Vel drifted in an abyss where neither light nor shadow existed—just weightless emptiness, pressing in from all sides. It wasn't pain, yet it wasn't peace. It felt like drowning without water, like being erased piece by piece. His thoughts slipped from his grasp, dissolving into nothingness before he could hold onto them.
And then—a flash.
A burst of light tore through the darkness, an unnatural, jagged wound against the void. It wasn't comforting. It was stark, clinical, and unmistakably structured. Shapes coalesced within it, forming something harsh and familiar.
Words.
Glowing white against the black, pulsing with an urgency that sent a chill through him:
[CRITICAL CONDITION]
More text flickered into existence beneath it, sterile and unfeeling:
Permanent termination in: 30 seconds.
Vel's fractured mind lurched. No, not Vel—Giri. He recognized this. No, he remembered this. This was no hallucination. It was a system window from Aeonalus Primordial, rendered impossibly real before him.
But how? Why now?
A new prompt blinked beneath the countdown, simple yet ominous:
[Activate Admin Mode?] [Yes] / [No]
The letters hung in the void like a lifeline flung into the abyss, vibrating softly as if aware of his hesitation.
29 seconds… 28…
Giri—Vel—stared at the words, his heart pounding in a space where a heart should not exist. Was this part of the game? Or was this death?
26 seconds…
He felt it now—a faint awareness of his broken body, far beyond this empty place. The dull warmth of blood seeping from his stomach, the ache that should have left him already. Yet he still existed. Somewhere.
His thoughts fractured further. What happens if I choose 'Yes'? If this was a game, he would return. If it wasn't… would he wake up? Or was this truly the end?
22 seconds…
His fingers curled into fists, though they weren't real in this place. He was trapped between two identities—Giri, the programmer, and Vel, the child. A ghost of a man wearing the skin of someone too small for this world.
His vision swam. The countdown pulsed, hammering urgency into his skull.
"You don't have time for answers."
A voice—his own, or perhaps something deeper—cut through the haze like a razor.
10 seconds.
Vel's breath hitched. He had spent so much time thinking, doubting, analyzing. If there's one thing I've learned...
The answer was simple: Act before it's too late.
Without letting hesitation creep back in, he reached forward, forcing his trembling hand toward the glowing words.
The moment his will connected with the system—
YES.
The abyss shattered.
The void collapsed around Vel as his body slammed back into reality. The pain returned instantly—searing, unrelenting, drowning his nerves in fire.
The stone beneath him was cold and unforgiving, smeared with his own blood. He gasped, lungs burning as they sucked in stale, damp air. A shudder wracked his frame.
I'm alive.
His vision blurred before snapping into sharp focus. A familiar red flash hovered in the upper left corner of his sight:
[HP: 2/35] (Flashing red)
[MP: Unknown]
[Status: Bleeding, Shock]
Vel exhaled sharply. The interface was real. Not imagined. Not some hallucination of a dying mind. He wasn't sure whether to be terrified or relieved.
Trinon's chanting filled the chamber, a rhythmic hum thick with power. The robed figure remained focused on the ancient tome before him, unaware—or simply unconcerned—that Vel was no longer dying.
Vel's eyes darted frantically across the room until they landed on her.
Landre.
She was slumped against the far wall, wrists bound, her golden braid undone, her head tilted at an unnatural angle. Alive. But barely.
Vel's chest tightened, rage bubbling beneath his skin. His fingers twitched, slick with blood, but his mind burned with singular focus.
Then, a new notification unfurled before his eyes:
[Admin Status Unlocked]
More windows erupted in his vision, flashing by faster than he could register.
[New Title Unlocked]
[Magic Attunement Unlocked]
[Skills Unlocked]
[Talents Unlocked]
Each word pounded into him like hammer strikes, yet beneath the chaos, something awakened.
A single phrase lingered longer than the rest:
[Re-assigning Affinity…]
Vel barely had time to process it before a final message flickered into view:
[Loading Inventory Data...]
Then—silence.
Vel gritted his teeth, bracing against the pain wracking his body. He didn't know what any of this meant, but he knew one thing.
He had a chance.
His gaze locked onto Trinon across the room. The robed priest hadn't noticed his revival yet, too enraptured in his twisted sermon. The symbols from the tome swirled around him like malevolent fireflies, crackling with energy.
Vel's pulse steadied. He wasn't out of the fight yet.
Vel's fingers twitched as he focused, the notifications still fading from his vision. The interface was familiar—muscle memory from a past life guiding his actions as though he'd never left Aeonalus Primordial. Without a second thought, his gaze locked onto the skill window that now hovered faintly before him. It appeared instinctively, seamlessly, like breathing.
Two abilities glowed among rows of locked icons, one pulsing a cold blue in sync with his breathing. He scanned them quickly, driven by urgency.
Ice Lance.
