every way other than their ridiculous healing ability for themselves. Charles had to admit that he wasn't very happy with the thought of ever getting injured so he ruled it out because of his dislike for pain.
He started to come up with plans for the acquisition of the lightning body, he could create a primitive battery and use it to temper his body slowly sending mild electric thoughts through it much like one of those muscle belts he had seen online.
Though his passion was immediately trampled on when he saw a message appear in front of him like some sort of smart phone popup telling him he needed to update.
'Host is experiencing an influx of soul energy far past what his body can hold, going through the body. Tempering has begun with the excess energy that can't be held. Host will experience slight discomfort in 120 seconds.'
"What?" Charles choked out, immediately trying to poke at the window in front of him which his hand passed through it like an illusion, but he soon found he could drag it around in his vision so he moved it aside. The novelty of playing with it wore off in moments as he ignored it since it wasn't something he could deal with at the moment.
It was just slight discomfort so he went back to the book to read the later sections, mainly about what jobs he could do depending on the body type that he created and their respective pay inside of the guild. There were many lucrative ones, those that managed to infuse their body with herbal energies or those that bathed in flames being an alchemist and a forger respectively. The lightning one that he wanted so much had a rather relaxing job of being a delivery man that he wanted to do to have a very low key job in this life.
There were different grades of a body, based on compatibility, one that could completely refine their body by five years old was considered geniuses and would be given special treatment. If they advanced their body after ten they were considered complete trash, and not worth nurturing, it seemed that he came about in the middle where he could be seen as average.
He didn't read anything about soul bodies that he seemed to be creating so it might be a unique case, it did mention that everyone should see a guild representative once they went through their first successful tempering to go to their respective sections and be assigned to teachers. So he would place this confusing question to them once he went through tempering.
The message suddenly blinked counting down from 5 as Charles stared at it with a tiny bit of anticipation, and as it hit 0… he let out a blood curdling scream.