A boy with bright red hair crashes onto the ground, the impact sending up a soft cloud of sand. His body lies still, his face blank, devoid of any pain or resistance. Around him, four older boys stand like predators circling wounded prey. Their shadows stretch over him under the glaring sun, their sneering faces twisted with satisfaction.
A tall boy with wild purple hair steps forward, the leader of the group. He watches Karma with cold amusement before placing a foot on his chest, pressing him deeper into the sand.
"What's wrong, Karma?" His voice is mocking, tinged with disappointment. "After all these years, you still haven't learned how to fight back?"
The other boys chuckle, eager to continue their abuse. One of them delivers a harsh kick to Karma's ribs, causing his body to shift slightly in the sand. Another grabs a fistful of his crimson hair, yanking his head up just to see if there's any flicker of defiance in his eyes. There is none.
Karma remains motionless, his gaze staring past them, through them—empty. The leader frowns, annoyed at the lack of reaction. He crouches beside Karma and slaps his face lightly, almost playfully.
"You're pathetic." He spits the words like venom.
Karma doesn't move. He doesn't resist. But in the depths of his quiet, something stirs. Something silent. Something waiting.
The purple-haired boy smirks. "Still just a punching bag, huh?" He stands up, turning away. "Let's go. He's not even worth the effort anymore."
The others hesitate but follow, leaving Karma lying in the sand, alone.
For a long moment, he stays there, eyes tracing the sky. Then, ever so slightly, his fingers curl into the sand. His grip tightens. His breath steadies.
And in that moment, beneath the weight of the beating, something begins to change.
Karma slowly pushes himself up from the sand, his limbs aching from the relentless beating. His breath is steady, but his mind is in turmoil.
"Why can't I fight back?" he wonders, staring at his trembling hands. "Why is it so hard for me to care about myself? Why can't I bring myself to inflict the same pain on others that they give to me?"
He clenches his fists, frustration bubbling beneath his skin. His crimson hair sways slightly in the breeze, but he barely notices.
"I just want to live my life… quietly, peacefully… to grow old and die without all this chaos."
His eyes darken, filled with self-loathing.
"I'm pathetic."
The words echo in his head like a relentless drum. He exhales sharply, shaking his head. He knows he should fight, but something inside him resists. Something keeps him shackled.
He glances in the direction the bullies disappeared, his fingers still curled into the sand. Then, with a deep breath, he rises to his feet completely, wiping the dirt from his clothes. His body aches, his spirit feels heavy—but he takes a step forward.
Even if he doesn't understand himself yet, even if he's still weak…
He refuses to stay down.
As Karma walks home from the school grounds, his gaze remains fixed on the ground, heavy with the weight of loneliness. No one is waiting for him at home—no warm welcome, no voice calling his name as he steps through the front door. Just the familiar silence.
Turning a corner, he moves through the bustling streets, weaving past strangers lost in their own lives. Then, something strange catches his eye.
He looks up.
High above, beyond the atmosphere, a massive black eyeball looms in the sky. Its presence is suffocating, otherworldly. As it draws closer, the sky darkens unnaturally, as if the very light is being swallowed. A heavy pressure fills the air, sending a shiver down Karma's spine.
The people around Karma stop in their tracks, their conversations dying down as an eerie stillness blankets the city. Whispers of confusion ripple through the streets, but Karma doesn't react—his gaze is locked onto the massive, otherworldly eye looming in the heavens.
Its inky-black sclera contrasts sharply with the pulsating crimson iris, which seems to swirl and shift like a living thing. Veins of darkness spread outward from its center, seeping into the sky itself, corrupting the very fabric of reality. As it descends, the sunlight is swallowed whole, leaving only an abyssal twilight in its wake.
A deep, resonating hum vibrates through the city, rattling glass, making the very ground tremble beneath Karma's feet. People begin to panic—shouts of fear, the sounds of hurried footsteps, the screeching of car tires as drivers desperately try to escape whatever horror is unfolding above them.
But Karma doesn't move. He stands frozen, his breath shallow, his heartbeat pounding against his ribs. Not from fear, but from something else. Something deeper.
A sudden, piercing noise—a shriek that doesn't belong to any earthly creature—rips through the sky, and the eye dilates. The clouds twist unnaturally, spiraling like a vortex around the celestial gaze.
Then, without warning, the heavens split open.
A rift—jagged, chaotic, bleeding shadows—erupts across the sky, stretching from horizon to horizon. From within, dark figures begin to emerge, their silhouettes distorted, their forms writhing as if struggling to maintain shape in this world.
Terror grips the city.
Screams fill the air.
A blinding light engulfs the planet, followed by the deafening roar of an explosion that seems to shake the very fabric of reality.
Then—silence.
Karma awakens.