The name resonated with him instantly, and without hesitation, Vel reached toward it mentally. The icon zoomed in sharply, filling his vision. Beneath it, three words appeared—alien yet intuitive, etched into his mind as though he'd always known them.
"Zetahn Feryis Crystallum."
His lips moved instinctively, shaping the unfamiliar syllables even as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Energy surged through him—not just mana but something rawer and deeper. It clawed its way up from within, coalescing into form.
A jagged shard of ice materialized above his outstretched palm. Its surface glimmered under the dim torchlight—a cruelly beautiful weapon born of desperation and defiance.
The chant concluded just as Trinon turned slightly, sensing something amiss in the room's air. But it was too late.
The Ice Lance shot forward with a deafening crack, slicing through the air like an arrow loosed from an ethereal bow. The icy projectile struck true—piercing Trinon's back and erupting through his chest in an explosion of frost and crimson.
Trinon's guttural chant died on his lips as he staggered forward violently. His hands clawed at the jagged ice embedded in him; steam rose where frozen shards met warm flesh. He gasped once—a sharp intake of disbelief—before collapsing onto one knee with a heavy thud.
Vel's vision swam as the icy lance dissolved into shards, each piece glinting before fading into nothingness. A wave of nausea hit him like a crashing tide, and he staggered forward, one hand bracing against the cold stone floor. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, each one harder to pull than the last.
MP: Low.
The faint text blinked in the corner of his sight now, replacing the earlier Unknown. His heart lurched at the realization—casting magic wasn't free, not here. He wiped sweat from his brow with a trembling hand, willing himself to focus.
Across the room, Trinon stirred. Vel's stomach twisted as the man lifted his head slowly. The priest's movements were unnatural, almost serpentine as his bloodied body straightened upright. A sharp, manic laugh tore through the air like shattered glass.
"They heard me...". Trinon's voice erupted with unhinged glee. He spun toward Vel, arms spread wide in grotesque celebration. "Yes! This is it! My words... they have reached them! The gods listen!"
Vel's pulse pounded violently in his ears as he tried to process Trinon's raving declaration. The man's eyes gleamed with fervor bordering on madness, his laughter spiraling louder until it reverberated off every surface of the chamber.
Trinon's voice cracked with manic desperation as he straightened further, arms still outstretched, blood staining his robes like a twisted offering. His eyes, wild and unseeing, turned skyward, though the chamber ceiling offered no glimpse of the heavens.
"Oh Shizka, Goddess of Light!" he bellowed, voice trembling. "Cleanse this darkness! Illuminate my worth! Prove your purity burns eternal!"
Vel's chest tightened. Each word rattled through the chamber like an invocation dragged from the depths of madness. Trinon took a staggering step forward, heedless of the frost still clinging to his wound.
"Morya, God of Resonance!" His voice grew louder with each name. "Strike me with your harmony! Let your storms weave judgment upon my soul!"
Vel shifted his weight cautiously, wincing at the pain that coursed through him with even the smallest motion. He needed to move—to reach Landre—but Trinon's frenzied cries kept him rooted for just a moment longer.
"Calyphe, Goddess of Cosmos!" Trinon's arms quaked as though drawing strength from unseen forces. "Shroud me in your mysteries! Let chaos devour falsehoods and reveal truth!"
The maniac's fervor burned hotter with each syllable, his voice rising into an almost guttural chant. Vel's breathing quickened; whatever Trinon sought from the gods, it felt far from salvation.
"Jules, Nature's nurturer!" Spittle flew from Trinon's lips as his voice cracked again. "Let life and death converge here—prove this world is not beyond repair!"
Vel's hands clenched into weak fists against the floor beneath him. Every name felt heavier than the last—a drumbeat building toward some inevitable crescendo.
"Tir! God of shadows and secrets!" The room seemed to dim momentarily as if answering Trinon's cry. "Grant me sight beyond mortal veils—show me what lies unseen!"
A shiver crawled up Vel's spine as Trinon took another unsteady step toward him and Landre.
And then:
"Ignis! Lord of Transcendence!" His final shout reverberated like a hammer strike against stone. "Burn away doubt! Forge salvation from these ashes—make me your vessel!"
Trinon's voice cracked, his chants faltering as strength drained away. His outstretched hands trembled, then fell. The ice wound in his chest glinted with each shallow breath, shifting within the wound.
He fell to one knee again, blood pooling beneath him. Yet his lips continued to move, forming words that no longer had power or purpose. The gods he called for did not answer.
Vel stared ahead, fingers digging into stone as chaos yielded to stillness. Trinon's murmurs faded as he slumped forward, arms limp.
He expected relief or triumph, but felt only hollow watching Trinon's breathing slow. No malice remained in these final moments - just desperation. The fire that had driven him was gone, leaving only a broken man clinging to life.
