Oliver sits in the corner of the school cafeteria, staring down at his sketchbook.

His pencil dances in his hand, sketching a giant snake wrapped around an ancient tower—a spark of inspiration from an old book his grandfather left him.

The noise of the cafeteria fades into the background as he loses himself in his own world, briefly ignoring the stares he knows are coming.

But the calm never sticks around.

"Hey, geek!"

A rough voice cuts into his thoughts.

Oliver freezes.

He doesn't need to look up to know it's Alex, the linebacker from the school football team, always trailed by his pack of buddies.

Alex strides over, his shadow falling across Oliver's table.

"Drawing your freaky stuff again?"

Alex grabs the sketchbook and lifts it high, showing it off like a prize.

"You know, Oliver, if you ditched this nerdy crap and tried to blend in, maybe people wouldn't think you're such a joke."

Oliver's face heats up.

He wants to snap back, to snatch his sketchbook, but his throat locks up.

All he can do is stare at the table, with the sound of Alex's crew laughing in his ears.

"Look at this guy—he can't even speak."

Alex flips through the sketchbook and rips out a page—the giant snake Oliver spent two full nights on.

He balls up the paper and tosses it at Oliver's feet.

"Oops, my hand slipped. Guess you'll have to start over, little artist."

The laughter around him swells, hitting Oliver like a punch to the chest.

He clenches his fists so hard his nails nearly break the skin of his palms.

That book means everything to him; his parents and grandfather died in a car crash when he was little, and all their stuff was sold off to cover his living costs at his aunt's place, where she'd sometimes smack him around or yell at him.

That old book from his grandfather is the only thing he has tying him to his parents, and back when he was a kid, his grandfather would get all excited telling him about the monsters in it—those are his dearest memories.

"Why don't you push back?"

Alex bends down close and whispers, "You're a loser, Oliver. Always will be."

Then he pats Oliver's shoulder, like he's handing out some kind of gift.

Oliver tightens his fists; he's wanted to fight back plenty of times, and he has before, but every time, Alex and his gang have just pounded his head in.

Oliver looks down, picks up the crumpled paper from the floor, and tries to flatten it out, but the drawing's wrecked beyond saving.

He grits his teeth and quietly shoves his sketchbook into his backpack, ready to bolt from the cafeteria—he can't stay here any longer, not today.

But Alex obviously isn't done with him.

Right as Oliver turns to go, Alex snags his backpack and yanks out the worn, odd book—Oliver's most treasured thing.

He holds it up, swinging it around like he's won something, and laughs, "Where'd you dig up this junk? You bring it to school—do you honestly think you're some wizard?"

"Give it back!"

Oliver finally snaps, his voice wobbly but sharp with anger.

He lunges at Alex, reaching for the book.

Alex smirks, tosses it to the ground, and stomps on it, his shoe grinding into the pages and leaving a muddy mark.

Right then, something cracks inside Oliver's mind.

That book isn't just his muse—it's his only escape from loneliness and mockery.

He's had enough.

With a deep growl, he charges at Alex, slamming him to the ground with everything he's got.

…

Oliver hits the floor, out cold, blood trickling from his forehead onto the battered book beside him.

Alex's blood drips too, mixing with Oliver's and seeping into the pages.

Suddenly, a bright flash bursts from the book, and the floor starts shaking, twisting the air all through the cafeteria.

Oliver feels a strong pull tugging at his body.

He tries to grab something, but his hands only scrape the cold floor.

Alex and a few others nearby get caught in the light too, screaming in panic, but before their voices can carry, they're all sucked into a dark swirl at once!

"Where am I?"

Oliver mumbles to himself.

His eyes pop open, and he sees it's totally dark—he can't make out a thing, and a strange, empty cold surrounds him.

It's not the bedroom ceiling he's used to, there's no blue sky out a window, and no lights, phones, or gadgets anywhere.

There's nothing solid around, no sense of up or down.

It's like being in a void in space.

"What's going on? Where are we?"

Then a familiar, annoying voice echoes from everywhere—it's Alex, no doubt about it!

Oliver quickly looks around and spots seven or eight glowing blobs, each with a shadow inside—Alex and his little posse.

"Damn you, Stark, you jerk—this is your fault we're stuck here! What is this place?"

Alex yells, furious.

His shadow twists, and the glowing blob he's in rolls straight at Oliver—it's massive, nearly twice Oliver's size.

As it gets closer, a heavy pressure weighs down on him.

Oliver feels a knot in his gut.

"Hey, even in this bizarre place, we're still gonna pound you—bet you didn't see that coming, you weirdo Stark!"

"Beat this creep to death—I've got a movie date with Jennifer this afternoon, and this idiot's messing it up. Maybe if we kill him, we'll get out!"

"Beat… him to death?"

"What's there to worry about? No cops in this pit!"

Alex's buddies yell over each other.

When Alex hears them, he busts out laughing too, "You're right—this freak doesn't deserve to exist!"

"You guys…"

Oliver balls his fists, anger boiling up.

But just as he's about to fight back, a weird electronic chime rings out through the strange space.

"Welcome to the Mythic Era, chosen ones."

"This is the start of the world's creation, the universe's first spark, the root of all myths—before Aether, the creator god, even started shaping things. The sky, sea, land, and everyday life don't exist yet…"

"The clash between Titans and dragons born from Aether's blood hasn't kicked off, the twelve godly thrones haven't appeared, and the outcast deity Eve hasn't made humans yet…"

"The Twilight of the Gods hasn't started, and the War of the Apocalypse is still a long way off…"

"The grand golden age of Rome hasn't begun…"

A rush of info floods into everyone's heads.

"What's this?"

Everyone, Alex and Oliver included, stands there shocked, glancing at each other, totally lost.

All that info from a second ago is way too much to wrap their heads around right then.

"Wait—are they saying we're here before the world even started?"

"No way—this has to be fake! It can't be real!"

"Hey, it's like we've jumped into one of those books—this could be awesome!"

The group shouts, some pumped, some ticked off, some freaking out.

And then something even wilder starts happening.

The glowing blobs around everyone begin to shift, like eggs cracking open to hatch chicks—except it's super fast, and what comes out isn't chicks.

Pretty soon, Oliver finds his body turning into a giant snake, its scales glinting dark gold!

"Godhead binding complete: Ancient Serpent."

A robotic voice echoes in his head.

Plus, there's a book floating in his mind, its pages feeling so familiar.

No question—it's the mysterious book his grandfather left him!

There's even a screen popping up in front of Oliver's eyes.

Oliver Stark

Race: Deity

Deity Rating: 1

Attributes:

Defense: 1. Strength: 1. Chaos Power: 1. Soul Power: 1

Skills: Devour

Possession: Book of the Chaos Era

My Defense and Strength are just 1 point each?

Does that even add up for a deity?

Oliver's a little thrown at first, but he soon figures this combat stat screen must be based on his starting traits as the baseline.

He's the starting point, so it's not weird that strength, defense, and all that are set at 1.

[The Book of Chaos Epochs has helped you get a better grip on yourself, and you've unlocked a new power: the ability to devour chaos!]

Devour the power of chaos?

What's that about?

Oliver's curious, but as he's mulling it over, Alex's grating voice breaks through, dripping with shock.