**Prologue: Birth of the Shadow**
**Chapter 0: Fall into the Unknown**
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Darkness. Not just the absence of light, but a living, pulsating substance that enveloped every cell of his body. It penetrated his lungs, slowed his heartbeat, clung to his consciousness with sticky tentacles. Cain closed his eyes, trying to cut off the unbearable darkness, but even under his eyelids he continued to see it - blacker than black, denser than lead.
He tried to move. His arms and legs did not obey, as if encased in an invisible armor. Only the fingers of his right hand trembled slightly, scratching something cold and rough beneath them. Stone? Metal? It was impossible to tell. The air smelled of burning and damp ash, like after a forest fire, doused by a rainstorm.
- Where am I? — his voice broke into a hoarse whisper, but the echo returned distorted, polyphonic. As if dozens of invisible creatures repeated the question in an incomprehensible language.
There was no answer. Only silence, so complete that he began to hear his own thoughts — the booming pounding of blood in his temples, the creaking of tendons with the slightest movement, even the barely perceptible crackle of neurons in his brain. And then he realized: this is not silence. This is *the absence of sounds from the world*. No wind, no breathing, no heartbeat — only his own body, alone in an endless vacuum.
Panic rose in a wave, squeezing his throat. Cain forced himself to breathe slowly, as they taught him in those damned corporate stress-resistance trainings. *Inhale for four counts. Pause. Exhale for six.* The numbers flashed in his head automatically — the ruins of a past life. He almost laughed. *Death, hell or psychedelic delirium - and I remember KPIs and Eisenhower charts.*
But the laughter got stuck in my throat when the memories came pouring out in fragments.
*Office. 23:47.**
The last bus had left an hour ago. Cain flicked the switch, plunging the open-space into darkness, and reached for his jacket, still smelling of morning coffee. The lights of Shanghai loomed outside the window, neon jellyfish in an ocean of smog. He hated this view. He hated the glass towers that reached up to the low sky, the advertising holograms that cut into his eyes, the eternal hum of the maglevs under the balcony. But most of all, he hated himself for the fact that for three years, seven months and fourteen days he had not dared to press "send" on that letter with the subject "Request to resign of my own accord..."
"Cain!" the voice of his boss sounded behind him, making him flinch. "You're not leaving until you finish the quarterly loss report, are you?"
He turned around. Li Jiang stood in the doorway, adjusting his tie with a pattern of golden dragons. His face, usually impassive, like the screen of a switched-off terminal, was now twitching with a nervous tic. The company was losing millions because of a bug in the stock forecasting algorithm, and Cain knew it was his fault. He had noticed the anomaly in the code three days ago, but he had kept quiet. He had hoped that he would have time to fix it before the meeting. He had not.
"I'll... finish this by morning," he squeezed out, feeling his palms grow clammy.
"We'll be bankrupt by morning," Jiang stepped closer. Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "You knew. I can see it in your face. Why didn't you say anything?"
Cain's heart began to beat faster. He stepped back toward the window, knocking over a stack of printouts with stock price charts. The sheets scattered across the floor, white wings against the black marble.
— I tried to fix it, but...
— But you *failed*, — Jiang pulled a silver stylus from his pocket — a birthday present from his daughter. — Do you know what happens to unnecessary parts in a well-oiled machine?
The stylus flashed in the light of the street lamps. Cain instinctively lunged for the elevators, but his foot tripped on the carpet. He fell, hitting his temple on the edge of the table. The last thing he saw was a neon sign above the building across the street: «Future is Bright!»
And then — a flash. White light, burning through his retinas. Pain, sharp as an electric shock. And...
**Darkness.**
Cain screamed, clutching his head with his hands. The memory was so vivid that it seemed like blood was flowing from the wound on his temple again. But his fingers felt only smooth skin. No scars, no pain. Only cold sweat on his back and trembling knees.
"A hallucination? Or…" he froze, realizing the oddity. *How do I remember my blow? As if I were watching from the outside.*
Somewhere in the depths of his consciousness, a suspicion stirred, but it was interrupted by a mechanical voice:
> *"Welcome to the world of Archon. Beginning interface calibration."*
Suddenly, blue lines flashed in the darkness, as if someone had drawn them with hot neon. Horizontal stripes, vertical strokes - they formed a panel that was eerily familiar. Health and mana bars in the upper corner of his vision. Minimap, bathed in black fog. Status icons with countdown timers:
*«Adaptation to gravity: 87%»*
*«Synchronization of neural connections: 63%»*
Cain froze. He waved his hand in front of his face — the holograms flickered, as if from interference, but did not disappear.
«Virtual reality? Neural implants?» — his voice sounded hoarse. He remembered how a month ago he tested a new interface for corporate training — a capsule of full immersion with tactile feedback. But this... This was orders of magnitude more difficult. Every detail of the panel breathed *reality*, as if built into the optics themselves.
> *«Suitable class detected: Survivor (level 0). Progression: Dark Lord (locked to level 50). Initializing basic skills…»*
«Wait!» — Cain jumped up, but immediately doubled over from dizziness. His legs buckled, as if his muscles had atrophied from years of inactivity. — What do you mean, "progression"? Who are you? Where am I?!
