[Initiate! Welcome to the Gate Trials. Steady your helm and prepare for your First Challenge].
A loud masculine voice boomed in the air where there was nothing but an endless white. That was the voice of the Inquisitor, the unknown entity that narrated the fate of the participants inside the Trials.
It was cold, terrifying and indifferent, yet somehow familiar. It sounded like it was coming from everywhere, bouncing off invisible walls. But no matter how loud the Inquisitor sounded, only the person being referred to was the one that could hear it.
Jarren's eyes were shut tight because of the brightness encompassing him. In time, the light slowly dissolved away, and when he opened his eyes again, the view before him—around him—left him bedazzled.
He was standing in the center of an expansive green meadow, the grass that filled this meadow swayed gently with the breeze, the sky was a soft, cloudless blue, and the sun warmed his skin without being oppressive.
Jarren turned around in confusion only to see more grass and a quaint thatched house in the distance built on top of a hill, smoke trailing lazily from its chimney as if nothing in the world could disturb its peace.
Everything felt calm in this place.
So calm that Jarren had no other choice than to worry. This was the first challenge of the Gates, and the Gates were never this kind. However, first things first.
As the novel's author, Jarren knew that the first and smartest thing to do when one entered a Gate was to do a status check and study their attributes so they could know their strengths and weaknesses; How to use them and how to improve on them.
He straightened his chest. "Status Cube," he uttered the famous command.
Before him, a black cube materialized out of thin air, floating in the space just in front of him. The cube was encased in a black metallic substance and had glowing runes that pulsed rhythmically, showing different colors each time like a rainbow's heartbeat.
On each wall of the cube, different interfaces were handled, and Jarren could tilt the cube himself to whatever interface he needed. He swallowed, staring at the shimmering object for a while.
"Profile Status," he commanded.
One of the squares of the cubes illuminated then spun around to face him. It displayed an interface showing several fields lined up, one of the fields made Jarren's stomach ache.
[Profile: Deremiah Morcant]
[Title: None]
[Energy Type: None]
[Talent: None]
[Mark Potential: One Mark]
One Mark? One?! Jarren cursed bitterly. Of all the possible potentials, he was stuck with the weakest one. A single Mark meant his chances of gaining any significant power from the Trials were almost non-existent.
Once his Soul Core was unlocked, he would only be able to amass a pitiful amount of energy. Jarren shook his head. 'It just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?'
"Attributes Status," he said and the cube spun to another square which displayed his Attributes as of the present.
[Strength: 9]
[Agility: 22]
[Intelligence: 72]
[Endurance: 17]
[Speed: 35]
[Perception: 21]
[Discipline: 17]
Jarren blinked at the numbers. 'These are out of a hundred,' he mused. 'My attributes are abysmal!... Except for Intelligence I guess, which makes sense.'
It figured—his intelligence was tied to his knowledge as the author. Presently, he was the one in the entire story with the most knowledge of how to do anything and everything. The problem was whether this weak body could carry out what his mind already knew.
What was the point of knowing something if you didn't have the capabilities to perform it?
'Deremiah Morcant! Why is everything about you so terrible?' Jarren thought bitterly. He flicked that interface away and summoned the surface for Power Progression, where he would see his Skills, Energy Type, and Rank Growth.
But when the cube spun, the surface for that interface flashed a dull red, denying him access.
"Damn it," he muttered, recalling that in order to view his Power Progression, he needed to unlock his Soul Core. And in order to do that, he had to pass his first Trial.
Once the first Trial was completed, the Soul Core would be unlocked automatically and the Initiate would claim the first rewards for defeating a Trial.
Jarren took a deep breath to calm himself. Things had moved way too fast in such a short amount of time, and it was deeply overwhelming.
'At least I'm not dead yet,' he thought, looking around the grassy field. 'Some participants don't even make it this far. I've got this.'
Speaking of that, a loud ding rang in the air and a mighty interface, tall and large appeared in front of him. On the interface was the list of all the Initiates presently inside the Gates.
If this colossal, rectangular integer wasn't a worrisome scene on its own, it buzzed out a frightening sound and five names on the long list of Initiates turned red and were abruptly removed.
Jarren grimaced uncomfortably. 'Dead, already?'
