A vast hall, cut from black stone, stretched endlessly. Its walls were adorned with jagged shards of obsidian crystal, fractured and broken. The floor, in stark contrast, was a smooth expanse of lustrous black metal, gleaming beneath the dim light.
In the center of the hall, a tall dais stood. There was no throne and no altar on the dais—only four towering pillars, each the size of a human, encircling a transparent void sphere.
The sphere was colorless, yet it dominated the space around it. It cast no light, yet its presence erased everything around it. Reflections warped upon its surface, bending as though space itself recoiled—as if the sphere did not belong to this world.
Mountains of gold, silver, and precious stones lay scattered around the dais—most shattered, reduced to dust.
Directly south of the dais, a massive set of double doors loomed, their entrance propped open.
In the doorway, two monstrous beings lay entangled, their bodies streaked with blood.
One was a pristine, sun-bleached white, an unnatural, overwhelming pallor that was neither the softness of snow nor the warmth of ivory. It was a cold, lifeless void—a whiteness that did not belong to the living. Its skin bore no blemishes, no imperfections—just stark, suffocating emptiness, as if all color had been stripped away.
It stood 2 to 3 meters tall, its sheer presence exuding raw power. Its face was dominated by a gaping maw, lined with rows of eerily human-like teeth. Upon closer inspection, the teeth were barbed—tiny, near-invisible hooks that only revealed themselves upon close examination.
Its muscular hands and feet carried it with an unsettling grace, its broad shoulders adding to its monstrous presence. Dark tattoos coiled across its deathly pale flesh—symbols of a forgotten language, or a purpose lost to time.
Behind its head, five twisting horns spiraled outward, forming a grotesque, eldritch crown. Looming behind its back was a mystical wheel, an intricate construct of unfathomable significance.
Three concentric circles spun in eerie harmony—at their heart, a central core, encircled by an outer ring divided into six equal segments, and a final, smaller outline fractured into twelve. Each layer pulsed with a silent, unknowable rhythm, whispering the remnants of a forgotten design.
Within one of the segments, caught in the endless motion, hung a fragment of torn fabric—weathered, tattered, and out of place.
Bones clung to its sides, their purpose unclear—whether trophies, restraints, or something far worse. The brittle remains ended in black crystals—the same obsidian-like formations that jutted from the chamber walls, as though the creature itself had been born from the stone.
It did not breathe. It did not blink. It simply writhed in anger.
Opposing it was a serpentine beast, its immense, coiled form locked around the white entity in relentless struggle.
Its body was covered in black scales, dark as the abyss between dying stars, yet gleaming with the brilliance of a nebulous cosmos. A black, shifting substance—darkness given form—seeped from its wounds, carving through flesh like a blade of living night.
Its serrated fangs clamped down around the white monstrosity's collar, pressing deep as the struggle between void and purity reached its breaking point.
And in the space between them, a boy was walking.
Blood covered him. His hair, a striking mix of black, white, and red, clung to his face in messy strands. His left eye was bloodshot, with a pitch-black pupil, while his right was pure white, its whitish-grey pupil clouded and distant—almost blind.
He looked just under twenty-five. His body was battered—his left arm twisted and partially crushed between the elbow and wrist. Sharp pieces of black metal encircled both of his wrists like broken manacles. His right shoulder bore a horrendous wound, yet strangely, no fresh blood leaked from it. Only the dried stains on his ragged brown clothing hinted at the injury. His right sleeve had been torn off, discarded.
On his right arm, near the elbow, a glowing blue-white sphere of light pulsed softly.
The boy limped as fast as his broken body allowed, moving toward the center of the dais.
A clean but mocking voice resounded, laced with urgency. "Hurry up, boy—this moment won't last forever, and neither will they."
The boy's hoarse voice rang out, frustration evident. "This old bastard! I'm going as fast as my body allows me!"
A voice echoed from the sphere once more. "Boy, this is likely the last time we will speak, and yet you still lack manners—even after all the help and guidance I've given you."
"Fuck off, you old bat! You talk like you were doing me a favor, but you needed me just as much."
As he walked closer, the boy muttered under his breath. "This is it, old man."
"Well? What are you waiting for? A red carpet? Go. That is your destination."
The blue sphere drifted toward the void. The boy hesitated, falling silent for a few moments before finally speaking. "...Thank you."
The blue sphere paused, as if about to respond, but before it could, the world exploded.
A sonic boom tore through the chamber, shattering stone and sending violent shockwaves across the hall. The force hit the boy head-on, an ear-splitting crack rupturing the air as the floor trembled beneath him.
His body screamed in pain, but he didn't have time to react. His ears rang, his vision blurred, and his knees nearly buckled—but he forced himself to think.
A second shockwave erupted before he could take another step. The blast slammed into his chest like a battering ram, sending him hurtling away from the void. His back struck the cold metal floor, the impact rattling his bones as he skidded across the dais.
A voice echoed, low and sharp. "Don't let anyone find out about this. If they do, you won't survive."
The boy hesitated, then gave a small nod.
Without another word, the sphere plunged into the void. A moment later, it pulsed with shifting hues of orange and blue before re-emerging.
He stepped forward again, forcing his battered limbs to move. The air around the sphere twisted, space itself bending inward as if the void were swallowing light.
Then—everything shattered.
The world blurred. Colors stretched and bled into one another. Gravity lost meaning.
For a fleeting moment, he stood in a starless abyss.
Then—he was elsewhere.
A green meadow.
Yet there was no peace here.
Figures lay scattered, tense. Uncertain. Some flattened themselves against the ground, holding their breath, as if waiting for an unseen force to strike them down. Others crouched low, gripping rusted weapons or sharpened bones, their wary eyes scanning the surroundings. A few stood stiffly, backs straight, faces locked in quiet dread.
Then there were those who barely reacted at all—frozen, unblinking, their faces hollow with exhaustion or shock.
A man knelt in the grass, staring at his hands as though they weren't his own. A woman clutched her arms, rocking slightly, her breath shallow and uneven. Another sat with their head buried in their hands, shoulders trembling—not with relief, but something closer to despair.
Others muttered in hushed, frantic whispers. Some kept their heads bowed, as if afraid to look up. A few had empty, distant eyes, their minds trapped somewhere far away.
No one spoke. The wind stirred the grass, but no one moved.
And no one paid any attention to the boy.
They were trapped in silence, unable—or unwilling—to believe this was real.