> *"Questions off the record. Continue loading in 10... 9..."*
"Damn, like in those stupid games!" He rested his hands on his knees, trying to stabilize his breathing. — Okay, okay... Survivor. So, we need to survive. And progression is the evolution of a class? Like, at first I'm weak, and then I'll become powerful? But why "Dark Lord"? I didn't choose...
> *"...3... 2... 1. Activation."*
The air exploded. Or rather, *space* exploded — Cain felt reality shrink to a point near his sternum, and then burst open into infinity. He was thrown down, although the concept of "down" did not exist here. The wind howled in his ears, which should not be in a vacuum. Through the roar came the grinding of metal, the cries of unknown creatures, the smell of sulfur and blood.
And suddenly - a blow.
He landed on something soft and elastic, like the body of a giant beast. He opened his eyes - and froze.
---
**Archon's landscape** spread out before him, like an engraving torn from nightmares. The sky was ablaze with crimson spirals, similar to the DNA of demons. In the distance, mountains of black glass rose, their peaks pierced by clouds of mercury vapor. The air trembled with a roar - somewhere below, beyond the edge of the platform on which he lay, the abyss roared.
Cain slowly rose, feeling how gravity pressed ten times stronger than Earth's. Every step echoed with pain in his bones. The platform turned out to be a giant piece of stone floating in the sky. At its edge grew a tree - or rather, something resembling a tree. Its trunk was covered in scales, and instead of leaves, bloody feathers hung down.
> *"Initial quest received: Reach the Temple of the Fallen (distance: 12 km). Reward: Unlocking stats. Penalty for refusal: Erasure."*
The inscription flashed blood-red. Cain laughed nervously:
"Erasure? Seriously? And if I refuse, will you delete me from the "game"?"
A roar was the answer. The platform shook, and from a crack in the stone crawled ... *something*. The creature resembled a spider the size of a bear, but its legs were made of human bones, and on its abdomen there was a pulsating face - a woman's, with gouged-out eyes and a mouth sewn shut with copper wire.
"Oh, God..." Cain recoiled.
The creature snapped its mandibles, a groan escaped from its throat - the same one he had heard when falling. Many voices, merged into one chorus of suffering.
> *"Enemy detected: Weeping Screech (level 3). Recommendation: Escape."*
"Escape? Where?!" He looked around. Other platforms hung in the air, but the closest was thirty meters away. Without magic or technology, a jump was impossible.
The Screech crawled towards him, leaving traces of mucus and blood on the stone. Cain retreated until his heels hit the edge of the abyss. The wind from below tore at his clothes, promising an endless fall.
— System! Skills! What can I use?!" he screamed.
The menu popped up before his eyes:
**Survivor (Lvl 0)**
*Abilities:*
- *Self-preservation instinct (passive): +5% to speed when life is in danger.*
- *Death hatred (1/day): Ignore mortal wounds for 10 seconds.*
*Inventory: Empty.*
Cain gritted his teeth. That's it? No weapons, no magic... But Grind had already raised his front paw, preparing to strike. At the last moment, Cain jumped to the side. A bone spike pierced the stone where his head had been a second ago.
— Death hatred, activate! — he exhaled.
> *"Ability activated. Timer: 10… 9…»*
The pain was gone. Adrenaline filled his muscles. Cain lunged forward, ducking under the monster's belly. There, among the ribs, he saw a weak spot - a blue crystal, pulsing in time with the creature's voice. Without thinking, he punched the stone.
The bone cracked. The grinding roared, shook, but Cain punched again and again until the crystal burst with the crunch of broken glass.
An explosion of black energy threw him to the edge of the platform. He saw the monster crumble to ash, heard the shrill echo: "Thank you... thank you... thank you...".
> *"Victory! Experience gained. Level increased to 1. Attribute points: 5."*
Cain lay on his back, looking at the crimson sky. His body was burning, but a strange euphoria raged in his chest. He survived. In spite of everything.
— Stats, — he whispered.
Lines appeared before him:
**Strength: 8 (+0)**
**Dexterity: 6 (+0)**
**Stamina: 7 (+0)**
**Intelligence: 12 (+0)**
**Wisdom: 9 (+0)**
**Luck: 3 (+0)**
— Three lucks? — he snorted. — Sounds about right.
But what next? The Temple of the Fallen... How to get there? He crawled to the edge, looking into the abyss. And then he noticed — below, a kilometer under the platform, giant chains were emerging from the fog. They stretched to the horizon, disappearing behind a mountain with chopped-off peaks.
Chains. So, it was possible to climb.
Cain took a deep breath, distributing points. *Strength +2, Dexterity +3*. His muscles filled with warmth, his fingers clenched into fists with new confidence.
"Okay, Archon," he walked to the edge, looking at the black links, each the size of a car. "Show me what you can do."
The first steps into the abyss were the hardest. But as he grabbed the cold metal, a voice sounded in his head:
> *"Prologue complete. Chapter 1: Chains of the Damned - begins."*
And somewhere in the depths of the world, beyond reality, *someone* laughed.