"...an inkpen?"
The shape in front of him was unmistakably an inkpen. Not a vague outline or some distorted form—no. It was a perfect representation of an inkpen.
The inkpen's body was filled with fast-moving scenes, constantly shifting colors in rapid succession.
Victor tried to move once again, but his body failed him.
[Match Found]
[You may proceed and touch the fragment.]
He stared at the inkpen, still hesitant. Every instinct screamed to question the situation.
Why? What was this? But the opportunity was there, and his curiosity got the better of him.
He approached slowly, studying the pen from every angle, but he never once dared to touch it. His distrust to the whole situation ran deep.
[Warning: Failure to comply will result in Instant Death.]
[10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4…]
He cursed under his breath, but time was running out. Having no choice, Victor squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, and forced himself to touch the inkpen.
The moment his fingers made contact, the fragment shot into the air, spiraling just above his head. He tried to back away, but no matter how much he moved, the inkpen hovered above him, staying right where it had positioned itself.
"So be it," he resigned.
[Congratulations!]
[Your story will begin in 5 minutes.]
[Task: ???]
[Reward: ???]
[Time: 80 hours]
[Penalty: Death]
Victor's mind snapped to attention. He had briefly glimpsed this kind of scenario in a game once, on a café customer's screen. But the difference between that and this, is once you die there's no guarantee you respawn.
And the penalty for his failure…
It's Death.
What else would it be? A slap on the wrist?
He clenched his fists. He had to figure this out, but how? How was he supposed to know what to do in this strange trial? And would he ever get back to Earth?
"What is the task? How will I know what to do? Will I get back to Earth?" he shot out the questions into the void, desperate for answers.
Yet the void remained still, mockingly echoing his own words.
...
[Story commence.]
The world around him warped and twisted.
The inkpen above his head shot downward aiming to pierce through him.
He braced for pain, yet there was none.
It simply passed through him, and then the world, or rather story—it contained—exploded outward. Ink splattered from inside him in an upward stream.
The sensation was bizarre—tingly, almost like an electric shock but without the pain. It didn't hurt, but it was enough to make him wince.
Not long after, the image it had been painting was done.
He was about to gather his thoughts when his vision darkened, and then flooded with light.
Another message pinged.
[Note: Your performance here will have a direct impact on the reward/s you gain.]
[Good Luck.]
...
Victor found himself sitting beneath a tree, holding the very inkpen he had touched. He was poised to write something in a notebook, the paper open before him. His back was pressed against the tree's rough bark, strategically placed in the shade to avoid the sun's blinding light.
His clothing was foreign to him—simple clothes worn by a commoner. They seemed to belong to an era he couldn't quite place, possibly somewhere in Europe, though the time was hard to pinpoint.
But even that theory felt unsteady, given the strange nature of this world. After all, this place could be anything, much like the vast, black void he had just emerged from.
And for all he knew, this was just a world designed to resemble Europe.
But it wasn't just the clothes or the landscape that confused him.
"Black and white?" he muttered.
Everything around him—everything—was in black and white. There were no shades between them, only pure black and pure white.
He raised his hand and looked at it—black and white. His legs, you can guess...
"What the hell?" He stood and turned his gaze outward.
The landscape before him had simple hills with wooden houses scattered across them. A volcano loomed in the distance, just behind the village, its peak hidden by clouds covered in thorns.
To the left of the hills, there was a swamp, while to the right, a castle stood tall. Behind the castle, he could barely make out that there was something.
For such a small patch of land, the world was oddly diverse, full of striking contrasts and sudden changes in scenery.
Victor stood up and began to move. He reached for his pocket to tuck the inkpen away—but there was no pocket.
Instead, a leather bag lay against the tree, waiting. He grabbed the bag, slipped the inkpen and notebook inside, and tied it to his waist.
"This... this is somehow tied to last night's news. But how do I even begin to make sense of this?" He shook his head.