He finds himself in a strange, surreal place. Beneath him stretches an endless black lake, its surface eerily still. Yet, despite standing on it, he does not sink. The water does not ripple. It does not even wet his skin.
Rising slowly to his feet, he scans his surroundings. To his left, his gaze catches on a traditional red Japanese-style gazebo, standing alone amidst the endless dark expanse. A shadowy figure sits within it. Drawn by an unseen force, Karma steps forward, his footsteps soundless against the unnatural water.
As he approaches, he hesitates for only a moment before stepping inside and taking a seat.
Then, the figure speaks.
"You wish to die. Why is that?"
Karma stiffens. "I—I don't want to die."
"There is no need to lie, for I am your Idol. I know your heart as well as you do. I have seen your past, felt your emotions, and shared your sentiments. Is it because of your parents' deaths?"
"I told you—I don't know what you're talking about! I just want to live a peaceful life, grow old, and die naturally."
"That is not the truth."
The voice remains calm, yet each word digs into Karma's soul like a blade.
"Perhaps you feel as though you have nothing to live for. You do not enjoy your student life. You have no comrades. The only passion you possess is for books—a means of escape rather than fulfillment. Ever since the death of your parents, you have been consumed by isolation, burying yourself in loneliness. Your depression stole your drive, your purpose. Subconsciously, you have accepted a fate of insignificance, refusing to fight back even in the face of injustice. This... is the true reason you do not resist."
Karma's hands clenched into fists, his breath hitching. He wants to argue. He wants to deny it. But he can't.
Because it's true.
"But I will change you." The figure continues. "With me as your Idol, I will grant you the ability to return the pain inflicted upon you—tenfold."
Karma exhales sharply, scoffing. "And just who are you? Where am I?"
"My true name must remain a secret. A select few individuals in your world now possess something called an Idol—beings like myself, who choose a successor and bestow them with power beyond human capability. Each Idol has both a Tag and a True Name. My Tag is 'Wrathful Shield Made of Rubber.' My True Name... is General Kim Yushin. If my name is ever revealed to another, I will become vulnerable, and any abilities I grant you will be nullified."
Karma nods slowly. "So I can't tell anyone your real name, no matter what."
"Precisely, young Dageki. Do you have any other questions?"
"What happened to my world?" Karma's voice is low, wary. "I know something terrible has happened. Can you tell me anything to prepare me?"
"I am bound by the rules. I cannot answer that question—not yet."
"...Then where am I?"
"This is your mental space. I have invaded it in order to form a contract with you. If you accept, I will become your Idol and guide you. If you refuse, I will leave, and you will continue living as you are."
Karma falls silent. Then, with a deep breath, he straightens.
"Fine. Let's do this. How does the contract work?"
"Repeat these words: 'For the glory of Asmodeus, I command you, my patron, General Kim Yushin.'"
Karma hesitates for only a moment before repeating the incantation. As the words leave his lips, a searing sensation spreads around his bicep—not painful, but warm, almost soothing. He looks down to see a dark band forming around his arm, intricate symbols etched into his skin like a tattoo. He brushes his fingers over it, but it does not fade.
"This marks the beginning of our contract."
The figure's voice grows distant.
"For now, our conversation ends here. But we will meet again, young Dageki. Do not die. You must live—so that you may one day break free from the system."
Karma jolts awake.
The first thing he registers is the screaming. The acrid scent of burning oil and blood fills the air, thick and suffocating. Around him, the city lies in ruins, as if an explosion had gone off moments ago.
Pain shoots through his body. He groans, trying to push himself upright, only to feel something wet against his temple. Blood? His fingers tremble as they brush against the wound.
Then another sharp throb—his side. He looks down, spotting a small but deep cut along his ribs.
Chaos surrounds him. Buildings reduced to rubble. People crying out in agony. The world he once knew is gone.
He stands slowly, his head still throbbing from the pain. Suddenly, a dark purple window materializes in front of his face, its eerie glow casting a faint light on his surroundings.
His eyes widen as he reads the text displayed before him:
"World Assimilation: 80%
Class Assignment Initiating Immediately…"
The words swirl for a moment, shifting and reforming as new information loads.
"Class: Perfect Interpretation"
Beneath the title, a classification appears in smaller text:
"Transcendent+"
Karma blinks. His hand instinctively hovers over the panel, his mind racing.
"The hell? Am I high? Actually… What am I even thinking? After everything that's happened, why should this surprise me?"
Pushing aside his disbelief, he exhales sharply and presses the "Stats Profile" button. Another window materializes, displaying his current abilities:
Strength: Rank F HP: Rank F MP: Rank E Vitality: Rank F Agility: Rank F Intelligence: Rank E Awareness: Rank F
Karma stares at the screen in expressionless look on his face then a tear rolls down his cheek.
"These stats are garbage."