He felt no hatred toward Trinon—only pity.
What could have turned him into this? Vel wondered silently, his chest heavy with unspoken questions. What pain... what belief pushed him so far?
Vel limped through the chamber, each step unsteady. He pressed his palms against his bleeding side while forcing himself toward Trinon despite the searing pain in his lungs.
The priest lay crumpled and shaking on the ground. Vel knelt beside him, fingers hovering over his dagger but leaving it sheathed.
His voice pierced the silence, soft yet resolute.
"Why?" Vel's question cut through the haze like a knife. He glared at Trinon, anger and confusion boiling just beneath his words. "Why would you do all of this?"
Trinon lifted his head weakly, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Vel's with an unsettling clarity. A thin smile tugged at his cracked lips—a smile devoid of triumph or malice, only resignation.
"Why?" Trinon repeated softly, almost laughing. His voice rasped like wind dragging across stone. "Why does a frog leap from its well? Why does a rat flee from a burning house? Tell me, boy—why do humans cling so tightly to beliefs they've never proven true?"
Vel stared at him, chest tightening with every word that left Trinon's lips.
"The gods..." Trinon continued bitterly, his voice rising and cracking as if mocking himself. "If they were so omnipotent—so perfect—why have they gone silent? Why do they ignore this world... while we burn?"
He coughed violently, blood speckling the floor beneath him before he gasped for air and continued.
"Five hundred years," Trinon spat out with venom. "No one has done what I have—not in centuries. I reached them! I called their names louder than anyone else ever dared!"
His gaze flickered toward Vel again as tears mixed with blood on his face.
"And yet here I am," he whispered hoarsely. "The sacrifice... not that girl." His head tilted toward Landre's limp form in the distance before returning to Vel. "Not you."
Trinon chuckled darkly, though it sounded more like sobbing.
"Me."
Vel's fingers wrapped around the sacrificial dagger, its blade cold and slick with blood. The weight of it felt unnatural in his hand, yet strangely fitting—an irony not lost on him as he knelt beside Trinon. The priest's ragged breaths grew fainter, his once fevered eyes now dull with resignation.
"Finish it." Trinon's voice barely rose above a whisper, yet it carried an undeniable finality. His gaze locked onto Vel, unflinching despite the shadow of death creeping closer.
Vel—or rather Giri—stared back, his expression unreadable. The blade trembled slightly in his grip before steadying as his resolve hardened. He met Trinon's gaze with a calm intensity, his voice cutting through the suffocating silence.
"I don't know if the gods have heard you, Trinon," Vel began, each word deliberate and measured, "but one thing is certain: you've awakened something."
Trinon's eyes flickered briefly—confusion mingling with faint recognition—as Vel continued.
"Me."
Trinon's breath hitched sharply, his lips parting as though to speak but no words came. Instead, his gaze shifted—pinpointed on Vel—not with fear or malice but something far deeper. Slowly, like a man glimpsing the divine for the first time, Trinon's expression transformed. His bloodshot eyes widened impossibly large, pupils dilating as if taking in more than what lay before him.
His body convulsed slightly, shoulders trembling as though unwillingly bowing to an unseen force. It was reverence—a silent acknowledgment of something greater than himself.
Vel tightened his grip on the dagger's hilt. His voice remained steady but held an edge of finality that left no room for doubt.
"And for that," he said quietly, "I thank you."
The blade plunged in a single swift motion—clean and deliberate. It sank deep into Trinon's chest, piercing through flesh and bone to reach his heart. The priest gasped once—a sharp intake of air that seemed to carry all his remaining strength—and then stilled.
Yet there was no agony etched across Trinon's face as life drained from him. Instead, there was peace—satisfaction even—as a faint smile curved his cracked lips. It was no longer the twisted grin of a madman but something softer... almost serene.
The light faded from Trinon's eyes slowly until they reflected nothing at all.
The knife clattered to the ground, echoing faintly in the stillness. Vel's vision blurred, the edges darkening with every heartbeat. He took a step toward Landre, determination driving him forward even as his legs wobbled beneath him.
I have to reach her.
Each movement felt like wading through thick mud. The numbers in his vision flashed intensely, mocking his struggle.
HP: 1/35
Critical condition.
Vel's breath came in ragged gasps, his fingers trembling as he extended a hand toward Landre. She lay bound and motionless, her face pale under the dim light. He had to free her—had to save her—but every step drained what little strength he had left.
"Lan-neechan..." His voice was barely more than a whisper, hoarse and weak. His legs buckled, sending him crashing to the cold stone floor. He tried to push himself up, but his arms refused to obey.
Vel's consciousness slipped away entirely. The last thing he saw was Landre's figure fading into darkness as he collapsed beside her, finally succumbing to the overwhelming void.
HP: 0/35
Fail-safe activated.
Entering Slumber Mode.