Small drops of blood fell continuously, staining the path he walked with grim testimony. It hurt, it hurt like hell. His hand, dammit!

His attempt to cover the wound had been crude at best, but he had no other choice. Desperately, he wrapped his favorite jacket around his mangled right hand, which now resembled a grotesque bite more than a functional limb.

His breaths came in shallow, choked gasps, and the opaque bestial blood still glistened on the shards of broken bone he held. It had all happened in an instant, a flash and now he found himself lost in a wild landscape, utterly exposed to the untamed forces of nature.

The stench and the cacophony of insects offered no reassurance for his uncertain future. Animal droppings littered the ground, and claw marks lingered on the bark of ancient trees. Even the tight grip of his left hand did little to quell his internal screams, as cold sweat traced a path down his spine.

The buzzing constant and unnerving. He had never heard of flies so relentless. Yet, it wasnot his priority; survival was his only concern in this hostile environment.

A wild boar had attacked him! At least, that was what he thought. But its size was nothing like a regular boar or hog. It was a ferocious, brutal creature. He had barely survived by stabbing it in its unprotected eye with his makeshift weapons, a broken bone, even at the cost of his own right hand.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, glistening like fine pearls, as his restless eyes scanned his surroundings. He had to stay alert. He had to survive.

Ever since "God's Avenue," everything had gone downhill.

The previous day had been ordinary, a calm routine uninterrupted. But the appearance of a supernatural projection in the distant sky was the first sign of a disruption. The serene blue heavens were suddenly and violently torn apart, revealing a singular eye, an image reminiscent of ancient myths or global conspiracies. Yet, surprisingly, the divine entity didn't exude the undeniable superiority one might expect.

Suspended above the realm of mortal reason, it seemed intangible, detached. Its presence inspired an unshakable sense of unease.

A mere blink could unleash countless natural disasters. A gaze could spark endless mutations, and a breath could herald the extinction of biological life. Such was the looming dread that hung over the billions of humans who witnessed the inexplicable phenomenon.

But there was no time for contemplation. A whistle, transcending reality itself, echoed through the air. It was immediately understood as a message, delivered by a magnetic voice proclaiming its higher purpose: "The Lord's Orchestra."

A grotesque spectacle of amusement and cruelty, filled with slaughter and betrayal, where the sole survivor would earn the audacious title of "Lord, the Absolute."

Without hesitation, and in what would surely qualify as a moral outrage, the next phase commenced: The Examination. Like an ancient sage testing his disciples, this higher being believed in meritorious aptitude, ironically charting the line between extinction and survival.

With a probe that disrupted every electronic device, the examination was conducted in an instant. The results were definitive: 71,346 humans were selected from a global population of seven billion.

Finally, with a simple, diplomatic "Congratulations", the sky split apart.

The last thing the chosen ones saw was a colossal pillar of light descending with a frivolous aura, shattering gravity itself.

It felt like falling from paradise straight into hell, a freefall like a luminous star aware of its celestial body but not its senses.

But that was all in the past now. He had to accept his current reality, a fight for survival, resisting the pull of madness.

In time, he managed to reclaim his mental composure, tempering his heightened senses. He had been running aimlessly after the sudden attack, enslaved by his instincts and desperately trying to avoid danger.

Yet his reckless flight had yielded only exhaustion and disorientation. But by some twist of fortune or misfortune, his ears caught the faint sound of running water.

He needed water, both to drink and to plan a temporary shelter. But he also had to consider the hidden dangers, as rivers were natural gathering points for all forms of life, from prey to predators.

With no clear options, he resolved to take the risk. Carefully approaching the perimeter of the area, he evaluated the potential threats, even if his life hung in the balance.

He advanced at a moderate pace, his awareness heightened. The buzzing persisted, and now, with his mind less occupied, he couldn't ignore the thought of what it might be. Suddenly, he noticed a strange cyan mirage shimmering before his eyes.

Startled, he swiped at the apparition with his arm. It obscured his vision, and in these circumstances, where strength was not his anchor, his sight was his most vital asset.

To his relief, the image vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Before long, he spotted the river in the distance, surrounded by vibrant green plains.

Carefully observing for any sign of animals, he was surprised to find none. Relieved, he decided to rest briefly, preparing himself to flee or fight if necessary. He chose a discreet spot among the underbrush, a natural hiding place.

Controlling his breathing and movements to a bare minimum, he allowed his frayed nerves to relax slightly. He couldn't understand why he hadn't encountered other beasts during his journey, but he was deeply grateful for it.

Now, with his nerves steadier, the image reappeared. Without the urgency of evasion, he finally understood it: a message written in Spanish, one of the languages he knew well.

"Congratulations. Deepest felicitations to those honored with this opportunity. Many named Caesar as a virtue, and naturally, his companions shared it; thus, they achieved deification. This is your position now, the Caesar extends the olive branch so you may create a legacy through time, achieving misunderstood intangible supremacy."

The words stirred something profound within him. They were grand declarations in a modest vessel. When the sky had turned, similar words had been spoken, though distant in tone.

"You have been granted the divine mandate to claim a land as your own, protected by the Crystallization of Pollus. Here, you will summon subjects and develop your territory step by step. Beginning as a mere iron landholder, the poorest class. Good luck, though you'll need more than that."

The concise messages clarified the method by which he could claim dominion over a land of his own. He understood the dynamics at play and the role he was to fulfill in The Lord's Orchestra, an unprecedented reality.

Steadying his emotions, he knew his first step was to establish his domain. Once he did, a protective mechanism would be erected, an indispensable measure at this stage.

Calculating the boundaries with his eyes, he envisioned a territory spanning much of the vibrant green plains, bordering the river but without wasting precious meters through miscalculation.

Time would not wait, so he acted immediately, trusting his judgment. As he moved forward, the desire to exercise his right materialized into a tangible object in his hands, a crude totem.

The wind brushed against him with an unusual hum, as if breathing life into his forthcoming creation.

Gripping the totem with trembling hands, despite the pain of his injury, he whispered for the first time:

"I see. This is my future. Violent, incapacitating. But I suppose I have no control over that. The fault lies in my weakness."

With a faint, weary smile, he pressed the totem into the bare earth.