This was the Trial Leaderboard, a system Jarren had integrated inside the novel to make the Gates not only be about survival but also about competition. The Leaderboard sampled the progress of every participant to everyone, and presently on the top of the incredibly long list were Grendon Godless, Aricille Denign and Elora of Dawn.
Jarren gazed at the giant display for a moment, searching through the names for Deremiah's. Unable to find it, he eventually gave up and the Leaderboard vanished.
'Fuck,' he lowered his head. 'I think I made the Gate Trials too difficult.'
He felt a stitch of pity for those five that had just died. Although it rarely happened, it wasn't uncommon for participants to die in the First Trial—especially if they encountered a Gatekeeper.
Gatekeepers weren't fun. Not at all. The good thing was; not every participant had to face them, in fact most wouldn't. They were only placed as the First Trial inside Gates that had difficult challenges and high rewards.
But just that wasn't enough for the heartless author known as Jarren Fletcher, because he made the Gates to be a cunning, merciless being. Slash-and-burn.
You see, facing a Gatekeeper didn't necessarily mean that the Trials of the Gate would be immensely rewarding. Sometimes, it was just the Gates' way of 'messing around.'
This meant that there were unfortunate participants who would somehow manage to defeat a Gatekeeper, fight through adversaries and conquer the other difficult Trials, but still get rewards that were below par or simply the same as others who had to do less of the work.
Unfair indeed, but this had been Jarren's way of showing how the Gates just simply did not care and was only diabolical for the sake of being diabolical.
Jarren had tortured some extras to show this in the novel. Although, there was one of his important characters who he also made suffer this plight.
Nevertheless, fighting Gatekeepers was no easy task and if it were Gatekeepers that had killed those five Initiates, then it was understandable.
Gatekeepers were the spirits of ancient warriors who had died within the Gates in their search for great power. Now, trapped forever by their own failures, the spiteful and jealous warriors would stop at nothing to prevent anyone else from claiming the power they never could.
Jarren sighed. 'Wicked bastards. It's a relief that I don't have to face one.'
Saying that, he took one more look at his surroundings. It appeared the same, reminding him of a simple farmer's home in the countryside. But Jarren knew that this was only some sort of facade. There was a challenge hidden in this Trial.
He sunk his hand into his shirt and pulled out the knife he had stolen, gripping it tight with his trembling hand. After a deep breath and a "here I go," Jarren lifted his feet and took the first step.
Instantly, it changed.
The footstep was a catalyst to some kind of unanticipated reaction. First, there was a quick shift in the air and then, the sky darkened within the blink of an eye. The wind turned violent, whipping the grass into a frenzy and slamming gusts of angry breeze against his face.
He saw a flash of light—then, thunder. Lightning struck the thatched house, setting it ablaze in an instant. The roof was engulfed in flames first, and it spread quickly until the entire structure was ablaze and smoke rose high into the sky.
Jarren took a step back, terror creeping into his bones. In a matter of seconds, the calm serenity of the field had turned into some kind of nightmare. His eyes darted frantically as the storm swelled around him, wind whipping at every side.
'What the hell is happening now?' he asked in his frantic mind.
As he moved his eyes around, he noticed something in the distance, like a gleaming silver in the center of the dancing grass. Jarren narrowed his eyes, using his palm to protect them against the wind.
At first, he thought that this gleaming form of silver was a statue, but then it moved and he suddenly realized that it was a man. Tall and broad, armored in the fashion of a Roman gladiator mixed with an English knight.
His entire body glowed silver like some sort of ghost, the silver plates covering his body scintillated ethereally as though they were forged from the very essence of light. His helmet was crested with horsehair that flowed with the wind. His eyes were narrowed and resolute, and a long, menacing sword hung at his side.
And to amplify this already imposing aura of the silver knight, a rumble of thunder echoed and a blast of lightning struck behind him, casting light upon his threatening features.
When he lifted that sword of his and pointed it directly at Jarren, the author's heart sunk into his stomach.
An interface then appeared beside the knight;
[Your adversary is: Aldus Benedict of the Castellan]
[Beast Mode: Gatekeeper]
With a hitch of his breath, Jarren's knees nearly buckled as he stumbled backwards, eyes wide with terror. 'Who the hell did I piss off? Why do the worst things keep happening to me!?'